Original Meaning
Introduction to the Passage and a Description of the Tabernacle (9:1–5)
HAVING
ARGUED
FOR the superiority of the new covenant in 8:7–13, the writer now presents a brief description of the sacrificial worship as executed under the first covenant. Most of the ten New Testament uses of the word translated “regulations” (dikaioma) refer to a “legal statute,” “commandment,” or “requirement,”2 as is the case in 9:1.3 The author of Hebrews has in view requirements “for worship,” specifically the Mosaic commands concerning how priestly ministry was to be conducted. His introduction also mentions the structure in which this ministry was performed, the “earthly sanctuary.” “Earthly” keeps the contrast between the old covenant tabernacle and the “heavenly” place of Christ’s sacrifice in the foreground. These two themes, the requirements of priestly ministry and the structure for the performance of that ministry, are now explained in inverse order.4
In describing the old covenant worship structure, the author spotlights the tabernacle of Exodus5 rather than the temple of his own era, thus keeping with his characteristic practice of drawing his material from the Scriptures. The description found in 9:2–5 moves from the outer room of the worship tent to the inner. In the first room, called the “Holy Place” (Hagia), “the lampstand” and “the table” on which the priests placed the “consecrated bread” could be found. The lampstand was made of pure gold, having six flowered branches extending from its sides, three to a side. Seven lamps also were made to sit on the stand, and the stand was placed on the south side of the Holy Place (Ex. 25:31–40; 26:35). The table, made of acacia wood and overlaid with gold, held the Bread of the Presence (25:23–30). This piece of furniture was situated on the north side of the outer room (26:35).
The “second curtain” (9:3) separated the outer room of the sanctuary from the room the author calls the “Holies of Holies” (lit. trans. of Hagia Hagion), an emphatic superlative the NIV
translates appropriately as “the Most Holy Place.”6 Verses 4–5 then present us with two elements peripheral to the author’s main point, but somewhat problematic nonetheless. (1) The golden altar of incense was located in the inner room of the sanctuary with the ark of the covenant. However, both in the Pentateuch and in the ancient history of interpretation the exact location of this altar is ambiguous.7 Westcott makes the important observation that the altar of incense is closely associated with the ark in numerous Old Testament passages, the former providing a means of approach to the latter.8 In any case, the author of Hebrews clearly follows a tradition emphasizing the placement of the altar within the Most Holy Place.
(2) The ark of the covenant, a chest made of acacia wood and overlaid with gold (Ex. 25:10–16), was the most important element of the tabernacle, for above its cover, between the cherubim, God met with Moses (25:22). In all ancient literature, Hebrews alone says that in addition to the stone tablets, the jar of manna and Aaron’s staff were placed in the chest. The Old Testament suggests these objects were located in the Most Holy Place in front of the ark (e.g., 16:32–34; Num. 17:10–11). Hebrews may follow a strand of rabbinic tradition that presupposed that elements were later placed inside the ark, along with the tablets.9
The author ends his description of the tabernacle tersely with the statement, “But we cannot discuss these things in detail now,” indicating a reticence to get sidetracked on matters outside his current focus. Rather, he wishes to move to the more significant issue of how this structure provided a context for the priests’ ministry.
Bridging Contexts
WE
HAVE
AS our task in this commentary to bring the ancient text’s original meaning over to contemporary significance by “bridging” the two contexts. Yet, the passage before us deals with an institution the author considers passé. So one might reasonably ask, “How do you apply a text that describes something as no longer applicable for a Christian?” Let me answer the question from two vantage points, the first having to do with the use of basic guidelines for interpretation and the second with how to draw truths from the text, even though the institution described in the text may not be directly applicable to the modern reader.
Discerning the meaning and purpose of the text. Let us again recall a basic goal of biblical interpretation: to grasp the author’s purpose for the text in light of the text’s meaning. Hebrews 9:1–10 fits into a larger homiletic complex being developed by the author. He wants this unit to function purposefully in paving the way for exposition and application later in the book. With his description of the old covenant worship, he sets up an effective contrast of themes, describing the old covenant system of worship in order that it might highlight, by contrast, the new method of approaching God established by the work of Christ. In order for us to grasp this contrast, we must first understand the old covenant system.
