The Crisis That Changed Everything
Commentary
One of the German army prison camps during World War II was divided into two sections. In order to keep tighter control of captured Allied soldiers, British and Commonwealth internees were segregated from American captives. A fence and out-of-bounds territory on either side of it marked a no-man’s-land where machine-gun fire would kill those who strayed suspiciously close to one another.
But one time each day, right at noon, the ranking officer from either group was allowed to approach his counterpart at the fence. Armed German soldiers stood close, monitoring every word spoken. After a brief and formal conference, the two leaders would march back to their groups, and the dull routine of prison life would continue.
The situation appeared hopeless. Still, the ranking officers figured out that they both knew enough of the Gaelic language to use it for passing messages that they didn’t want the Germans to comprehend. They rarely used Gaelic, of course, saving it for times of greatest urgency -- perhaps an escape attempt, or the like.
Things changed when a recently-captured soldier managed to smuggle in the parts of a crystal radio set. Each morning it was hidden by scattering the pieces throughout a variety of secret recesses in the barracks. Each night it was rebuilt, and the world outside floated in over the airwaves.
Then came the day that news of the D-Day invasion at Normandy entered the camp. The excitement of the prison soldiers on one side of the fence had to be transmitted to those on the other side. That noon, the ranking officers met for the usual formal interchange. A few words were spoken in Gaelic, with no expression twitching either dutiful face. Then the officers turned stiffly from one another. With no show of emotion, they marched under guard back to their respective companies.
The Germans were more than a little curious, however, when the barracks on one side of the camp suddenly erupted with cheers and shouting. They themselves knew nothing of the invasion. Hitler’s propaganda machine creatively rewrote world events for them.
For three more months, the camp carried on a comical inversion of reality. The guards, with their guns and their superior status, were prisoners of ignorance and the coming defeat. Those who cowered in the barracks, on the other hand, were certain of their eventual freedom. They wore prison clothes. They ate prison food. They smelled the stench of prison life around them. But because they knew the outcome, their confidence soared. In their hearts, they were free!
The former captives who were part of that incredible experience have never stopped telling others of the feelings that filled their spirits during those three months. They were a lot like the thoughts and emotions that afflict us during Lent: hounded by enemies, we might be, yet we are also vindicated and released through the great work of our High Priest. We experience the pain of deadly struggles, yet we know the confidence of God’s deliverance. The present demands all our attention, but we live in the hope of the future.
This is the good news about Jesus, suffering as one of us, but also so much more. He is the new covenant of Jeremiah, the great High Priest over the house of God in Hebrews, and the tragic crucified one who brings light out of darkness and resurrection out of death.
Jeremiah 31:31-34
Jeremiah lived almost a century after Isaiah. By his time, Assyria had long ago destroyed Judah’s northern brother neighbor Israel (722 B.C.). Judah was itself only a tiny community now, limping along with diminishing resources, and constantly tossed around by the bigger nations of its world.
But things were changing rapidly on the international scene. Assyria was being beaten down, beginning in 612 B.C., by its eastern bully province, the rising power of Babylon. After wrestling the capital city of Nineveh to the ground, and snapping the backbone of Assyrian forces at Carchemish, Babylon immediately took over Palestine, the newer name for the old region of Canaan.
Judah was experiencing a rapid turnover of kings, many of whom were puppets of Babylon. For decades already, the country had been paying yearly tribute or security bribes to Babylon. Since 606 B.C., Judah had been forced to turn over some of its promising young men for propaganda retraining and were exiled to the capital of the superpower, in anticipation that they would return to rule the nation as regents of Babylon.
For reasons like these, Egypt began to loom large in many minds as the only possible ally strong enough to withstand Babylon’s domination of the region. Even though Israel’s identity had been forged through a divine exit strategy from oppressive Egyptian mastery several centuries before, now a good number of voices were publicly suggesting that the remaining citizens of Jerusalem get out of town before a final Babylonian occupation, and find refuge in the safer haven of Egypt.
Into these times and circumstances Jeremiah was born. From his earliest thoughts, he was aware of Yahweh’s special call on his life (1:4-10). This knowledge only made his prophetic ministry more gloomy, for it gave him no out in a game where the deck was stacked against him (chapters 12, 16). So he brooded through his life, deeply introspective. He fulfilled his role as gadfly to most of the kings who reigned during his adult years, even though it took eminent courage to do so. Although he lived an exemplary personal lifestyle, political officials constantly took offense at his theologically charged political commentaries, and regularly arrested him, treating him very badly. Jeremiah was passionately moral, never allowing compromise as a suitable temporary alternative in the shady waters of international relations, or amid the roiling quicksand of fading religious devotion. He remained pastorally sensitive, especially to the poor and oppressed in Jerusalem, weeping in anguish as families boiled sandals and old leather to find a few nutrients during Babylonian sieges, and especially when he saw mothers willing to cannibalize their dying babies in order to keep their other children alive. Above all, Jeremiah found the grace to be unshakably hopeful. He truly believed, to the very close of his life, that though Babylonian forces would raze Jerusalem and the Temple, Yahweh would keep covenant promises, and one day soon restore the fortunes of this wayward partner in the divine missional enterprise.
The theme of the Sinai covenant is very prominent in Jeremiah’s prophecies. Most striking is his recognition that it governs both Israel’s success and its demise, and that one day soon Yahweh will have to find a way to renew that covenant in a manner which will keep the restored nation more faithful to its identity, and true to its mission. This is why the writer of Hebrews quotes Jeremiah 31:31-34 at length; from his perspective, the time of the renewed covenant has arrived. Jesus is the High Priest of this new expression of God’s ages-old redemptive plan.
