Making Sense of the OT–Chapter 2: Is the God of the OT also the God of the NT?

Wherever in the Old Testament we might be reading, we are likely to encounter the concept of covenant. In the first place, there are frequent scenes where God makes a covenant with his people. We see this for the first time with Noah (Gen. 9). footnote:[] Next we note that Abraham enjoys a covenant relationship with God. Nowhere do we see God actually entering into a covenant relationship with Abraham, but certainly the promises of Genesis 12:1-3 presuppose it. Exodus 19-24 is the heart of the description of the covenant made between God and Israel on Mount Sinai. Moses was the mediator between the two parties who entered into this relationship. Later God also made a covenant with David (2 Sam. 7; 1 Chron. 17).

Besides the scenes of covenant making, there are passages in which the various covenants are renewed. No new terms are initiated; there are no new promises or responsibilities. Rather, the already existent relationship is reaffirmed. A few examples will suffice to show that renewals frequently come at times of uncertainty or crisis, such as a transition from one leader to another. Genesis 15 and 17 recount two separate incidents when God comes to Abraham to reaffirm his promise of numerous descendants. To become "the father of a great nation" (Gen. 12:2) Abraham first of all needs a son. But as he gets older, he begins to doubt the possibility of having a child with the aging Sarah. Thus twice he utilizes human conventions to attain an heir. In Genesis 15 he alludes to his adopting Eliezer his household servant. In Genesis 16 he has a child through Hagar his concubine. Both times God appears to Abraham and graciously reaffirms the covenant with him.

The whole Book of Deuteronomy is a reaffirmation of the covenant that God made with Israel at Sinai. The crisis that necessitated the renewal was the impending death of Moses. Indeed, the next reaffirmation, also of the Mosaic covenant, is recorded in Joshua 24, just before the death of Joshua. But there is also a hint in the Book of Deuteronomy that the covenant was reaffirmed at periodic intervals whether there was a crisis or not:

The numerous references to covenant making and renewal establish the covenant idea as a major biblical concept. But do we really understand what it means? Let’s explore the nature of covenant and then see how it provides continuity between the Old and New Testament understandings of God."

The first thing to note is that covenant is a metaphorical relationship. The English word "covenant," which translates the Hebrew term berit, is an old legal term. Indeed, it is only in legal language that one finds this word outside of the Bible. A covenant is a legally binding agreement between two parties. Although this term is inadequate to explain the biblical concept, it does show us that we are dealing with a legal relationship between God and humanity.

By setting the concept in its historical and cultural context (see pp. 47-48), we can be much more precise in our under standing of covenant in the Old Testament. Not that we have misunderstood the covenant for years; we have not. But viewing the biblical covenants as treaties does allow us a richer and more profound appreciation of the force of the concept. It also provides a better foundation for appropriating the concept into our present-day understanding of the nature of God and our relationship with him.

In the middle of the twentieth century, research revealed a close literary connection between the biblical covenants and ancient Near Eastern political treaties. Most of these treaties, written in Akkadian, come from either the second millennium (the Hittite treaties) or the neo-Assyrian period (seventh century B.C.). Differences between the two groups were used by some scholars in attempts to resolve issues of dating (in particular, the writing of Deuteronomy). However, the differences are neither pronounced nor consistent enough to provide conclusive evidence.

Another distinction, however, that between parity treaties and vassal treaties, has proved helpful in our understanding of biblical covenants. The former are treaties between kings of nations with near equal power. A contemporary example would be a treaty between the United States and China. One such ancient treaty involved Egypt and Hatti, an Anatolian power during the mid-second millennium. On the other hand, a vassal treaty is an alliance between a great king and a lesser king. A good example today might be a treaty between the United States and Haiti. An ancient example is a treaty between Hatti and Ugarit, a small city-state on the Mediterranean coast just below what is today Turkey.

The vassal treaties are substantially different in tone and structure from the parity treaties. After all, what we have in a vassal treaty is the imposition of the will of a powerful king upon that of a lesser king. That the balance of power is so one-sided in a vassal treaty makes it a better pattern for the biblical covenants. For in the biblical covenants the powerful king Yahweh enters into relationship with his creatures, his vassals. By the way, this is the heart of the metaphor of the covenant: Yahweh the king is bound by treaty to his people.