One problem for our interpretation and, therefore, our application of this passage concerns the ambiguity of several terms and phrases. For example, in 9:8 the author writes, “the way into the Most Holy Place had not yet been disclosed as long as the first tabernacle [prote skene] was still standing” (lit., “is having existence”). As noted above, the NIV
’s translation should be rejected as faulty at this point. Our interpretation of the phrase as “first room” pinpoints the Holy Place as the barrier of separation with which the author is concerned.
Moreover, the phrase “the present time” in verse 9 is also beset with ambiguity and has led to interpretations unprofitable for the author’s designed purpose for this text. The phrase does not refer to the author’s own day, for he understands himself and his community to participate in the new covenant era, the time of the Messiah. Rather, “the present time” refers to the time of the old covenant system. Thus the outer room of the tabernacle represents that era. The new era of Christ focuses in the inner room, the place of the presence of God.
Another guideline as we deal with the author’s description of Old Testament tabernacle and worship concerns the distinction between descriptive details and primary concerns. We already have pointed out that three main themes occupy the reader’s attention from this point in Hebrews all the way to 10:18: the place of Christ’s offering was in heaven rather than on earth, the blood of the offering was Christ’s own blood rather than that of animals, and Christ’s offering was eternal, having been made once for all. These three themes may be noted as we read 9:1–10 in light of the discussion that follows.
In the author’s own interpretation of the old covenant tabernacle’s significance (9:8–10), he demonstrates its inability to win a person access to God. This “access” motif encapsulates all three main themes of the section. Jesus entered the presence of God in heaven to win our access, his blood provided a superior basis for that access by cleansing us from sin, and his offering was “once for all,” access being indefinitely opened to us in the future.
However, in 9:1–10 the author gives us more than just these three main points. We are told of the lampstand, the table, and the altar of incense. In seeking to apply this passage we must understand these elements as “trappings” or “context” for the main issues the writer wishes to address. A creative preacher might be tempted to delve into allegorical significance of each of these items in the process of elaborating these verses. For example, one might claim that the light of God’s lamp represents truth and the table represents God’s provision. Although colorful, such elaboration strays from the author’s own purposes for this text. He himself saw no need to give further attention to such details (v. 5).
Gleaning truths from the text. A second general approach to applying a passage on Old Testament information involves asking what the text indicates about God, his nature, and his relationship with people. If God acts consistently in accordance with his nature, then his interaction with the old covenant worshipers reveals theological truth, even though the particular system of old covenant worship is no longer applicable to us.
We see at least three primary truths in this text, all having to do with the nature and activity of God. (1) God desires people to approach him. The old covenant system of worship may seem formal and rigid. It certainly would not be deemed a “cutting-edge” model of worship for contemporary culture! But look beyond the ritualistic orientation of that system to its significance. The path of the priests from the outer court to the inner sanctuary paints a picture of movement toward God. The regulations provided a means of drawing near. In the Old Testament language of holiness and punishments we can miss the main point—God was at work, working out means for his people to live in intimacy with him. Therefore, our application can reflect on God’s desire for intimacy with us, his creatures.
(2) God is particular about how people approach him. Not only does God desire that people approach him, but the Old Testament regulations for worship suggest that God has in mind specific requirements for our drawing near. Unless we conceive of God as a petty deity who hands out regulations on a whim, we must ask, “Why such detail?” In the Pentateuch the commands concerning all aspects of Israel’s life, including its acts of worship, strike the reader both for their comprehensive scope and for their minute parts. In moving to application, therefore, we should ask ourselves concerning the implications of this insight for contemporary worship of God. Are there universals presupposed in the picture of worship we find in Hebrews 9:1–10? If so, what are they? This leads us to a third principle.
(3) In addition to the presence of God, treated in (1) above, the details of worship surrounding the priestly ministry of the tabernacle focus on the holiness of God and the sinfulness of people. The Bible reveals two basic aspects of God’s holiness. (a) The holiness of God means that God is unique.14 For example, Exodus 15:11 (part of Moses’ song of victory following the Red Sea crossing) states, “Who among the gods is like you, O LORD? Who is like you—majestic in holiness, awesome in glory, working wonders?” The Hebrew word for “holy” basically means to be “marked off, withdrawn from common and ordinary use.” Thus the tabernacle celebrates the otherness or uniqueness of God by having him separated from the common person.
