The Israel of God : The Land
O. Palmer Robertson
It has been rightly observed that the idea of the “land” as a theological concept has been largely overlooked by both Judaism and Christianity. Except for eschatological speculations concerning the return of Israel to the land, the whole concept of the land as presented in Scripture has been generally neglected. The reasons for this neglect might be variously evaluated.1 But unquestionably the significance of the land as a theological idea needs fuller exploration.2
The concept of a land that belongs to God’s people originated in Paradise. This simple fact, so often overlooked, plays a critical role in evaluating the significance of the land throughout redemptive history and in its consummate fulfillment.3 Land did not begin to be theologically significant with the promise given to Abraham. Instead, the patriarch’s hope of possessing a land arose out of the concept of restoration to the original state from which man had fallen.4 The original idea of land as paradise significantly shaped the expectations associated with redemption. As the place of blessedness arising from unbroken fellowship and communion with God, the land of paradise became the goal toward which redeemed humanity was returning.
In speaking of Israel’s land under the old covenant, it is necessary to think in categories of shadow, type, and prophecy, in contrast to reality, substance, and fulfillment under the new covenant. These contrasting categories come to expression in various ways in the writings of the New Testament. Throughout Matthew’s gospel, significant events in the life of Jesus are explained as having occurred so that old covenant anticipations might be fulfilled (Matt. 2:15, 17, 23; 13:14, 35; 26:54, 56; 27:9). John declares that God now “tabernacles” with his people in a way that far surpasses his dwelling with Israel in the days of their wilderness wandering (John 1:14), that the angels of God now ascend and descend on the Son of Man rather than on Jacob’s visionary ladder (John 1:51), that the lifting up of the Son of God supersedes the lifting up of the serpent in the wilderness (John 3:14), and that the manna from heaven given by Moses has been transformed into “living bread” given by Christ (John 6:49–51). Paul speaks of the religious festivals of the old covenant as “a shadow of the things that were to come” (Col. 2:17), and the events of Israel’s redemptive history as “types” for believers during the new covenant age (1 Cor. 10:6). All these authors of new covenant documents develop a significant aspect of their theology by contrasting old covenant shadows with new covenant realities.
It is particularly in the epistle to the Hebrews that this contrast between anticipation and realization, between shadow and reality, finds its fullest and most distinctive expression. According to the writer to the Hebrews, the administration of redemption under the law of the old covenant was “only a shadow” of the good things that were coming (Heb. 10:1). These shadowy images of redemptive reality did not originate merely in the context of old covenant experiences. Instead, these prophetic shadows originated in the abiding realities of heaven itself. Because Melchizedek the priest-king was made “like” the Son of God in his eternal relationship to the Father, he could anticipate the priestly role of Jesus (Heb. 7:1, 3). Similarly, only because the tabernacle in the wilderness was constructed precisely “according to the pattern” shown to Moses on the mount, could its pattern of worship provide insight into the realities of a proper approach to God under the provisions of the new covenant (Heb. 8:5).
According to all these different documents of the new covenant, the administration of redemption under the old covenant was prophetically typological, anticipating the realities of the new covenant. Other examples may be cited to substantiate the same principle. The sacrifice of animals and foodstuffs anticipated the offering of the body of Jesus under the new covenant. A temporary priesthood anticipated the permanent priesthood of Christ. The mobile tabernacle foreshadowed the abiding presence of God’s glory in the person of Jesus. As the Israelites journeyed through the desert, God provided them with manna from heaven, water from the rock, and a serpent on a pole. All these images found their new covenant fulfillment, not in more manna and water, or in a larger serpent on a taller pole, but in the redemptive realities that these old covenant forms foreshadowed (see, e.g., John 3:14; 6:51; 7:37; Rom. 15:16). The very nature of the old covenant provisions requires that they be viewed as prophetic shadows, not as permanent realities.
This principle has great significance when it is applied to the idea of land as experienced by Israel under the administration of the old covenant. The promise of land also originated in the heavenly realities and not merely in the temporal experiences of Israel. According to the writer to the Hebrews, Abraham and the patriarchs longed for “a better country—a heavenly one” (Heb. 11:16). They understood, though only dimly, that the land promised to them actually had its origins in the heavenly, eternal reality that yet remained before them. The possession of a particular tract of land would have significance from a number of perspectives with respect to God’s redemptive working in the world. But the land also served as a shadow, a type, a prophecy, anticipating the future working of God with his people.
This relation of prophetic shadow to substantial fulfillment becomes increasingly evident as the theme of the land is traced throughout Scripture—first in the history of Israel, then in the Psalms and Prophets, and finally in the documents of the new covenant itself. In reviewing this material, it would be helpful to note that the idea of land in Scripture centers particularly on two basic concepts, one broad and one narrow: (1) the totality of the area known as the land of the Bible, and (2) the city of Jerusalem with its center at Mount Zion.5 Both of these concepts are significantly related to the idea of God’s intent to redeem a people to himself. In this regard, the following topics may be considered:
A. The land in the experience of God’s people under the old covenant
B. The land in the Psalms and the Prophets
C. The land from a new covenant perspective
A. The Land in the Experience of God’s People Under the Old Covenant
Land began with Paradise, but the paradisical nature of land was lost in the Fall. Sinful humanity was expelled from this land of blessing. But the idea of paradise was renewed in the promise of land made by God in his covenant to redeem a people from his fallen condition. As Adam and Eve had known God’s blessing in Eden, so God would bless his people in a new land. This idea of restoration to paradise provides the proper biblical context for understanding God’s promise to give land to Abraham (Gen. 12:1). This promise to the patriarch became the basis for all subsequent understanding of the role of the land in the unfolding history of redemption.6
This divine promise was restated to Moses in terms of “a land flowing with milk and honey” (Ex. 3:8, 17; 13:5; 33:3; Lev. 20:24; Num. 13:27; etc.). As the significance of this land was revealed to Moses, three striking concepts emerged:7
1. This land belongs to the Lord of the covenant. According to the legislation in Leviticus, the land was not to be sold, since, as the Covenant Lord declared, “The land is mine, and you are strangers and my tenants” (Lev. 25:23*). This is the only verse in the Pentateuch in which the land is specifically declared to belong to the Lord, although a number of other ideas support this concept. It is declared that (1) the land was to be divided by lot, allowing God to determine its distribution (cf. Num. 26:55); (2) the law of the tithe indicated that the Lord owned the land and had a right to demand his portion (cf. Deut. 14:22; 26:9–15); (3) the law of the sabbath rest was applied to the land, indicating that it was the Lord’s possession, just as were people and cattle (Lev. 25:2, 4).
