On Typology
(avg. read time: 21–43 mins.)
I have previously written on the subject of typology, but that was as part of a larger post on Melito of Sardis and comparing his work with Hebrews. Here, I want to make it more of a focus. I also want to clear up some potential confusion that I have seen related to typology and typological interpretation of the Bible and in the early church.
For the purposes of this analysis, I define typology as a method of interpretation that is mimetic in two directions in that it understands a person/people, event, or institution through the analogous correspondence to another one, and particularly in historically considered typology this will mean that the analogous correspondence will be an earlier or later one (depending on what the interpreter is referencing). Especially with the historically considered variety, the method is undergirded by a theory of unification that understands the earlier type and the later fulfilling anti-type (the “fuller reality” to which the type points)1 in light of each other in order to place them in a singular worldview narrative, though this applies mutatis mutandis to other kinds we will note later.
A common misconception is that this is the only kind of typology, and so I have tried to qualify what will be our main focus here with the phrase “historically considered” in that this kind of typology is driven by considerations of history and God’s work across the eras in linking type and anti-type. However, Frances Young has rightly observed that there is more to the story of typology than this.2 For all kinds of typology, it is the mimetic connection or impress made in the model or pattern of the “type” (τύπος) that is important. While it is common today to make sharp distinctions between typology and allegory, and even to claim that some early Christian teachers used typology as a method of interpretation in opposition to allegorical interpretation (such as in how the distinctions between the interpretive schools of Alexandria and Antioch have often been presented), there were no such hard and fast distinctions made in their actual writings. When ancient and medieval interpreters objected to various allegorical interpretations, they did not so much take issue with allegorical interpretation in itself as they took issue with any allegorical approach that was utterly disconnected from the foundation of the literal sense or destroyed textual coherence.3 Given how broad a method allegorical interpretation was, typology could be considered a subset of the same taken up with drawing attention to certain kinds of correspondence. Furthermore, as Young says, “Allegory was often required to turn a scriptural oracle into a prophecy; allegory was also required to make a ‘type’ prophetic in its various respects.”4 And as we have seen from interaction with Tolkien’s letters, allegory points to the larger pattern of universals which typology can exemplify through pointing to particular instances of patterns.
Thus, Young observes how typology and the language employed for it could serve multiple functions. It could be exemplary or biographical in pointing to how individuals embody or represent certain virtues, thereby serving as a model or pattern for others to follow. It could be prophetic, which is most often how the terminology is used today in reference to what I have called “historically considered” typology, so that an earlier type (or prefiguration/foreshadow) points forward to a later, “fuller” anti-type that fulfills it. It could be spatial/geographical in the links made between sites, whether the earlier and later versions of one site or of correlations made between different sites like between Eden and Zion (or other such cases). It could also be what Young calls “recapitulative” in cosmological/eschatological terms, particularly in terms of correlating creation and eschaton, although some cases of eschatological correspondence are hard to distinguish from the prophetic use of typology.5
The Example of Melito of Sardis
The earliest example of someone providing something of a theoretical outline alongside a demonstration of typology is the aforementioned case of Melito of Sardis with his Peri Pascha. While I have gone over his work in more detail elsewhere, it is worthwhile revisiting his theoretical framework for our purposes because of how well he exemplifies the popular use of typology. His exposition in general is an exercise in typology as Melito links the original Passover narrative (Exod 12) with Jesus’s passion narrative. Typology is necessary for understanding the mystery of Passover because it is a method that sees the old in the new, the temporal in the eternal, the model in the finished product, and vice versa (4–7).6 It helps one to understand each event, person, or institution in light of the other, since type and anti-type exist in a relationship of double-directedness: the type sketches in foreshadowing the anti-type while the anti-type fulfills the type and thus reveals its ultimate purpose. The language of “type” itself implies the formal similarity between the old and the new, although the new is by nature the fuller reality to which the mark of the type points. Because there is this sense in which the old is contained in the new and the form of the new is contained in the old, Melito can justify his homiletical move in claiming that the angel of death did not turn away from the doors painted in blood because of the blood of those lambs who were slaughtered, but because in them he could see the type of the blood of the Lamb who was slaughtered (32–33).