(b) The other aspect of God’s holiness has to do with his moral purity and goodness. His character is completely untainted by evil, since he, as holy, can do no wrong. Habakkuk 1:13 says of God, “Your eyes are too pure to look on evil; you cannot tolerate wrong.” As his people, moreover, we are called to excellence of moral character: “I am the LORD your God; consecrate yourselves and be holy, because I am holy” (Lev. 11:44).15 This command to holiness may seem unrealistic from the perspective of an “I’m only human” theology, but as C. S. Lewis notes in Mere Christianity, Jesus’ appropriation of this passage in his teaching (Matt. 5:48) was intended as a concrete moral directive, not a religious, pipe-dream:
He never talked vague, idealistic gas. When He said, “Be perfect,” He meant it. He meant that we must go in for the full treatment. It is hard; but the sort of compromise we are all hankering after is harder—in fact, it is impossible. It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg. We are like eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad.16
Thus, for humans generally, our sinfulness, which fights against holiness, constitutes a problem in our relationship with God, and it is a problem that must be grappled with under the new covenant as well as the old.
In biblical revelation the holiness of God and the sinfulness of people are universal truths. Neither has God changed nor have people been able to throw off their sinfulness. Thus, as we seek to apply 9:1–10, we should give attention to these themes as relevant for contemporary Christian living. How do we respond to a God who witnesses that he is holy and that we should be holy? For that matter, how do we think about holiness or sin? How do these concepts relate to our contemporary worship of God?
Contemporary Significance
THE
PARENTAL
BURDEN
of God. Reflecting on “the burden of God” as our creator, author Calvin Miller presents a delightful, allegorical retelling of the old Italian tale Pinocchio, which he entitles “Penteuchio.” In Miller’s story, Japheth ben Levi, a rabbi in sixteenth-century Germany, cries out to God for a son. “God,” the old rabbi says, “is it right that you should have made yourself a whole world of children and that my wife, Esther, and I should be condemned to live alone? Your children are as the sands of the sea, but we have no inheritance at all. Furthermore, your family is not well behaved.… If you give us a son, I promise you that my boy will turn out no worse than some of yours have.” God reminds the old man that he had also created an ungrateful rabbi or two and that rabbis should not sass God.
In the end God grants Japheth’s request and instructs him to carve a marionette out of a table leg; but he warns the man, “When you create children, you put your whole reputation on the line. Make ugly children and you’re sure to take a lot of heat.” As Japheth carves Penteuchio, the wooden boy’s eyes snap open and he begins to talk; but his response to Japheth is far from what the old rabbi desires. From the first, even before he has hands or feet, the marionette acts so rebelliously that his maker stuffs a sock in his mouth and puts him in the corner. God, with a gentle smile, laughs at Japheth’s frustration and asks, “How can your little boy have so many socks and no feet as yet?”
The rabbi continues to carve and quotes the Pentateuch to his would-be boy—and he grows to love Penteuchio deeply. Upon finishing the marionette, the wooden lad wreaks such havoc on his maker that Japheth gags him, ties him up completely, and places him under a huge stone in a chest. The rabbi weeps, longing to set his wooden son free. Finally, the boy promises to act honorably if liberated. Briefly, after being released, Penteuchio calls Japheth “Father,” wrapping his small arms around the man’s neck. They dance together around the room. Then suddenly the marionette grabs a burning log from the fireplace, throws it into the kindling box, and dashes off into the night. For the rest of his life, the wizened, old rabbi talks to God about the burden of making children and setting them free. It seems some would rather run into the night than live in harmony with their maker.17
The picture of God we get from the tabernacle commands described in Hebrews 9:1–10 may strike us as rather flat—he is the commanding God of ritualistic detail. But a more accurate reading of the forms and formalities of priestly worship shows us the love of a Creator whose children have run into the night and cannot find their way home on their own. The tabernacle worship centers around, and calls us to, movement toward God, a movement in which we celebrate his presence, living in awe of his majestic holiness. Since God placed the tabernacle at the center of Israel’s existence, his presence in the midst of his people would seem to be at the center of God’s plan.
Moreover, mortal movement to the inner chambers comes by God’s design, not by ours. The Israelites were in Egyptian captivity, their request amounting to a loud, “Let us out of here!” They were seeking to get out and would never have thought of “moving into the Presence,” fearing as they did the closeness of God. No, the passage of the high priest, as the representative of the people, into the Most Holy Place was God’s idea, not ours. We should celebrate this desire for intimacy on God’s part. What if he had been satisfied to let us wander in the night, never knowing that path into the tabernacle, never knowing our way home?