The prophets began to emerge on Israel’s scene shortly after its settlement in Canaan. At first, they functioned as lingering echoes of Moses’ booming voice, now fading in the historic distance. Although they continued in this role, seeking ways to translate the theology and social lifestyle of the Sinai covenant into new and changing circumstances for Israel, the prophets also became a third national leadership team, standing somewhere between the cultic role of the priests and the political venue of the kings. There is little evidence that they considered themselves as providing new revelations for Israel. Rather, they were interpreters of the Sinai covenant, subservient to Moses and the original Suzerain-Vassal documents. Their authority, while rooted in contemporary visions, was derived from the ancient standards, and never ran ahead of Exodus or Leviticus or Deuteronomy.
What eventually coalesced from their common declarations, however, was the rallying point of the “Day of the Lord.” Increasingly the prophets heard Yahweh declaiming that things were getting so bad, both within Israel and among the nations of her world, that only a direct divine intrusion could set things right again. This impending divine visitation became known as the great and terrible “Day of the Lord.”
While God’s visible actions in this imminent momentous occasion would probably span a lengthy period of time, the outcomes would be so decisive that it could be termed a single event. Three major things would happen when Yahweh arrived on that “day:”
The “Day of the Lord,” thus, was to be no less than re-creation itself. It might take a direct intervention of God into human history to bring about, but when it happened, everything would be set right. This is the message of Jeremiah in chapter 31:31-34 that the author of Hebrews rides into the story of Jesus.
The Creator remains on a mission to recover the lost citizens of the kingdom of heaven, as well as renew the painfully twisted elements of nature. In order to make this restoration happen, the family of Abraham was enlisted as a witnessing partner. Unfortunately, the nation of Israel proved to be unequal to the task, and the divine redemptive enterprise limped toward an inglorious demise, even while the prophets were seeing and stating grander visions of the coming age. In the end, a muted but stirring prophetic voice charmed the hearts of all who waited in longing for the imminent “Day of the Lord.”
What everyone in the covenant community anticipated actually was about to happen, but in a way that none had expected. Yahweh finally did show up, but appeared as a weak child rather than in the guise of a mighty warrior. Moreover, the “Day of the Lord” itself was split in two, so that the beginnings of the messianic age blessings arrived in whispers, long before the warning trumpets of judgment would be sounded.
Hebrews 5:5-10
The writer of Hebrews mentions the Tabernacle of ancient Israel on ten occasions (Hebrews 8:2, 5; 9:2, 3, 6, 8, 11, 21; 11:9; 13:10), and alludes to it almost as many times (Hebrews 3:2, 3, 4, 5, 6; 10:21; 13:11). It is obvious that both he and his readers know what the Tabernacle means for their faith, and can visualize its structure, even though it was destroyed over a thousand years before, when Solomon’s grand Temple replaced it.
In earlier allusions to the Tabernacle (Hebrews 3:2-6), the author described the relationship between Moses, the excellent steward over the house of God, and Jesus, the more excellent owner of the house of God. Now, however, the focus changes. Since Jesus, as God, is the owner of God’s house, Jesus is also the only one who can provide full hospitality in God’s house. In order to appreciate how the writer of Hebrews develops this, it is important to understand what God’s house was all about.
One third of the book of Exodus is given to explaining the meaning and construction of the Tabernacle. The divine intention for this structure follows from the covenant making-ceremony of Exodus 20-24, which establishes the unique relationship between Yahweh and Israel. Exodus 25-40 has three major sections. In chapters 25-31, preparations for the Tabernacle are made, and detailed plans are formulated. Then comes the intruding and jarring incident of the golden calf (chapters 32-34), in which not only Israel’s loyalty to Yahweh but also Yahweh’s loyalty to Israel are tested. Finally, the architectural initiatives of Exodus 25-31 are resumed in the actual construction of the Tabernacle and its dedication (chapters 35-40), almost as if the dark blot of the interlude had never happened.
Why all of this emphasis on building the tent-like Tabernacle? Why invest in a movable shrine rather than rally around some sacred hilltop (Mt. Sinai, for instance)? The answer is intrinsically related to the covenant-making event itself. If Israel is now the (reclaimed) possession of Yahweh, then Yahweh must take up visible residence among the people. The Tabernacle is not a strange phenomenon of the natural order, like an unfailing spring or a volcanic vent or a residual meteor rock. Instead, it is the fabrication of a civilization that is intentionally on a journey, guided by an in-residence deity who travels with them. These people do not make pilgrimage to a shrine and then return to their homes; rather they move about in consort with the source of their identity actually residing within the center of their unwieldy sprawl.
Testimony of this is contained within the very architectural plans for the Tabernacle. Although parts of the facility will be off-limits to most of the people (and thereby somewhat mysteriously remote), the basic design is virtually identical to that of the typical Israelite portable residence and the living space that surrounds it. First, the cooking fire of any family unit was found out in front of the tent. Second, there would be vessels for washing located near the door of the tent. Third, while many meals might be taken around the fire, some were more ordered and formal, and occurred in the initial spaces within the tent. These required atmospheric accoutrements like dishes, lamps for lighting, and the aromatic wafting of incense. Finally, the privacy of the intimate acts of marriage and family were reserved for the hidden recesses of the tent where visitors were not allowed.
