Original Meaning

THE IMPORTANCE OF the law in chapters 20–23 should not cause us to pass over quickly chapter 19. It is here that God’s promise to Moses in 3:12 is fulfilled: “And God said, ‘I will be with you. And this will be the sign to you that it is I who have sent you: When you have brought the people out of Egypt, you will worship God on this mountain.’” Moses’ journey has come full circle. He met God on Mount Horeb in chapter 3, and he has now returned to him with the recently redeemed Israelites. As one commentator put it, Israel is now “transformed into a worshipping people of God.”1 Israel will remain at Mount Sinai for almost one year, a scene that will take the writer fifty-nine chapters to describe (they depart in Num. 10:11).2 What will this lengthy (from a narrative point of view) stage in Israel’s journey bring them?

The Israelites arrive and set up camp in 19:1–2. Immediately Moses climbs the mountain to God (v. 3). This will not be his last trip. Although the narrative is not entirely clear, he apparently makes three such treks in chapter 19 (vv. 3–7, 8–14, 20–25). God’s words on this first trip (vv. 4–6) are among the most important in the book to this point—words intended not just for him but for “the house of Jacob . . . the people of Israel” (v. 3). In other words, Moses ascends the mountain not simply to commune with God, but to bring God’s message back down to the people. He is the one through whom God is going to teach the people about who he is. The first phase of Moses’ assignment is completed: He brought God’s people out of Egypt and to the foot of the mountain. Now the second stage begins.

God’s first speech to Israel is a simple message: remember. This is the basic content of verse 4. At the beginning of God’s self-disclosure to them, the Israelites are to think back to what he has done in destroying Egypt and bringing them to himself. One memorable phrase is that they have been carried to God “on eagles’ wings.” This can be understood in a dual sense here. (1) Eagles are depicted elsewhere in the Old Testament as birds that care for the weak. The central passage for this is Deuteronomy 32:9–11:

For the LORD’s portion is his people,

Jacob his allotted inheritance.

In a desert land he found him,

in a barren and howling waste.

He shielded him and cared for him;

he guarded him as the apple of his eye,

like an eagle that stirs up its nest

and hovers over its young,

that spreads its wings to catch them

and carries them on its pinions. (italics added)

Israel’s deliverance from Egypt is like an eagle swooping down to hover over its young and carrying them off to safety. (2) Eagles are also fierce birds of prey (e.g., Deut. 28:49; Jer. 4:13; 48:40; 49:22). Such imagery is also fitting for Exodus 19:4, for God behaved as a fierce predator with respect to Egypt in order to carry Israel to safety.3

Not only are the Israelites to remember what God has done, but that memory is to motivate them to obey (v. 5). Their movement to the mountain is not a free ride; something is expected of them. But having said this, I must make something else clear: That Israel’s faithfulness to the covenant is required should in no way be understood to mean that Israel worked for her salvation in the Old Testament. This entire scene at the mountain and the subsequent laws are predicated on verse 4, what God has done. The Israelites are not to keep the law in order for God to save them. They have already been saved; God has brought them out of Egypt. The law he now gives is the subsequent stage in Israel’s developing relationship with God. It is what is expected of a people already redeemed. It is law, but it is based on the prior establishment of the relationship between them by God’s good pleasure. The people do not earn their salvation; but once saved, they are obligated to act in a manner worthy of their high calling. This is true in the New Testament as well (see Eph. 4:1; 2 Thess. 1:11).

What is the nature of the “covenant” that the Israelites are to keep (v. 5)? Which covenant is meant? Most commentators understand that the covenant here is what will be revealed in the following chapters, that is, God’s law. Such thinking is understandable, but I am convinced that this is not the case. W. Dumbrell has argued convincingly that “covenant” in verse 5 does not refer to what is about to transpire, but what has gone on before, namely, the covenant with the patriarchs.4 This should not seem odd to us in light of the continual backward glances the writer of Exodus gives. Particularly important is 2:24–25, a passage mentioned a number of times but worth repeating:

God heard their groaning and he remembered his covenant with Abraham, with Isaac and with Jacob. So God looked on the Israelites and was concerned about them. (italics added)

We will never properly understand the Exodus if we forget the connection to the patriarchs, which is foundational to the book’s message. The Exodus is about God’s keeping a promise he made to Abraham. What is about to transpire on Mount Sinai is not a new covenant, but the continuation and deepening of an existing covenant, the covenant God made with Israel’s ancestors long ago. Hence, the giving of the law does not represent the initiation of God’s relationship with his people but a heightening of that relationship.

This is similar to what we have seen in chapters 3 and 6 and the “revelation” of the divine name Yahweh. God was not adding a piece of information that the patriarchs did not have, but reminding Moses and the Israelites of the name that was used throughout the patriarchal period and that bound them to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. The clause “keep my covenant” is a call to Israel to remain faithful to the covenant initiated with Abraham—the covenant that will be given greater substance in the following chapters.

Note especially the three consequences of Israel’s obedience (vv. 5–6): Israel will be a treasured possession, a kingdom of priests, and a holy nation. This is the heart of the message Moses is to bring to the people. The long wait is over. God has finally spoken to his people. We should not underestimate the significance of these expressions.

(1) A “treasured possession” (Heb. s^egullah) can mean a number of things; here it means that Israel is royal property (cf. a similar use of the word in 1 Chron. 29:3).5 Moreover, they are God’s purely by virtue of his own will and desire. Note the phrase “the whole earth is mine” (Ex. 19:5); the Lord can do as he pleases, and it has pleased him to make Israel his treasured possession. They have done nothing to deserve it. They are simply his special possession; he has already shown this to be the case by bringing them out of Egypt and destroying their enemies.

(2) Israel is a “kingdom of priests.” This title appears nowhere else in the Old Testament and is therefore a bit difficult to pin down. What is also somewhat strange is that the priesthood in Israel has not been established yet, so what does God mean by designating his people in this way? To refer to Israel as a kingdom of priests does not imply that we should think of priesthood in the developed, cultic sense we see later (e.g., chs. 28–29). Yet we must remember that even though the Israelite priesthood proper was not inaugurated until after chapter 19, this is not to say that priesthood was a new idea for them. There is no record of Israel’s having performed a priestly role before 19:5, but they have had plenty of contact with other peoples with priests (e.g., Gen. 14:18; 41:45, 50; 46:20; 47:22, 26; Ex. 2:16; 3:1; 18:1).

