Original Meaning
FOR EZEKIEL AMONG the exiles by the Kebar River, God’s word became sight. “The heavens were opened and I saw visions of God” (1:1). Ezekiel saw in his vision an astonishing revelation of God’s glory. Now there was nothing particularly new in a prophet seeing God’s glory. Isaiah had seen it in a vision of the Lord in the Jerusalem temple, high and exalted on the throne (Isa. 6). Moses himself, the archetypal prophet (Num. 12:6–8; Deut. 18:15, 18), saw God’s glory on Mount Sinai—a vision so glorious that it made his face shine (Ex. 33:18–23). God’s glory is the visible manifestation of his presence among his people. Thus, at the dedication of Solomon’s temple, the Lord demonstrated his approval of the building by filling the structure with his glory-cloud (1 Kings 8:10–11). What is new in Ezekiel, however, is the exact form that the manifestation of God’s glory takes, as a comparison with Isaiah’s vision makes clear.
Isaiah’s vision was stately and essentially static, as befits a vision in the temple, the symbol of God’s permanent resting place in the midst of his settled people.1 To be sure, there was sin to be atoned for, yet atonement was accomplished by a simple touch from the coals on the heavenly altar (Isa. 6:6–7). Though there was a message of judgment for the prophet to give to a stubborn people, a judgment that would continue until the cities lay ruined and the land deserted (6:11), there was no sense of that destruction reaching to Mount Zion and bringing down the temple itself.
Indeed, the events of Isaiah’s own lifetime seem to have contributed to the comfortable idea that no matter what else happened, Zion was secure. The Lion of Judah would roar from Zion (Amos 1:2), but he would not abandon it. Thus, when the Assyrian king Sennacherib swept across the ancient Near East like a flood in 701 B.C., even though he reached the gates of Jerusalem, God intervened to deliver his people by means of a dramatic plague (Isa. 36–37). Lamentations 4:12 sums up the theological conclusion drawn from these events: “The kings of the earth did not believe, nor did any of the world’s people, that enemies and foes could enter the gates of Jerusalem.”
In the context of this popular Zion theology, it is easy to see the difficulty that Ezekiel’s earlier contemporary Jeremiah faced. He was called to oppose the complacency of those who kept repeating, “The temple of the LORD, the temple of the LORD, the temple of the LORD” (Jer. 7:4). His prophecies of judgment against Jerusalem were interpreted as high treason because they struck at the heart of this belief (Jer. 26:11).2 The temple itself had become viewed as an amulet, a lucky charm to ward off evil. In response, Jeremiah simply pointed to the lessons of history. In the past, in the days of Samuel’s youth, Israel had placed the same kind of faith in the ark of the covenant, the symbol of God’s presence, instead of in the reality of God’s presence. The result had been the destruction of Shiloh and the “exile” of the ark (Jer. 7:12–15; cf. 1 Sam. 4, esp. v. 22, which reads lit., “Glory has gone into exile from Israel, for the ark of God has been captured”).
It was this same false perception of safety that Ezekiel’s vision challenged. Two kinds of imagery dominate the opening vision of Ezekiel: images of motion and images of judgment. In contrast to Isaiah’s static temple imagery, Ezekiel’s vision is filled with movement.3 Whereas Isaiah saw the Lord seated in the temple, Ezekiel’s vision opens with the Lord in the midst of a motion-filled “windstorm” (rûaḥ seʿārâ, Ezek. 1:4) in the land of the exiles. God is not dead or sleeping, nor is he restricted to the temple; on the contrary, he is living and active and on the move. The Lion of Judah is restless. In general, such a depiction of the Lord’s coming to intervene in the lives of his people would be a positive development. However, in this case God’s activity does not bode well for the temple or for Jerusalem. It is only a short step from Ezekiel 1, where the glory of God is in motion, to Ezekiel 10, where the glory abandons the temple, leaving it defenseless against the Babylonian invaders.4
Movement dominates Ezekiel’s description of the approach of a mighty windstorm. The windstorm itself is in motion, while the living creatures it contains not only have legs but wings as well. Torches are moving back and forth between the creatures (Ezek. 1:13), while alongside the creatures are various wheels, with each “wheel intersecting a wheel” (1:16).5 All of these wheels move together and stop together under the control of “the spirit of the living creatures” (rûaḥ haḥayyâ, 1:20). Everywhere the prophet looks, he sees bustling activity.