Furthermore, God does not leave us to make a way into his presence. He gives specific instructions, for he is holy and we are sinful. There can be no digging a tunnel underneath the walls of the Most Holy Place, no barging in to demand our right to see God, no philosophizing about the “social constructs of religious knowledge,” or no musings on “pluralism in modern religious thought” that can win us entrance. This was God’s idea; it’s his tent and he makes the rules. We must come in by the path of a high priest or not come in at all.
Holiness and wholeness. The term holiness has several uses in contemporary culture, few of them positive in the minds of the general populous. The image of a distant god, untouchable by real human concerns and frailties, or a “holier-than-thou” person who reeks with judgmental attitudes both are too common. Also, “Holiness” is used as a title in a Catholic context, as in “His Holiness.” Yet when we speak of a person as being holy, the connotations normally have to do with a committed abstinence from most of what people call necessities—food, sex, drink, fun. Further, holiness may be seen as having to do with repetitive religious practices that seemingly are irrelevant for the fast pace of contemporary life. Some moderns would look at a passage like Hebrews 9:1–10 and yawn at the sheer monotony.
Yet monotony may be a sign of vibrant, pulsating existence that revels in a place, time, and practice of what is right and beautiful.
A child kicks its legs rhythmically through excess, not absence, of life. Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again,” and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough.… It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again,” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again,” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike: it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.18
The turn of the seasons, the beating of a heart, the revolutions of the earth, the year-to-year march through the decades of a committed marriage—all are signs of life that can never be labeled “dull.” God seems to like rhythms, and we must join him in the rhythm of holiness: drawing near, living in a “monotonous” submission to his will. Jesus reflected perfectly this type of holiness, a wholeness of life centered on the perfect and beautiful will of God.
From Jesus we see that holiness does not mean placidity or suppression of emotions. For example, Scott Peck notes that Jesus was constantly frustrated.19 We can add that he also became angry, wept, and jumped up and down with excitement. In a new covenant context, holiness must not mean a separation from sinners. That was the Pharisees’ program, not Jesus’.20 Holiness does not mean a denial of all that is earthly, walking with one’s head “in the clouds.” Jesus was earthy. He spoke of practical aspects of everyday life. His hands were certainly callused and, at times, dirty. If the Incarnation had happened in our century rather than the first, perhaps he would be more comfortable wearing blue jeans than stained glass.
Yet when we look at Jesus, we see that holiness does mean a wholeness involving separation from sin and submission to the will of the Father.
Genuine holiness is genuine Christ-likeness, and genuine Christ-likeness is genuine humanness—the only genuine humanness there is. Love in the service of God and others, humility and meekness under the divine hand, integrity of behavior expressing integration of character, wisdom with faithfulness, boldness with prayerfulness, sorrow at people’s sins, joy at the Father’s goodness, and single-mindedness in seeking to please the Father morning, noon, and night, were all qualities seen in Christ, the perfect man.21
Of course, it is these twin issues of sin and submission that pose difficulty. We like neither to admit the former nor to perform the latter. We would rather reconfigure our sins and our lack of submission as weaknesses (“I am not very good at that”), mistakes (“I didn’t mean to do that”), social outcomes (“Because of my background I really cannot help that”), relational difficulties (“It really is her fault, you know”), or nonissues (“Sin? What sin?”). We would like for God, the Bible, and preachers to get up-to-date and call sin by some other name.
But our nature does not change—and our needs do not change—with such mind games. Our consciences still are not cleansed, and God does not change his requirements for holiness. “Much of our difficulty,” writes A. W. Tozer, “stems from our unwillingness to take God as He is and adjust our lives accordingly. We insist upon trying to modify Him and bring Him nearer to our own image.”22 If we have gotten comfortable with sin, why can’t he? What a tragedy that would be! For God can bring wonder and wholeness to our lives only if the sight-skewing, humanity-sapping power of sin is broken.
It is when we face ourselves and face Christ, that we are lost in wonder, love and praise. We need to rediscover the almost lost discipline of self-examination; and then a re-awakened sense of sin will beget a re-awakened sense of wonder.
Perhaps then God will no longer have to say, “Is it nothing to you, all you who pass by?”23
God does not want people who pass by but those who enter. There, in the true Holy Place, we will find the living Presence; we will find true wholeness; we will find true beauty and rightness, the true humanity for which we have longed all our lives; we will find God.