God, then, used a human legal convention, the treaty, to reveal himself to his people. The treaty also enriched their understanding of who they were as the people of God. The close connection between these biblical covenants and international treaties is reflected in their similar structures, which typically consist of six basic parts. For our biblical examples we will use the Book of Deuteronomy and Joshua 24, both of which were renewals of the Mosaic covenant. (Since the Bible presents descriptions of covenant making and renewal rather than the documents themselves, our analogy will have some fuzzy edges. But even so the similarities are striking.)

But the question at hand is how the Old Testament conception of God fits with the New. Is there discontinuity or continuity? As we focus on the theme of God as our covenant king, the answer is—both.

At the end of his life, just before going to the cross, Jesus shared a last meal with his disciples. At this meal he introduced a ritual which we know as the Lord’s Supper or communion:

Jesus thus sealed with his disciples a covenant that reminds us of God’s covenant dealings in the Old Testament. As a matter of fact, Luke adds the word "new" before covenant (22:20), making an explicit connection with Jeremiah 31:31-33. Jesus' language signifies continuity and discontinuity as we move from the Old to the New Testament, a transition in which Jeremiah’s prophecy plays a crucial role.

Jeremiah was a prophet at the end of the seventh and beginning of the sixth centuries B.C. Israel had a long history of covenant relationship with God, but also a long history of not obeying the law of the covenant. As a result, Jeremiah was commissioned by God to tell them that the curses of the covenant were about to go into effect so that they would end up in exile (Deut. 28:63-68).

But God did not leave Israel without hope. He also instructed Jeremiah to tell his people that his punishment would lead to their repentance and to the rescue of a remnant. The most notable instance of this promise is found in the so-called book of consolation, where Jeremiah 31:31-34 is at the heart of God’s message of hope:

Here we see a bridge between the Old Testament and the New, one that suggests both continuity and discontinuity. It is a covenant which has its foundations in the Old Testament covenants, but is in some sense new. Let’s explore what is new in the new covenant, that is to say, the discontinuity between the old and the new. We should note at the start that Palmer Robertson is correct to locate the necessity of discontinuity not in any failure on God’s part or in the covenant, but with the people: "The expulsion of the people of God from the land of promise at the time of the exile dramatizes their massive failure under the old covenant." footnote:[]

According to Jeremiah, the new covenant when compared to the old covenant is internal, immediate, and intimate. These differences are not differences in kind so much as degree. It is perhaps more precise to say that the new covenant is more internal, immediate, and intimate than the old. Jeremiah 31 attributes to the new covenant "a unique feature in its power to transform its participants from within their hearts." Further, there is no need for a teacher in the new covenant. Now Christians know by experience that the new covenant does not imply that we know everything or that everything concerning God and his Word is clear to us. It also does not mean that teachers and ministers should seek employment elsewhere. What it does mean is that human mediators of the covenant relationship are no longer needed. In the Old Testament, Moses, David, and various other leaders were the immediate recipients of the covenant relation ship; and they mediated it to the people. According to the New Testament, there is only one mediator; he is not merely human, but Jesus Christ, Son of God (1 Tim. 2:5).

On the other hand, the word "new" does not imply a complete break with the old. Recognizing this, Robertson calls the new covenant the covenant of consummation. This highlights the fact that Jesus Christ does not abrogate or ignore the old covenants but fulfils them. Robertson utilizes what his former students used to call the "lazy V" diagram to indicate that the covenants are a function of progressive revelation, each building on the previous ones until they are all consummated in Christ (see figure 1). Jesus fulfils the covenant with Abraham with its promises of descendants, land, and blessing for the nations. Jesus fulfils the covenant of law mediated by Moses, since he is the one who fulfils the conditions of the law. He also fulfils the covenant of the kingdom of David, since he is David’s greater Son who sits on the throne of the heavenly kingdom adumbrated by David’s political kingdom.

From O. Palmer Robertson, The Christ of the Covenants (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1980), 62.

We have seen that covenant is a leading metaphor of the Bible, arguably the most pervasive biblical image of the relationship between God and his people. As we follow the trajectory of this concept from the Old to the New Testament, we see that there is neither simple identity nor blunt contrast between the covenants. The new covenant of Jesus Christ is certainly different from the old covenants, but it is not as if the former replaces the latter. Rather, the covenant king of the New Testament is the fulfilment that is anticipated in the Old. The God of the New Testament is clearly the same as the God of the Old Testament; the difference is that we have come to know him better.