But the concept that this particular land belonged to the Lord can be understood correctly only if the Lord’s claim to the whole earth is recognized. This idea finds expression in the record of God’s creation of all things, as well as in a number of subsequent passages:
[Moses promises to stop the hail that has been destroying Pharaoh’s crops] so you may know that the earth belongs to the Covenant Lord. (Ex. 9:29*)
[The Lord declares to the Israelite people as he confirms his covenant at Sinai:] Although the whole earth is mine, you will be for me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation. (Ex. 19:5)
To the Covenant Lord your God belong the heavens, even the highest heavens, the earth and everything in it [yet this great God has set his affection on Israel’s forefathers and has chosen this nation above all the nations]. (Deut. 10:14–15)
No idea of a deity restricted to a particular territory may be found in these passages. God’s selection of one portion of the earth in which to do a special work of redemption naturally leads to the expectation that through this one people all the nations of the earth will be blessed.
Under the new covenant, this principle that the Lord possesses the whole of heaven and earth has practical application. Writing to the Christians in Corinth, Paul explains that they should have no qualms about eating things offered to idols, “for the earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it” (1 Cor. 10:26). Since the one true God is Lord of the whole earth, an idol has no claim over any portion of it.
In a similar vein, the covenant promise of land made to Abraham takes on a much greater significance when it is viewed from the perspective of fulfillment in the age of the new covenant. Now the patriarch’s promise is understood to imply that he is the heir of the cosmos, not merely the land of the Bible (Rom. 4:13). Because God is the Lord of the whole universe, he will fulfill his covenant promise of redemption by reconstituting the cosmos. In this way, paradise will be restored in all its glory. The blessing of land that humanity first experienced will finally be graciously given back to him.
2. All blessings flowing from the land come ultimately from the hand of the Lord. From an alternative perspective, it may be said that the land is specifically “the place where Yahweh abundantly gave material gifts of all kinds to his people.”8 One should not suppose that Israel derived this concept from the Canaanite culture that surrounded it. The universal reign of the Lord of the covenant makes it plain that he is not restricted to blessing only within the land of promise. As he departed from Egypt, Abraham was loaded with the blessings of prosperity, even though he had earned the disgust of the heathen pharaoh on whom he had brought a curse because of his deceit concerning his wife Sarah (Gen. 12:18–13:2).
The fact that the Lord alone could give blessing in the land was underscored even before Israel entered it. This land would not be like Egypt, watered regularly by the flooding Nile. Instead, in this land God would show his special care by sending the rains in their various seasons. Apart from this blessing, the land would become a curse to the people. Yet they could trust the Covenant Lord’s good intentions. As Moses told them, “It is a land the Lord your God cares for; the eyes of the Lord your God are continually on it from the beginning of the year to its end” (Deut. 11:12). For this reason and this reason alone, the people could be assured of the blessings of the Lord. It was his land, the place of his special concern.
Yet with all the emphasis on the distinctiveness of this land in comparison with all other lands, the reason for its selection must not be overlooked. From the beginning, it was declared that God had committed himself in covenant oath to Abraham, not that the patriarch might indulge himself with God’s blessings, but that Abraham would be a blessing to all the nations of the world. As a narrow land bridge connecting the continents of Africa, Europe, and Asia, this place and no other was rightly situated for the extension of God’s covenant blessing to the entire world. It was for this reason that the prophet Ezekiel later declared that God’s people were situated “at the center of the earth” and that Jerusalem was set “in the center of the nations” (Ezek. 38:12*; 5:5).
3. This land is uniquely holy. The holiness of the land is inescapably related to the fact that the holy God dwelt there. As has been stated, “Because Yahweh was near to it, his own holiness radiated throughout its boundaries.”9 It is not that the land itself possessed some special sacredness in and of itself. As a matter of fact, the phrase “holy land” apparently is used only twice in the whole of Scripture, and in each case the word land must be supplied by inference (Ps. 78:54; Zech. 2:12). In other words, the holiness of the land is derived from the presence of the holy God. But once his person has been removed, as is implied by the withdrawal of the Shekinah in the days before the captivity of Jerusalem, the land is no longer holy and so becomes subject to human devastation. Even the ground around a bush in the desert becomes holy when the Lord manifests his presence in that place (Ex. 3:5). Because of the presence of the Lord, Moses must remove his shoes so that he will not defile the ground that has become holy. In a similar way, Israel is charged not to defile the land, “for I dwell in the midst of my people Israel” (Num. 35:34*).
Yet the holiness of the Lord so penetrates the land that it may be said that it is proactive in maintaining its own sacredness. Because of the pollutions of the Canaanites, the land vomited them from its midst (Lev. 18:25). In a similar way, Israel must be careful to keep all the Lord’s commandments, or the land will vomit them out (Lev. 18:28; 20:22).
One particular circumstance may be noted with respect to the desecration of the land. Because of the total reversal of the order of creation when a man is hanged on a tree, he must not be left overnight or his corpse will “desecrate the land” (Deut. 21:22–23). Trees were created by God specifically to be a blessing to mankind. They provide shade from the heat, fuel for the fire, and fruit for nourishment. When this benefactor becomes an agent of execution, it must be subjected to strict limits, or else the land itself will be defiled.
So it was enough that a tree was used for the execution of the innocent Son of God (Gal. 3:13). Heaven darkened at that total reversal of the intended order of creation (Matt. 27:45). If his body had been allowed to remain on the tree beyond the time allotted by the law of God, no one could have predicted the consequences. But his prompt removal symbolized the prospect that peace could be restored between an offended God and an offending creation.