His direct expression of his theoretical framework for typological exegesis is especially intriguing:
Beloved, no speech or event takes place without a pattern [παραβολῆς] or design [προκεντήματος]; every event and speech involves a pattern [παραβολῆς]–that which is spoken, a pattern [παραβολῆς], and that which happens, a prefiguration [προτυπώσεως]–in order that as the event is disclosed through the prefiguration [προτυπώσεως], so also the speech may be brought to expression through its outline [παραβολῆς].
Without the model [προκατασκευῆς], no work of art arises. Is not that which is to come into existence seen through the model which typifies it [τυπικῆς εἰκόνος]? For this reason a pattern [προκέντημα] of that which is to be is made either out of wax, or out of clay, or out of wood, in order that by the smallness of the model [προκεντήματος], destined to be destroyed, might be seen that thing which is to arise from it–higher than it in size, and mightier than it in power, and more beautiful than it in appearance, and more elaborate than it in ornamentation.
So whenever the thing arises for which the model [τύπος] was made, then that which carried the image [εἰκόνα] of that future thing is destroyed as no longer of use, since it has transmitted its resemblance [εἰκόνα] to that which is by nature true. Therefore, that which once was valuable, is now without value because that which is truly valuable has appeared. (35–37)7
As such, he declares that the things which once had value as a model no longer have value in the wake of that which was modeled. The fulfillment sets aside that which it has fulfilled. The exodus and the Mosaic covenant were surely wondrous, but they were always for the purpose of pointing to the new exodus and the new covenant:
For this one, who was led away as a lamb, and who was sacrificed as a sheep, by himself delivered us from servitude to the world as from the land of Egypt, and released us from bondage to the devil as from the hand of Pharaoh, and sealed our souls by his own spirit and the members of our bodies by his own blood.
This is the one who covered death with shame and who plunged the devil into mourning as Moses did Pharaoh. This is the one who smote lawlessness and deprived injustice of its offspring, as Moses deprived Egypt. This is the one who delivered us from slavery into freedom, from darkness into light, from death into life, from tyranny into an eternal kingdom, and who made us a new priesthood, and a special people forever. (67–68)
Even if that which is old is less significant than that which it modeled and signified, it still helps one to comprehend the mystery of Christ that it foreshadowed. What Jesus accomplished in his death and resurrection was nothing less than the new exodus, the event for which the original exodus was only the architectural sketch and sculptor’s model. Jesus confronted that which was greater than Pharaoh (the devil), struck that which was greater than Egypt (injustice) by claiming its would-be offspring as his own, and delivered his people from the greater slavery into the greater freedom, from the eternal darkness into the eternal light, from death beyond the mere consequence of mortality into life beyond the mere continuance of mortality, from the more powerful tyranny into a kingdom more lasting than the dominion of the promised land. And in the end, he declares those who belong to him as a kingdom of priests forever, superior in blessedness and duration to the priesthood and people that had come before them. Now that the fullness of what the types hinted at has come, the types/models/sketches can be set aside.