Original Meaning
Regulations for Worship (9:6–10)
CORRESPONDING
TO
HIS structural discussion, which relates in order the set-up of the “first” and “second” rooms of the tabernacle, the author now explains briefly the ministry performed in each part. He again begins with the outer or first room and shows this to be the domain of the priests, who entered this chamber for their service. In context, the little phrase dia pantos, rendered by the NIV
as “regularly,” probably refers to the priests’ ongoing duty of either changing the Bread of the Presence (Lev. 24:8) or the lighting of the lamps on the lampstand (Ex. 27:20–21).10 The emphasis here, however, rests on the daily performance of their service rather than what that service entailed, and on the location of that ministry in the Holy Place.
In contrast to the daily ministry of the priests in the first room of the sanctuary, the high priest was the only ministrant to enter the Most Holy Place, doing so only once a year on the Day of Atonement. This important sacrifice involved the offering of a bull’s blood for his own sins and the sins of his household, and the blood of a goat for the sins of the people. In both cases the blood was sprinkled on the ark cover and in front of it (Lev. 16:6–17). Especially relevant to the larger discussion of Hebrews, this atonement offering was for the cleansing of the Most Holy Place because of the “uncleanness and rebellion of the Israelites” (16:16). Here for the first time the author mentions “blood” in a cultic context. In the material that follows, he repeatedly draws attention to sacrificial blood as imperative for drawing near to God.11
The writer now turns to a lesson that the Holy Spirit wishes to teach through these old covenant regulations (v. 8): During the old covenant era there existed no means of entrance into the presence of God. That way had not been disclosed “as long as the first tabernacle was still standing.” Up to this point in the chapter the word protos (“first”) and the phrase prote skene (“first tent”) have been used with reference to the outer room of the tabernacle (the Holy Place), where the priests performed their ministry (9:2, 6). This should also be the interpretation of the phrase translated by the NIV
as “first tabernacle” in verse 8. The Holy Place portrays a barrier space separating the people of God from the presence of God.
Verse 9 begins with a relative clause (lit., “which is an illustration for the present time”), the antecedent of which has been debated much. Does the “illustration for the present time” refer to the entire old system of worship or to the front room of the tabernacle just mentioned at the end of verse 8? The latter interpretation offers a more consistent reading of the passage. The “present time” mentioned in verse 9 does not mean the time present to our author and his hearers, but rather the time concurrent with the old covenant system of worship.12 The outer room of the tabernacle, therefore, illustrates the whole era managed by the older covenant. It was a time in which the general populace could not draw near to God because provision had yet to be made for their consciences to be cleansed.
The word syneidesis (“conscience”), used rarely prior to 200 B.C., is found in writers of the first century such as Plutarch, Philo, and Josephus, as well as in the New Testament. The word denotes either personal intuition (i.e., a knowledge of something) or, more specifically, the moral awareness of good or evil (cf. Heb. 9:9, 14; 10:2, 22; 13:18).13 The problem under the old covenant consisted of the sacrificial system’s inability to resolve one’s awareness of personal guilt. Thus, the outer room of the tabernacle illustrated the inner, spiritual condition of the people. Ultimately the conscience, not a material, earthly space, keeps a person from intimacy with God. Consequently, more than external regulations that dealt with practices regarding food, drink, and certain washings would be required to make entrance to the presence of God possible. These rituals simply were provisional, given until the new covenant system could be established.
Bridging Contexts
WE
HAVE
AS our task in this commentary to bring the ancient text’s original meaning over to contemporary significance by “bridging” the two contexts. Yet, the passage before us deals with an institution the author considers passé. So one might reasonably ask, “How do you apply a text that describes something as no longer applicable for a Christian?” Let me answer the question from two vantage points, the first having to do with the use of basic guidelines for interpretation and the second with how to draw truths from the text, even though the institution described in the text may not be directly applicable to the modern reader.
Discerning the meaning and purpose of the text. Let us again recall a basic goal of biblical interpretation: to grasp the author’s purpose for the text in light of the text’s meaning. Hebrews 9:1–10 fits into a larger homiletic complex being developed by the author. He wants this unit to function purposefully in paving the way for exposition and application later in the book. With his description of the old covenant worship, he sets up an effective contrast of themes, describing the old covenant system of worship in order that it might highlight, by contrast, the new method of approaching God established by the work of Christ. In order for us to grasp this contrast, we must first understand the old covenant system.