The land functioned in significant ways by the appointment of God in accordance with the covenant mediated through Abraham and Moses. In idyllic terms, it was described as “a land flowing with milk and honey” (Ex. 3:8, 17; 13:5; 33:3; Lev. 20:24; Num. 13:27; etc.). This description of the Promised Land intentionally reflected the nature of Paradise. Yet the real condition of the land as experienced by Israel was quite different, as can be seen in an old Jewish fable. According to this legend, God at creation commissioned two storks to scatter stones all over the face of the earth. These stones were divided into two bags, one for each stork. But the bag being carried by one stork broke over the land of the Bible. As a consequence, half of the stones of the world are located in Israel. It is indeed a glorious land, a land with great diversity and beauty. But many other parts of the world are much more fertile and lack all the stones found so abundantly in this land.
Throughout its history, Israel’s experience with the land had the effect of placing the promise of it in the category of an old covenant shadow that would have to wait for the arrival of new covenant realities for its fulfillment. In the time of David and Solomon, the full extent of the land was described as stretching from the Tigris-Euphrates River to the border of Egypt (1 Kings 4:21). In this restored paradise of the kingdom, every man would sit under his own vine and fig tree (1 Kings 4:25; Mic. 4:4; Zech. 3:10). Yet from the beginning, the actual experience of the people was quite different. From Solomon’s day onward, the people experienced oppression rather than paradise, which had the effect of placing this promise firmly within the category of an old covenant shadow that would have to wait for the arrival of new covenant realities for its fulfillment.
The possession of the land under the old covenant was not an end in itself, but fit instead among the shadows, types, and prophecies that were characteristic of the old covenant in its presentation of redemptive truth. Just as the tabernacle was never intended to be a settled item in the plan of redemption but was to point to Christ’s tabernacling among his people (cf. John 1:14), and just as the sacrificial system could never atone for sins but could only foreshadow the offering of the Son of God (Heb. 9:23–26), so in a similar manner Abraham received the promise of the land but never experienced the blessing of its full possession. In this way, the patriarch learned to look forward to “the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God” (Heb. 11:10). Because of the promise that was set before them, the patriarchs never returned to the land of Ur, since “they were longing for a better country—a heavenly one” (Heb. 11:16). As a consequence, even the denial of the realization of the promise to the patriarchs served the purposes of God by forcing them to look beyond their present experience to the future reality. According to one analysis,
The patriarchs were looking forward, not so much to the day when their descendants would inherit the physical Land, as to the day when they themselves would inherit the heavenly country which the physical Land signified. They “saw through” the promise of the Land, looking beyond it to a deeper, spiritual reality. The promise concerning the Land, whilst real and valid in its own terms, pointed typologically to something greater.10
At this early stage, the central role of Jerusalem also came to the fore. Abraham paid tithes to Melchizedek, the priest-king of (Jeru) Salem (Gen. 14:20). At this place, Abraham also presented his son Isaac as an offering to God (Gen. 22:1–2; 2 Chron. 3:1). In both cases, the shadowy events at Jerusalem pointed to greater realities of the new covenant that would ultimately be realized in the heavenly priesthood of Christ “after the order of Melchizedek” and in the once-for-all sacrifice of the Son of God, a better offering than Isaac (Heb. 7:15–17*, 26–27).
After Abraham died, the nation of Israel moved in and out of the land. As a landless people during the bondage instituted by Pharaoh, they suffered the “reproach of Egypt” (Josh. 5:9). This condition prevailed for four hundred years, until the conquest of Joshua. The people actually possessed the land during the period of the kings, but their possession never reached perfection. Proper dominion over the land remained as a tantalizing possibility that never came to full realization. Solomon ruined his prospects by importing foreign gods and tolerating the worship assemblies of his heathen wives on the “hill of abominations” just across the valley from the temple mount (1 Kings 11:7–8; 2 Kings 23:13). During this period, invading armies sent by the Lord repeatedly chastised the people for their unfaithfulness in the land (1 Kings 11:14, 22–25). Finally, the people were removed from the land altogether (2 Kings 17:22–23; 25:21). They were driven out, exiled from the land that had been given to their forefathers.
Of course, Jerusalem could not possibly be dispossessed so long as the Shekinah, the visual manifestation of God’s glory, dwelt in its midst. As prophesied by Ezekiel, the Shekinah had to depart from the city before its fall. First the glory of the God of Israel rose from above the cherubim in the Most Holy Place, where it had resided since the day Solomon dedicated the temple, and moved to the threshold of the temple (Ezek. 9:3; cf. 1 Kings 8:10–11). Next, Ezekiel heard the whirring wheels of the cherubim that dwelt above the ark, indicating that they were on the move (Ezek. 10:13). In a third step, the glory of the Lord departed from the threshold of the temple and moved, along with the cherubim and the whirring wheels, to the east gate of the Lord’s house (Ezek. 10:16–19). Finally, the glory of God, along with the cherubim and the wheels, rose above the city of Jerusalem and stopped at the mountain on the east of it, the Mount of Olives (Ezek. 11:22–23).
What are these “whirring wheels,” and what is their significance in the book of Ezekiel? The key to answering these questions appears to be found in the provisions made by David for Solomon’s building of the temple. Among other things, David left for Solomon “the plan for the chariot, that is, the cherubim of gold that spread their wings and shelter the ark of the covenant of the Lord” (1 Chron. 28:18). In other words, a “chariot” with “wheels” was part of the paraphernalia of the ark. The wheels associated with the ark came to symbolize the fact that God’s presence was mobile.11 It could not be presumed that he would always remain within the temple. So the chariot with wheels proved a fitting symbol that anticipated Ezekiel’s message.
Once the glory had departed from Jerusalem, the city was as vulnerable as any other place on the face of the earth. Its consecration to the Lord was lost, and so the city was no longer holy. It was neither dedicated to the Lord nor guaranteed his protection. As a consequence, the exile of Jerusalem’s inhabitants could not be avoided.
So the loss of the land was laden with theological significance. When the possession of this land is viewed as a sign of the blessings of the covenant of redemption, then its loss must have equally widespread implications. Dispossession and loss of the land must mean the loss of redemptive blessings. Those who once had been God’s people may become Lo-Ammi, “not-my-people” (Hos. 1:9).