Moreover, the patriarchs performed “priestly” duties when they sacrificed (e.g., Gen. 15:10–11). Israel, simply by living in the ancient world, knew very well what priests were and how they functioned. As we saw with the Sabbath law in chapter 16, the law promulgated on Sinai does not necessarily introduce a concept, but reinforces it or gives it a new definition. “Kingdom of priests,” therefore, is not an anachronism. Rather, it is a statement of the manner in which God will use Israel with respect to the rest of the nations.

(3) This is where the third phrase, “holy nation,” comes in. Both “kingdom of priests” and “holy nation” are to be taken together, if not as identical then at least as clearly supporting each other. As a kingdom of priests, Israel is set apart (which is what “holy” means) from the other nations. Israel is different, since she is a “treasured possession.” This is God’s peculiar people, and so they will be separate. But Israel is not separate in the sense of living in isolation from the other nations. As holy and priestly, Israel is the means by which God will, as his plan unfolds more and more, bring the nations to have knowledge of him.

By describing Israel as he does in verse 6, God is not just making a statement about Israel’s new inner character as a special and separate people. He is also making a statement about the international implications of Israel’s favored status. This is the significance of the Hebrew word for “nation”: goy, a term normally reserved for nations other than Israel. It is used, however, in Genesis 12:2 in the midst of God’s promise to Abraham to make him a “great nation.” The use of this same word here signals that this scene on the mountain is to be seen in conjunction with God’s promise to Abraham. It also highlights Israel’s role as a goy among the many other goyim (nations) of the world. Israel is a holy and priestly nation that God has chosen to work through to bring about his broad, far-reaching plan.

Moses descends the mountain for the first time and tells the elders (whom we first met in 3:16) what is required of them (19:7–8). Presumably he has some sort of private meeting with them, since this message is not announced generally to the people. The fact that the people as a whole respond in verse 8 indicates that the instructions to the elders are passed on in some form to the people. They respond with an unqualified “yes.” We will see, however, that much of Israel’s subsequent history falls far short of this enthusiastic and perhaps well-intentioned assent.

Moses goes back up the mountain and brings Israel’s answer to the Lord (v. 8b); their second conversation is recorded in verses 9–13. Verse 9 reiterates the issue of trust we have seen elsewhere in Exodus, notably with the manna, quail, and water incidents in chapters 16–17. In order to obviate any subsequent opposition to Moses, God will speak to Moses directly out of the cloud in the hearing of the people. The cloud, of course, is an image we have seen before (13:21–22; 14:19–20, 24; 16:10) and will see again at the climax of the covenant stipulations (24:15–18) and at the end of the book (40:34–38). It is a sign of God’s presence—an awe-inspiring, frightening presence. Israel will soon be privy to the private conversation Moses had with God in chapter 3. It is important to God that Israel learn to trust Moses, the mediator. He is the link between his own glory, which no one may gaze upon, and the people he has come to deliver.

Verses 10–13 relate another set of instructions: The Israelites are to prepare themselves to approach the mountain and meet their God. To do so, they must be consecrated by Moses. Just how he is to do this is not stated. Elsewhere in Exodus consecration pertains to an act of setting apart for special service to God (28:3, 38, 41; 29:1, 21). This fits well with the notion of Israel’s being a “holy nation” and “kingdom of priests” (19:6): They are set apart for God’s service. In fact, both the adjective “holy” and the verb “consecrate” are derived from the same root, qdš. But this only speaks to the purpose of the consecration, not the means by which it is to happen.

Perhaps 13:2 and 13 give some perspective here. There God instructed that the firstborn of Israel be consecrated or set apart (v. 2, qaddeš) by a sacrifice. Perhaps this is what is meant in 19:10, although the writer does not fill in this gap for us. One could equate consecration and washing of clothes (cf. 19:14), but such an explanation is inadequate. Consecration is something done to the Israelites by Moses, while washing the clothes is something they do themselves. Consecration is no doubt an important act, since it involves preparing the people to meet God. But it is precisely for this reason that the lack of specificity is so perplexing for modern readers.

Not only is the nature of the consecration ambiguous, but one also wonders why God requires them to wash their clothes. Once again, we can only speculate. Perhaps washing clothes is analogous to Moses’ removing his shoes in God’s presence in 3:5; they are to be in God’s holy presence. Or perhaps Houtman is correct in suggesting it is symbolic of personal uncleanness.6 But we should not feel the need to dig too deeply here. We have another gap in the story that makes what was no doubt clear for the ancient readers a bit of a mystery to us. Note too that as with other elements of the book, the washing of one’s clothes becomes commonplace later in the Pentateuch.7 Hence, this reference foreshadows a later, more explicitly spelled-out ceremonial duty.

While we do not know the meaning of washing the clothes, we do know that the Israelites cannot simply come as they are. They are about to do something that no other nation has ever done—to meet their heavenly King and listen to his voice. They are given two days to prepare themselves, and part of that preparation involved the outward act of washing their clothes. Perhaps this is a sign of respect.

But meeting God does not mean marching up to the top of the mountain as Moses does. To go up, they must wait for the blast of the ram’s horn (v. 13). Any premature advance, whether by man or animal, will result in death by stoning or being shot by arrows, lest the perpetrators themselves be touched by those carrying out the sentence! This is a serious matter. It is striking that these people, whom God loves and has compassion on, are guided to this holy place to meet their God, and yet upon their arrival are kept at arm’s length. It is like receiving an exclusive invitation to a Presidential dinner at the White House only to be kept waiting a few hours outside the gates on Pennsylvania Avenue. The fact that limits are placed around the mountain accents the holiness of God’s dwelling. You do not simply walk up to it in street clothes and chat with the occupant. The way is barred. You must prepare yourself first, and then you must wait until the occupant is willing to receive you.

This sanctity of the mountain is expressed in its tripartite division, which a number of commentators (going back at least to the Middle Ages) have compared to the tripartite structure of the tabernacle,8 hinted at more clearly in 24:1–2:

Then he said to Moses, “Come up to the LORD, you and Aaron, Nadab and Abihu, and seventy of the elders of Israel. You are to worship at a distance, but Moses alone is to approach the LORD; the others must not come near. And the people may not come up with him.”