One problem for our interpretation and, therefore, our application of this passage concerns the ambiguity of several terms and phrases. For example, in 9:8 the author writes, “the way into the Most Holy Place had not yet been disclosed as long as the first tabernacle [prote skene] was still standing” (lit., “is having existence”). As noted above, the NIV
’s translation should be rejected as faulty at this point. Our interpretation of the phrase as “first room” pinpoints the Holy Place as the barrier of separation with which the author is concerned.
Moreover, the phrase “the present time” in verse 9 is also beset with ambiguity and has led to interpretations unprofitable for the author’s designed purpose for this text. The phrase does not refer to the author’s own day, for he understands himself and his community to participate in the new covenant era, the time of the Messiah. Rather, “the present time” refers to the time of the old covenant system. Thus the outer room of the tabernacle represents that era. The new era of Christ focuses in the inner room, the place of the presence of God.
Another guideline as we deal with the author’s description of Old Testament tabernacle and worship concerns the distinction between descriptive details and primary concerns. We already have pointed out that three main themes occupy the reader’s attention from this point in Hebrews all the way to 10:18: the place of Christ’s offering was in heaven rather than on earth, the blood of the offering was Christ’s own blood rather than that of animals, and Christ’s offering was eternal, having been made once for all. These three themes may be noted as we read 9:1–10 in light of the discussion that follows.
In the author’s own interpretation of the old covenant tabernacle’s significance (9:8–10), he demonstrates its inability to win a person access to God. This “access” motif encapsulates all three main themes of the section. Jesus entered the presence of God in heaven to win our access, his blood provided a superior basis for that access by cleansing us from sin, and his offering was “once for all,” access being indefinitely opened to us in the future.
However, in 9:1–10 the author gives us more than just these three main points. We are told of the lampstand, the table, and the altar of incense. In seeking to apply this passage we must understand these elements as “trappings” or “context” for the main issues the writer wishes to address. A creative preacher might be tempted to delve into allegorical significance of each of these items in the process of elaborating these verses. For example, one might claim that the light of God’s lamp represents truth and the table represents God’s provision. Although colorful, such elaboration strays from the author’s own purposes for this text. He himself saw no need to give further attention to such details (v. 5).
Gleaning truths from the text. A second general approach to applying a passage on Old Testament information involves asking what the text indicates about God, his nature, and his relationship with people. If God acts consistently in accordance with his nature, then his interaction with the old covenant worshipers reveals theological truth, even though the particular system of old covenant worship is no longer applicable to us.
We see at least three primary truths in this text, all having to do with the nature and activity of God. (1) God desires people to approach him. The old covenant system of worship may seem formal and rigid. It certainly would not be deemed a “cutting-edge” model of worship for contemporary culture! But look beyond the ritualistic orientation of that system to its significance. The path of the priests from the outer court to the inner sanctuary paints a picture of movement toward God. The regulations provided a means of drawing near. In the Old Testament language of holiness and punishments we can miss the main point—God was at work, working out means for his people to live in intimacy with him. Therefore, our application can reflect on God’s desire for intimacy with us, his creatures.
(2) God is particular about how people approach him. Not only does God desire that people approach him, but the Old Testament regulations for worship suggest that God has in mind specific requirements for our drawing near. Unless we conceive of God as a petty deity who hands out regulations on a whim, we must ask, “Why such detail?” In the Pentateuch the commands concerning all aspects of Israel’s life, including its acts of worship, strike the reader both for their comprehensive scope and for their minute parts. In moving to application, therefore, we should ask ourselves concerning the implications of this insight for contemporary worship of God. Are there universals presupposed in the picture of worship we find in Hebrews 9:1–10? If so, what are they? This leads us to a third principle.
(3) In addition to the presence of God, treated in (1) above, the details of worship surrounding the priestly ministry of the tabernacle focus on the holiness of God and the sinfulness of people. The Bible reveals two basic aspects of God’s holiness. (a) The holiness of God means that God is unique.14 For example, Exodus 15:11 (part of Moses’ song of victory following the Red Sea crossing) states, “Who among the gods is like you, O LORD? Who is like you—majestic in holiness, awesome in glory, working wonders?” The Hebrew word for “holy” basically means to be “marked off, withdrawn from common and ordinary use.” Thus the tabernacle celebrates the otherness or uniqueness of God by having him separated from the common person.