But the history of God’s people under the old covenant did not end with exile. At God’s appointed time, the chosen of the Lord were graciously granted the privilege of returning to the land (Ezra 1:1–3). They came back as a small body of only about 50,000, in contrast to the over 600,000 men who had come out of Egypt with Moses almost a thousand years earlier (Ezra 2:64; Num. 2:32). They came to a tiny territory, and were able to rebuild only a small replica of the original temple (Ezra 3:10–12).
But God’s prophets were not distracted from their vision of the greatness of the Lord’s redemptive work. As a matter of fact, they painted a picture of land restoration so glorious that it cannot be contained within the boundaries of the old covenant forms of realization. Jerusalem, they declared, would be a city “without walls,” with a “wall of fire” about it, and with the glory of the Lord “within” (Zech. 2:1–5). The reconstructed temple would manifest a greater glory than Solomon’s magnificent structure (Hag. 2:9). The language is inspired and inspiring, but once more the reality as experienced under the old covenant remained much less impressive. In fact, this extravagant picture of a city without walls, but with a wall of fire about it, with Gentile nations streaming into its confines, breaks the bonds of all the old covenant images. How can images such as these find their fulfillment?
Like all old covenant shadows, these glorious prospects have been realized in the days of the new covenant, when people worship neither in Jerusalem nor in Samaria, but wherever in the world the Spirit of God manifests himself (John 4:21–24). The redemptive reality that the old covenant city could only foreshadow finds its consummate realization in the “Jerusalem above,” which is the “mother of us all” (Gal. 4:26 kjv). This “Jerusalem above” is not merely a “spiritual” phenomenon that has no connection with the “real” world in which we live. Its reality injects itself constantly into the lives of God’s people. Every time Christians assemble for worship, they join with the host of the “heavenly Jerusalem” (Heb. 12:22).
Once this stage of consummate fulfillment has been reached, never again will the revelation from God suggest that his people should aspire to the old, typological ways of the old covenant. Progression toward consummation in the new covenant cannot allow for a retrogression to the older, shadowy forms.
B. The Land in the Psalms and the Prophets
Both the Psalms and the writings of the prophets give full recognition to the ongoing significance of a land of promise in redemptive history. Yet the movement toward the new covenant era presses the conception of redemptive land well beyond the geographical limits of Palestine.
In the Psalms, the inheritance of the land is celebrated as one of the greatest blessings of redemption. Psalm 37 encourages the people of God not to despair over the prosperity of the wicked, but to trust the Lord’s promises that they will “inherit the land.” Six times essentially the same phrase is used:
Evil men
will be cut off,
but those who hope in the Covenant Lord12
will inherit the land. (v. 9)A little while,
and the wicked will be no more; …
But the meek
will inherit the land. (vv. 10–11)Those the Covenant Lord blesses
will inherit the land,
but those he curses
will be cut off. (v. 22)Turn from evil and do good;
then you will dwell in the land forever. (v. 27)
The righteous will inherit the land
and dwell in it forever. (v. 29)Wait for the Covenant Lord
and keep his way.
He will exalt you
to inherit the land. (v. 34)
As this psalm was sung in the assembled congregation of God’s people, it must have constantly reinforced the fact that the land was God’s gift to them. Clearly not to the wicked and unbelieving from among Israel, but only to the righteous and faithful was the assurance given that the land of redemption would be theirs. This principle is very important as it relates to the current situation of the land. Never can the promise of the land be properly claimed by those who fail to exercise true faith and faithfulness in the Redeemer provided by the Lord of the Covenant.
In this regard, it is sometimes suggested that God promised unconditionally that Israel would possess the land. According to one analysis, the “Priestly” redaction of the Pentateuchal material that occurred in later Israelite history “changed” the content of the covenant by heightening its promissory character.13 As a consequence,
Israel’s election, and with it the possession of The Land, can never, for P, become conditional on obedience to the Law; that election, resting upon the Abrahamic covenant, cannot be annulled by human disobedience. Israel, it follows, cannot be destroyed, and The Land will be hers.14
This conclusion can be reached only by ignoring contrary portions of the biblical witness. A proper treatment of the text in its total context cannot deny the conditional elements of the covenant.15 Abraham was required from the beginning of God’s dealing with him to leave his homeland and family. Subsequently he was told that he had to walk before the Lord and “be blameless” (Gen. 17:1). Now it is quite appropriate to speak of the certainty that the conditions of the covenant would be fulfilled, so that the intended blessings would come. But the covenants of God still had conditions. Recognizing this fact, the student of Scripture must look forward to One who would fulfill the conditions of the covenant perfectly on behalf of his people. But this perspective will lead in a totally different direction than the idea that the land belongs to Israel in perpetuity, no matter how faithless she may be.
Turning to the prophets, we see that a number of passages focus on the significance of land in the expectations for Israel’s future. Perhaps the boldest prophetic picture is found in the prophecy of Isaiah. In a dramatic reversal of roles, the prophet declares that an altar for the Covenant Lord will be raised up in the land, with “a monument to the Covenant Lord at its border” (Isa. 19:19). But in this case, the land of which he speaks is Egypt! The people of this land will cry out because of their oppressors, and the Lord will send them a savior (v. 20). Indeed, the Lord will strike them with a plague, as he did in the days of Moses, but then he will heal them (v. 22). A highway will be built from Egypt to Assyria (v. 23). Although it will pass directly through Israel, travelers will continue on their way so they can worship the Lord of the Covenant in the lands of Egypt and Assyria. It is almost as though the land of Israel is to be bypassed! Yet Israel’s land will not be entirely neglected, for “in that day Israel will be the third, along with Egypt and Assyria, a blessing on the earth” (v. 24).
How amazing is Isaiah’s vision of the Lord’s plans for the land that shall be his. First is not Israel, but Egypt. Israel is not even second, but Assyria. Israel still has a part in God’s plan for the future, but the overall orientation of the lands of nations will be radically altered. In Isaiah’s vision, the land as the place of the Covenant Lord’s redemptive work will not be the same as it was previously. New lands will also be claimed by the Lord.