According to this division, the top of the mountain, to which Moses alone has access, corresponds to the Most Holy Place. Aaron, Nadab, Abihu, and the seventy elders have access to the mountain but not its summit; this corresponds to the Holy Place. The rest of the people stay at the foot of the mountain, which corresponds to the outer court where the laity gather.

This is a helpful connection. Even if this tripartite division is not crystal clear, the fact that only some people have access to certain portions of the mountain certainly foreshadows the more highly structured divisions of the tabernacle, which dominate most of the second half of the book. It also highlights the fact that the tabernacle itself is an earthly reflection of God’s heavenly abode. In other words, the mountain does not mirror the tabernacle; the structure of the tabernacle is patterned after the mountain.

Moses comes back down the mountain and carries out God’s orders. He consecrates the people, and they wash their clothes. But Moses seems to add a command: They are to abstain from sexual relations (v. 15). This command was not given in verses 10–13, so why does Moses add it? Nowhere else in the Old Testament does God require such across-the-board abstinence. Only where deviant sexual behavior or cleanliness issues are concerned is sex disallowed (cf. Lev. 18 and 20). Hence, this command is unique and calls for some sort of explanation.

It is not a question whether such a command is improper in the abstract. Although a temporary prohibition against sex seems unprecedented, it may be that “three days of preparation and self-restraint allow time for sober reflection.”9 From this perspective, the sentiment to abstain from sexual relations certainly makes sense. But this is not the point. Why does Moses give this command if Yahweh did not speak it? Well, perhaps God did say it, but it wasn’t recorded. But this answer raises the question why it wasn’t recorded. Was it too obvious or too incidental? If the latter, why does Moses mention it later? And why would the writer allow such an obvious disjunction between verses 10–14 and verse 15? Perhaps Sarna is correct that the fact that it is not mentioned in verses 10–13 makes its inclusion in verse 15 all the more striking, so as to draw the reader’s attention to it. But then the question remains: Why do sexual relations need to be singled out? In the final analysis, an obvious explanation eludes us.

Having been consecrated, the people are now ready to meet God. But it is certainly not anything they may have expected. If we imagine the scene, particularly if you have ever been trapped outside in an open area during a strong thunderstorm, Israel’s reaction is understandable. Not only are they surrounded by thunder, lightning, and thick clouds (standard theophany language), but by a loud trumpet blast, too. At these they tremble. Israel, after a process that has taken several months, finally sees the author of her salvation and fears. If they go on to forget repeatedly God’s goodness to them in bringing them out of Egypt, they should at least have burned this terrible sight into their minds—but this, too, is soon forgotten.

This trumpet blast signals to the people to approach God (cf. v. 13), which they do, coming to the foot of the mountain (vv. 16–17). Now the mountain is covered with smoke, which we are told in verse 18 is caused by the Lord’s fiery presence. Again, one cannot but think of Exodus 3 and Moses’ initial encounter with God where he appeared to Moses in the burning bush. Israel is now participating in the experience of Moses, their mediator. In response to this, it is not just the people who tremble but the mountain itself. This is not an uncommon phenomenon used to describe God’s presence (see Ps. 18:7; 97:5; 104:32; 144:5).

To add to the drama, the trumpet keeps getting louder (Ex. 19:19). The climax of the scene comes when Moses and God converse, thus fulfilling what was promised in verse 9. Unfortunately, we are not told what they speak about. It is clear that verses 20–25 do not represent the content of this discussion, since it is further information Moses is to bring to the people. Apparently, all the people need to hear is that Moses and God do speak to each other.

Verses 20–25 pose a number of difficult questions that have occupied scholars for many centuries. Does verse 20 describe a second descent of God after the one mentioned in verse 18? This would be rather awkward. Rather, it seems that verse 20 merely repeats what happened in verse 18 to make it clear in what context Moses ascends the mountain. In other words, verse 20 is saying, as it were: “Now, the LORD descended to the top of the Mount Sinai (as you already know from v. 18), and it is here that he called Moses to the top in order to speak with him.” At the end of verse 19, Moses is still at the foot of the mountain with the rest of the Israelites. But now the descended God calls to him, and Moses goes up.

God’s command to Moses in verses 21–22 is difficult to understand fully in the context. After Moses goes up on the mountain, God tells him right away to go back down and tell the people to do something he has essentially already told them—to warn the people not to force their way through. But is this not the point of placing the limits around the mountain in verses 12–13? In fact, this is the meaning of Moses’ rejoinder in verse 23: “LORD, you just told us that!”

Nevertheless, there is a difference between the command of verses 12–13 and that of verses 21–22. In the former, the Israelites are to keep away until the trumpet sounds. In the latter, the trumpet has already sounded. Has not permission, therefore, been given to advance? If so, why the warning in verses 21–22 not to? If it were not for Moses’ rejoinder in verse 23, which unequivocally states that the two warnings are one and the same, I would be tempted to argue that verses 21–22 are additional commands aimed at keeping the people from forcing their way through after the trumpet has blown; but Moses’ response does not allow us this option. I am not sure how to put these two factors together.

What compounds the difficult nature of this passage is the reference to priests in verse 22. This is the first reference to Israelite priests in the Old Testament. Officially, the priesthood is not established until chapter 28. So, where do they come from? Do the Israelites have “priests” in a looser sense of the word before they are officially established? Some commentators reconcile this difficulty by suggesting that the elders or young men function as priests at this stage.10 We should not dismiss this too quickly, especially in light of 24:5 (which has young men sacrificing). Still, nowhere are these men called priests, the term used here. Perhaps this passage assumes the official priesthood of chapter 28 and following, but that would throw the entire scene at Mount Sinai into chronological disarray.

It is tempting to suggest that this overt reference to Israelite priests is another hint of what is to come, a device we have seen the writer use throughout Exodus. But such a solution suffers from one fatal flaw. When we take verses 23 and 24 together, clearly the people and the priests, who are both subject to the prohibition, are assumed to be at the foot of the mountain now. The scenario goes like this:

(1) Moses goes to the top of the mountain, leaving the people behind (vv. 12, 20). At this point there is no mention of priests.

(2) God first warns Moses not to let the people force their way through (v. 21).

