Who was, who is, and who is to come
Commentary
Object:
I have been leading several dozen folks from my congregation through a year-long, cover-to-cover reading of the Bible during 2012. We all began together on January 1 in Genesis 1, and it wasn't until October that we finally crossed from the Old Testament into the New. A number of people expressed great excitement and relief when that day came.
A lot of the folks in our churches feel the same way. They are more comfortable with the New Testament but feel comparatively uneasy with the Old. Yet on the road to Emmaus it was the Old Testament that Jesus used to explain recent events to his confused disciples (Luke 24:27). Then later, with the larger group, he taught "that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled" (v. 44).
The first apostles did not have Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John in hand when they went out preaching the gospel. No, they had Isaiah and Psalms, Leviticus and Deuteronomy. And evidently they did not feel at a loss. Indeed, Paul indicated to Timothy that those scriptures "are able to instruct you for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus." In short, the first-century Christians understood that the Old Testament was written about Jesus, not just the New.
Many of our folks need to come to that revelation, for they are living and believing with only half a Bible or less. An airplane can continue to fly after one of its engines dies, but it is not ideal. I wouldn't want to be in that plane. Likewise, I would prefer not to have my church flying without the full complement of God's word.
This week's lections provide an interesting insight on this point. We have an Old Testament reading, an epistle, and a passage from one of the gospels. As we unpack them, we discover that all three are about Jesus, for they bear witness, in the language of Revelation, to "the one who was, who is, and who is to come."
Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17
The two-part selection from Ruth offers us a kind of before-and-after or cause-and-effect relationship. In the first episode, we see the groundwork laid for the union of Boaz and Ruth. In the second episode, we see the grand results of that union.
These early verses of Ruth 3 read a bit like portions of Esther. The young girl faithfully, trustingly follows the counsel of her elder and that responsiveness leads to the fulfillment of God's plan. In Esther's life, of course, the advisor was Mordecai. In Ruth's case, Naomi is the wise mastermind.
Of course, the pattern is larger than just those two instances of young women whose matches are made in such exceptional ways. The larger truth is that, again and again, God's preferred mode of operation is to employ human agents to accomplish his work. Aaron and Hur are essential to Moses' arms, and Moses' arms are essential to Joshua's victory. The paralytic does not get to Jesus -- and therefore does not get healed -- apart from the friends who carry him. Philip is Nathanael's "come and see" introduction to Jesus. Cornelius does not hear the gospel from his visiting angel, but rather from the human vessel, Peter. So, too, God has a grand design here, and Naomi is the human instrument that helps to accomplish the divine purpose.
Ruth, we recall, was a foreigner and so Naomi is more familiar with the customs that guided life for Boaz and the other residents of Bethlehem. Ruth must rely on Naomi, therefore, to help her navigate the waters that are alien to her. And among the area customs, we gather, is this manner of a young widow showing herself to be available to her kinsman-redeemer.
The second half of the passage shows the second half of the action -- the effect to the cause recorded in Ruth 3. Boaz and Ruth are united in marriage and the Lord blesses them with a son. This fruit of their union is a manifold blessing. He, Obed, is a comfort, encouragement, and support to Naomi. Inasmuch as she becomes his nurse, he is also like a replacement son to this bereaved woman. And by virtue of his son and grandson he is in the line that leads to Israel's golden age and God's greatest plan.
Finally, these two selections prompt us to rethink the star of the show in this book. It is titled for Ruth and she is the heroine who naturally gets the bulk of our attention. She emerges from the pages as exemplary in so many ways. She is the daughter-in-law "who is (worth more) than seven sons." Yet the book is arguably the story of Naomi instead.
It is Naomi's circumstances to which we are introduced first, and the subsequent tragedies are framed from her point of view. Also, we note that Orpah, Naomi's other daughter-in-law, does not do anything questionable or immoral in returning to her own people. But it is Ruth's story that persists, not only because of beautiful loyalty, but specifically because of her bond to Naomi. That is to say, the spotlight of the narrative follows Naomi -- and so does Ruth.