As we read through the pages of the Old Testament, we encounter many violent scenes. From Abraham’s battle to free Lot from raiding kings (Gen. 14) through the conquest of Canaan to the postexilic period, we read of many wars and armed struggles. As we turn to the crucial and influential law code in Deuteronomy, we also find almost two whole chapters (7 and 20) devoted to laws which regulated warfare for the people of God. It is from these laws as well as the historical descriptions that we derive our synthesis of warfare in the Old Testament.

In our survey of holy war in the Old Testament the overarching principle is that Yahweh is present in the battle. Thus warfare is actually a form of worship. That is why, for instance, it is necessary for the Israelite warrior to be in a state of spiritual preparedness. It is as if he is walking into the temple precincts. No one states the theology of holy war better than does the young David as he faces the giant Goliath. Just before they join battle, David triumphantly declares:

In the Old Testament, Yahweh fights on behalf of his people. As we broaden our study to include the development of redemptive history, we will observe that there is a progressive pattern to warring activity. We will look at five distinct phases of divine warfare in the Bible. Though not strictly sequential, they do reflect the development of the history of redemption (see figure 2).

In the Garden there was no special place for divine-human encounter. There was no sanctuary, no holy place, because the entire Garden was holy. After the fall, however, a sanctuary was needed if human creatures were to meet their holy Creator. God would not meet them just anywhere in the creation; a special place had to be set aside. This arrangement symbolically signaled the gulf in the relationship between God and humanity. Sin separated them, and this fact had to be acknowledged.

It is in the context of the flood that we find the first mention of an altar. footnote:[] After the flood waters receded, Noah and his family disembarked the ark. Then "Noah built an altar to the LORD and sacrificed on it the animals and birds that had been approved for that purpose" (Gen. 8:20). Although we do not get details, we can safely assume from later descriptions (e.g., Exod. 20:24-26) that it was a simple altar made out of earth or stones. Early altars were temporary structures, built out in the open.

As we enter the patriarchal period, we continue to read about the construction of altars and sacrifice, most often in the Abraham narrative. footnote:[] Indeed, the narrative gives us the impression that Abraham constructed altars wherever he stopped for any length of time. His first recorded stop in the land of Canaan was Shechem, where it is said that the Lord appeared to him with a message reaffirming the promises of land and descendants, and Abraham responded by building "an altar there to commemorate the LORD’s visit" (Gen. 12:7). In this case, Abraham constructed the altar in response to a theophany or appearance of God. Such an appearance marked the place as holy, so sacrifices had to be offered. The narrative does not, however, link every instance of altar building with theophany. Indeed, in the very next verse (12:8), we learn that Abraham moved to a camp between Bethel and Ai and built an altar there so he could worship God. Thus altar building could be initiated either by God or by Abraham. The motivation in each case was to provide a place for fellowship between God and sinful human beings.

It is of great interest to note that when Abraham built an altar at Shechem and later at Hebron (Gen. 13:18), he placed them next to prominent trees. He built the former by the "oak at Moreh" (Gen. 12:6) and the latter near the "oak grove owned by Mamre" (Gen. 13:18). This association of sanctuary and trees was no fluke, for the original sanctuary was a garden filled with trees. We here have the first hints that these sacred places were reminiscent of the Garden. footnote:[]

The altar built in Genesis 22 is extremely pertinent to later developments. In this passage, which is known in Jewish tradition as the Akedah, the "binding" of Isaac, Abraham is told to go to Mount Moriah in order to sacrifice his son. He goes there and builds the altar (22:9). Once Abraham has shown his unswerving trust, the Lord provides a substitute for the sacrifice. For our purposes, the location is crucial, but its significance is often missed. The mountain to which God commanded Abraham to go was Moriah (22:2). We read this name only one other time in the Bible, 2 Chronicles 3:1: "So Solomon began to build the Temple of the LORD in Jerusalem on Mount Moriah." Moriah thus appears to be another name for Zion. footnote:[]

While the biblical narrative associates Abraham in particular with altar constructions, it is notable that both his son Isaac (Beersheba [Gen. 26:25]) and grandson Jacob (Shechem [Gen. 33:20]; Bethel [35:1, 3, 7]) are also associated with altar building. Even though the narrative is not concerned to tell us about all the activities of the patriarchs, including their altar constructions, we can detect a motivation beyond the obvious one of providing a place for the patriarchs and their families to fellowship with God in the new land. Remember that at this period in the history of God’s people they have the promise of the land, but they don’t yet possess it. By building altars through the land, they are in effect laying claim to it in God’s name. By the end of the patriarchal period, altars that symbolize God’s fellowship with his people dot the landscape of Canaan, anticipating events to come.