(3) He then warns Moses that the priests must be consecrated before approaching him (v. 22). As we have seen in verse 10, the precise nature of this consecration is not made explicit, at least not until chapter 29.11

(4) Moses responds that the command to put limits around the mountain (cited in vv. 12–13) makes this most recent command superfluous (v. 23). Moses only refers here to people not being allowed to approach. This may suggest that Moses ignores the prohibition against the priests in verse 22 because they, unlike the people, are not yet present. They will only be present after the priesthood has been established later on. However. . . .

(5) Verse 24 seems to obviate this option. God tells Moses to go down and address the people and the priests. Hence, the reference to priests in verses 22 and 24 is not a foreshadowing, but is descriptive of something actually active at the time. There are priests at the foot of Mount Sinai in chapter 19.

I am as confused by this chapter as by any other in Exodus. I see only two possible solutions. Either priests of some sort exist before the official establishment of the priesthood, or portions of this chapter are chronologically displaced. I should add, however, that neither option should cause too much distress. For one thing—and this is so true of the book as a whole—although there is confusion for us in some areas, many elements come through loud and clear. We should not lose sight of the forest for the trees. If we look past the confusion, we will see that God repeats essentially the same warning three times (vv. 12–13, 21–22, 24).

Does God find it necessary or beneficial to do so? I think so. Humanly speaking, God has the “right” to be suspicious of Israel’s conduct. He has already seen how they react in times of stress (cf. the incidents at the Red Sea and with food and water shortages). He knows they are prone to rebellion. But the topic here is meeting God, and the penalty for misconduct is death. In this respect, the triple warning makes good sense. And whatever else we might say, what always fascinates me is that these types of things do not seem to bother the biblical writer. Obviously, this passage is not prepared to answer the types of questions we are posing here (even though it is the passage itself that, at least for us, raises these questions!).

One final element of this passage should be mentioned. Aaron is referred to specifically in verse 24 as being allowed to ascend the mountain with Moses. We have not seen such privileged status for Aaron since before Moses returned to Egypt from Midian. It was at Moses’ first encounter with God that Aaron was singled out for special service: he would be Moses’ mouthpiece (chs. 3–4). Moreover, the genealogy of 6:14–25 focused on Aaron, thus preparing the reader for the important role he would play. We now see another installment of this in 19:24: Aaron alone can accompany Moses. This also fits with the “tripartite” division of the mountain suggested above. Of the descendants of Levi only Aaron’s line may enter the Most Holy Place (see Lev. 16). Aaron’s ascent up the mountain with Moses prepares us for what is to come.

Verse 25 reports Moses’ third descent down the mountain. He again reports to the people what God has said. The Israelites have been reminded of what God has done for them, encouraged by their privileged status as his special people, exhorted to keep the covenant, and given a lesson in what it means to be in God’s holy presence. These things have prepared them to listen to the words of God, to hear the laws their holy God requires of them, which will further define them as servants of God, both now and for generations to come.

Bridging Contexts

“A CHOSEN PEOPLE, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God” (1 Peter 2:9). In God’s first official encounter with his redeemed people, he refers to them as a treasured possession, a kingdom of priests, and a holy nation. Although these terms are unique to this passage, the ideas they entail are not. God has chosen a people to be separate from the rest of the world, not just so that they can “belong” to him in some private sense, but in order that they be used by him for a special purpose. Exodus 19:5–6 is a crystallization of a pattern seen elsewhere in the Old Testament up to this point. It is also a pattern that will continue to come to fuller expression as Israel’s story, both in terms of its triumphs and failures, unfolds.

We have already seen briefly that Israel’s special status in 19:5–6 is not an innovation but continues God’s promise to Abraham. When God called Abraham (Gen. 12:1–3), he made it clear that the patriarch’s privilege extended beyond his own progeny to the nations as a whole: “and all peoples on earth will be blessed through you” (v. 3). This universal element in Abraham’s call does not come to the foreground through much of the subsequent narrative, where the emphasis is on Abraham’s offspring rather than on the nations. Still, it is only through Abraham’s seed that the blessings to the peoples will be realized. Hence, even though the problem of barrenness quickly becomes the dominant topic, this is not to say that the far-reaching goal of God announced in 12:3 is forgotten or takes a back seat. The seed is not merely for Abraham’s benefit, nor does Sarah’s barrenness merely afford an opportunity for God to perform a miracle. It is the process whereby God’s plan will be fulfilled.

We can push this back a step to include the story of Noah and the Flood. This is much more than simply a story of sin and punishment, although it is certainly that as well. It is also a story of eventual blessing to the world through Noah and his offspring. We see this in the covenant God makes with Noah, in which he promises never again to flood the earth and destroy its inhabitants (Gen. 9:1–17). This covenant is established with Noah and his descendants and with all living creatures. The benefits of this covenant will be felt for generations to come—not simply by Noah and his family, but by all creatures of the earth. Like Abraham, Noah was delivered from a situation not just for personal benefit but for the benefit of those who come after him. Everyone may see the rainbow and remember how they benefit from God’s mercy to Noah.

The role played by Abraham and Noah with respect to the world as a whole achieves a heightened state of clarity in Exodus 19:5–6. It is here, in earnest, on Mount Sinai, that the full implementation of God’s plan of world redemption begins to be seen. The annunciation of this ideal, however, is followed by repeated failure on the part of God’s people, his treasured possession, to feel the full weight of that high calling. As we so often see in the Old Testament, whereas God has created a people to be the means of reconciling the nations, by their disobedient conduct they become rather a byword and an object of ridicule by the nations. We see this as early as 32:25 in the golden calf incident: “Moses saw that the people were running wild and that Aaron had let them get out of control and so become a laughingstock to their enemies.”

Rather than redeeming the nations, Israel, by rejecting the God who saved her, becomes a laughingstock. As a result the nations will be less attracted to the true God than before. The same theme is represented in a number of Old Testament passages (e.g., 1 Kings 9:6–9; Ps. 44:13–14; Jer. 24:9; Ezek. 5:14–15; 14:8; 22:4; 23:10), all of which describe Israel’s disobedience to God, which leads to their reproach by the peoples of the world.