This, then, became the plan for the Tabernacle. Its courtyard was public space for meals with God and others of the community around the Altar of Burt Offerings (see Leviticus 1-7). The Laver or Bronze Basin held waters for washing and bodily purification. In the closest part of the Tabernacle itself was found the hospitality area where Yahweh figuratively dined more formally with guests at the Table, in the soft ambience created by the Lamp and Altar of Incense. To the rear of the Tabernacle Yahweh reserved private space, yet had it fashioned with all of the symbolism of royalty. The Ark of the Covenant was essentially a portable throne upon which Yahweh was carried with the people, for its uppermost side was designated as the Mercy Seat. Furthermore, this throne was under the guard of two representative heavenly creatures simply called “cherubim.” In a manner akin to the sentries posted at the Garden of Eden in Genesis 3, these beings stood watch to ensure that the holiness of the deity was protected.
Thus, the Tabernacle existed uniquely in its world, representing the physical home of the community’s deity as a residence within its own spatial and temporal context. Israel was not a people who needed to create representations of powers that it then idolized; instead, the very society in which it lived emanated from the identity of the chief citizen who lived at its heart.
This is why the Tabernacle was more than a religious shrine for Israel. It was different than a mere ceremonial place for offerings. It was, in fact, the home of Yahweh at the center of the Israelite community. When the sun settled behind the horizon and the cooking fires were banked to save wood as the people traveled through the wilderness, one tent continued to have a light on all night. In the heart of the camp the Lamp glowed in the fellowship hall of the Tabernacle; Yahweh kept vigil while the community slept. In the morning and evening, a meal could be taken with Yahweh (the sacrifices, burnt so that Yahweh might consume the divine portion by way of inhaling the smoke), and constantly the feasting room was made ready for the King to meet with his subjects.
What happened at Mt. Sinai? God formally claimed Israel as partner in whatever the divine mission was for planet Earth. Israel, in turn, owned Yahweh as divine King and Suzerain. In effect, Yahweh and Israel were married, and their starter home was built at the center of the camp.
Such is the theology behind both the Tabernacle and its later expression as the Temple. Both were different from mere cultic shrines. They were the resident of Israel’s true bridegroom and master. The destinies of God and Israel were inextricably intertwined.
At this point, the genius of the writer of Hebrews blazes again. He visualizes the movement of God’s people from the outer distances of the world and the camp toward intimate and personal contact with God. He then applies this same journeying imagery more specifically to his readers in their new and Christian context.
How did this psychological and spiritual and physical moving toward God take place in the Tabernacle days? There were a number of successive steps:
This is the dance of movements between God and God’s people that the writer of Hebrews now broadens and deepens and richly symbolizes. Since Jesus is the owner of God’s house, and since Jesus has the right to provide hospitality for those he wished in God’s house, and since Jesus is God, residing with the “Majesty in heaven” (Hebrews 1:3), Jesus is the only one who can meet us at the door of God’s house, receive the gifts we bring, lead us into and through God’s house, and bring us to the very throne of God.
The writer of Hebrews takes the topographical locations of the Tabernacle and its surroundings, and sets the whole map on end, so that it begins in this world and ends in heaven. The scattered peoples of earth, including Jews, need to find and approach their loving creator. But God is not to be found in any earthly building today. Instead, God resides in heaven, ruling from the Mercy Seat (see Hebrews 10:19-22). And only Jesus, who is God, can come from that place to lead us back to that place.
Mark 15:1-39 (40-47)
The first glimpse of Jesus in the Gospel according to Mark is found immediately in the introductory heading or title of 1:1- “The beginning of the good news (gospel) about Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” Several things are important in this short statement. First, the author presumes there is much more to declare about Jesus than that which will be contained in these proclamations; this is only “the beginning.” Second, whatever one might think about Jesus, even with the gruesome crucifixion story still ahead, the impact of his life and ministry is “good news.” This colors how one should receive the message that follows. Third, Jesus is already understood at the beginning of this story to be the Messiah foretold by the prophets of the Old Testament. The term “Christ,” appended to “Jesus,” is a title, not a name (although it would come to be used as such). Jesus was “the Christ,” meaning the one anointed to be the great deliverer of the Jews. This is why the baptism and divine commissioning of Jesus are told first (Mark 1:9-11), and are clearly expressed as a divine anointing (verse 10). Fourth, an additional designation is given to Jesus; he is called “the Son of God.” While Christianity has made this a common theological phrase, it was originally a very specific political term used to honor the Roman emperor. When Caesar Augustus died, the Roman Senate declared him to be divine. All of the rulers who came after him were, in turn, identified as the “Son of God,” when they mounted the throne. For Mark to call Jesus the “Son of God” was a deliberate move to identify him as a rival to the Roman emperor of the day.
This message is confirmed at the close of the gospel. The last person to make a declaration about Jesus in Mark’s version of the gospel proclamation is the centurion at the cross (Mark 15:38-39). As the overwhelming impact of Jesus’ crucifixion begins to shudder through the world, this soldier makes a powerful and overtly religious/political testimony. When he entered the ranks of the Roman military he had had to take an oath of loyalty to the emperor, the “son of god.” Here at Jesus’ cross, however, he begins to understand that there is a ruler above the man in Rome. Although this person is dying in the ignominy of a social reject, there is something about him which announces a grander outlook on life, and calls for a bigger allegiance in order to make sense of his brief existence. The centurion, in a dramatic transferal of his military oath, publicly declares, “Surely this man was the Son of God!”