Between the end of the Book of Genesis and the beginning of Exodus some centuries have passed. The family of God, when they were received in Egypt, numbered only seventy (Gen. 46:27). By the time of the exodus this family had become a numerous people. The covenant at Sinai made formal the transition of God’s people from a family to a nation (Exod. 19-24). A single open altar like that used by the patriarchs would no longer suffice for so numerous a people. If the people of God were to have any sense of corporate worship, then some kind of change had to take place. It was, of course, not up to the Israelites themselves to initiate such a change; God himself revealed his intention to Moses on Mount Sinai. He commanded Moses to build a tabernacle in which he could make his presence known in a special way (Exod. 25:9; 26:30).

At this time the Israelites were not a sedentary people. They were on the move. Inasmuch as the tabernacle was to serve as the central place of worship from the time the Israelites left Sinai until they were completely settled in the land, God would dwell in a mobile sanctuary. Like his people he would live in a tent like structure.

At this point we can see that size was a factor in God’s determination of the form for his place of worship. During the patriarchal period there had been only a few people, and the head of the clan could easily serve as a priestly type of mediator. Now that the people of God were numerous, he established a larger corporate place of worship. He also chose this time to institute the priesthood. No longer could the head of the clan handle the responsibilities required. A whole tribe (the Levites) was set apart for the task.

The focal point of the tabernacle was the Most Holy Place, where the ark, the most potent symbol of God’s presence, was positioned. The Most Holy Place was set apart from the Holy Place by a curtain (Exod. 26:33). It was here that God was understood to be enthroned. The interior of the tabernacle was also filled with a cloud which represented his glory (Exod. 40:34-38; Num. 9:15-23). God was clearly present in the tabernacle.

The description of the tabernacle and its furniture is quite extensive in the Book of Exodus. Indeed, much of the second part is devoted to instructions for (chs. 25-31) and the actual building of the tabernacle (chs. 35-40). The strategically positioned interruption in chapters 32-34, the golden-calf incident, recounts the suppression of a rebellion against proper worship. footnote:[] While we do not have the space to give a detailed explanation of the theological significance of the tabernacle and its accoutrements, we will provide a general outline as a counter balance to the all-too-common arbitrary allegorical readings of the text. footnote:[]

The tabernacle was a tent constructed of various metals, woods, and fabrics. Since the focal point was the Most Holy Place, it is no surprise to discover that as one moved in toward the center, more expensive materials were used, reflecting an increasing intensity of holiness. Thus bronze was used for the bases of the poles which held up the linen separating the courtyard from the camp. But in moving from the periphery of the tabernacle toward the center there was a rough progression from bronze to silver to gold, until finally in the Most Holy Place was found "pure gold."

A similar progression can be seen in the fabrics. The fabric used to separate the courtyard from the camp was plain, though expensive, white linen. There was only one exception. At the entrance was a blue, purple, and scarlet linen, which surely was intended to attract attention to the entrance of the complex.

For the tabernacle itself there are the innermost layer and three covers of different materials. The exact nature of the outermost fabric is debated; the Hebrew term tahaš (Exod. 26:14; 36:19) is uncertain. The New International Version takes it as sea cow’s hide; others suggest dolphin skin or "goatskin leather." All of these translations point to a material which is utilitarian. It is, after all, the outermost layer and has to withstand the elements. The second layer from the outside is made of "tanned ram skins." This, too, serves as protection, as does the next layer, which consists of "goat hair" (Exod. 26:7-13).

Special attention is given to the innermost layer. For it is the closest to the divine presence and is also the layer which would be seen, though but dimly (because lighting would be provided by only the menorah) and rarely (because few actually entered the tabernacle). Symbolically, the innermost layer gets at the heart of what the tabernacle is: "heaven on earth." Accordingly, the fabric is the most elaborate of all: "ten sheets of fine linen…​ are to be decorated with blue, purple, and scarlet yarn, with figures of cherubim skillfully embroidered into them" (Exod. 26:1). The expense of this fabric is indicated by the colors, which were extremely difficult to produce in antiquity and thus were usually reserved for royal garments. Note also that the innermost layer is a mixture of linen and wool. This is particularly striking in the light of Leviticus 19:19, which prohibits wearing clothing woven from two different kinds of fabric. Clearly such a mixture is reserved for holy purposes. Imagine standing in the tabernacle and looking up toward the ceiling. The surface would be bluish-heaven-like-and populated with heavenly creatures, the powerful cherubim. In a word, one would be standing in heaven, or at least a symbolical heaven on earth. The tabernacle, the place God chose for his presence to dwell in a special way, was where heaven came into contact with earth.