Israel’s obedience or disobedience to God’s covenant stipulations has implications beyond simply that of Israel’s relationship to God, that is, blessing or curse. It has ramifications for the outworking of God’s redemptive plan for the world. We see this even in the Exile, where Israel felt the full weight of the consequences of her disobedience. God promised to bring the remnant of Israel back to the land, which would renew his universal purpose in calling Israel:

It is too small a thing for you to be my servant

to restore the tribes of Jacob

and bring back those of Israel I have kept.

I will also make you a light for the Gentiles,

that you may bring my salvation to the ends of the earth. (Isa. 49:6, italics added)

Even during the darkest period in Israel’s history, when her own release from captivity posed the most pressing concern, God reminded his people of the broader implications of their release—to bring salvation to the ends of the earth.

The ideal of Exodus 19:5–6 comes to fruition in two senses in the New Testament: in terms of the person and work of Christ and in terms of the church. (1) As we have already seen in a number of places, Christ himself is the fulfillment of God’s intention for Israel (e.g., he is God’s Son, as was Israel in Ex. 4:22–23). He is also the fulfillment of 19:5–6. That is, Christ is God’s “treasured possession,” his “kingdom of priests,” and his “holy nation” in the sense that through him the universal call to the nations is finally and fully put into effect. Christ is “a light for revelation to the Gentiles” (Luke 2:32, borrowing language from Isa. 49:6; cf. also 42:6; 51:4). He fulfills this role for the very reason Israel did not: He is perfectly obedient to God.

In attempting to fulfill this role, Israel stumbled along for hundreds of years, never quite reaching the mark. With the death and resurrection of Christ, however, we begin to see how truly far-reaching God’s promise to Abraham was. Now, indeed, all nations will be blessed, but not through Abraham and his earthly offspring, but through the true Israel, the true Son of God in whom the promise to Abraham finds its final expression.

(2) The church is also a light to the Gentiles. In fact, it is precisely because Christ is the light that the church, by virtue of her union with the risen Christ, also fulfills this role. In Acts 13:47, Paul and Barnabas cite Isaiah 49:6 in the context of Jews’ jealousy at seeing so many Gentiles coming to hear them speak in the synagogue. They remind the Jews that this phenomenon, to which their hard hearts are so resistant, is nothing less than the culmination of God’s purpose announced in the Old Testament: “For this is what the Lord has commanded us: ‘I have made you a light for the Gentiles, that you may bring salvation to the ends of the earth.’”

The “us” referred to here is no doubt the apostles, the nucleus of the soon-to-be expanding church, in their role of spreading the gospel to the Gentiles. The apostles are to preach the gospel to the Gentiles so that the doors of the church may be opened to people other than Jews, something that the Jews of Pisidian Antioch find objectionable. But the word is to go to the Gentiles, in part because it was first rejected by the Jews (v. 46) but also because this has been God’s plan all along.

A New Testament passage that interacts more directly with Exodus 19:5–6 is 1 Peter 2:4–10 (esp. v. 9).12 This passage describes the blessing of the church as God’s chosen people, and it does so by alluding to a number of Old Testament passages that in their respective contexts are descriptive of Israel: Isaiah 8:14; 28:16; Psalm 118:22; Hosea 1:6, 9; 2:1, 23. First Peter 2:9 is a clear reference to Exodus 19:5–6: “But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.”

The point Peter is making here seems obvious. The blessed status assigned to Israel in the Old Testament is now the property of the church, the true and final Israel. The promise made to Abraham—that the nations will be blessed through him and his offspring—has been fulfilled in the final and unqualified inclusion of the Gentiles into God’s family.

Now, Peter’s emphasis in his use of Exodus 19:5–6 is not so much on the new Israel’s role of bringing blessing to the nations of the world. His emphasis, rather, is in distinguishing the church as a distinct, separate people in order to motivate them to live godly lives (1 Peter 2:11–12).13 But this is not to say that the evangelistic role of the church as a “holy nation” and a “kingdom of priests” is not in view. To the contrary, Peter stresses the evangelistic implications of such godly living: “Live such good lives among the pagans that, though they accuse you of doing wrong, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day he visits us” (v. 12, italics added).

The reason they are to live “as aliens and strangers in the world” (1 Peter 2:11) is so that the world might no longer be strangers to the gospel. In other words, in living lives that are “holy” to God, in the sense of being separate from the world (which is precisely the point at which the Israelites failed), the church fulfills its divinely appointed duty of being “light to the Gentiles.” The task is now given to the church as a whole and to individuals to be holy in order that others might also one day be redeemed.

“Prepare to meet your God, O Israel” (Amos 4:12). Our passage records Israel’s first encounter with God as a nation. True, they have seen God at work in bringing them out of Egypt, something they will need to be reminded of from time to time. They also know the ancient stories of how God dealt with the patriarchs. Still, it is here on Mount Sinai that the Israelites are formally “introduced” to their God. Judging by their reaction, they may have gotten more than they bargained for.

Approaching God is a serious matter. This is why it must be done only on God’s terms. Even the Israelites, whom God has just delivered from Egypt, whom God calls his “son,” cannot simply walk up to him as they please. There are certain rules and regulations that must be followed. In Exodus 19, these rules are essentially two: consecration and waiting for the trumpet. As we have seen, precisely what consecration involves is not clear, although it does pertain to some means whereby the Israelites are “set apart.” Presumably there is some ceremonial process whereby they are “changed” in order to be prepared to meet God. Moreover, part of this preparation includes the washing of clothes, another act that invites a number of explanations but without a definitive solution.

Rather than focusing on the precise nature of the consecration process, it is more profitable to point out that something has to occur before the Israelites can approach God. Israel is at the beginning of its existence as a nation before God. With the arrival at Mount Sinai, they are entering into a new stage of redemptive history, where God forms a nation to be used for a broader purpose. They are about to see God more clearly than others ever have. It is worth noting that neither Abraham nor Noah have a similar preparatory period. They are simply called by God because they are deemed somehow “worthy.”14 But now God’s people are on his holy mountain, where his Spirit dwells, the place that will form the basic blueprint for both the tabernacle and the temple. At this heightened stage in redemptive history, when Israel’s exalted role in the drama of redemption is being revealed more clearly, it is necessary for them to have a clearer glimpse of God. But such a clearer glimpse cannot be attained lightly.