As a message first being preached by Peter in Rome during the days when Nero was coming to power, and then read by the Christians of Rome while official persecutions were mounted against them, the implication of the “good news” about Jesus was incredibly political. Nero demanded obedience through force; yet even his own soldiers recognized that in Jesus was a higher power, a greater power, a more worthy power that alone could overcome all of the other powers that enslaved people through demon possession, dehumanization, disease, or even death.
Taken as a whole, the “good news” about the “Son of God” in Mark’s gospel is clear. Jesus is the heaven-sent Christ (Messiah or “anointed one”) who arrives as the means by which the “Day of the Lord” will be accomplished in both judgment and blessing. Jesus tears into his world with action and power, overturning the many threats to human existence, and bringing the healing graces of restoration and hope. Because people might misinterpret his miracles, and want to make him their trophy ruler too quickly, Jesus cautions recipients of his transforming power to keep quiet about these things. Finally, when the big confrontation between Jesus and those who seem to hold social authority is unavoidable, Jesus declares a new strategy in the divine redemptive mission that takes the old “promised land” out of the picture, commissions his close followers to begin a “good news” blitz to the nations, and changes all the rules of the game by dying in pain and shame in order to be reborn in power and hope.
Application
Walter Wangerin, Jr., in his great allegory, The Book of the Dun Cow (along with its wonderful sequel, The Book of Sorrows) captures both the scope of the divine mission as well as the under-rated character of the team. If the focus remains on the team, apart from the mission, the point is lost. God is reclaiming God’s creation, but does so through human agency. The game is fierce, and the playing field is rough. Only those who can tear up their personal score sheets in order get into God’s game will make the team. Only they are truly called. Only they are equipped to serve and follow and play on the greatest winning team of all time.
Jesus took the road to the cross, and now he calls others to join him in that same pilgrimage. The Cost of Discipleship, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer noted, is self-denial. The words of the writer of Hebrews are a strong call to that vocation, not as an end in itself or as a means to a self-help goal (like dieting), but rather as a counter-cultural missional testimony. Those who travel this road do not get to Easter without first enduring Good Friday; they do not presume a glorious outcome that gathers the media like paparazzi vultures, but sense that the journey of service brings light in darkness, hope in despair, healing for pain, and faith where power corrupts and destroys.
Have you entered the cause?
Alternative Application (Hebrews 5:5-10)
One fellow tells of his work as a hospital volunteer. He couldn’t believe the pain and suffering he saw there. Burn victims. Deformities. Terminal cancer. He watched the little ones cry. Some were so lonely: their parents couldn’t take the trauma, so they never came to see their own children. How horrible!
He decided to get a clown’s nose, and a pair of oversized shoes. Then he painted his face and pulled on a wig. When he went to work dressed like that the next day, some of the children were scared, some were captivated, and some even showed hints of a smile for the first time in ages.
But others couldn’t stop wailing. They were consumed by agony. What could he do for them? The next day the clown brought along some popcorn. When he came to the side of a crying child, he took a kernel of popcorn, placed it against the child’s cheek, and soaked up the cascading tears with its fluff. Then he popped that kernel into his mouth and ate it.
It was a stroke of genius. The only time some of those children stopped crying was the moment they knew that somebody else cared enough to swallow their tears.
According to the writer of Hebrews, Jesus brings us to a place like that. He takes us, at the end of our journey, into the “sanctuary” of God, the Holy of Holies, where we approach the Mercy Seat of God’s throne with awe and caution, but also thankfulness and delight. Even though our daily walk is often in painful places, Jesus brings us through the house of God right into God’s merciful and protective presence. “Sanctuary” is refuge, fortress, safe house, security, arms of love, a place where someone cares enough to swallow our tears and protect us from the worst that could harm us.
And the reason that Jesus can do this is because he holds dual citizenship. On the one hand, he is a “high priest selected from among men” (Hebrews 5:1) who “is able to deal gently with those who are ignorant and are going astray” (Hebrews 5:2), because he “has been tempted in every way, just as we are” (Hebrews 4:15), and is “himself subject to weakness” (Hebrews 5:2), so that “he offered up prayers and petitions with loud cries and tears” (Hebrews 5:7) and “suffered” (Hebrews 5:8) all the way to death. Jesus is fully human, completely like us, aware totally of our needs and concerns and tears and suffering.
Yet on the other hand, Jesus is “the Son of God” (Hebrews 4:14) who “has gone through the heavens” (Hebrews 4:14), the “perfect” (Hebrews 5:9) one who “became the source of eternal salvation” (Hebrews 5:9). Jesus is fully God, with all of the capabilities of divinity and its power. Because of that, he is able to deliver us from the spooky and scary things that go bump in the night.
In other words, Jesus has dual citizenship. He belongs fully to the world of humanity, sharing its sorrows, woes, pains, crises, and tears. But Jesus is also one of the only three who holds permanent and eternal citizenship in heaven, the deity who is absolutely and completely God, Son of the Father, and participant in all things divine from before time began.
But one time each day, right at noon, the ranking officer from either group was allowed to approach his counterpart at the fence. Armed German soldiers stood close, monitoring every word spoken. After a brief and formal conference, the two leaders would march back to their groups, and the dull routine of prison life would continue.
The situation appeared hopeless. Still, the ranking officers figured out that they both knew enough of the Gaelic language to use it for passing messages that they didn’t want the Germans to comprehend. They rarely used Gaelic, of course, saving it for times of greatest urgency -- perhaps an escape attempt, or the like.
Things changed when a recently-captured soldier managed to smuggle in the parts of a crystal radio set. Each morning it was hidden by scattering the pieces throughout a variety of secret recesses in the barracks. Each night it was rebuilt, and the world outside floated in over the airwaves.
