In the biblical creation story, we’re told how God uniquely created human beings in his image. He generously gave the first humans “dominion” (a kingdom term) over creation. They were to spread out, fill the earth, tend to and harness/maximize creation’s unbounded potential. Connected to the Tree of Life, God’s image-bearers were meant to be an extension of him, to be living monuments to his greatness. Humanity’s initial task, then, was to be the chief worshippers within creation, to reflect God’s goodness to the world, and to lead creation in symphonic worship of the Creator (N.T. Wright develops these ideas in Simply Christian and some of his other work far better than I could hope to here). We were created to be his administrators, ambassadors, priests (within a creation that is meant to act as his temple). Heaven (“God’s space,” as Wright would say) and earth (what we think of as “our space”) naturally and peacefully coexist when God’s design is working properly. It seems he has always planned to rule over his good world through his human image-bearers (an arrangement he refers to as “his kingdom”). In order to effectively fulfill this monumental task, however, we must first be enthralled with God. We must be genuinely exuberant evangelists of his beauty and his goodness. We must accurately reflect his love and his justice with our every thought, word, and action. Herein lies the problem. We immediately notice (following a brief look at the news, a peak out the window, or an honest appraisal of our own inner thoughts) that this isn’t even close to happening as it was initially planned. Something has gone wrong.
Unfortunately,
the first humans quickly became idolaters (the true epicenter of all
rebellion and even death itself). They were tricked into gazing
longingly at the creation instead of the Creator (which, it turns
out, is a poor substitute for him). They rejected the Tree of Life
for a lesser tree (and the enemy of God, after first believing his
own lies, erroneously convinced them that they were indeed hungry,
that they
were lacking something,
before they foolishly ate). Humanity has been
idolatrous ever since: We ravenously chase after sex, money, power,
status, human relationships, and counterfeit significance—the
typical pantheon of human idolatry. Yet we're never satisfied. By
default, we now worship the creation rather than the Creator, and all
of creation suffers (“groans”) as a result. These created things
were never evil, but our inappropriate and unfounded fixation on them
as false gods has wreaked havoc in God’s once-good world
(ironically, creation withers when it’s the object of our unhealthy
infatuation). Worst of all, It isn’t currently a suitable temple
for his dwelling and we are far from the priests we were meant to be
(as with every thought and action we blaspheme the divine image we
bear and so lie about him to the creation we were designed to tend).
Idolatry,
exile, and death are reoccurring, cyclical themes in humanity’s
painful story (therefore, miraculously breaking this cycle and
reversing its effects is at the heart of the all-encompassing
redemptive story of God. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves). The
story of Israel, in particular, is marked by this tragic cycle (their
history is somewhat of a retelling of the creation story and a
microcosm of the universal plight of humanity). We read how God
created a people from the dust (an idolatrous community of
desert-dwelling slaves who were built up into a mighty nation of
worshippers), established them in an Eden-like paradise (a promised
land “flowing with milk and honey”), issued his Law (an expounded
warning against the forbidden fruit and detailed instructions for
legitimate worship), gave them dominion (a kingdom), and charged them
with being his representatives and priests. Unfortunately, the
Israelites inevitably rejected the Creator and abdicated their noble
vocation in favor of idolatry (several times, in fact). However, none
of Israel’s story is wasted (as we might be tempted to conclude).
The law and the prophets are not simply chronicling “failed
attempts” at returning to Eden that ultimately lead nowhere. Lest
we forget, Jesus is the product of their story, a descendant of
Abraham, and heir to David’s throne. He redeems all of their futile
efforts and otherwise wasted blood, sweat, and tears.
Defining
a proper place for legitimate worship is a major theme throughout
Scripture (the burning question of “where to worship?” is posed
to Jesus by the Samaritan woman at the well in John 4). Remember, a
post-Eden world is somehow defiled by human idolatry and rebellion.
God views even inanimate objects like the soil and the crops—all of
creation, really—as corrupted by human sin. The crux of the Jewish
Law, delivered through Moses, then, was to create something of a
clean space for legitimate worship to happen and to produce
temporarily clean people who could utilize said space. The designated
place for worship was initially the mobile, tent-like,
Tabernacle, which later transitioned into a stationary Temple. This
holy space, made clean by God’s presence, can be thought of as a
place where heaven and earth intersected. The Israelites, of course,
understood that God was everywhere (as seen in David's rhetorical
question, “where can I flee from your presence?”—Psalm 139:7b),
but he had also disclosed his desire to dwell with them in
a unique way. Though he was omnipresent, Jerusalem,
specifically the Temple, would be where the Creator of the cosmos hung his hat, so to speak. God’s continued dwelling, however,
was somewhat contingent on whether or not legitimate worship was
taking place. Though he was incredibly merciful—“long
suffering”—in regard to this requirement, prolonged idolatry
would eventually prompt him to revoke his life-giving presence (as
seen in Ezekiel's vision of God’s glory leaving the Temple).
There's
an awesome prophecy in Ezekiel chapter 47 about life-giving water
that's flowing out of the Temple, cleaning and rejuvenating the land
as it goes. In this vein, Jesus introduced the novel (and incredibly
dangerous) idea that he himself was a living breathing temple of
flesh, a new place where heaven and earth intersected. He was
effectively bringing the presences of God to those who were most in
need, overlooked, and counted out. This revolutionary arrangement
would naturally supplant the physical Temple and its geographic
limitations. Jesus was/is, after all, the exact image of the
invisible God, the fullness of the Creator dwelling in authentic
bodily form. He is as superior to the brick and mortar Temple as a
real person is to a paper doll (even more so). He invites his
followers to partake of him, to miraculously become an extension of
him, and, by doing so, to become active participants in this
expanding, heaven/earth intersecting phenomenon. In doing this, Jesus
is restoring to humanity—to those who believe—our original
vocation as priests. Through his death and resurrection, we’re made
clean (qualified), and by the sending of his Spirit we’re enabled
(empowered) to finally break free of our idolatry and to become true
worshippers once again. We're given a new heart, a heart of flesh,
one that has the capacity to truly worship God in spirit and truth
(Ezekiel chapters 11 and 36, and John 4).
There’s
nothing that the eternal Son of God values above his Father.
Ultimately, everything that the Son does is resulting from his
affection for the Father. And inversely there is no one in whom the
Father is more pleased than his “only begotten.” Jesus is the
type of worshipper that all humans were meant to be, and, as such, he
is the only human uniquely qualified to reclaim our image-bearing
birthright and the kingdom that was originally entrusted to us
(Daniel 7:13-14, Revelation 5:9-10). He means to make many sons and
daughters who will reign with him. Far more than simply describing
our “personal salvation,” the Gospel tells us of the Father-sent,
Spirit-empowered, eternal Son’s relentless mission to produce the
sort of worshippers that his Father deserves. It’s a story about
idolaters being redeemed at great cost, priestly vocation being
reinstated, and finally all of creation being restored to the temple
it was always meant to be—all to the glory of God and for his
express pleasure.
We're
made to worship, and we inevitably will do just that. The question is
simply what, or who, will be the recipient of our worship? There are
essentially only two possible outcomes: Either we'll worship the
creation (the cast shadow, the dream, the painting) or we'll worship
the Creator (the living Figure that casts the shadow, the Dreamer,
the Artist). There's nothing else.
“I
urge you, brothers and sisters, in view of God’s mercy, to offer
your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and pleasing to God—this is
your true and proper worship.” —Romans 12:1