Of course, it is important to consider the significance of the fate for the features of the old covenant. What did this “setting aside” consist of? It is not entirely clear because this text is a liturgical text, a typically high-context discourse in which the speaker could refer to such ideas generally or in code and the audience would be expected to fill in the rest. For those—like present-day readers—who do not have direct access to that context, it would be irresponsible to try to fill in too much of the code without the requisite knowledge. At the least, the things set aside include the law as binding on believers, membership in Israel as a requirement for the covenant people, the sacrificial system, the temple, and any focus on the earthly Jerusalem as opposed to the heavenly one. One old feature that presumably could not be set aside was Scripture. Even as the scriptures were fulfilled and apparently rendered less important than the Christ event, the scriptures could not themselves be neglected because they were God’s words spoken to and through others in testimony to Jesus, testimony greater than any Christian could offer. They also enabled understanding of the mystery of Christ and the grand story of which he is the center (58). Though the Scripture may be old, it contains the mystery of Christ and his working in the world, which, in the words of Dragos-Andrei Giulea, “remains to be forever new in every process of being rediscovered.”8 Scripture, as the bearer of revelation for the continuity of salvation history in which Christ is always present and active, can never be set aside. On the contrary, because Christ has come, people can now properly understand Scripture as pointing to Christ and therefore understand the true value of Scripture.9
In Melito’s view, the Passover has no value apart from its revelation of the mystery of Christ. The lamb, the people, the deliverance from Egypt, the law that came as a consequence, all of these features of the Passover narrative derive their value from the adumbrated presence of Christ (7, 39–44, 58–60, 67–68). Additionally, Melito also explicitly invokes the stories of Abel, Isaac, Joseph, Moses, and David (59, 69). Naturally, given the focus of his exposition, Melito does not express these typological connections in any detail. Instead, he finds a common axis of analogy in each story that links it to the story of Jesus. Abel was murdered, Isaac was bound as a sacrifice, Joseph was sold as a slave by his brothers, Moses was exposed, and David was hunted down. What unites these stories typologically, at least in this context, is their suffering. Christ was in all of them, and this truth was most clearly revealed in their suffering, which in turn foreshadowed Jesus’s own passion.
But, of course, the first and foremost justification for typological reading is Jesus himself, the one who unites type and anti-type in his own being, for all of salvation history is contained within him (which is the basic message of 9, for all of its problematic imprecision by later theological standards). As such, the knowledge of Jesus’s presence in the Scripture illuminated the Scripture and the earlier Scripture illuminates the later reality that it modeled. Whatever discontinuity there may be between old and new, it is fundamentally at the service of the underlying continuity of salvation history. As Giulea states, “there is only one mystery developed in different grades and stages.”10 The old and new are mutually interpretive precisely because the mystery of Christ resides in both.
And because Jesus reveals the typological nature of the Passover, he also reveals the typological nature of realities attendant to the Passover. The law was revealed as a type for the gospel (according to 39, it pre-proclaimed [προεκηρύχθη] the gospel), the Israelite people were revealed to be a type of preliminary sketch (τύπος προκεντήματος; 40) for the Christian people, the salvific effects of blood were revealed as a type for the Spirit of the Lord, the earthly temple was revealed as a type for the heavenly Christ, the holy city of Jerusalem on earth was revealed as a type for the Jerusalem coming from above (39–45). In other words, for Melito typology is not simply a means of reading certain parts of Scripture as foreshadowing Christ; it is a means of understanding all of Scripture and all of the reality it shapes.
Potential Problems
Melito thus illustrates the various moves involved in presenting typological interpretation, even as he also highlights potential pitfalls. Besides what I have noted in the aforementioned post dedicated to Melito’s work, there is a notable problem that comes with treating what is earlier as merely dispensable. The types present in the OT can thus become diminished in significance as not having significance in themselves in their initial context plus their significance in pointing to Christ as part of the larger worldview narrative context, but as only having the latter kind of significance and thus being dispensable in the way that the model is once what is modeled has come to be. It is not a long way from this step to disregarding textual coherence for this other purpose, and thus disregarding the significance of the text as given.
And, of course, when textual coherence is of no concern, and when the significance of the text as given no longer matters, some rather absurd liberties can be taken with the text. After all, the only purpose left is drawing any kind of connection to Jesus. The validity of the text and validity it can give interpretations is ultimately replaced with the perceived validity of an entirely disconnected and ungrounded purpose. To speak of the inspiration of the OT as such would thus be meaningless as anything but a mirror for what one can find in the NT and Christian tradition.