Then came the day that news of the D-Day invasion at Normandy entered the camp. The excitement of the prison soldiers on one side of the fence had to be transmitted to those on the other side. That noon, the ranking officers met for the usual formal interchange. A few words were spoken in Gaelic, with no expression twitching either dutiful face. Then the officers turned stiffly from one another. With no show of emotion, they marched under guard back to their respective companies.
The Germans were more than a little curious, however, when the barracks on one side of the camp suddenly erupted with cheers and shouting. They themselves knew nothing of the invasion. Hitler’s propaganda machine creatively rewrote world events for them.
For three more months, the camp carried on a comical inversion of reality. The guards, with their guns and their superior status, were prisoners of ignorance and the coming defeat. Those who cowered in the barracks, on the other hand, were certain of their eventual freedom. They wore prison clothes. They ate prison food. They smelled the stench of prison life around them. But because they knew the outcome, their confidence soared. In their hearts, they were free!
The former captives who were part of that incredible experience have never stopped telling others of the feelings that filled their spirits during those three months. They were a lot like the thoughts and emotions that afflict us during Lent: hounded by enemies, we might be, yet we are also vindicated and released through the great work of our High Priest. We experience the pain of deadly struggles, yet we know the confidence of God’s deliverance. The present demands all our attention, but we live in the hope of the future.
This is the good news about Jesus, suffering as one of us, but also so much more. He is the new covenant of Jeremiah, the great High Priest over the house of God in Hebrews, and the tragic crucified one who brings light out of darkness and resurrection out of death.
Jeremiah 31:31-34
Jeremiah lived almost a century after Isaiah. By his time, Assyria had long ago destroyed Judah’s northern brother neighbor Israel (722 B.C.). Judah was itself only a tiny community now, limping along with diminishing resources, and constantly tossed around by the bigger nations of its world.
But things were changing rapidly on the international scene. Assyria was being beaten down, beginning in 612 B.C., by its eastern bully province, the rising power of Babylon. After wrestling the capital city of Nineveh to the ground, and snapping the backbone of Assyrian forces at Carchemish, Babylon immediately took over Palestine, the newer name for the old region of Canaan.
Judah was experiencing a rapid turnover of kings, many of whom were puppets of Babylon. For decades already, the country had been paying yearly tribute or security bribes to Babylon. Since 606 B.C., Judah had been forced to turn over some of its promising young men for propaganda retraining and were exiled to the capital of the superpower, in anticipation that they would return to rule the nation as regents of Babylon.
For reasons like these, Egypt began to loom large in many minds as the only possible ally strong enough to withstand Babylon’s domination of the region. Even though Israel’s identity had been forged through a divine exit strategy from oppressive Egyptian mastery several centuries before, now a good number of voices were publicly suggesting that the remaining citizens of Jerusalem get out of town before a final Babylonian occupation, and find refuge in the safer haven of Egypt.
Into these times and circumstances Jeremiah was born. From his earliest thoughts, he was aware of Yahweh’s special call on his life (1:4-10). This knowledge only made his prophetic ministry more gloomy, for it gave him no out in a game where the deck was stacked against him (chapters 12, 16). So he brooded through his life, deeply introspective. He fulfilled his role as gadfly to most of the kings who reigned during his adult years, even though it took eminent courage to do so. Although he lived an exemplary personal lifestyle, political officials constantly took offense at his theologically charged political commentaries, and regularly arrested him, treating him very badly. Jeremiah was passionately moral, never allowing compromise as a suitable temporary alternative in the shady waters of international relations, or amid the roiling quicksand of fading religious devotion. He remained pastorally sensitive, especially to the poor and oppressed in Jerusalem, weeping in anguish as families boiled sandals and old leather to find a few nutrients during Babylonian sieges, and especially when he saw mothers willing to cannibalize their dying babies in order to keep their other children alive. Above all, Jeremiah found the grace to be unshakably hopeful. He truly believed, to the very close of his life, that though Babylonian forces would raze Jerusalem and the Temple, Yahweh would keep covenant promises, and one day soon restore the fortunes of this wayward partner in the divine missional enterprise.
The theme of the Sinai covenant is very prominent in Jeremiah’s prophecies. Most striking is his recognition that it governs both Israel’s success and its demise, and that one day soon Yahweh will have to find a way to renew that covenant in a manner which will keep the restored nation more faithful to its identity, and true to its mission. This is why the writer of Hebrews quotes Jeremiah 31:31-34 at length; from his perspective, the time of the renewed covenant has arrived. Jesus is the High Priest of this new expression of God’s ages-old redemptive plan.
The prophets began to emerge on Israel’s scene shortly after its settlement in Canaan. At first, they functioned as lingering echoes of Moses’ booming voice, now fading in the historic distance. Although they continued in this role, seeking ways to translate the theology and social lifestyle of the Sinai covenant into new and changing circumstances for Israel, the prophets also became a third national leadership team, standing somewhere between the cultic role of the priests and the political venue of the kings. There is little evidence that they considered themselves as providing new revelations for Israel. Rather, they were interpreters of the Sinai covenant, subservient to Moses and the original Suzerain-Vassal documents. Their authority, while rooted in contemporary visions, was derived from the ancient standards, and never ran ahead of Exodus or Leviticus or Deuteronomy.
What eventually coalesced from their common declarations, however, was the rallying point of the “Day of the Lord.” Increasingly the prophets heard Yahweh declaiming that things were getting so bad, both within Israel and among the nations of her world, that only a direct divine intrusion could set things right again. This impending divine visitation became known as the great and terrible “Day of the Lord.”