What is more, the activity has ominous import. Ezekiel’s vision, however bizarre it may seem to us, draws on a number of traditional ancient Near Eastern elements. The imagery of the Lord riding on the storm, surrounded by fire and lightning, was a common way of describing the coming of the divine warrior (see Ps. 18:9–14; Nah. 1:3). The wheels of Ezekiel’s vision represent a chariot, another typical aspect of the divine warrior image.6 Frequently, the image of God as a warrior was adopted by the prophets to speak of the Lord’s coming to deliver his people. In this instance, however, it is significant that the windstorm is coming “out of the north” (Ezek. 1:4), the traditional source of Judah’s foes.7 The divine warrior is here approaching to wage war against his own people, not to deliver them. The covenant-breaking people can find no comfort in the imminent personal arrival of their God.
The Lord’s throne-chariot is supported by living creatures, which are instantly recognizable as cherubim from their role as throne-bearers (cf. Ps. 18:10) and indeed are explicitly identified as such in Ezekiel 10:1. These extraordinary winged creatures have nothing to do with the rosy-cheeked, naked infants of popular mythology. They have four faces each—that of a man, a lion (the highest wild animal), an ox (the highest domestic animal), and an eagle (the highest bird)—symbolizing the fact that they embody within themselves all of the highest attributes of living creation.8 Thus they are appropriately called “living creatures.”
As well as being God’s throne-bearers, the cherubim are the guardians of God’s holiness, God’s heavenly bodyguard. The threatening nature of their presence comes from their role as enforcers of divine judgment. Thus, when the man and the woman were thrown out of the Garden of Eden, cherubim were appointed to bar the way back into God’s presence, preventing any intrusion of the profane into the realm of God’s holiness (Gen. 3:24).
In fact, in many respects the events of Genesis form the backdrop for Ezekiel’s vision. The mighty windstorm recalls not only creation, where the Spirit (rûaḥ) of God was hovering over the waters (Gen. 1:2), but also the Flood, where God sent a wind (rûaḥ) to dry up the floodwaters (8:1). The connection with these two pivotal events of protohistory is underlined as the chapter unfolds. We read about the living creatures (ḥayyôt; cf. Gen. 1:24, 28) and an awesome “expanse” (rāqîaʿ, Ezek. 1:25) over the cherubim, like that of Genesis 1:6. The aura of God’s radiance is compared to a rainbow in the clouds on a rainy day (Ezek. 1:28), which evokes Genesis 9:13–16.9 These references set the tone of Ezekiel as an account of creation-uncreation-recreation, similar to that of the early chapters of Genesis. They invite the first readers of the book to compare their own experience of exile with Adam and Eve’s banishment from the Garden of Eden and with Noah’s endurance of the Flood.
While the emphasis of Ezekiel 1 is almost exclusively on the gathering clouds that threaten rain, yet the mention of the rainbow (v. 28) allows the possibility of a ray of hope even in the midst of the gloom. That hope does not deny the possibility of judgment, any more than the rainbow denies the possibility of rain. Indeed, without the rain there could be no rainbow! What the rainbow asserts is the faithfulness of God even in the midst of overwhelming judgment. It is a sign of God’s self-commitment to his promise. God’s judgment must fall on his rebellious people, yet because of commitment to his covenant he will not wipe them out. In the darkness of exile, God’s covenant faithfulness, his ḥesed, was Israel’s only hope. Thus the writer of Lamentations, without in the least diminishing the nature of the calamity that had befallen his people, could say: “Because of the LORD’s great love (ḥasdê-yahweh) we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness” (Lam. 3:22–23).
But where can one flee from this impending judgment of God? The message of the vision is that flight is useless. The throne-chariot can proceed as easily to any of the four points of the compass, without even having to turn, symbolizing God’s omnipresence (Ezek. 1:12, 17). The wheels are covered with eyes, symbolizing the omniscience of God. As the prophet Jonah had earlier discovered, when God stirs the storm there is literally no place to run and nowhere to hide. In the face of such an awesome, ominous appearing of God, it is small wonder that Ezekiel fell on his face (1:28). The certain, unavoidable judgment of God is a terrifying spectacle to behold.
Bridging Contexts
CALL NARRATIVE. Ezekiel’s prophecy opens with a typical “call narrative,” outlining the details of his commissioning to be a prophet (Ezek. 1:1–3:15; cf., e.g., Jer. 1). The prophetic call narrative was an important part of every prophecy. On the one hand, it served to give legitimacy to the prophet’s words, for he spoke not on his own account but as an ambassador sent by the Great King, the Lord himself. In it, the prophet gave details of how he had been singled out for the prophetic office. On the other hand, the call narrative often introduced the themes that the prophecy would encompass in greater detail, just as the overture to a symphony introduces in brief form the musical motifs that will form the basis for the work to follow.