(b) The other aspect of God’s holiness has to do with his moral purity and goodness. His character is completely untainted by evil, since he, as holy, can do no wrong. Habakkuk 1:13 says of God, “Your eyes are too pure to look on evil; you cannot tolerate wrong.” As his people, moreover, we are called to excellence of moral character: “I am the LORD your God; consecrate yourselves and be holy, because I am holy” (Lev. 11:44).15 This command to holiness may seem unrealistic from the perspective of an “I’m only human” theology, but as C. S. Lewis notes in Mere Christianity, Jesus’ appropriation of this passage in his teaching (Matt. 5:48) was intended as a concrete moral directive, not a religious, pipe-dream:
He never talked vague, idealistic gas. When He said, “Be perfect,” He meant it. He meant that we must go in for the full treatment. It is hard; but the sort of compromise we are all hankering after is harder—in fact, it is impossible. It may be hard for an egg to turn into a bird: it would be a jolly sight harder for it to learn to fly while remaining an egg. We are like eggs at present. And you cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad.16
Thus, for humans generally, our sinfulness, which fights against holiness, constitutes a problem in our relationship with God, and it is a problem that must be grappled with under the new covenant as well as the old.
In biblical revelation the holiness of God and the sinfulness of people are universal truths. Neither has God changed nor have people been able to throw off their sinfulness. Thus, as we seek to apply 9:1–10, we should give attention to these themes as relevant for contemporary Christian living. How do we respond to a God who witnesses that he is holy and that we should be holy? For that matter, how do we think about holiness or sin? How do these concepts relate to our contemporary worship of God?
Contemporary Significance
THE
PARENTAL
BURDEN
of God. Reflecting on “the burden of God” as our creator, author Calvin Miller presents a delightful, allegorical retelling of the old Italian tale Pinocchio, which he entitles “Penteuchio.” In Miller’s story, Japheth ben Levi, a rabbi in sixteenth-century Germany, cries out to God for a son. “God,” the old rabbi says, “is it right that you should have made yourself a whole world of children and that my wife, Esther, and I should be condemned to live alone? Your children are as the sands of the sea, but we have no inheritance at all. Furthermore, your family is not well behaved.… If you give us a son, I promise you that my boy will turn out no worse than some of yours have.” God reminds the old man that he had also created an ungrateful rabbi or two and that rabbis should not sass God.
In the end God grants Japheth’s request and instructs him to carve a marionette out of a table leg; but he warns the man, “When you create children, you put your whole reputation on the line. Make ugly children and you’re sure to take a lot of heat.” As Japheth carves Penteuchio, the wooden boy’s eyes snap open and he begins to talk; but his response to Japheth is far from what the old rabbi desires. From the first, even before he has hands or feet, the marionette acts so rebelliously that his maker stuffs a sock in his mouth and puts him in the corner. God, with a gentle smile, laughs at Japheth’s frustration and asks, “How can your little boy have so many socks and no feet as yet?”
The rabbi continues to carve and quotes the Pentateuch to his would-be boy—and he grows to love Penteuchio deeply. Upon finishing the marionette, the wooden lad wreaks such havoc on his maker that Japheth gags him, ties him up completely, and places him under a huge stone in a chest. The rabbi weeps, longing to set his wooden son free. Finally, the boy promises to act honorably if liberated. Briefly, after being released, Penteuchio calls Japheth “Father,” wrapping his small arms around the man’s neck. They dance together around the room. Then suddenly the marionette grabs a burning log from the fireplace, throws it into the kindling box, and dashes off into the night. For the rest of his life, the wizened, old rabbi talks to God about the burden of making children and setting them free. It seems some would rather run into the night than live in harmony with their maker.17
The picture of God we get from the tabernacle commands described in Hebrews 9:1–10 may strike us as rather flat—he is the commanding God of ritualistic detail. But a more accurate reading of the forms and formalities of priestly worship shows us the love of a Creator whose children have run into the night and cannot find their way home on their own. The tabernacle worship centers around, and calls us to, movement toward God, a movement in which we celebrate his presence, living in awe of his majestic holiness. Since God placed the tabernacle at the center of Israel’s existence, his presence in the midst of his people would seem to be at the center of God’s plan.
Moreover, mortal movement to the inner chambers comes by God’s design, not by ours. The Israelites were in Egyptian captivity, their request amounting to a loud, “Let us out of here!” They were seeking to get out and would never have thought of “moving into the Presence,” fearing as they did the closeness of God. No, the passage of the high priest, as the representative of the people, into the Most Holy Place was God’s idea, not ours. We should celebrate this desire for intimacy on God’s part. What if he had been satisfied to let us wander in the night, never knowing that path into the tabernacle, never knowing our way home?