While God’s visible actions in this imminent momentous occasion would probably span a lengthy period of time, the outcomes would be so decisive that it could be termed a single event. Three major things would happen when Yahweh arrived on that “day:”
- There would be a catastrophic judgment meted upon all the nations of earth, including Israel/Judah. It would fall as a divine judicial assessment that none were living appropriately to the lifestyle of the Sinai covenant, or changing their behaviors toward that direction because of the missional influence of God’s people.
- In spite of the conflagration, a remnant of Israel would be spared. This small group would be evidence that not all of the people had forgotten their God, and similarly that God would never forget the divinely created community.
- After the cleansing of judgment and the restoration of the remnant, a new and vibrant messianic age would be ushered in. This would be a time in which all the implications of the Sinai covenant would be lived out with fresh and natural devotion by the renewed people of Yahweh. Furthermore, throughout the world, every nation would actively seek to conform its moral behaviors to that same pattern of life. The creation itself would be reinvigorated with its Edenic glories, and the Creator and all creatures would find themselves enjoying the harmony and unlimited bounty intended by God at the beginning of time.
The “Day of the Lord,” thus, was to be no less than re-creation itself. It might take a direct intervention of God into human history to bring about, but when it happened, everything would be set right. This is the message of Jeremiah in chapter 31:31-34 that the author of Hebrews rides into the story of Jesus.
The Creator remains on a mission to recover the lost citizens of the kingdom of heaven, as well as renew the painfully twisted elements of nature. In order to make this restoration happen, the family of Abraham was enlisted as a witnessing partner. Unfortunately, the nation of Israel proved to be unequal to the task, and the divine redemptive enterprise limped toward an inglorious demise, even while the prophets were seeing and stating grander visions of the coming age. In the end, a muted but stirring prophetic voice charmed the hearts of all who waited in longing for the imminent “Day of the Lord.”
What everyone in the covenant community anticipated actually was about to happen, but in a way that none had expected. Yahweh finally did show up, but appeared as a weak child rather than in the guise of a mighty warrior. Moreover, the “Day of the Lord” itself was split in two, so that the beginnings of the messianic age blessings arrived in whispers, long before the warning trumpets of judgment would be sounded.
Hebrews 5:5-10
The writer of Hebrews mentions the Tabernacle of ancient Israel on ten occasions (Hebrews 8:2, 5; 9:2, 3, 6, 8, 11, 21; 11:9; 13:10), and alludes to it almost as many times (Hebrews 3:2, 3, 4, 5, 6; 10:21; 13:11). It is obvious that both he and his readers know what the Tabernacle means for their faith, and can visualize its structure, even though it was destroyed over a thousand years before, when Solomon’s grand Temple replaced it.
In earlier allusions to the Tabernacle (Hebrews 3:2-6), the author described the relationship between Moses, the excellent steward over the house of God, and Jesus, the more excellent owner of the house of God. Now, however, the focus changes. Since Jesus, as God, is the owner of God’s house, Jesus is also the only one who can provide full hospitality in God’s house. In order to appreciate how the writer of Hebrews develops this, it is important to understand what God’s house was all about.
One third of the book of Exodus is given to explaining the meaning and construction of the Tabernacle. The divine intention for this structure follows from the covenant making-ceremony of Exodus 20-24, which establishes the unique relationship between Yahweh and Israel. Exodus 25-40 has three major sections. In chapters 25-31, preparations for the Tabernacle are made, and detailed plans are formulated. Then comes the intruding and jarring incident of the golden calf (chapters 32-34), in which not only Israel’s loyalty to Yahweh but also Yahweh’s loyalty to Israel are tested. Finally, the architectural initiatives of Exodus 25-31 are resumed in the actual construction of the Tabernacle and its dedication (chapters 35-40), almost as if the dark blot of the interlude had never happened.
Why all of this emphasis on building the tent-like Tabernacle? Why invest in a movable shrine rather than rally around some sacred hilltop (Mt. Sinai, for instance)? The answer is intrinsically related to the covenant-making event itself. If Israel is now the (reclaimed) possession of Yahweh, then Yahweh must take up visible residence among the people. The Tabernacle is not a strange phenomenon of the natural order, like an unfailing spring or a volcanic vent or a residual meteor rock. Instead, it is the fabrication of a civilization that is intentionally on a journey, guided by an in-residence deity who travels with them. These people do not make pilgrimage to a shrine and then return to their homes; rather they move about in consort with the source of their identity actually residing within the center of their unwieldy sprawl.
Testimony of this is contained within the very architectural plans for the Tabernacle. Although parts of the facility will be off-limits to most of the people (and thereby somewhat mysteriously remote), the basic design is virtually identical to that of the typical Israelite portable residence and the living space that surrounds it. First, the cooking fire of any family unit was found out in front of the tent. Second, there would be vessels for washing located near the door of the tent. Third, while many meals might be taken around the fire, some were more ordered and formal, and occurred in the initial spaces within the tent. These required atmospheric accoutrements like dishes, lamps for lighting, and the aromatic wafting of incense. Finally, the privacy of the intimate acts of marriage and family were reserved for the hidden recesses of the tent where visitors were not allowed.