Ezekiel’s message about the land is also vitally important. As previously noted, the first part of his book describes the departing of God’s glory from the city of Jerusalem. The end of the book, however, describes the return of the glory. But what will the framework be in which this departed glory of the Lord returns? The circumstance is made plain in Ezekiel’s vision of the valley of dry bones:
This is what the Sovereign Lord says: O my people, I am going to open your graves and bring you up from them; I will bring you back to the land of Israel. Then you, my people, will know that I am the Lord, when I open your graves and bring you up from them. I will put my Spirit in you and you will live, and I will settle you in your own land. Then you will know that I the Lord have spoken, and I have done it, declares the Lord. (Ezek. 37:12–14)
Clearly Ezekiel is talking about a return to the land. But what exactly does his prophecy anticipate?
Some interpreters have suggested that the prophet is using figurative language that anticipates nothing more than the return of Israel to the land.16 But then the origin of this imagery must be explained. Where did Ezekiel get the idea of describing a return from exile as the opening of graves? Certainly he did not derive it from the cultic enactment of the myth of a dying and rising god, as some have supposed.17
Biblical references prior to Ezekiel that acknowledge the power of God to raise the dead suggest that the prophet is referring to more than a wondrous return of exiles to the land of promise.18 As one critical scholar has noted, “That God by a miracle could restore the dead to life no devout Israelite ever doubted.”19 The skepticism of the Sadducees during New Testament times regarding the prospect of resurrection from the dead would require at least a modification of this all-embracing assertion (cf. Matt. 22:23–32 and parallels). Yet Jesus’ response to their skepticism indicates that testimony to bodily resurrection was a part of Old Testament teaching: “You are in error because you do not know the Scriptures or the power of God” (Matt. 22:29). Only a few cases of actual resurrection from the dead are recorded in the Old Testament (1 Kings 17:17–24; 2 Kings 4:18–37; 13:20–21). But additional witness to the possibility of resurrection may be found in the Scriptures. When trying to reconcile Isaac’s specified role in the covenant with God’s command to sacrifice him, Abraham concluded that God could raise Isaac from the dead if necessary (Heb. 11:19; cf. Gen. 22:5—“We will worship and then we will come back to you”). Rather than despairing as he grew older without possessing the Promised Land, Abraham began to look for a city “whose architect and builder” was God, and for “a better country” that had heavenly characteristics (Heb. 11:10, 16). Joseph showed his confidence in an eventual exodus by giving instructions concerning the disposition of his bones (Gen. 50:25; Heb. 11:22). But why was Joseph so concerned that his bones be transported to the land of promise? Perhaps he had purely sentimental reasons. But his determination may indicate that he expected to participate personally in the possession of the land that had been promised. If Abraham had come to look for a heavenly, eternal realization of the land (Heb. 11:10, 16), then this expectation would have been passed down to Joseph (cf. Gen. 18:17–19). Moses may not have fully grasped all the implications of God’s self-revelation at the burning bush, but he heard the Covenant Lord—who is not a God of the dead, but of the living—identify himself as the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, who had been dead for centuries (Ex. 3:6; Matt. 22:32).
The fulfillment of the promise of the land was repeatedly associated with life beyond the grave, and the word from the Lord to Ezekiel fits squarely into this expectation.20 At a minimum, Ezekiel’s prophecy of the return to the land involves God’s putting his Spirit in people so that they “come alive” (Ezek. 37:14a*). This description of new life generated by God’s Spirit is the most likely Scripture that Jesus expected Nicodemus to understand as they discussed the necessity of being “born of water and the Spirit” (John 3:5, 10). But the specificity of Ezekiel’s language regarding the uncovering of graves, as well as the context of dry, dead bones coming to life, suggests the anticipation of bodily resurrection. Upon the opening of graves and the coming alive of the dead, a return to the land would be effected.
An emphasis is often placed on the two stages involved in this process of resurrection as described by Ezekiel.21 First the bones and sinews come together, and then the Spirit of God breathes life into them (Ezek. 37:7–10). It has been proposed that these two phases represent first Israel’s return to the land without the vitality of new spiritual life from God, and then a revival of true faith in the coming Messiah.
But the obvious parallel between this account of the infusion of life in Ezekiel and the creation account in Genesis 2:7 makes it plain that Ezekiel’s vision of a return to life refers to a single event. First, God formed man of the dust of the earth, and then he breathed into his nostrils the breath of life. Only after this second action of the Creator was man declared to be “a living being.” In a similar fashion, the skeleton formed by the coming together of the bones in Ezekiel was a totally lifeless being, still lying at the foot of the valley. Only after the breath of life from God entered the skeleton did it come to life.
From this perspective, it would seem evident that the return of the Jews to Palestine in the twentieth century, leading to the formation of the state of Israel in 1948, should not be regarded as a fulfillment of Ezekiel’s prophecy. Israel’s twentieth-century rebirth as a nation did not involve any opening of graves, resurrection of the body, inpouring of the Spirit of God, or renewal of life through faith in Jesus Christ as the Lord of life. However the establishment of the state of Israel may be viewed, it does not fulfill the expectation of Ezekiel as described in this vivid prophecy. Instead, this picture of a people brought to newness of life by the Spirit of God leads to a consideration of the role of the land in the context of the new covenant.22
C. The Land from a New Covenant Perspective
So how does this long development of the concept of the land under the old covenant translate into the categories of new covenant fulfillment? It must be remembered at the outset that any transfer from the old covenant to the new covenant involves a movement from shadow to reality. The old covenant appealed to the human longing for a sure and settled land; yet it could not compare with the realities of new covenant fulfillment.
This perspective is confirmed by a number of references in the new covenant documents. Abraham is declared to be heir, not of “the land,” but of “the world” (Rom. 4:13). By this comprehensive language the imagery of land as a picture of restored paradise has finally come of age. No longer merely a portion of this earth, but now the whole of the cosmos partakes of the consummation of God’s redemptive work in our fallen world.