Furthermore, God does not leave us to make a way into his presence. He gives specific instructions, for he is holy and we are sinful. There can be no digging a tunnel underneath the walls of the Most Holy Place, no barging in to demand our right to see God, no philosophizing about the “social constructs of religious knowledge,” or no musings on “pluralism in modern religious thought” that can win us entrance. This was God’s idea; it’s his tent and he makes the rules. We must come in by the path of a high priest or not come in at all.
Holiness and wholeness. The term holiness has several uses in contemporary culture, few of them positive in the minds of the general populous. The image of a distant god, untouchable by real human concerns and frailties, or a “holier-than-thou” person who reeks with judgmental attitudes both are too common. Also, “Holiness” is used as a title in a Catholic context, as in “His Holiness.” Yet when we speak of a person as being holy, the connotations normally have to do with a committed abstinence from most of what people call necessities—food, sex, drink, fun. Further, holiness may be seen as having to do with repetitive religious practices that seemingly are irrelevant for the fast pace of contemporary life. Some moderns would look at a passage like Hebrews 9:1–10 and yawn at the sheer monotony.
Yet monotony may be a sign of vibrant, pulsating existence that revels in a place, time, and practice of what is right and beautiful.
A child kicks its legs rhythmically through excess, not absence, of life. Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again,” and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough.… It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again,” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again,” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike: it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.18
The turn of the seasons, the beating of a heart, the revolutions of the earth, the year-to-year march through the decades of a committed marriage—all are signs of life that can never be labeled “dull.” God seems to like rhythms, and we must join him in the rhythm of holiness: drawing near, living in a “monotonous” submission to his will. Jesus reflected perfectly this type of holiness, a wholeness of life centered on the perfect and beautiful will of God.
From Jesus we see that holiness does not mean placidity or suppression of emotions. For example, Scott Peck notes that Jesus was constantly frustrated.19 We can add that he also became angry, wept, and jumped up and down with excitement. In a new covenant context, holiness must not mean a separation from sinners. That was the Pharisees’ program, not Jesus’.20 Holiness does not mean a denial of all that is earthly, walking with one’s head “in the clouds.” Jesus was earthy. He spoke of practical aspects of everyday life. His hands were certainly callused and, at times, dirty. If the Incarnation had happened in our century rather than the first, perhaps he would be more comfortable wearing blue jeans than stained glass.
Yet when we look at Jesus, we see that holiness does mean a wholeness involving separation from sin and submission to the will of the Father.
Genuine holiness is genuine Christ-likeness, and genuine Christ-likeness is genuine humanness—the only genuine humanness there is. Love in the service of God and others, humility and meekness under the divine hand, integrity of behavior expressing integration of character, wisdom with faithfulness, boldness with prayerfulness, sorrow at people’s sins, joy at the Father’s goodness, and single-mindedness in seeking to please the Father morning, noon, and night, were all qualities seen in Christ, the perfect man.21
Of course, it is these twin issues of sin and submission that pose difficulty. We like neither to admit the former nor to perform the latter. We would rather reconfigure our sins and our lack of submission as weaknesses (“I am not very good at that”), mistakes (“I didn’t mean to do that”), social outcomes (“Because of my background I really cannot help that”), relational difficulties (“It really is her fault, you know”), or nonissues (“Sin? What sin?”). We would like for God, the Bible, and preachers to get up-to-date and call sin by some other name.
But our nature does not change—and our needs do not change—with such mind games. Our consciences still are not cleansed, and God does not change his requirements for holiness. “Much of our difficulty,” writes A. W. Tozer, “stems from our unwillingness to take God as He is and adjust our lives accordingly. We insist upon trying to modify Him and bring Him nearer to our own image.”22 If we have gotten comfortable with sin, why can’t he? What a tragedy that would be! For God can bring wonder and wholeness to our lives only if the sight-skewing, humanity-sapping power of sin is broken.
It is when we face ourselves and face Christ, that we are lost in wonder, love and praise. We need to rediscover the almost lost discipline of self-examination; and then a re-awakened sense of sin will beget a re-awakened sense of wonder.
Perhaps then God will no longer have to say, “Is it nothing to you, all you who pass by?”23
God does not want people who pass by but those who enter. There, in the true Holy Place, we will find the living Presence; we will find true wholeness; we will find true beauty and rightness, the true humanity for which we have longed all our lives; we will find God.