This, then, became the plan for the Tabernacle. Its courtyard was public space for meals with God and others of the community around the Altar of Burt Offerings (see Leviticus 1-7). The Laver or Bronze Basin held waters for washing and bodily purification. In the closest part of the Tabernacle itself was found the hospitality area where Yahweh figuratively dined more formally with guests at the Table, in the soft ambience created by the Lamp and Altar of Incense. To the rear of the Tabernacle Yahweh reserved private space, yet had it fashioned with all of the symbolism of royalty. The Ark of the Covenant was essentially a portable throne upon which Yahweh was carried with the people, for its uppermost side was designated as the Mercy Seat. Furthermore, this throne was under the guard of two representative heavenly creatures simply called “cherubim.” In a manner akin to the sentries posted at the Garden of Eden in Genesis 3, these beings stood watch to ensure that the holiness of the deity was protected.
Thus, the Tabernacle existed uniquely in its world, representing the physical home of the community’s deity as a residence within its own spatial and temporal context. Israel was not a people who needed to create representations of powers that it then idolized; instead, the very society in which it lived emanated from the identity of the chief citizen who lived at its heart.
This is why the Tabernacle was more than a religious shrine for Israel. It was different than a mere ceremonial place for offerings. It was, in fact, the home of Yahweh at the center of the Israelite community. When the sun settled behind the horizon and the cooking fires were banked to save wood as the people traveled through the wilderness, one tent continued to have a light on all night. In the heart of the camp the Lamp glowed in the fellowship hall of the Tabernacle; Yahweh kept vigil while the community slept. In the morning and evening, a meal could be taken with Yahweh (the sacrifices, burnt so that Yahweh might consume the divine portion by way of inhaling the smoke), and constantly the feasting room was made ready for the King to meet with his subjects.
What happened at Mt. Sinai? God formally claimed Israel as partner in whatever the divine mission was for planet Earth. Israel, in turn, owned Yahweh as divine King and Suzerain. In effect, Yahweh and Israel were married, and their starter home was built at the center of the camp.
Such is the theology behind both the Tabernacle and its later expression as the Temple. Both were different from mere cultic shrines. They were the resident of Israel’s true bridegroom and master. The destinies of God and Israel were inextricably intertwined.
At this point, the genius of the writer of Hebrews blazes again. He visualizes the movement of God’s people from the outer distances of the world and the camp toward intimate and personal contact with God. He then applies this same journeying imagery more specifically to his readers in their new and Christian context.
How did this psychological and spiritual and physical moving toward God take place in the Tabernacle days? There were a number of successive steps:
- People recognized the central place of God in their existences, and sought to commune with God.
- So they came to God’s house with gifts.
- At the entrance to God’s house, those entrusted with its care washed themselves so that they might be ready to receive these gifts on behalf of God.
- The gifts were quickly turned into meals that God and God’s people shared together in front of the Tent.
- The keepers of God’s house would regularly enter the front section of God’s Tent to express rituals of deepening hospitality symbolically:
- A table was set there, always ready, indicating a God’s delight in sharing a meal with God’s people.
- The Lamp was lit, providing light in these more intimate and darker places.
- An Altar of Incense softened the mood and scented the air for deep companionship.
- And then, once a year, a representative who stood for both God and God’s people (the High Priest), communed deeply with God in the sacred private space (the Holy of Holies) where God’s merciful throne (the Ark of the Covenant) stood.
This is the dance of movements between God and God’s people that the writer of Hebrews now broadens and deepens and richly symbolizes. Since Jesus is the owner of God’s house, and since Jesus has the right to provide hospitality for those he wished in God’s house, and since Jesus is God, residing with the “Majesty in heaven” (Hebrews 1:3), Jesus is the only one who can meet us at the door of God’s house, receive the gifts we bring, lead us into and through God’s house, and bring us to the very throne of God.
The writer of Hebrews takes the topographical locations of the Tabernacle and its surroundings, and sets the whole map on end, so that it begins in this world and ends in heaven. The scattered peoples of earth, including Jews, need to find and approach their loving creator. But God is not to be found in any earthly building today. Instead, God resides in heaven, ruling from the Mercy Seat (see Hebrews 10:19-22). And only Jesus, who is God, can come from that place to lead us back to that place.
Mark 15:1-39 (40-47)
The first glimpse of Jesus in the Gospel according to Mark is found immediately in the introductory heading or title of 1:1- “The beginning of the good news (gospel) about Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” Several things are important in this short statement. First, the author presumes there is much more to declare about Jesus than that which will be contained in these proclamations; this is only “the beginning.” Second, whatever one might think about Jesus, even with the gruesome crucifixion story still ahead, the impact of his life and ministry is “good news.” This colors how one should receive the message that follows. Third, Jesus is already understood at the beginning of this story to be the Messiah foretold by the prophets of the Old Testament. The term “Christ,” appended to “Jesus,” is a title, not a name (although it would come to be used as such). Jesus was “the Christ,” meaning the one anointed to be the great deliverer of the Jews. This is why the baptism and divine commissioning of Jesus are told first (Mark 1:9-11), and are clearly expressed as a divine anointing (verse 10). Fourth, an additional designation is given to Jesus; he is called “the Son of God.” While Christianity has made this a common theological phrase, it was originally a very specific political term used to honor the Roman emperor. When Caesar Augustus died, the Roman Senate declared him to be divine. All of the rulers who came after him were, in turn, identified as the “Son of God,” when they mounted the throne. For Mark to call Jesus the “Son of God” was a deliberate move to identify him as a rival to the Roman emperor of the day.