This perspective provides insight into the return to the land as described by Ezekiel and the other prophets. In the nature of things, these writers could only employ images with which they and their hearers were familiar. So they spoke of a return to the geographical land of Israel. Indeed there was a return to this land, though hardly on the scale prophesied by Ezekiel. But in the context of the realities of the new covenant, this land must be understood in terms of the newly recreated cosmos about which the apostle Paul speaks in Romans. The whole universe (which is “the land” from a new covenant perspective) groans in travail, waiting for the redemption that will come with the resurrection of the bodies of the redeemed (Rom. 8:22–23). The return to paradise in the framework of the new covenant does not involve merely a return to the shadowy forms of the old covenant. It means the rejuvenation of the entire earth. By this renewal of the entire creation, the old covenant’s promise of land finds its new covenant realization.
The same perspective can be seen in Jesus’ reference in the Sermon on the Mount to the promise in the Psalms of inheriting the land. What did Jesus mean when he spoke of the meek inheriting “the earth” (Matt. 5:5)? Although the Greek term found in the Beatitudes for “earth” is the same as that which is used in the Septuagint for “land,” the context of Jesus’ statement requires a larger frame of reference than the land of Palestine. Jesus teaches not that the Jewish race will inherit the Promised Land, but that in the new covenant the “meek,” regardless of their ethnic background, will inherit the “earth,” wherever in this world they might live.
Yet many theologians in the present day continue to interpret the promise of the land in the old covenant in terms of its shadowy, typological dimensions, rather than recognizing the greater scope of new covenant fulfillments. Many would view the establishment of the modern state of Israel as a fulfillment of the promise of the land as it was originally given to the patriarchs.23 Some would go further and even see the forced displacement of the non-Jewish inhabitants of the land as a legitimate reenactment of the Conquest as it was ordered by God in the days of Joshua.24 While some secular Jews view this process merely as a necessary step to secure their national existence, others interpret this policy as the reclaiming of the land as promised to the patriarchs. In this concrete way, the old covenant typological concept of possessing the land has been superimposed on the radically different circumstances of the new covenant era. Clearly the plight of the Jews after the horrors of the Holocaust must be fully appreciated. Yet the tragic circumstances of the residents of the land displaced during the twentieth century must also be appreciated.25
In his letter to the predominantly Gentile church in Ephesus, Paul applies the promise of the inheritance of the land to a circumstance that reaches far beyond the typological experiences of the people of God under the old covenant. He relates that promise specifically to children of Christian believers who are obedient, not to people who are simply Jewish by birth. The fifth commandment of the Decalogue had promised that children who honored their father and mother would live long on “the land” that the Lord their God was giving them (Ex. 20:12). Now Paul applies the same promise to children of Christian parents. If they submit willingly to the authority of their parents, they will enjoy long life on “the earth” (Eph. 6:3). Clearly, the concept of the land has expanded in its new covenant fulfillment to include the entire Gentile world. It now extends, as does the Great Commission, to the uttermost parts of the earth (Matt. 28:19; Acts 1:8).
But what about Jerusalem in the new covenant? This city was obviously a major focus of the ministry of Jesus. Yet it was not Jerusalem but Capernaum that was designated as “his own town” (Matt. 9:1; 13:54). Jesus centered his ministry in Capernaum because, as prophecy had indicated, the messianic kingdom would be situated “by the way of the sea” in the land of the Gentiles (Isa. 9:1; Matt. 4:12–17). He located in Capernaum when John the Baptist was arrested (Matt. 4:12), since the arrest of his forerunner indicated the rejection of his ministry by Herod as ruler of the Jews. By choosing Capernaum as the base for his ministry, Jesus made a statement concerning the scope of his emerging kingdom. The “way of the sea” was the narrow trade route that linked three continents across the land bridge that was Palestine. Much earlier, God had directed Abraham to leave Ur of the Chaldees and resettle in this land. With this place as its point of origin, the gospel of Jesus Christ could travel at the fastest possible speed to the ends of the earth. This land, crafted by the One who shaped the continents, was designed from the beginning not as an end in itself, but as a means to the end of reaching the world with the gospel.
By the conclusion of the apostolic era, the focal point of the redemptive work of God had shifted from Jerusalem to places like Antioch, Galatia, and Ephesus. These centers became hubs for the spread of the gospel to the ends of the earth (read “land”). So far as Jerusalem was concerned in this new era, Paul was quite explicit: “the present city of Jerusalem” was “in slavery with her children” (Gal. 4:25) because the Judaizers in Jerusalem had muffled the freedom of the gospel in favor of the bondage of legalism. The Jews were inhabiting Jerusalem, but it was no longer “the city of God” as it had been under the typological administration of the old covenant.
Jerusalem today remains as it was in Paul’s day. It is still in bondage to legalism and rejects the gracious gift of salvation that has come through the Messiah. It must not be assumed that those who live in Jerusalem today without faith in Jesus have been chosen by God for salvation. Apart from repentance and faith, the inhabitants of Jerusalem continue to be in bondage and are “without hope and without God in the world” (Eph. 2:12). To suggest anything else is to slight Jesus Christ and his sacrifice on the cross, while at the same time imperiling the souls of many by encouraging false presumption.
But there is another Jerusalem, a Jerusalem that is above, from which the enthroned Son of God sends forth his Spirit. Apart from this Jerusalem, none of us would have a mother to bring us into the realm of God’s redemptive work, for she is “the mother of us all” (Gal. 4:26 kjv). Only those who have been born from above by the outpouring of the Spirit from the throne of Christ, situated in the heavenly Jerusalem, can claim to be citizens in the kingdom of God.
This “Jerusalem that is above” is not an esoteric, spiritualized entity that has little connection with the real world. As a matter of fact, only a thin veil keeps the people of this world from perceiving its reality. That veil will be removed at the “revelation” or “unveiling” that will occur when Christ returns. Then the curtain will be pulled back, and it will be made clear to all exactly what has been the state of things since the ascension of Jesus Christ. All this time he has been situated on his throne, exercising all authority in heaven and on earth (Matt. 28:19). He reigns from the place where Jerusalem has come to its fulfillment, and he sits enthroned as the legitimate heir to the throne of David (Acts 2:30). The exalted Christ now rules from the heavenly Jerusalem (Heb. 12:22), manifesting his sovereignty over all nations until the end of the age.