Meanwhile, as we have noted above, it is Naomi who makes things happen in the Boaz-Ruth plot. They do not become husband and wife because of their own pursuits (cf., Jacob and Rachel, or David and several of his wives) but because of Naomi's counsel. She is the puppeteer who pulls the strings -- at least in human terms. And, as the book reaches its climax, Naomi is the female character who dominates the narrative of chapter 4. She is the one around whom the women gather with rejoicing. She is the one who has been recompensed by the Lord. And she is the one who, by virtue of nursing Obed, appears as the de facto new mother as the curtain closes.
So this book is, arguably, the story of Naomi and that fact, then, is what makes Ruth's prominence all the more remarkable. Ruth is a foreigner who on the playbill is clearly meant to be supporting cast. Yet when the play is over, we think it was about her. Such is the quality of her performance. By her loyalty and devotion, her purity of heart, her hard work and obedience, the lovely and virtuous Ruth steals the show.
Hebrews 9:24-28
Most of our people are at a disadvantage in reading the letter to the Hebrews: namely, they're not Hebrew.
This epistle is so plainly addressed to a Jewish audience and that audience was well-acquainted with the Old Testament law, the Levitical code, the rituals associated with the temple, and such. Most of our people, however, do not come from that ethnic background, nor do they have that base of knowledge.
In my experience of serving churches over the past thirty years, the typical mainline Christian has only been taught a sort of filleted version of the Old Testament. They've been introduced to major, heroic characters (Abraham, David, Elijah, Daniel) and they have been taught the major stories (Creation and Eden, the exodus, the battle of Jericho, David and Goliath, and such). In addition, they are conversant in a few favorite Psalms, the Ten Commandments, and the familiar prophetic passages they hear read each Christmas and Holy Week. The starting place for most of Hebrews, however, is almost entirely foreign to many of our people.
What our people are familiar with, meanwhile, is symbolism. We know in literature, in our church buildings, and in many aspects of daily life the important role that symbolism plays. Indeed, many of the people in our pews will likely be wearing some sort of a symbol as they hear us preach. It may be a cross or a peace sign on a piece of jewelry. It may be a school's or sports team's insignia on a necktie. It may be an American flag on a lapel. Whatever the particulars, we are surrounded by symbols -- visible objects that represent some larger reality.
The writer of Hebrews understood that all the elements of the Old Testament tabernacle were visible objects that represented a larger reality. The priests, the blood, and the altar; the tent, the curtain, and the sacrifices; the levitical practices and the priestly responsibilities; all of these were symbols that pointed to the larger reality that is Christ.
Of course, a part of Hebrews' thesis -- and we see it on display here -- is the superiority of Christ to all the symbols that anticipated him. The early form was a sanctuary "made by human hands," but Christ entered "the true one... heaven itself." And this superior entrance is especially meaningful when we consider the further image of being "in the presence of God." His presence, after all, was associated with the old tent-sanctuary but clearly that does not rival the extent of his presence in "heaven itself."
Likewise, the author makes the point that Christ's sacrifice is superior to the sacrifices mandated by the code and made by the priests. Those precursors, after all, were made "again and again... year after year." By the necessity of their repetition, therefore, their ultimate inadequacy is revealed. But Christ "appeared once for all... to remove sin by the sacrifice of himself... (he was) offered once to bear the sins of many." A once-for-all sacrifice is, by definition sufficient and therefore superior to the endlessly repetitious sacrifices of the old covenant.
Other parts of this epistle deal in more detail with themes mentioned here. For example, we see here references to Christ's blood, the high priest, and the Holy Place. None is elaborated on with great specificity in the narrow confines of this passage, but we see them here against the larger context. We recognize that the larger principle applies in every case: namely, that the Old Testament code presented us with symbols, but now Christ has come, and he is in every way superior to all that came before.
Mark 12:38-44
This passage from Mark presents us with two models and both are challenging to us.