Given its unique nature, the tabernacle was surrounded by all kinds of cultic protection. For instance, only certain classes of people could progress toward the Holy of Holies, and only after they offered the requisite sacrifices to atone for their sins. In addition, when the people of God encamped during the wilderness wanderings, the tabernacle was placed in the center of all the tribes. The Levites, the tribe set apart for priestly service, surrounded the tabernacle, creating a buffer against any who might intentionally or unintentionally profane the holy space. But the Levites could go only so far into the tabernacle area. Aaron’s priestly descendants could go farther, but even they could not go into the Most Holy Place. This privilege was reserved for the high priest, and he could enter only on the Day of Atonement (Lev. 16).

A complete description of the tabernacle would include a section on the various objects that were placed inside. We have already mentioned the ark, and space permits brief mention of only one other, the lampstand. It was made out of gold, as befitted an object toward the center of the sacred space. What was particularly striking in its design was its treelike traits: "The entire lampstand and its decorations will be one piece-the base, center stem, lamp cups, buds, and blossoms. It will have six branches, three branches going out from each side of the center stem. Each of the six branches will hold a cup shaped like an almond blossom, complete with buds and petals" (Exod. 25:31-33). From this description it is clear that we are to understand the lamp stand (menorah) as an almond tree. footnote:[] Having already noted the association of the patriarchal altars with trees, we do not go too far to suggest again that the tree motif evokes memories of Eden. The tabernacle continued in use for many years after the people of God entered the Promised Land. Unfortunately, we not provide a detailed history of its locations and use. The clearest picture comes from the early period of Samuel’s life, when Eli was judge, and the ark and tabernacle were located in Shiloh (1 Sam. 1-4).

The next major transition in the story of God’s making his presence known among his people comes with David and Solomon. It is at this time that the temple is built. In order to understand the transition, we must ask what the difference is between tabernacle and temple, and why the latter structure became appropriate at this point in the history of redemption.

At heart, the temple is very similar to the tabernacle. It is a structure that becomes increasingly holy toward the interior, culminating in the Holy of Holies at the back, where God is said to have made his presence known in a special way. The difference between temple and tabernacle is the difference between a house and a tent. A tent is a residence that can be packed up and moved. A house is a permanent structure. Thus the temple symbolizes permanence, establishment, firmness, a general trait confirmed by its innovative architectural features.

Special mention is made of the construction of two large pillars ("27 feet tall and 18 feet in circumference," 1 Kings 7:15). These pillars connote strength and permanence, grandeur and majesty, a fact brought out further by their names ("he [Huram] named the one on the south Jakin, and the one on the north Boa," 1 Kings 7:21). Jakin likely should be translated "he establishes," while Boaz means "in him is strength."

Outside the temple proper was a large tank of water called the sea. It was the place where the priests would ritually wash in connection with their duties. The peculiar name by which this vessel was designated is of particular interest to us. Throughout the Near East the sea was a symbol of the forces of chaos, cosmic and historical. footnote:[] In the Old Testament, Yahweh the creator God demonstrated his power by subduing the sea. We see this is the biblical poets (Job 12:15; Ps. 18:15) and the prophets (Isa. 19:5; 27:1; Jer. 5:22; Dan. 7; Nah. 1:4). A large amount of water in a tank called the sea would certainly remind the people that God had conquered the forces of chaos and thus established a sense of permanence.

As an architectural structure symbolizing establishment and permanence, it is no coincidence that the temple came into existence shortly after the conquest was completed. This story actually begins in Deuteronomy 12, where Moses conveys to Israel in the wilder ness God’s instruction that they were to worship at one (and only one) permanent site. This regulation looked to the future, when they would be finally settled in the land. Indeed, it would go into effect only "when you drive out the nations that live there" (Deut. 12:2). Accordingly, the first proposal to build a temple comes in a chapter that begins, "The LORD had brought peace to the land" (2 Sam. 7:1). God, through David, had driven out the Philistines and brought the Israelites to a new level of security.