Conclusion
In the process of redemptive history, a dramatic movement has taken place. The arena of redemption has shifted from type to reality, from shadow to substance. The land which once was the specific place of God’s redemptive work served well in the realm of old covenant forms as a picture of paradise lost and promised. But in the realm of new covenant fulfillments, the land has expanded to encompass the whole world.
In this age of fulfillment, a retrogression to the limited forms of the old covenant must be neither expected nor promoted. Reality must not give way to shadow. By claiming the old covenant form of the promise of the land, the Jews of today may be forfeiting its greater new covenant fulfillment. Rather than playing the role of Jacob as heir apparent to the redemptive promises made to Abraham their father, they could be assuming the role of Esau by selling their birthright for a fleshly pot of porridge (Gen. 25:29–34; cf. Heb. 12:16).
Evangelical Christianity in particular should take care to apply the implications of Pauline theology to the current situation with regard to the land. For Paul emphatically notes that “if you let yourself be circumcised [an old covenant institution], Christ will be of no value to you at all” (Gal. 5:2). In a similar way, if the promised land of the old covenant becomes the blessed object to be achieved, then its tremendous fulfillment in the new covenant could be missed. To claim “the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God” (Heb. 11:10), Abraham had to look beyond the shadowy form of the promise, which he never possessed, to the realities that could be perceived only by faith. How sad it would be if evangelical Christians who profess to love the Jewish people should become a primary tool in misdirecting their faith and expectation.
The land in its totality and in its final form belongs to the Lord (Lev. 25:23). In his grace he has given it to “the Israel of God” (Gal. 6:16). The proper identification of this “Israel of God” that may claim the promise of the land in the new covenant will be the subject of the next chapter.
Robertson, O. Palmer. 2000. The Israel of God: Yesterday, Today, and Tomorrow. Phillipsburg, NJ: P&R Publishing.
Davies, The Gospel and the Land, 3–4, finds the explanation in Christianity’s concentration on abstract ideas about God and the world, rather than its dealing with the concrete significance of the land to Israel. This explanation is repeated in his more recent work, The Territorial Dimension of Judaism (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991), xvii–xviii.
The significance of the land as a theological concept was pointed out by G. von Rad in a 1943 article, translated as “The Promised Land and Yahweh’s Land in the Hexateuch” and printed in The Problem of the Hexateuch and Other Essays (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1966), 79–93. Says von Rad, “In the whole of the Hexateuch there is probably no more important idea than that expressed in terms of the land promised and later granted by Yahweh” (p. 79).
Cf. the stimulating article of Chris Wright, “Biblical Reflections on Land,” in Evangelical Review of Theology 17, no. 2 (April 1993): 153–67. Says Wright, “Reflections on land obviously have to begin with the biblical theme of creation” (p. 153).
This point is brought out well by T. Desmond Alexander in From Paradise to the Promised Land: An Introduction to the Main Themes of the Pentateuch (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1995), 25: “Whereas the early chapters of Genesis focus on the loss of land as a result of disobedience, Abraham is portrayed as gaining the land due to obedience and trust in God.”
The centrality of Jerusalem in the land of Israel is explained in David E. Holwerda, Jesus and Israel: One Covenant or Two? (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 96–97, 106–12. For a balanced analysis of the significance of Jerusalem for New Testament theology, see P. W. L. Walker, Jesus and the Holy City: New Testament Perspectives on Jerusalem (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996).
It has become quite fashionable, even in evangelical circles, to appeal to the “final form” of various portions of Scripture, assuming that these texts are the product of a process of redaction. Cf., e.g., Alexander, From Paradise to the Promised Land. In his six-page preface, no fewer than fifteen references may be found to the “final form,” the “received form,” the text “as we now have it,” the work of “the final editor,” or some such phrase. In this way it is supposed that one may avoid the thorny questions concerning the origins of the Pentateuch while moving on to the more substantial matter of the theology of the books. The desire to get beyond critical analysis to exegetical and theological substance can be appreciated. But the far-reaching consequences of this “canonical” approach must not be overlooked. If the dating of the biblical material is left open, little defense remains against negatively critical assessments of its development. For example, with respect to the origin of the promise concerning the land, W. D. Davies reviews several options. One of them proposes that this idea was a “creation” of the period of the exile, “when Israel felt that its possession of The Land was in jeopardy” (The Territorial Dimension of Judaism, 5). Allowing for the possible validity of this proposal invariably destroys the integrity of Scripture. In this reconstruction of the biblical testimony, no promise of land was really made to Abraham at all. Rather, the biblical account is reduced to a religious fraud designed to deceive the people into thinking that God had promised something he never did. A smirking Wellhausen, with his proposition that the entire book of Deuteronomy was a “pious fraud,” is certainly lurking in the shadows.
A number of ideas in this section were stimulated by Davies.
Davies, The Gospel and the Land, 11; Davies, The Territorial Dimension of Judaism, 2.
Davies, The Gospel and the Land, 12.
Walker, Jesus and the Holy City, 212.
Cf. Martin J. Selman, I Chronicles: An Introduction and Commentary (Leicester: Inter-Varsity Press, 1994), 254: “A chariot (v. 18) is unknown elsewhere as part of the temple furniture, but its connection with the winged cherubim suggests the idea of God’s mobile throne (cf. Ps. 18:10; Ezk. 1:15ff.).” C. F. Keil, Commentary on the Old Testament: The Books of the Chronicles (reprint, Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, n.d.), 294, relates the chariot to the cherubim, noting that Ezekiel saw wheels on the throne of God under the cherubim. This interpretation is supported by the rendering of the Septuagint and the Vulgate.
The precise way of representing the covenant name of God as revealed to Moses has provided a challenge throughout the ages. The Jews have sought to avoid blasphemy by refusing to pronounce the tetragrammaton at all. They have substituted “Adonai” or “haShem,” meaning “the Name.” Several English translations render the word with “Lord” (using small capital letters) to distinguish it from “Lord” as representative of Adonai. The hybrid “Jehovah” superimposes the vowels of Adonai on the consonants for Yahveh. The present proposal is to use “Covenant Lord” or “Lord of the Covenant,” which represents the actual significance of this specific name for God.