The either-or nature of the episode is reminiscent of many of Jesus' parables. It is standard fare in those teachings to be presented with a choice between two options, and the reader or listener is implicitly invited to identify with one of those choices. For example, are we like the wise virgins or the foolish ones (Matthew 25:1-13)? Which type of soil do we resemble in our response to the word (Mark 4:3-20)? Do we respond to the needs along the way like the priest and Levite or like the Samaritan (Luke 10:30-37)? Do we live like the wise house builder or the foolish one (Matthew 7:24-27)?
In this gospel lection, however, the challenge does not come from a parable. No, these two options come from real life, which makes them perhaps all the more sobering. If the scribes were fictional characters, it might be easier to laugh at them. If the poor widow were imaginary, she would be less disturbing to us.
Our people may instinctively put some distance between themselves and the real-life scribes because at first blush the particulars sound foreign. Walking around in long robes, "best seats" in synagogues, and a culture where long prayers are admired -- these all seem quite far removed from the daily life of the people in our pews. On the other hand, we ourselves as clergy may find these verses embarrassing to read, for the details are not so far removed from us. We may very well take a kind of self-important pleasure in our robes and ceremonies. We do enjoy -- perhaps too much -- the "best seat" at a variety of functions by virtue of our office. And it is a profound occupational hazard that we will pray "for the sake of appearances." The scribes are unsettling, indeed, as looking at their portrait feels like looking in the mirror.
You and I may not need to use the pulpit as a confessional, however, for the sobering teaching is not exclusively for us but for our laity as well. After all, when you strip away the particulars of the scribes' behavior, you're still left with a very familiar human motivation: namely, our appetite for importance and respect. Whether our field is religious or not, we all know the intoxication that comes with rank. But the love of it -- the seeking out of it -- is ill-suited to those who would have the same mind that was in Christ Jesus (Philippians 2:3-8).
Meanwhile, the other challenging character in this passage is the poor widow. She reminds us, first of all, that God's calculations are different from the world's. By worldly measures, you know, the widow's contribution was insignificant. But the scales of heaven are measuring something else, and there her giving was weighty indeed.
The poor widow is commendable in at least three ways. In reverse order, we observe first the obvious totality of her devotion. Jesus notes that she "put in everything she had," which is not an unfamiliar theme in the gospels (cf. Matthew 19:21; Mark 10:28; Luke 5:11, 28; 14:33). Second, there is the underlying faith exhibited in that total devotion. This poor widow calls to mind the one in the Old Testament who was about to starve but who gave what little food she had to the man of God first (1 Kings 17:10-16). The old hymn famously links trusting and obeying, and we see that essential connection in the sacrifice of these two women. Then there is the underlying understanding that is tacitly on display here. That is to say, this woman was not just devoted and faithful, she was wise. She was in touch with a greater reality than perhaps everyone else around her. For while the world would dismiss her tiny gift as insignificant, something within her knew better. She did not shrug her shoulders and stay home, thinking she had nothing to offer. She knew she could offer all she had to God, and even though impoverished, that would be pleasing in his sight.
Application
Taken together our three assigned lections for this week combine to weave a lovely tapestry about Jesus.
The gospel passage, of course, is the one most obviously about him. Of the three kinds of source material, the gospel is the one that offers a historical record of an episode from Jesus' earthly life and ministry. We see in Mark Jesus' own words and actions.
At the other end of the spectrum, there is Ruth. The story itself comes from more than a thousand years before Jesus' birth. And there is, of course, no explicit mention of Jesus within that ancient text.
Yet we see at the end of Ruth that it is a book that looks ahead. While it is a record of events past, to be sure, its interest is in the future, for the people whose stories we trace in Ruth are deliberately tied at the end to some people who come after them. Specifically, one person: David. And we know from the rest of scripture -- Psalms, the prophets, and the New Testament itself -- how intimately David is tied to the Christ, who is "the son of David." Too, we are barely into the New Testament's story of Jesus when we are reminded of Ruth, for the first gospel writer takes pains to include her in Jesus' own genealogy (Matthew 1:5).
