a transformed sense. And yet the latter is closer to what we encounter in Hebrews, in which, as our reading will observe, the heavenly world of the drama morphs and bends according to the point being made. Is there a heavenly curtain? Does it stay in place (temporarily? forever?)? Are there divisions of the heavenly tabernacle between a holy place and most holy place, with two curtains? Is there an ark, and are the other items of Moses’s tabernacle present and functioning in heavenly one-to-one correspondences? Why are some features and rites seemingly missing? Is the liturgical movement vertical or horizontal?22 The questions multiply. The point can be overdrawn, but the impression remains: The cultic geo-architectural background is not stable in the way that Tolkien’s or the Gospels’ maps are. We can imagine that the writer of Hebrews was simply not in control of his conception, or perhaps was deceptive, thinking that the readers would not notice. We can also persevere in the conviction that we have failed to make good sense out of Hebrews’ language, which does in fact yield a consistent picture of a definite map and architecture. But we can also conclude that the controlling reality is not geography and architecture but the Son himself and his work.
Secondly, as G. B. Caird rightly observed about apocalyptic broadly, “When an author writes a book consisting wholly or mainly of symbols, there is a prima facie case for not supposing him to be a literalist; and the case holds even if he should prove to be a slavish imitator using conventional imagery and with little imagination of his own. But this generalization does not decisively settle the more particular question whether the apocalypticists intended their eschatology to be taken literally. That can be determined only by reading the books.”23 Given that each writer and writing must be taken one-by-one, when Hebrews is laced through with the symbolism of apocalyptic there is “prima facie case for not supposing him to be a literalist” respecting heavenly structures, external to the person of God and necessarily instrumental to the accomplishment of atonement, structures within which—as something containing the Son, rather than contained by the Son—the Son moves.
Thirdly, there is a strong implication that what was “upper” and “prior”—the heavenly pattern shown Moses (8:5)—was identical with what was at that point yet future, that is, what was found to be the case in the Son (9:11; 10:1).
Fourthly, it is probably deficient to think that in Hebrews’ intention what was shown Moses was merely physical infrastructure, the structures, accoutrement, and paraphernalia with and within which the priestly liturgy would be enacted—as if a building waiting to be used, vestments laid out and waiting to be donned. There is good reason to suppose that the heavenly pattern included the drama enacted therein (8:1–6; 9:1–10). Yet when we pay attention to the correspondences drawn between Jesus and the Mosaic rites, there is a tremendous freedom of both selection and conflation—not to mention that Jesus himself is the offering and the priest. The controlling center, the stable reality, is the Son and his work.
Fifthly, the effects of the Son’s atonement are cast back over history, suggesting strongly that for Hebrews the atonement itself, though once for all at the end of the ages (9:26; cf. 4:3), was ever present.24
Sixthly, if we dig down into Heb 3:1–6 and its use of the OT there is a convincing argument to be made that what Moses saw (Exod 33–34) was none other than the Son.25 In 11:26 Moses reckoned specifically on the reproach of Christ, hinting at the content of his vision.
Seventhly, on Hebrews’ terms, considered broadly, it is backwards to think of the Mosaic structures and rites as the “literal” and the realities of the Son as “spiritual-figurative.” The Mosaic structures and rites are copies, shadows, parables that witness to the actual.
Eighthly, if we undertake to interpret the respective passages of Hebrews as if they are oriented on the Son, his salvation, and his people, allowing the cultic imagery to bend and adapt as the case requires, there is a satisfying result in both the parts and the whole. If, however, someone objects that here or there the writer patently contrasts “earthly” and “heavenly” and assigns events to this or that realm, or to this or that point on the timeline, and if we then try to draw a single picture or a single timeline, the disagreements multiply. If we on our side are asked to explain these we can only respond that we are being asked to account for problems that arise through the denial of our premises.
Ninthly, the idea that God and the Son are themselves the temple of God was certainly in the apostolic air (Matt 12:6; John 2:21; Rev 21:22).26 The referent and meaning of the word “temple” in such a context is “Christ.” Likewise, we are not surprised that the extended description of Ezekiel’s temple would be prefaced with these words: “I will not hide my face anymore from them, when I pour out my Spirit upon the house of Israel, declares the Lord GOD.” (39:29); and that it closes with these words: “the name of the city from that time on shall be, The LORD Is There” (48:35). The implication seems to me to be that Israel is the dwelling place, the temple; this would seem to be how Revelation took it.27 The church as the temple is commonplace in the NT. The point is not that Hebrews’ conception is identical to these, but that one cannot assume that an “ancient mindset” would automatically or naturally lead to “literalistic” interpretations of the language.
Lastly, theologians have for excellent reasons been driven precisely by Scripture inexorably to the conclusion that there is no revelation or atonement external to the person of the Son and that there is no way to separate the speech and the work of God.28 The Son is the revelation of God and he is salvation.
In Christ, what God communicates to man is not something, but his very self. This is distinct from all other acts of God. This is God’s unique act, his reality-in-the-act, and apart from this act there is no God at all. In the act of creation, God does not communicate himself, but creates a reality wholly distinct from himself, but here in Jesus Christ God acts in such a way that he is himself in his act, and what he acts he is, and what he is he acts. . . . This unity of person and word, and person and work, and therefore of word and work, means that we cannot in any sense think of the work of revelation and reconciliation as a kind of transaction objective to Christ, or simply as an act done by Christ. It is above all the person of Christ revealing so that revelation cannot be separated off from his person. Similarly, it is the person of Christ atoning, so that atonement cannot be divided from Christ’s person. . . . The atonement is his person in action, not the action by itself.29
There is no reason or need to think that all this was present to the mind of this writer, but it is arguably consistent with the direction of his gaze. He was attempting to communicate the person of Christ. The coherence of his imagery, therefore, does not consist in his exegetical methods or the images as such but in the person of the Son to whom the images coherently witnessed. As already indicated, this does not entail the conclusion that he then thought of this heavenly tabernacle language as merely figurative, in the sense that moderns might intend that. In any event, it is due to such considerations, among others, that we will assert that for Hebrews the pattern shown Moses according to which he constructed the copies and shadows was the Son and his salvation as such.30
The Great Salvation
Inseparable from the Son is his great salvation.
The palette of salvation in Hebrews is predominantly priestly, sacrificial, and covenantal. This is no straightjacket, however, for the driving interest is to witness to “such a great salvation” in pastorally restorative and encouraging ways. The portrayal is not cultic monochrome. The kingly