Even Moses has a preparation period of sorts; he too must do something before he can approach God: remove his sandals (3:5). Such an understanding of Moses’ initial encounter with God fits well with what we have seen throughout the opening chapters of Exodus, that Moses’ experiences in Egypt and Midian parallel and foreshadow Israel’s experiences later in the book.

Another well-known biblical figure with a similar experience at a decisive juncture in redemptive history is Isaiah. In his vision of God, high and exalted on the throne (Isa. 6), the prophet does not see God “straight”—there is a strong element of imagery in the vision; it is a powerful and unsettling gaze into God seated on his throne. To put it another way, we are in the control room for the universe. Or to use an image more appropriate for the Old Testament, we are in the most inner holy place of the heavenly sanctuary. This is Isaiah’s Mount Sinai experience.

Isaiah does not receive this vision because of anything he has done. In fact, his fearful response in Isaiah 6:5 suggests the opposite, that he was worthy only of death. “‘Woe to me!’ I cried. ‘I am ruined! For I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, and my eyes have seen the King, the LORD Almighty.’”

The reason the prophet is given a vision of such gravity is because he must deliver a message of great gravity. His ministry will be far-reaching. His prophecies will bring him to the threshold of a number of events of profound redemptive significance. These include three crises involving the superpower of the day, Assyria.15 For our purposes, a fourth crisis is more important: the deportation of the southern kingdom by the Babylonians in the early sixth century B.C. and their return under the Persian ruler Cyrus in 538 B.C. The message Isaiah is to bring to the people is one of God’s wrath and punishment because of their sin, which will result in their exile into foreign land. But that does not mean that God is finished with his people. He will also bring a remnant out of Babylon with which to form a new beginning.

The parallels between Babylon and Egypt have been mentioned elsewhere in this commentary, and here we see another. With each successive unfolding of God’s redemptive plan comes a clearer vision of God. And that vision necessitates some process of consecration, or perhaps better, purification, on the part of the people. In Isaiah’s case, it is a fearful vision of God and the taking away of his sin by being touched on the lips by the live coal from the altar (Isa. 6:6–7). In Israel’s case at Mount Sinai, it is consecration and washing. With Moses, it was a burning bush and removal of his sandals.

Isaiah’s fearful response is also anticipated in Exodus 19. The cause for Israel’s fear, even panic, is, as in Isaiah, an unsettling glimpse of God. In Exodus 19, this glimpse is manifest in “thunder and lightning, with a thick cloud over the mountain, and a very loud trumpet blast” (v. 16). We have already discussed how cosmic disturbances are a standard manner of describing an appearance of God in the Old Testament.

An added element in Exodus 19 is the trumpet blast. Trumpet blasts are common in the Bible. They are used for various purposes: calling troops to battle (Josh. 6; 1 Sam. 13:3), signaling to break camp and set out on a journey (Num. 10:2–10), and worshiping (Lev. 23:24; 25:9; 1 Chron. 13:8; 15:24, 28; 16:6; Ezra 3:10). A heavenly trumpet blast such as we have in Exodus 19:16, however, can also be a sign that God is coming to his people. Perhaps the clearest example of this in the Old Testament beyond the present passage is Zechariah 9:14–15a:

Then the LORD will appear over them;

his arrow will flash like lightning.

The Sovereign LORD will sound the trumpet;

he will march in the storms of the south,

and the LORD Almighty will shield them.

The context of this passage concerns the coming of Zion’s king (vv. 9–13), a passage teeming with messianic allusions (see Matt. 21:5; John 12:15). It is with the appearance of this king that the sovereign Lord will sound the trumpet. The prophet, however dimly, catches a glimpse of a climactic redemptive event: The King is coming.

It is no surprise, therefore, that we read about a heavenly trumpet blast in several places of the New Testament where God comes to his people in a way he has not done before. The first reference is in Matthew 24:31, in Jesus’ Mount of Olives discourse. Regardless of whether his words here pertain to the end of the world or to some other “nonfinal” cataclysmic event (e.g., the fall of Jerusalem in A.D. 70), this event is an unequivocal act of God involving the Son of Man. Accompanying this event are various celestial signs (vv. 29–30) and a “loud trumpet call” (v. 31). The purpose of that call is apparently to announce the gathering of God’s “elect from the four winds, from one end of the heavens to the other.” Although the text does not draw this out further, presumably the elect are gathered for the purpose of meeting the “Son of Man coming on the clouds of the sky” (v. 30).

The well-known last trumpet of 1 Corinthians 15:52 is also relevant here,16 where Paul speaks of the raising of the dead at the blast of the last trumpet (see also 1 Thess. 4:16). The precise interpretation of this future event, in combination with several other New Testament passages, continues to be a matter of debate. Does it refer to the Second Coming and the end of the world17 or to a prior period when God’s people will be taken up to meet Christ in the air, which is to be followed by the (earthly?) reign of Christ and his church? I am only too happy to step around the intricacies of the debate in the church over eschatology. The point to be made here is that, as in Exodus 19, the meeting of God and his people is announced with a trumpet blast. We can go so far as to say that Exodus 19, as the first such example in all Scripture, is a “preview of coming attractions.”

One thing that is missing from the New Testament examples discussed above is the notion of fear. In the Old Testament, such a shocking revelation of God caused a great trembling on the part of the recipients. But this is not the case in the New Testament. The reasons for this are made clear in Hebrews 12:18–24:

You have not come to a mountain that can be touched and that is burning with fire; to darkness, gloom and storm; to a trumpet blast or to such a voice speaking words that those who heard it begged that no further word be spoken to them, because they could not bear what was commanded: “If even an animal touches the mountain, it must be stoned.” The sight was so terrifying that Moses said, “I am trembling with fear.”

But you have come to Mount Zion, to the heavenly Jerusalem, the city of the living God. You have come to thousands upon thousands of angels in joyful assembly, to the church of the firstborn, whose names are written in heaven. You have come to God, the judge of all men, to the spirits of righteous men made perfect, to Jesus the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.