Rather, the dual significance of the type and anti-type must be held together. The former helps us to understand the latter and see the larger significance of the latter as something deliberately shaped in relation to it and as deriving meaning from it. Conversely, the latter helps us to see how the former was also pointing beyond itself in foreshadowing something of even greater significance to come later in the story that will bring that initial significance to fruition in order to give resolution to the larger story. What makes the anti-type of greater significance is not the relative insignificance of the type but its eschatological position in the larger worldview narrative to which the type and anti-type commonly belong. That is, the anti-type in historically considered typology is not simply a repetition of the type; it is also an amplification of it in some way that befits the climactic significance and sense of finality it has in the larger story. I think Joel Willitts is correct to present the matter in this way so that when we think of the larger mega-narrative of Scripture, the OT has various indispensable contributions to make to the story as such. When one speaks of foreshadowing and so on in a story, that does not mean the foreshadows can simply be ignored or dispensed with once what was foreshadowed has come to pass in the story.
Biblical Examples
While typological interpretation has application beyond the direct examples from the Bible, it would help to illustrate how it is done by looking at some examples from within the canon. Some can be noted more briefly. Others are cases I have explored in more depth elsewhere, for which reason I will not dive into as much detail here.
One case is one I am not using any single example for, but there is an inner-biblical typology that recurs both within the OT and in the NT with inherent reference to the OT. Specifically, I am referring to the new exodus theme. The exodus was treated as the paradigmatic event for God’s salvific action in the OT and beyond (as one can see in this series). As such, it is unsurprising that it would also serve as the type for God’s greater, more lasting deliverance to come.
The author of Hebrews explicitly notes another event with this typological sense in Heb 11:19. The author explains this climactic expression of faith, in which Abraham acted despite potentially not being able to see how this might be consistent with the aforementioned promises of God, as faith in the God who raises the dead and that by extension God could raise his son from the dead if that is his will. And figuratively speaking—using παραβολή in a typological sense to convey that the event prefigures the true resurrection—Abraham did in fact receive back the son he was willing to sacrifice in devotion to the God who promises and enacts those promises with fidelity. Of course, the typological links of the story of Abraham and Isaac with the story of Jesus, in terms of both the people and the events, could be further unpacked.Various institutions of the old covenant are invoked as types for corresponding elements in the climactic new covenant as well. One can see this in how John references instructions from Exod 12:46 on the lamb’s bones not being broken for the Passover feast in connection to Jesus’s death (John 19:33–36; cf. also Ps 34:20). Likewise, Paul refers to Jesus as our paschal lamb in 1 Cor 5:7, and, as I have noted elsewhere, he evokes the cultic practices regarding the first fruits in describing Jesus’s resurrection (also see here).
As I mentioned previously, typological links can also be identified in terms of persons. One inherent typology similar to the exodus and new exodus in the OT involves David. After all, the eschatological king who reigns over Israel as part of God’s reign in the eschatological kingdom is described as “David” (Ps 132; Isa 9:1–7; 11; 55:1–5; Jer 23:5–8; 30:1–3, 18–22; 33:14–26; Ezek 34:23–31; 37:19–28; Hos 3:4–5; Mic 5:2–15). Melchizedek also serves as a type for Christ in that he was also both king and priest, as well as the namesake for the order of Jesus’s priesthood that fulfilled and amplified the role of the Aaronic priesthood (Heb 7). While I have not pursued this myself, one could also describe at least some of the many, many connections of Revelation with the OT in all of these various ways as involving a kind of typological relationship.
Two cases from Acts can be noted briefly, though I will also mention a third as a possibility. It is unclear whether Acts 4:25–26 is properly speaking a “fulfillment,” but I am inclined to see it as such because the disciples describe God as speaking “by the Holy Spirit through the mouth of our father David” (v. 25). The text in question is Ps 2:1–2. As the context indicates, what fulfills the Scripture in question is the coming of Jesus and the response of the nations to him, as they say that Herod and Pontius Pilate conspired with the nations against Christ (v. 27). This is seen as applicable especially because of the reference to “his anointed one,” which is understood as a reference to the Christ (Χριστός), who fulfills this word. It also fits with the OT context, as I illustrate below and in my Proclamations post concerning this psalm and the similar Ps 110. The introduction to the quote makes it seem like this could be a direct prophecy fulfillment, but it could be a typological fulfillment as well, in light of the likely function of this psalm as a coronation psalm.