Davies, The Territorial Dimension of Judaism, 9.
Ibid.
The unconditional character of some of the biblical covenants is rightly denied by Walter Brueggemann, Theology of the Old Testament: Testimony, Dispute, Advocacy (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1997), 419–20. But it hardly can be agreed, as Brueggemann proposes, that the blame for this “false dichotomy” lies with Paul’s effort to distinguish the Christian gospel from its Jewish counterpart by claiming for Christians the “gospel beforehand” as it was proclaimed to Abraham, while assigning Moses and the law to his Jewish opponents. Paul plainly states that the law could not add a codicil to the promise previously given (Gal. 3:15), and that the law is not in any way opposed to the promises of God (v. 21).
Cf. John B. Taylor, Ezekiel: An Introduction and Commentary (Leicester: Inter-Varsity Press, 1969), 236. Taylor is quite emphatic on this point. Cf. also Walter Eichrodt, Ezekiel: A Commentary (London: SCM Press, 1970), 509; W. Zimmerli, Ezekiel (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), 264.
Cf. Taylor, Ezekiel, 236, citing the theory of H. Riesenfeld.
Cf. the extensive treatment of Ezekiel’s vision in D. I. Block, The Book of Ezekiel: Chapters 25–48 (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), 381–92. Block takes note of Jewish and Christian interpretations that understand Ezekiel as describing an actual resurrection. He discusses several scriptural passages predating Ezekiel that speak in terms of resurrection (pp. 386–87, esp. n. 97), and concludes: “In a new and dramatic way, the conviction that the grave need not be the end provided a powerful vehicle for announcing the full restoration of Israel. The curse would be lifted. Yahweh would bring his people back to life” (p. 387).
John Skinner, as cited in Taylor, Ezekiel, 236. Taylor and others believe that Skinner is quite wrong in this assessment.
Although many have questioned the presence of resurrection faith in the Old Testament, additional passages may also be noted: Pss. 16:9–11 (cf. Acts 2:24–32); 17:15 (cf. 1 John 3:2); Isa. 25:6–8 (cf. Rev. 21:4); 26:19; Dan. 12:2–3 (cf. John 5:28–29). Paul’s summation of the gospel includes the affirmation that Christ “was raised on the third day according to the Scriptures” (1 Cor. 15:4).
Cf. Charles Lee Feinberg, The Prophecy of Ezekiel (Chicago: Moody Press, 1969), 214. Feinberg argues that the prophecy must refer to the return of the nation of Israel to the land because of these two stages, since resurrection from the dead never occurs in stages. But by his own point that Ezekiel’s two stages reflect Genesis 2 (p. 213), Feinberg has refuted his own case. In the Genesis account (2:7), the Lord God first forms man of the dust of the earth, and then breathes into his nostrils the breath of life. Only after this second step does man become “a living being” (nephesh hayyah)—not “a living soul,” as the KJV reads. The point is not that man had no soul at creation, but that he had no life in his body until the Lord breathed the breath of life into him. In a similar way, Ezekiel’s “dry bones” first came together. They had no life until God breathed on them.
A similar analysis of Ezekiel’s vision of Israel’s restored temple may be found in Peter Walker, Jesus and the Holy City, 313. In light of references to this prophecy in the New Testament, Walker concludes that New Testament writers “were presumably not expecting Ezekiel’s prophecy to be fulfilled literally at some future point in a physical Temple. Instead this prophecy became a brilliant way of speaking pictorially of what God had now achieved in and through Jesus. Paradoxically, therefore, although Ezekiel’s vision had focused so much upon the Temple, it found its ultimate fulfillment in that city where there was ‘no Temple,’ because ‘its Temple is the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb’ (Rev. 21:22*).”
In the two prefaces to his later work, The Territorial Dimension of Judaism (1982, 1991), W. D. Davies indicates that he explored the topic of Judaism and the land as a consequence of current events in the land of the Bible. He notes that his earlier work on the subject, The Gospel and the Land (1974), was written as a consequence of a letter received in 1967 just before the Six-Day War, urging him to support Israel against Egypt (as noted in The Territorial Dimension of Judaism, xv). His later work was published in 1982 “under the direct impact of the Six-Day War of 1967” (p. xiii). This work was reissued in 1991 because of the author’s apprehension that people needed to understand the situation causing the Gulf War and its aftermath (p. xiii). Yet despite the contemporary context, Davies has resisted the urgings of his friends to discuss what happens when Judaism’s understanding of its right to the land “conflicts with the claims of the traditions and occupancy of its other peoples” (p. xv).
Colin Chapman, Whose Promised Land? (Herts, England: Lion Publishing, 1983), 104, notes that from this perspective it should not be surprising “that cabinet ministers in Israel should quote from the Old Testament to support Israel’s claim to the West Bank, or that the Israeli government should make the book of Joshua compulsory reading in all schools.”
The report of one Palestinian Christian inhabiting the land at the time it was claimed by the Jews in 1948 may help to achieve a better awareness of their plight. He had just turned eleven when the Jews occupied his hometown. His father was a Christian living in Beisan, a city located about twenty miles south of the Sea of Galilee. According to his account, all inhabitants of the town were ordered to evacuate within a few hours. They were all ordered to appear with their belongings in the town square. Muslims and Christians were then separated. The Muslims were sent across the Jordan, while the Christians were loaded in buses and dropped off on the outskirts of Nazareth. “Within a few hours, our family had become refugees, driven out of Beisan forever” (Naim Stifan Ateek, Justice, and Only Justice: A Palestinian Theology of Liberation [New York: Orbis Books, 1991], 9–12). But to the degree that so-called liberation theology has conditioned the thinking of Palestinian Christians, they too would be basing their claim to the land on an erroneous theology. For the poor and the abused of the earth are not automatically the elect of God, and the model of Israel’s using force to throw off the yoke of Egypt in the days of Moses cannot provide a proper theological basis for initiating armed conflict with an oppressive government.