Then there is Hebrews. It is a New Testament book but with an eye on the Old Testament. That's not to say that Hebrews is stuck in the past. Not at all. Rather, the writer of Hebrews sees so clearly how the Old Testament -- in this case, specifically, the Old Testament law and levitical code -- looks to the future and anticipates the person and work of Christ. Indeed, Hebrews demonstrates to us how our Christology is apt to be shallow and incomplete apart from a thoughtful reading and understanding of the Old Testament.
So we see that it is all about him. Just as Moses and Elijah flanked Jesus and the apostles knelt before him at his transfiguration, so the entirety of scripture revolves around him. It bears witness to him -- before, during, and after his coming. The law, the prophets, and the writings of the apostles combine to weave a lovely tapestry that is all about Jesus.
An Alternative Application
Hebrews 9:24-28. "Advanced symbolism." We explored above the logic of the letter to the Hebrews. The author looks back at the rites and rituals and roles of the Old Testament through the lens of Christian faith. And through that lens, the writer is able to identify Jesus in the symbolism established by the Old Testament law.
The fascinating thing about this symbolism, however, is that it comes in advance. That makes it quite different, of course, from the sorts of symbols with which we surround ourselves. I suggested above that the people in our pews might be wearing a peace sign, a team insignia, or an American flag. Imagine, however, that the folks who were wearing those little symbols didn't know their meaning. Indeed, that no one knew their meaning.
Imagine, for example, that Bill is wearing his American flag pin in England in 1500.
"What's that red, white, and blue thing on your lapel, Bill?"
"It's a pin."
"What does it represent?"
"I have no idea."
That sounds like silliness to us, of course, but it wouldn't be if we factored in an omniscient God. In other words, Bill might not know about the United States of America whose flag he was wearing 300 years early, but that wouldn't preclude God from making such a flag. Likewise, the ancient people of Israel did not know that they had in their midst potent symbols of the Christ. Yet God knew and God prescribed and placed those symbols to prepare the way for the fulfillment of his plan of salvation.
A lot of the folks in our churches feel the same way. They are more comfortable with the New Testament but feel comparatively uneasy with the Old. Yet on the road to Emmaus it was the Old Testament that Jesus used to explain recent events to his confused disciples (Luke 24:27). Then later, with the larger group, he taught "that everything written about me in the law of Moses, the prophets, and the psalms must be fulfilled" (v. 44).
The first apostles did not have Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John in hand when they went out preaching the gospel. No, they had Isaiah and Psalms, Leviticus and Deuteronomy. And evidently they did not feel at a loss. Indeed, Paul indicated to Timothy that those scriptures "are able to instruct you for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus." In short, the first-century Christians understood that the Old Testament was written about Jesus, not just the New.
Many of our folks need to come to that revelation, for they are living and believing with only half a Bible or less. An airplane can continue to fly after one of its engines dies, but it is not ideal. I wouldn't want to be in that plane. Likewise, I would prefer not to have my church flying without the full complement of God's word.
This week's lections provide an interesting insight on this point. We have an Old Testament reading, an epistle, and a passage from one of the gospels. As we unpack them, we discover that all three are about Jesus, for they bear witness, in the language of Revelation, to "the one who was, who is, and who is to come."
Ruth 3:1-5; 4:13-17
The two-part selection from Ruth offers us a kind of before-and-after or cause-and-effect relationship. In the first episode, we see the groundwork laid for the union of Boaz and Ruth. In the second episode, we see the grand results of that union.
These early verses of Ruth 3 read a bit like portions of Esther. The young girl faithfully, trustingly follows the counsel of her elder and that responsiveness leads to the fulfillment of God's plan. In Esther's life, of course, the advisor was Mordecai. In Ruth's case, Naomi is the wise mastermind.