Thus, Ezekiel’s vision begins the process of communicating God’s judgment to Israel. Again, as with the introductory verses of Ezekiel’s prophecy, it is easy to get drowned in the details. It is possible to get caught up in the complexities of creatures with legs and faces and wings, of coals and torches and lightning, of wheels within wheels. Such overattention to details can easily lead to allegorical interpretation, in which meaning is read into the text rather than out from the text.10 Rather, we must see how Ezekiel’s vision of movement and impending divine judgment has a challenge for our day.
The challenge for our day. (1) God is not tied to the old ways of doing things. Just as Ezekiel’s contemporaries put their trust in the temple rather than in the God of the temple, so also in our day there are many who place their faith in the gifts of God rather than in the Giver. The complacency of such people, then and now, needs to be challenged. The true and living God is not a tame God. He cannot be comfortably manipulated into a box and made to do our bidding. If he were, he would hardly be worthy of following. God’s radical freedom to be God, bound only by his own self-revelation, means that his ways can never be reduced to a pat formula or a trite slogan. If his people abandon him, he may abandon them and fight against them. A lady reputedly asked Abraham Lincoln during the dark days of the Civil War if he was confident that God was on their side. “Madam,” he is said to have replied, “I am less concerned whether God is on our side than whether we are on his side.” No matter what our past history, we cannot assume God is on our side unless we are constantly and faithfully on his side.
(2) To those tempted to place their hope in fallible earthly institutions, a warning note of judgment needs to be sounded. God’s presence in the midst of his people is not always good news, for he is a holy God who will judge evil. He is still the divine warrior, who comes to establish justice without favoritism or partiality. That is bad news indeed to those who are counting on a comfortable continuance of the status quo. But, paradoxically, at the same time God’s coming in judgment is still viewed as good news in the Bible. He comes not merely to punish the wicked but to establish his kingdom, news that is good indeed to those whose hope is firmly placed in him. No matter how black the gathering clouds may be, those who trust in the Lord will live in the light of his covenant faithfulness.
This same note of the danger of impending judgment on the complacent is struck in the New Testament analogue of Ezekiel’s opening vision—that of the apostle John on Patmos (Rev. 1:10–20). The allusions to Ezekiel 1 in Revelation 1 include the terrifying images of blazing fire and glowing bronze, a human figure surrounded by radiance, and the noise of rushing waters.11 Like Ezekiel, John falls down at the feet of the glorious revelation of God (1:17). He is then commissioned with a message for the seven churches of Asia Minor, which combines judgment to come on the unrepentant with hope for those who persevere.
God is not merely a distant observer of our struggle, for he walks in the midst of the seven lampstands (Rev. 2:1). What is more, he is no respecter of tradition when it becomes merely the dead heritage of the past. He will remove the lampstand from the midst of those who have forsaken their first love. Only living and active faith will overcome all the trials that face people and enter into life (see Rev. 2:5–7). But those who are seeking to serve the Lord in the midst of many trials can take comfort from the powerful presence of the Lord in their midst. God knows their deeds (2:2; 3:1, 8, 15), their hard work and perseverance (2:2, 19), their afflictions and poverty, the slanders ranged against them (2:9), and the unique problems of where they live (2:13). Nothing escapes his observation—and now he is ready to act!
Contemporary Significance
THE REALITY OF JUDGMENT. The message of judgment is indeed never popular to proclaim. Some contemporary churches have completely removed any mention of sin and its consequences from their messages, on the grounds that it turns people away. One pastor recently described the goal of his church’s “seeker services” in the following terms: “In a non-threatening atmosphere, the ‘seekers’ share a delightful, thought-provoking hour in which they are introduced to the person of Jesus Christ.”12 It is doubtful that Ezekiel would have described his encounter with the living God as “a delightful, thought-provoking hour”; the reality of God’s presence created, on the contrary, a threatening atmosphere. It is never comfortable for sinners to stand in the presence of an angry God. But in exile, when all that has meaning and value is torn away, people do not seek entertainment but reality; what they require is not so much to have their thoughts provoked as to have their hard questions answered. Perhaps this is one reason why we find the book of Ezekiel so hard to grasp today in our Western culture, with our delusions of adequacy. We are more used to reading the Bible as a kind of self-help manual, which provides ten top tips for cultivating the roses in our spiritual garden.
But the world through which we walk is not a safe place. It is a wilderness walk, in which every turn of the road brings into view new challenges and dangers. It is a world where things break down and fall apart, even for the best of people. It is a world marred by sin—your own sins and the sins of others. Without a recognition of sin and the curse that lies on our world because of sin (Gen. 3:16–19), the brokenness of life does not make any sense. You are left with the dilemma that either God is good but not powerful enough to avert life’s disasters, or that God is not good. The Bible shows us a third possibility: God is both good and all-powerful, but because of human sin the world is under God’s curse.