Similarly, the text in Acts 13:33, which is introduced with “it is written” and a location of the second psalm, is Ps 2:7. The primary referent for fulfillment is the resurrection, as Paul states earlier in the same verse, but it also seems to function as a synecdoche for the gospel story as a whole. This is another case in which the Psalms are presented as having a typological fulfillment, where the one originally coronated with this formula looked forward to the one who would be exalted above all as a consequence of his resurrection and in acknowledgment of who he always was (which was also vindicated by the resurrection).
Finally, there is the text from Acts 4:11, which I have examined in much more detail elsewhere, for which reason I will try to keep this brief. The text quoted without a proper introductory formula—only being introduced with “this one is”—is Ps 118:22. While I focused in my analysis on this text as linked to resurrection, given the larger context of Acts 4, this is so because the text presents an encapsulation of the larger gospel story, as the narrative dynamics of both texts resonate with each other. In my analysis, I also go over how this use of this text, being a summary of the dynamics of the larger psalm, thus connects with the OT context. This text has been fulfilled in that the narrative dynamics have been actualized in Jesus. Whether this is best described as typology or perhaps as more of a narrative fulfillment apropos to the eschatological—something like a more specific equivalent of the references to “the Scriptures” in general being fulfilled—is less clear. I am inclined to the latter, but the former is certainly probable, given that the psalm involves an implicit typology of the new exodus. I have noted much the same for the use of the text in 1 Pet 2:7 here.
Another case that I have articulated in more detail comes from the first chapter of the NT concerning Jesus’s virginal conception. While I explored there common misconceptions about the significance of the Hebrew and Greek terms used, and I showed the significant overlap between them, the original prophecy was clearly not understood in its original context as meaning that a young woman/virgin will conceive without engaging in sex. The fact that it functions as a sign associated with a prophecy does not mean it is in itself a miraculous action. Rather, I think Matthew is engaging in typological interpretation here in seeing the words come true in a fuller way than they would have in the original type. After all, given that Jesus’s virginal conception appears in Luke as well, it is not that Matthew constructed an account of a virginal conception out of this text; it is that Matthew has used this text as a way to understand and convey the significance of something that was a preexisting story about Jesus’s life.
The bases for Matthew making a typological link here, beyond the reference to a virgin conceiving, include that the prophecy is addressed to the house of David (specifically, King Ahaz; Isa 7:2, 13), that there is promised deliverance (Isa 7:3–7; 8:4; Matt 1:21), and that both children signify God being “with us.” In the original context of Isa 7:1–17, Isaiah gives a promise to Ahaz that his kingdom will be delivered from the attacks of the northern kingdom of Israel and Aram, although they will be replaced by the threat that is Assyria (hence, this passage is not entirely hopeful). Even though Ahaz refused to ask for a sign of this, Isaiah gives him one anyway: a designated young maiden/virgin will conceive—although the future sense is not unambiguous in the Hebrew—and give birth to a son who will not even mature before God brings deliverance by Assyria (as noted throughout the following text). Given how the text plays out after this prophecy, it is most likely that it originally refers to Isaiah’s son Maher-Shalal-Hash-Baz. His birth is also connected to the defeat of Israel and Aram as indicating that the time is short for the oracle’s fulfillment (Isa 8:4; 7:15–16), it is connected with the coming of Assyria and the danger it poses to Judah (8:7–8; 7:17–25), and he himself is associated with the name Immanuel (8:8, 10; 7:14). Furthermore, Isaiah declares in 8:18 that his sons were given to him for signs and wonders (cf. 7:11, 14).