Of course, the pattern is larger than just those two instances of young women whose matches are made in such exceptional ways. The larger truth is that, again and again, God's preferred mode of operation is to employ human agents to accomplish his work. Aaron and Hur are essential to Moses' arms, and Moses' arms are essential to Joshua's victory. The paralytic does not get to Jesus -- and therefore does not get healed -- apart from the friends who carry him. Philip is Nathanael's "come and see" introduction to Jesus. Cornelius does not hear the gospel from his visiting angel, but rather from the human vessel, Peter. So, too, God has a grand design here, and Naomi is the human instrument that helps to accomplish the divine purpose.
Ruth, we recall, was a foreigner and so Naomi is more familiar with the customs that guided life for Boaz and the other residents of Bethlehem. Ruth must rely on Naomi, therefore, to help her navigate the waters that are alien to her. And among the area customs, we gather, is this manner of a young widow showing herself to be available to her kinsman-redeemer.
The second half of the passage shows the second half of the action -- the effect to the cause recorded in Ruth 3. Boaz and Ruth are united in marriage and the Lord blesses them with a son. This fruit of their union is a manifold blessing. He, Obed, is a comfort, encouragement, and support to Naomi. Inasmuch as she becomes his nurse, he is also like a replacement son to this bereaved woman. And by virtue of his son and grandson he is in the line that leads to Israel's golden age and God's greatest plan.
Finally, these two selections prompt us to rethink the star of the show in this book. It is titled for Ruth and she is the heroine who naturally gets the bulk of our attention. She emerges from the pages as exemplary in so many ways. She is the daughter-in-law "who is (worth more) than seven sons." Yet the book is arguably the story of Naomi instead.
It is Naomi's circumstances to which we are introduced first, and the subsequent tragedies are framed from her point of view. Also, we note that Orpah, Naomi's other daughter-in-law, does not do anything questionable or immoral in returning to her own people. But it is Ruth's story that persists, not only because of beautiful loyalty, but specifically because of her bond to Naomi. That is to say, the spotlight of the narrative follows Naomi -- and so does Ruth.
Meanwhile, as we have noted above, it is Naomi who makes things happen in the Boaz-Ruth plot. They do not become husband and wife because of their own pursuits (cf., Jacob and Rachel, or David and several of his wives) but because of Naomi's counsel. She is the puppeteer who pulls the strings -- at least in human terms. And, as the book reaches its climax, Naomi is the female character who dominates the narrative of chapter 4. She is the one around whom the women gather with rejoicing. She is the one who has been recompensed by the Lord. And she is the one who, by virtue of nursing Obed, appears as the de facto new mother as the curtain closes.
So this book is, arguably, the story of Naomi and that fact, then, is what makes Ruth's prominence all the more remarkable. Ruth is a foreigner who on the playbill is clearly meant to be supporting cast. Yet when the play is over, we think it was about her. Such is the quality of her performance. By her loyalty and devotion, her purity of heart, her hard work and obedience, the lovely and virtuous Ruth steals the show.
Hebrews 9:24-28
Most of our people are at a disadvantage in reading the letter to the Hebrews: namely, they're not Hebrew.
This epistle is so plainly addressed to a Jewish audience and that audience was well-acquainted with the Old Testament law, the Levitical code, the rituals associated with the temple, and such. Most of our people, however, do not come from that ethnic background, nor do they have that base of knowledge.
In my experience of serving churches over the past thirty years, the typical mainline Christian has only been taught a sort of filleted version of the Old Testament. They've been introduced to major, heroic characters (Abraham, David, Elijah, Daniel) and they have been taught the major stories (Creation and Eden, the exodus, the battle of Jericho, David and Goliath, and such). In addition, they are conversant in a few favorite Psalms, the Ten Commandments, and the familiar prophetic passages they hear read each Christmas and Holy Week. The starting place for most of Hebrews, however, is almost entirely foreign to many of our people.