We do not fear because we as Christians have arrived at another mountain, not Mount Sinai but Mount Zion, the heavenly Jerusalem. Not only this but we have come to angels and heavenly saints, to God himself and to his Son, Jesus, the mediator. We do not fear because we, even now, are given access to God in heaven—not on an earthly mountain, but on his heavenly throne. We, like Isaiah, see the Lord high and exalted on his throne, but a trembling fear does not come upon us. Why? Because, as Hebrews explains elsewhere in the book, Christ the mediator, by his once-for-all sacrifice (Heb. 7:27; 9:26; 10:10), intercedes for us (2:17; 4:14–16; 7:24–25). We, therefore, “have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place” (10:19).

The factor that makes the difference between the New Testament saint and the Old Testament saint is the work of Christ. This is not to say that we enter into his intimate presence casually, without reverence. But it does mean that, since the death and resurrection of Christ, we enter into that presence with a degree of joy, thanksgiving, and confidence, which were wholly lacking in Exodus 19 and Isaiah 6, for we know that we are without sin before God and have been reconciled to God through Christ. As Moses consecrated the people in Exodus 19 to prepare their approach to God, we are consecrated by virtue of our relationship to the risen Christ. The difference is that our present consecration fully prepares us for the awesome encounter, whereas Moses’ consecration did not. This is the disjunction between the two eras in redemptive history that the author of Hebrews so patiently explains.

Contemporary Significance

SALT OF THE earth, light of the world (Matt. 5:13–16). First Peter 2:4–12 is not interested in making an abstract connection between Israel and the church. The purpose of making the equation is for practical reasons. The church as the new Israel is to exhibit impeccable behavior, which is what Old Testament Israel essentially failed to do. But by fulfilling this God-given mandate to be holy, we not only designate ourselves as “different” from the world, but the world will now also take notice, thus being drawn to “glorify God on the day he visits us” (v. 12). The intention of God to reconcile the world to himself through a select and holy people, a plan first announced in Genesis 12:1–3 and more clearly in Exodus 19:5–6, and that has come to a climax in the death and resurrection of Christ, is something God is still working out. As instruments of God’s plan, we are to live holy lives before God and humanity. This is a just summary of the path that all Christians are to walk. Both elements are crucial.

(1) We are truly a chosen people, holy and regal. We are to be different from the world around us. This has always been true of God’s people. Israel had a number of specific regulations to obey, regulations that served the primary purpose of making sure they were fully cognizant of how separate they were from the world around them. These laws covered everything from having only Yahweh as their God (Ex. 20:3–6) to not cooking a young goat in its mother’s milk (23:19).

(2) Such separateness is also a mark of God’s people today. True, we are not subject to the same laws as Israel was, particularly since Christ came to fulfill the law (Matt. 5:17). But this is not to say that the church has no moral obligations, and 1 Peter 2:4–12 (along with the many hortatory passages of the New Testament, such as Matt. 5–7; Rom. 12–15; Eph. 4–6) is a reminder of that fact. Much of the New Testament, particularly the letters, is directly concerned with how believers ought to behave in light of the resurrection.

As a separate people belonging to God, we should never shy away from being mindful of the things we ought and ought not to do. I was once asked by a friend, who was not married, whether I thought it was OK for him to sleep with a woman with whom he was in a fairly serious relationship, likely leading to marriage. Of course, my answer was no, but as we discussed the matter more fully, his argument began to center around this line of thinking: “But if I am a Christian, won’t God forgive me anyway?” Such is not a new way of thinking. In fact, this is what Paul anticipated in Romans 6:1–2: “What shall we say, then? Shall we go on sinning so that grace may increase? By no means! We died to sin; how can we live in it any longer?”

One danger of the great gift of God’s grace is that, since he saved us while we were in our sin, sinning further should have no effect on us. There is truth in this statement. As Paul puts it in 5:10: “For if, when we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life!” Note, however, that this passage addresses the peace and joy that believers have, not only in the grace of God to save, but also in the grace that sustains every believer every day. Romans 6, by contrast, addresses a different issue, one raised in Paul’s mind on the basis of possible misunderstandings of Romans 5. Being saved by grace and being daily kept in God’s family by grace do not mean that sinning is of no consequence. In fact the opposite is true. Being saved by grace means we have died to sin and entered a new life (6:4) where sinning should be repulsive to us. This is why the New Testament does not shy away from giving us a healthy dose of commandments and moral directives.

There are many things that Christians should and should not do. Our behavior, not just the “belief system” we may adhere to, is, if not the most important, then at least the most visible means by which we distinguish ourselves from those who have not been raised with Christ and united with him (Rom. 6:5). We should never forget that what is required of us, precisely because we are saved by grace, is a high moral standard of thought and action that for many outside the kingdom of God is incomprehensible. We are neither saved by these actions nor do we “remain saved” by them. Rather, obedience to God reflects the fact that our citizenship is in heaven, that he is training us to transcend the present world even though we still occupy its space. It is what is expected of us, for God is forming us into creatures that this world cannot fully grasp.

But being separate from the world is never merely so for its own sake. It is never meant to be a display of otherness for no purpose. Rather, as we see in Exodus 19 and 1 Peter 2, we are to be wholly separate from the world precisely in order to better serve the world. We have been given the wonderful task of going back and invading the world from which we are taken in an effort to bring the good news of the resurrected life to those still dead in sin. To paraphrase Paul’s language, we died to sin in order to be effective witnesses to those still dead in sin.

Christian morality must always maintain this perspective. If not, it can turn into dead legalism. In my experience, this is a much greater danger for Christians than the opposite extreme (that our actions don’t matter). Our otherness as Christians certainly makes an absolute distinction between us and the world, but only as it defines our nature. We are different types of beings: one raised in union with the living Christ, the other not. But that absolute distinction does not extend to the ministry that God has called us all to. That ministry is, as Christ puts it in Matthew 5:13–16, one of being salt and light in the world:

You are the salt of the earth. But if the salt loses its saltiness, how can it be made salty again? It is no longer good for anything, except to be thrown out and trampled by men.

You are the light of the world. A city on a hill cannot be hidden. Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl. Instead they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and praise your Father in heaven.

God’s intent in raising Christ from the dead is not merely to get us into heaven, but to use us to raise others up from death. God has masterminded an “alien invasion” of the world. We who are in Christ are “from above.” Our citizenship is in heaven, since we have been raised with Christ. We are, therefore, ideally suited to set examples to the world of how life is to be lived.