This message is confirmed at the close of the gospel. The last person to make a declaration about Jesus in Mark’s version of the gospel proclamation is the centurion at the cross (Mark 15:38-39). As the overwhelming impact of Jesus’ crucifixion begins to shudder through the world, this soldier makes a powerful and overtly religious/political testimony. When he entered the ranks of the Roman military he had had to take an oath of loyalty to the emperor, the “son of god.” Here at Jesus’ cross, however, he begins to understand that there is a ruler above the man in Rome. Although this person is dying in the ignominy of a social reject, there is something about him which announces a grander outlook on life, and calls for a bigger allegiance in order to make sense of his brief existence. The centurion, in a dramatic transferal of his military oath, publicly declares, “Surely this man was the Son of God!”
As a message first being preached by Peter in Rome during the days when Nero was coming to power, and then read by the Christians of Rome while official persecutions were mounted against them, the implication of the “good news” about Jesus was incredibly political. Nero demanded obedience through force; yet even his own soldiers recognized that in Jesus was a higher power, a greater power, a more worthy power that alone could overcome all of the other powers that enslaved people through demon possession, dehumanization, disease, or even death.
Taken as a whole, the “good news” about the “Son of God” in Mark’s gospel is clear. Jesus is the heaven-sent Christ (Messiah or “anointed one”) who arrives as the means by which the “Day of the Lord” will be accomplished in both judgment and blessing. Jesus tears into his world with action and power, overturning the many threats to human existence, and bringing the healing graces of restoration and hope. Because people might misinterpret his miracles, and want to make him their trophy ruler too quickly, Jesus cautions recipients of his transforming power to keep quiet about these things. Finally, when the big confrontation between Jesus and those who seem to hold social authority is unavoidable, Jesus declares a new strategy in the divine redemptive mission that takes the old “promised land” out of the picture, commissions his close followers to begin a “good news” blitz to the nations, and changes all the rules of the game by dying in pain and shame in order to be reborn in power and hope.
Application
Walter Wangerin, Jr., in his great allegory, The Book of the Dun Cow (along with its wonderful sequel, The Book of Sorrows) captures both the scope of the divine mission as well as the under-rated character of the team. If the focus remains on the team, apart from the mission, the point is lost. God is reclaiming God’s creation, but does so through human agency. The game is fierce, and the playing field is rough. Only those who can tear up their personal score sheets in order get into God’s game will make the team. Only they are truly called. Only they are equipped to serve and follow and play on the greatest winning team of all time.
Jesus took the road to the cross, and now he calls others to join him in that same pilgrimage. The Cost of Discipleship, as Dietrich Bonhoeffer noted, is self-denial. The words of the writer of Hebrews are a strong call to that vocation, not as an end in itself or as a means to a self-help goal (like dieting), but rather as a counter-cultural missional testimony. Those who travel this road do not get to Easter without first enduring Good Friday; they do not presume a glorious outcome that gathers the media like paparazzi vultures, but sense that the journey of service brings light in darkness, hope in despair, healing for pain, and faith where power corrupts and destroys.
Have you entered the cause?
Alternative Application (Hebrews 5:5-10)
One fellow tells of his work as a hospital volunteer. He couldn’t believe the pain and suffering he saw there. Burn victims. Deformities. Terminal cancer. He watched the little ones cry. Some were so lonely: their parents couldn’t take the trauma, so they never came to see their own children. How horrible!
He decided to get a clown’s nose, and a pair of oversized shoes. Then he painted his face and pulled on a wig. When he went to work dressed like that the next day, some of the children were scared, some were captivated, and some even showed hints of a smile for the first time in ages.
But others couldn’t stop wailing. They were consumed by agony. What could he do for them? The next day the clown brought along some popcorn. When he came to the side of a crying child, he took a kernel of popcorn, placed it against the child’s cheek, and soaked up the cascading tears with its fluff. Then he popped that kernel into his mouth and ate it.
It was a stroke of genius. The only time some of those children stopped crying was the moment they knew that somebody else cared enough to swallow their tears.
According to the writer of Hebrews, Jesus brings us to a place like that. He takes us, at the end of our journey, into the “sanctuary” of God, the Holy of Holies, where we approach the Mercy Seat of God’s throne with awe and caution, but also thankfulness and delight. Even though our daily walk is often in painful places, Jesus brings us through the house of God right into God’s merciful and protective presence. “Sanctuary” is refuge, fortress, safe house, security, arms of love, a place where someone cares enough to swallow our tears and protect us from the worst that could harm us.
And the reason that Jesus can do this is because he holds dual citizenship. On the one hand, he is a “high priest selected from among men” (Hebrews 5:1) who “is able to deal gently with those who are ignorant and are going astray” (Hebrews 5:2), because he “has been tempted in every way, just as we are” (Hebrews 4:15), and is “himself subject to weakness” (Hebrews 5:2), so that “he offered up prayers and petitions with loud cries and tears” (Hebrews 5:7) and “suffered” (Hebrews 5:8) all the way to death. Jesus is fully human, completely like us, aware totally of our needs and concerns and tears and suffering.
Yet on the other hand, Jesus is “the Son of God” (Hebrews 4:14) who “has gone through the heavens” (Hebrews 4:14), the “perfect” (Hebrews 5:9) one who “became the source of eternal salvation” (Hebrews 5:9). Jesus is fully God, with all of the capabilities of divinity and its power. Because of that, he is able to deliver us from the spooky and scary things that go bump in the night.
In other words, Jesus has dual citizenship. He belongs fully to the world of humanity, sharing its sorrows, woes, pains, crises, and tears. But Jesus is also one of the only three who holds permanent and eternal citizenship in heaven, the deity who is absolutely and completely God, Son of the Father, and participant in all things divine from before time began.