When the time seems right to build the temple, David has a dialogue with the prophet Nathan. The discussion revolves around the Hebrew word bayit (alternatively translated throughout the chapter as "house," "temple," "palace," and "dynasty"). footnote:[] David begins by lamenting the disparity of his living in a beautiful palace (bayit) while the ark is housed in a tent (and probably an aged one at that). Nathan initially responds by affirming David’s intentions, but that night the Lord appears to him with the message that David is not the one to build his "temple" (bayit).

God’s reasons for not allowing David to build the temple are instructive. First, God inquires, "Are you the one to build me a temple to live in?" In other words, it is God who initiates the building of his residence; no human person has that right. A quick look back at the tabernacle narratives reminds us that it was God who initiated its building as well as delivered to Moses the architectural plans (see, e.g., Exod. 26:30). Second, as David recalls when giving instructions before his death, the Lord had said to him earlier, "You must not build a temple to honor my name, for you are a warrior and have shed much blood" (1 Chron. 28:3). Many readers of the Bible misunderstand this to mean that God would not allow a person who had been engaged in killing to perform such a holy task as building his temple. This, however, does not take into account the fact that it was God himself who instructed and guided David in the waging of holy war. No, God’s words have a redemptive-historical rather than ethical significance. David had the role of completing the conquest, and since the temple symbolized peace from enemies, the task was better left to his successor, whose very name-Solomon-meant "peace."

It is not within our present purpose to develop further the theology of 2 Samuel 7, also known as the Davidic covenant, but we would be remiss not to broadly outline God’s response to David. David, because he dwelt in a beautiful bayit ("palace"), had offered to build God a bayit ("temple").r God declined the offer, but then conferred on David the gift of a bayit ("dynasty," 2 Sam. 7:11).

In accordance with God’s will, David did not build the temple, but the Book of 1 Chronicles indicates that he exerted great effort preparing for its construction. footnote:[] The temple was built and dedicated by Solomon with words that indicated a clear understanding that, while God made his presence known in the temple, he did not really live there: "But will God really live on earth? Why, even the highest heavens cannot contain you. How much less this Temple I have built!" (1 Kings 8:27).

Centuries later the people of Israel made the fatal mistake of treating the temple as God’s permanent residence. They did not trust God; rather, they regarded the temple as a kind of idol that assured them of God’s presence and protection. This is the heart of Jeremiah’s temples sermon (ch. 7) accusing the people of not responding to God’s call for repentance. Instead, they presumed on his protection since he lived in Jerusalem. As long as the temple was there, God would never allow their city to be harmed, would he?

Ezekiel 9 through 11 narrates God’s response to this question. These chapters show God rising from his throne in the Holy of Holies, moving to the entrance (9:3), mounting his cherubim-driven chariot, and heading east toward Babylon (11:23). The next time he is seen he is at the head of the Babylonian army, which destroys Jerusalem and tears down the temple. It is true that after purification a remnant ultimately returns to the land. This remnant then builds a second temple, where God once again makes his presence known among the people. But compared to the previous temple, it "must seem like nothing at all" (Hag. 2:3). A greater glory is yet to come.

On the surface the Old Testament and the New seem quite different in regard to the presence of God. In the Old Testament God seems distant; he is approached only with fear, trembling, and sacrifice. He is present only in certain geographical locales, and these places, whether altar, tabernacle, or temple, are surrounded with prohibitions and taboos. In the New Testament, however, God seems close to us. We can have an intimate relationship with him. We may call him "Abba," Aramaic for "daddy" (Rom. 8:15). It seems quite a contrast, and it is, as Hebrews 12 indicates. After all, we today have not come to a physical mountain like Sinai, a fearful place that we don’t want to approach (vv. 18-21); rather, we have come to "Mount Zion, to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to thousands of angels in joyful assembly" (v. 22). However, reading the New Testament carefully shows that this is not a true contrast. For the Old Testament is actually the foundation for our intimate relationship with God in the New. In a word, Jesus Christ is the new tabernacle, the new temple of God. Remember that the issue is God’s presence among us. The New Testament teaches, of course, that Jesus is God himself. The prologue of John tells us that the Word became flesh and "lived here on earth among us" (1:14). Most English translations do not catch the force of the Greek. The word "lived" translates skenoō, which is the verbal form of "tabernacle" (skēnē). Jesus came and "tabernacled among us." John is indicating the arrival of someone who will replace the architectural places of worship.