What our people are familiar with, meanwhile, is symbolism. We know in literature, in our church buildings, and in many aspects of daily life the important role that symbolism plays. Indeed, many of the people in our pews will likely be wearing some sort of a symbol as they hear us preach. It may be a cross or a peace sign on a piece of jewelry. It may be a school's or sports team's insignia on a necktie. It may be an American flag on a lapel. Whatever the particulars, we are surrounded by symbols -- visible objects that represent some larger reality.
The writer of Hebrews understood that all the elements of the Old Testament tabernacle were visible objects that represented a larger reality. The priests, the blood, and the altar; the tent, the curtain, and the sacrifices; the levitical practices and the priestly responsibilities; all of these were symbols that pointed to the larger reality that is Christ.
Of course, a part of Hebrews' thesis -- and we see it on display here -- is the superiority of Christ to all the symbols that anticipated him. The early form was a sanctuary "made by human hands," but Christ entered "the true one... heaven itself." And this superior entrance is especially meaningful when we consider the further image of being "in the presence of God." His presence, after all, was associated with the old tent-sanctuary but clearly that does not rival the extent of his presence in "heaven itself."
Likewise, the author makes the point that Christ's sacrifice is superior to the sacrifices mandated by the code and made by the priests. Those precursors, after all, were made "again and again... year after year." By the necessity of their repetition, therefore, their ultimate inadequacy is revealed. But Christ "appeared once for all... to remove sin by the sacrifice of himself... (he was) offered once to bear the sins of many." A once-for-all sacrifice is, by definition sufficient and therefore superior to the endlessly repetitious sacrifices of the old covenant.
Other parts of this epistle deal in more detail with themes mentioned here. For example, we see here references to Christ's blood, the high priest, and the Holy Place. None is elaborated on with great specificity in the narrow confines of this passage, but we see them here against the larger context. We recognize that the larger principle applies in every case: namely, that the Old Testament code presented us with symbols, but now Christ has come, and he is in every way superior to all that came before.
Mark 12:38-44
This passage from Mark presents us with two models and both are challenging to us.
The either-or nature of the episode is reminiscent of many of Jesus' parables. It is standard fare in those teachings to be presented with a choice between two options, and the reader or listener is implicitly invited to identify with one of those choices. For example, are we like the wise virgins or the foolish ones (Matthew 25:1-13)? Which type of soil do we resemble in our response to the word (Mark 4:3-20)? Do we respond to the needs along the way like the priest and Levite or like the Samaritan (Luke 10:30-37)? Do we live like the wise house builder or the foolish one (Matthew 7:24-27)?
In this gospel lection, however, the challenge does not come from a parable. No, these two options come from real life, which makes them perhaps all the more sobering. If the scribes were fictional characters, it might be easier to laugh at them. If the poor widow were imaginary, she would be less disturbing to us.
Our people may instinctively put some distance between themselves and the real-life scribes because at first blush the particulars sound foreign. Walking around in long robes, "best seats" in synagogues, and a culture where long prayers are admired -- these all seem quite far removed from the daily life of the people in our pews. On the other hand, we ourselves as clergy may find these verses embarrassing to read, for the details are not so far removed from us. We may very well take a kind of self-important pleasure in our robes and ceremonies. We do enjoy -- perhaps too much -- the "best seat" at a variety of functions by virtue of our office. And it is a profound occupational hazard that we will pray "for the sake of appearances." The scribes are unsettling, indeed, as looking at their portrait feels like looking in the mirror.
You and I may not need to use the pulpit as a confessional, however, for the sobering teaching is not exclusively for us but for our laity as well. After all, when you strip away the particulars of the scribes' behavior, you're still left with a very familiar human motivation: namely, our appetite for importance and respect. Whether our field is religious or not, we all know the intoxication that comes with rank. But the love of it -- the seeking out of it -- is ill-suited to those who would have the same mind that was in Christ Jesus (Philippians 2:3-8).
Meanwhile, the other challenging character in this passage is the poor widow. She reminds us, first of all, that God's calculations are different from the world's. By worldly measures, you know, the widow's contribution was insignificant. But the scales of heaven are measuring something else, and there her giving was weighty indeed.