That does not mean that all bad things happen because of our individual sins. Jesus rejected that solution in John 9:3 when he asserted of the man born blind, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned . . . but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life.” But it does mean that we have to reckon with a God who is just and holy as well as loving and compassionate, who judges in wrath as well as graciously forgives.
This is the God with whom Israel has to deal, and his character has not changed over the intervening centuries. God continues to act in judgment on sin as well as to bring justice to the oppressed, even though only in a partial way in our present era. But into the situation of pain and anguish, of dislocation and alienation, even as it is revealed to be (in this case) the direct judgment of God’s wrath, comes the trumpet sound of Ezekiel’s prophecy: You are not alone. Surrounded by clouds that will bring a deluge on God’s rebellious people, the rainbow still shines. God continues to reveal himself to his people in the exile that they merited for themselves. Indeed, in the situations of pain and anguish, the sound of his voice is often most clearly heard. We will not always like what he has to say, of course. His Word confronts us with our sin as well as comforts us with his grace. But the truly astonishing thing is that in spite of our sin, he still speaks to us and through us. There is no other word for that but grace.
The challenge to the church. But God’s challenging Word comes not only to individuals but also to societies. The cities of Europe are filled with the great cathedrals and churches of past centuries, many of which are now empty. Some have been turned into mosques, others into restaurants or carpet showrooms, the symbols of a post-Christian society. Invariably, the way to such a post-Christian society lies through a contentment with the externals of religion, a society in which it is enough to have the form of godliness, while denying its power (2 Tim. 3:5). The church in Ephesus was warned that it had lost its first love and unless there was repentance, the church itself would cease to exist (Rev. 2:5). Coldness, if left untouched, leads to hardness and then deadness.
Yet this perilous condition may be present even while the externals are all in place; orthodox theology and activism in good works may continue long after love has grown cold (Rev. 2:2–4). Within a generation a similar fate could easily befall the churches of our cities. Only constant repentance and ever-renewed trust in the living God ensures continued life and usefulness for a church. We should therefore pray continually for the Spirit’s life-giving power to be at work within our churches, lest our churches likewise become mere monuments to God’s powerful work in the past.
There is no magic formula for measuring and maintaining the life of a church. The classic “marks of the church” formulated by the Reformers—the pure preaching of the Word and right celebration of the sacraments—certainly focus our attention on important issues, but they are both too broad and too narrow. They are too narrow insofar as they would refuse the name “church” to many gatherings of our true brothers and sisters in Christ. After all, those who practice paedo-baptism and those who practice adult baptism cannot both be celebrating the sacrament rightly, yet there are many bodies of true believers on both sides of the argument. And these marks are too broad since they dignify with the term church some institutions that may have a form of external orthodoxy, yet lack genuine life. Love of doctrine is not enough, not even the love of true doctrine.
The one clear mark of true discipleship that the Lord himself instituted is love for one another (John 13:35). This trait, though perhaps hard to define quantitatively, yet is surely possible to recognize when experienced. It is the external evidence of the internal reality of eternal life, or, to put it another way, it is the primary fruit of remaining in living connection with Jesus (15:9–17). Of course, where that living connection is present, the other aspects of the fruit of the Spirit’s work in our hearts will not be lacking either (Gal. 5:22–26).
It is not merely a challenge to the complacent to remember that God is not tied to the past. It is good news for his people. God is living and active and constantly doing new things. Should the existing structures of the church grow moribund and useless, he can and does raise up for himself new organizations and denominations to achieve his purposes. The coldness and deadness of the eighteenth-century Church of England may have seemed unpromising soil for a potent movement of God’s Spirit, yet God caused George Whitefield and John Wesley to spring out of it as powerful witnesses to the truth of his Word. The encouragement and challenge to our contemporary churches is that the living God will achieve his purposes—with or without us!
Given that truth, Christians need to adopt a balance between progressivism and traditionalism. On the one hand, not everything that is new is of God. Christians need to be discerning in their evaluation of movements and trends within the church, measuring all things against the yardstick of the Scriptures. On the other hand, neither is everything new automatically suspect. Our understanding of the Scriptures and how they are to be applied to our present times is constantly growing as new challenges drive us back to reread old passages and reevaluate the traditions we have received from our forefathers in the faith.
Like Abraham Lincoln, we need to be constantly posing ourselves the question in every situation, “Am I on the Lord’s side?” As we do so, may the Spirit convict us of our sins and point us afresh to Christ, the divine warrior who bore the full weight of God’s wrath for us, so that we may experience the full light of his presence without being consumed.