In John 4, another passage that relates to the issue at hand, Jesus talks to a Samaritan woman. The Samaritans and the Jews had a running controversy as to the proper place to worship the Lord. The latter felt that God had chosen Mount Zion, but the former worshiped God on Mount Gerizim near the city of Shechem. Jesus addresses this theological problem by suggesting that someone has come who will make this question obsolete: "The time is coming and is already here when true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and in truth. The Father is looking for anyone who will worship him that way. For God is Spirit, so those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth" (John 4:23-24). While in this context Jesus affirms the earlier practice of the Jews who worshiped at Zion, his comment implies that the temple is no longer needed.

That the temple is no longer needed becomes explicit in Mark 13, where Jesus comments on the future. While walking with Jesus in the temple precincts (as restored by Herod the Great), the disciples are amazed by the sight and exclaim, "Teacher, look at these tremendous buildings! Look at the massive stones in the walls!" Jesus shocks them by responding, "These magnificent buildings will be so completely demolished that not one stone will be left on top of another" (Mark 13:2). This statement becomes an occasion for his talk about the future, the so-called little apocalypse. Later, during his trial before the high priest, he is accused of saying that he would destroy the temple and in three days raise it again (Mark 14:55-59). While the testimony is likely distorted, it is certainly provocative. At any rate, the Gospel writers clearly understood Jesus to be putting himself in the place of the temple. While the temple was the site where God made his presence known, Jesus himself is the presence of God among humankind. He is the reality to which the temple looked forward.

The metaphor of Christ as the temple is used flexibly in the rest of the New Testament. In the Epistles, for instance, Christians are compared to the temple, either individually (1 Cor. 6:19) or corporately (1 Cor. 3:16-17). For just as God was present in the Holy of Holies, so the Holy Spirit dwells in the Christian. Significantly, however, Peter refers to the church as the temple, but notes that it is Christ who is "the living cornerstone of God’s temple" (1 Peter 2:4).

The idea that Christ is the fulfilment of the temple fits the New Testament’s understanding of the relationship between Christ and the entire worship apparatus of the Old Testament. This point is particularly developed by the Book of Hebrews, which teaches that Christ is the fulfilment of sacrifice and the priesthood. Jesus Christ is the perfect sacrifice and perfect priest (Heb. 9:11-10:18).

To complete the theme of the presence of God in the Bible, we must press on to the Book of Revelation. In the final two chapters of that book, we get a glimpse of the world to come, the new heaven and new earth. Strikingly, we read that "no temple could be seen in the city, for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are its temple" (21:22). No longer is there the need for a special holy place. Sin has been eradicated, and God and humanity again live in harmony and bliss. Not surprisingly, we find allusions to the Garden at the end of the canon: "And the angel showed me a pure river with the water of life, clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb, coursing down the center of the main street. On each side of the river grew a tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, with a fresh crop each month. The leaves were used for medicine to heal the nations" (22:1-2). This is the climax of redemptive history. The restoration of Eden, but more than restoration. The imagery, including the two trees of life, suggests that our heavenly Eden will surpass the original.

We began this chapter by posing the question, "Is the God of the Old Testament the same as the God of the New Testament?" We were driven to ask this question because a superficial reading of the Bible might lead a person to contrast the pictures of deity presented in the two Testaments. Is the God of the Old Testament distant, cold, angry, judgmental, arbitrary? Is the God of the New Testament, particularly as we see him in his Son, Jesus Christ, warm, intimate, personal, gracious, and caring?

We observed that the Bible avoids speculation and abstractions about God; instead, it paints word pictures of the relationship between God and his people. We chose to examine three of these themes to see whether or not the God of the Old Testament is different from the God of the New. In our exploration we saw how the covenants of the Old Testament drove forward to the new covenant. We marveled as Yahweh the warrior of the Old Testament anticipated the battles of Jesus in the New Testament. We followed the story of how God’s dwelling with his people overcame humanity’s rebellion to lead from the Garden to the New Jerusalem.

Our study has led to the conclusion that the Bible presents a unified picture of God. The God of the New Testament is clearly the God of the Old Testament. This unified picture, however, is not a static one. God progressively reveals himself to his people through time. The shadows of the Old Testament give way to the reality of the New. Looking to Jesus Christ as the fulfilment of the Old Testament, Augustine summarized it well: "The New Testament is in the Old concealed; the Old Testament is in the New revealed."