The poor widow is commendable in at least three ways. In reverse order, we observe first the obvious totality of her devotion. Jesus notes that she "put in everything she had," which is not an unfamiliar theme in the gospels (cf. Matthew 19:21; Mark 10:28; Luke 5:11, 28; 14:33). Second, there is the underlying faith exhibited in that total devotion. This poor widow calls to mind the one in the Old Testament who was about to starve but who gave what little food she had to the man of God first (1 Kings 17:10-16). The old hymn famously links trusting and obeying, and we see that essential connection in the sacrifice of these two women. Then there is the underlying understanding that is tacitly on display here. That is to say, this woman was not just devoted and faithful, she was wise. She was in touch with a greater reality than perhaps everyone else around her. For while the world would dismiss her tiny gift as insignificant, something within her knew better. She did not shrug her shoulders and stay home, thinking she had nothing to offer. She knew she could offer all she had to God, and even though impoverished, that would be pleasing in his sight.
Application
Taken together our three assigned lections for this week combine to weave a lovely tapestry about Jesus.
The gospel passage, of course, is the one most obviously about him. Of the three kinds of source material, the gospel is the one that offers a historical record of an episode from Jesus' earthly life and ministry. We see in Mark Jesus' own words and actions.
At the other end of the spectrum, there is Ruth. The story itself comes from more than a thousand years before Jesus' birth. And there is, of course, no explicit mention of Jesus within that ancient text.
Yet we see at the end of Ruth that it is a book that looks ahead. While it is a record of events past, to be sure, its interest is in the future, for the people whose stories we trace in Ruth are deliberately tied at the end to some people who come after them. Specifically, one person: David. And we know from the rest of scripture -- Psalms, the prophets, and the New Testament itself -- how intimately David is tied to the Christ, who is "the son of David." Too, we are barely into the New Testament's story of Jesus when we are reminded of Ruth, for the first gospel writer takes pains to include her in Jesus' own genealogy (Matthew 1:5).
Then there is Hebrews. It is a New Testament book but with an eye on the Old Testament. That's not to say that Hebrews is stuck in the past. Not at all. Rather, the writer of Hebrews sees so clearly how the Old Testament -- in this case, specifically, the Old Testament law and levitical code -- looks to the future and anticipates the person and work of Christ. Indeed, Hebrews demonstrates to us how our Christology is apt to be shallow and incomplete apart from a thoughtful reading and understanding of the Old Testament.
So we see that it is all about him. Just as Moses and Elijah flanked Jesus and the apostles knelt before him at his transfiguration, so the entirety of scripture revolves around him. It bears witness to him -- before, during, and after his coming. The law, the prophets, and the writings of the apostles combine to weave a lovely tapestry that is all about Jesus.
An Alternative Application
Hebrews 9:24-28. "Advanced symbolism." We explored above the logic of the letter to the Hebrews. The author looks back at the rites and rituals and roles of the Old Testament through the lens of Christian faith. And through that lens, the writer is able to identify Jesus in the symbolism established by the Old Testament law.
The fascinating thing about this symbolism, however, is that it comes in advance. That makes it quite different, of course, from the sorts of symbols with which we surround ourselves. I suggested above that the people in our pews might be wearing a peace sign, a team insignia, or an American flag. Imagine, however, that the folks who were wearing those little symbols didn't know their meaning. Indeed, that no one knew their meaning.
Imagine, for example, that Bill is wearing his American flag pin in England in 1500.
"What's that red, white, and blue thing on your lapel, Bill?"
"It's a pin."
"What does it represent?"
"I have no idea."
That sounds like silliness to us, of course, but it wouldn't be if we factored in an omniscient God. In other words, Bill might not know about the United States of America whose flag he was wearing 300 years early, but that wouldn't preclude God from making such a flag. Likewise, the ancient people of Israel did not know that they had in their midst potent symbols of the Christ. Yet God knew and God prescribed and placed those symbols to prepare the way for the fulfillment of his plan of salvation.