However, the story does not end with the replacement of two enemy kingdoms with a larger one that will yet be hostile. Chapter 7 belongs to a larger unit that includes ch. 9. Ironically, for all that Isa 9:6 is a widely used text for the Church during Advent, it is not cited in Matthew or Luke’s Christmas account, but I would argue that it is still relevant for the analysis of this story, and Matthew obviously knew about it (4:13–17). After all, Isaiah seems to be operating on the basis of an inherent typology in 7–9. Between the reference to the birth of Maher-Shalal-Hash-Baz and 9:6, there have been no other reference to a child being born, but obviously Isaiah’s son is not the one to fulfill the words of Isa 9:6, since his birth relates to the judgment on Israel and Aram, as well as the coming of Assyria to trouble Judah. The child of 9:6 points to a time and condition beyond that. This child’s birth will surpass that of the one previously called Immanuel, for he will have an even more glorious four-part name: Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. While the house and throne of David were not in any way improved in the previous promise, they are improved by being established in everlasting peace here (9:7). The judgment on Israel and Aram is recapitulated in the subsequent text (9:8–10:4) and judgment eventually comes against Assyria as well (10:5–19), which brings us beyond the original horizon of chs. 7 and 8 to ch. 11 with the ruler who comes from the “stump of Jesse.” This child’s birth thus brings about an even better state in relation to these three entities than was the case with the original Immanuel, and so it is reasonable to say that Isaiah sets up a typology within his own text in expectation of the child of 9:6.
It is unclear if Matthew himself specifically purposed to establish a typological relationship that was quite this wide-ranging, but the links between his text beyond the citation of 7:14 and this larger complex lend credibility to this reading. On this reading, Matthew places Jesus in typological relationship not only to 7:14, but to 9:6 (and 8:8, 10 in between) as well. After all, Jesus brings both 7:14 and 9:6 to fulfillment, even if they originally applied to two different figures. But now he has incorporated both figures into himself and brought them both to their promised goal. He is the anti-type that goes beyond the original type and even the original anti-type in Isaiah’s text. He is not only the sign of God’s deliverance; he is the agent of God’s salvation. He has not come to save the people from Roman oppression by military overthrow (as one might be inclined to take from Isa 9), but from their greatest enemies: the evil spiritual powers and the sin that controls both those powers and the people (as shown by the particular sins that manifest in their lives). He will not only receive the throne of his father David; he will receive all power in heaven and on earth and take his position at the right hand of God the Father, whence he will continue as he has done in the Gospel, bringing judgment and salvation to all nations. He is the one that the rest of Matthew’s narrative will demonstrate embodies both the identities of the child of Isa 7:14 and the child of Isa 9:6. Indeed, Matthew will show that Jesus embodies the essence of the name Immanuel in a way that no one has before, since Jesus is truly God with us always, who has come to act as Redeemer and Deliverer (cf. the book-ends of Matt 1:23 and 28:20). That he conveys this point is especially clear in light of the fact that the angel instructed Joseph to name the baby “Jesus,” while the prophecy he cites says that he will be named Immanuel. He does not fulfill the prophecy in respect to the name he went by in everyday life, but in respect to fulfilling what the name means.
In all of these ways, we see how the Christmas story is tied with the Easter story, as Jesus’s birth foreshadows his death, resurrection, and exaltation, by which he inaugurates God’s heavenly kingdom. And it was by these major gospel events that Jesus fulfilled Scripture (though Luke will make more of a point of this in his resurrection narrative) and demonstrated God’s inexorable, faithful love. In every telling of the Christmas story, it is essential not only to understand the larger narrative context from which it emerged, but also to understand it through the lens of the gospel events that confirmed God’s revelation of who Jesus is: his death, resurrection, and exaltation. This is why he is described as being of David’s lineage in anticipation of his exaltation beyond David to the right hand of God the Father. This is why his name is a description of his mission, to save people from their sins, which will be accomplished at the climax of the story. This is why he is described as “God with us” in anticipation of the climactic events that show he will always be with us. And this is why he is described as fulfilling Scripture by his very conception in anticipation of his fulfillment of Scripture in the events of his death, resurrection, and exaltation (21:37–44; 26:23–24, 31–32, 54–56; 27:9–10). And we are introduced to the one who accomplished all this by his virginal conception, wherein God made a way for him to be born into the world where there was once no way.