We set such examples in a variety of ways. But it is certainly much more than “I don’t smoke, I don’t chew, I don’t go with girls who do.” The example we set is not by lauding our morality over others but by humbly being light and salt to world—that is, by demonstrating in no uncertain terms, by our words and our actions, that we are of a different pedigree, a holy race. It is, in a manner of speaking, the clearest proof of the existence of God—not a logical and scintillating exegetical argument, not forceful rhetoric, but pure, humble, godly lives lived in the shadow of the cross and in the brilliant glow of the resurrection. By living such lives we show the world that the gospel works. It is not just words or a great idea, it changes us from the inside out and makes us into creatures whose behavior is inexplicable.

As I write this, I recently attended a funeral in suburban Philadelphia for two young students from Westminster Seminary who were killed by a drunk driver. Don and Buddy were twenty-six years old, loved by hundreds (as the overflow crowd attested to), whose lives and families radiated the love of Christ in a way that is far too rare in our world. I have been to Christian funerals and to non-Christian funerals. There is no comparison between the two. The one is darkened by false hopes and hollow words, the other by the sobering reality that although something is terribly wrong in this world—death reminds us of this—God in Christ has defeated death, and we trust in his covenant promise to raise the dead on the final day.

If the gospel works at all, it must work here, when we stand as it were on the edge of the universe, looking out into complete darkness and hopelessness. If the gospel means anything, it must show it here—or nowhere at all. What I saw at the funeral, as I have seen before, is that the gospel does indeed work. What was almost stunning, however, was in how this was shown.

The young widows each stood in turn and addressed the church. They expressed their thankfulness to God, despite heavy hearts, for being faithful and not letting go of them. They spoke of their resolve that this tragic event was also, somehow, in God’s control and that he would remain their loving heavenly Father. They were not naive. They were as sober as any two people I have ever heard. They were not acting or putting on a false front. In fact, it is precisely in the midst of such sadness that you find out what people are really made of. Christ was not a crutch these two women leaned on to make everything all right. Rather, their union with Christ defined who they were at their very core, in any and every circumstance. And then, one by one, friends and family came to the open microphone and expressed both their sadness and their simple trust in God their Father.

This is an example of living godly lives. The young widows did not “hold up” well at the funeral. Rather, God held them up. In doing so they did not merely demonstrate for its own sake how different they were. Rather, this demonstration was “slam dunk” in the world’s face. By their behavior, they bore witness to the fact that God exists, that he must be wonderful indeed, that Christ marched through death’s door, that he pronounced victory, and that he has passed this on to those who are his own.

Those of us in the church that day felt the weight of the gospel. The local media took notice too. The major networks were all there. The wives were interviewed two days earlier. As one correspondent put it at the close of her segment, “These are very special women.” Yes, they are. True, they did not at that point understand why, though that process had begun. The wives, by their behavior, played a role of being a light to the nations.

This is admittedly an extreme example, but this is precisely why I have used it. We are called to be God’s holy people in any and every circumstance, both the big and the not-so-big. We are to behave correctly even in the day-to-day things that may not seem so important. Our mission to the world remains the same despite the circumstances. We befriend unpopular and outcast people. We come quickly and unselfishly to the help of people around us. We do not let ourselves become obsessed with the types of things others around us are obsessed with: success, money, power—in all their many forms. We are unafraid to be unrecognized or even humiliated when, by the world’s standards, we ought to assert ourselves more. Others take credit for your work, for example, but you keep quiet.

In acting this way, you are being holy and separate, and sooner or later someone, somewhere, in one way or another, will notice and perhaps admire you for it. They will then be forced to look in the face of God who has trained you to behave that way. How they respond to such behavior is not for you to determine. That is God’s doing. But you, as God’s servant, have done faithfully what is expected of you.

“We know what it is to fear the Lord” (2 Cor. 5:11). In Exodus 19 we read of the people’s fear in approaching God. The author of Hebrews, as we have seen, draws explicitly on this passage and concludes that the opposite is now true in light of the coming of Christ. I would like to discuss briefly this contrast.

As 2 Corinthians 5:11 shows, this contrast is not between the New Testament and the Old, but within the New Testament itself (see, e.g., 1 Peter 2:17). Both elements are true, and we should not elevate one over the other: We are to fear God and not fear him. How does this work? This is difficult to answer, and I cannot give “three easy steps to fearing God properly.” But both extremes are being played out in the lives of people I have known.

We all know people who seem to live with a constant threat of God’s retribution over them. It may be rarely articulated, but a dark cloud seems to follow them wherever they go. I myself see this cloud looming over the horizon of my life every now and then, and it is a battle to beat it back. There is in all of us, either deep down or at the surface, a tendency to think that we have to “do enough” to keep in God’s favor, a thought so contrary to the basic thrust of the gospel that one wonders why we cannot simply put it to rest once and for all. “I didn’t have my devotions today” or “I had them but not long enough.” “I haven’t witnessed to enough people this week.” “I missed church for no good reason.”

Let me stress again that I am not suggesting that behavior is irrelevant! The comments on the previous pages say the opposite. But fear of our right standing with God has been dealt with on the cross and in the empty tomb. In this sense, there is no fear on our part. To paraphrase Romans 5:10 cited above, “We didn’t do anything to get saved, so there is nothing we can do to keep us saved.” The Christian life is not one lived in fear.

Nevertheless, I see another extreme,18 both in others around me and in myself as well. This is the “God is your pal” approach to the Christian life: confidence without reverence. What prevents me from sounding pious in this regard is the fact that I understand this way of life only too well. Are we sometimes too casual in our approach to reading Scripture on a regular basis? Do we come to church without the awesome sense that we, as a collective people of God, are coming to worship the one who saved us from sin and death? We all do this, so I need not elaborate.

Exodus 19 is a clear reminder that the God we meet with regularly, by virtue of the intercessory work of the risen Christ and into whose presence we have confidence to come, is the Creator of everything. He is fearful, threatening, unsettling, all-powerful, all-knowing. He is, to use the well-known expression of the beaver in C. S. Lewis’s classic children’s book The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, not safe but good. He is both someone to be feared and the one who has traversed the universe to meet us where we are, in the form of a human being, born of a woman, who bore our sin in his own body and who loves us dearly. It is perhaps, in the end, a paradox well worth maintaining: We fear him because he is good; we see his goodness because we fear him.