Finally, we should consider the use of typology in Hebrews, specifically in chs. 8–10, where the author contrasts the old and new covenants and their respective features (especially their promises, tabernacles of divine presence, and sacrifices).11 Although there is no complete terminological overlap between the terms used to signify typology in Hebrews and Peri Pascha, the two works feature several overlapping terms and senses at key points. In 8:5, Hebrews follows the LXX in using τύπος in terms of “pattern/model” in reference to Exod 25:40. Hebrews is also the only text in the NT outside of the Synoptic Gospels to use παραβολή (9:9; 11:19), though in a sense more like Melito of “pattern,” “analogous symbol,” or, the case we have already noted from 11:19, “prefiguration.” Finally, 10:1 is the only New Testament use of εἰκών (“image/form” or “resemblance”) in a typological sense in that it is applied to an object of the old covenant.
Even where the terms are not exactly the same, they have the same function in the typological scheme and reveal a similar theology. The author refers to the institutions of the old covenant, especially the tabernacle, as ὑπόδειγμα (“pattern”) and σκιά (“shadow”) of the heavenly things to come (8:5; 9:23; 10:1). In other words, they are the earlier foreshadowing realities that point to the fuller ones in their form and function. But, like in Melito’s thought, their insufficiency and imperfection are the “built-in” features of models and foreshadows, since they were never meant to be the final realities of the new covenant (8:6–13; 9:11–15; 10:1–18; cf. 6:13–20; 7:21–22, 25–28).12 The author further reinforces this contrast by drawing on Jer 31:31–34 to distinguish between “old” and “new” (8:8, 13; 9:15; cf. 10:20; 12:24).13 The typological language and the contrast between old and new illustrates the fundamental axis of contrast is historical/eschatological and the spatial/cosmological contrast is at the service of this contrast.14
The author further demonstrates this logic with the language of superior fulfillment and obsolescence. In fact, the term κρείττων occurs more often in Hebrews (fourteen times) than all other New Testament texts combined, six times in 7–9 (7:7, 19, 22; 8:6 [twice]; 9:23).15 Likewise, Hebrews uses the language of obsolescence or “making old” as God has acted in a new way to fulfill better promises that makes the former way obsolete (8:13; cf. 7:18; 9:26). As noted above, this obsolescence is by divine design—revealed in typological interpretation—rather than having to do with inability or refusal of the covenant signatories to obey.16 Just as the tabernacle of mediated divine presence would give way to God’s full presence among his people and access to the throne of God itself because of Jesus (cf. 4:14–16; 10:19–25), the old covenant as a whole would give way to the new covenant and all the better promises thereby entailed when the story had reached this eschatological turning point.
The ninth chapter proceeds with a description of the tabernacle and the items within it. Of course, this description goes beyond the original construction and furnishing of the tabernacle in Exodus to include Aaron’s rod that budded in Num 17 when his claim on the priesthood was challenged. The author also emphasizes the distinction of the Holy Place—where the priests continually enter to accomplish their duties—and the Most Holy Place—where only the high priest enters once a year with the blood of a sacrifice offered on behalf of himself and the people who committed sin in ignorance or without intention. Such rituals were indirect revelations by the Holy Spirit that he had not yet revealed the way into the heavenly sanctuary while the first one still had standing. Rather, the rituals were an analogous symbol or sketch (παραβολή) of the eschatological time that has now arrived (v. 9). While this term is used often in the Gospels in reference to the stories that Jesus told that served as analogies through which he provided teaching, Hebrews is the only text in the NT that uses the term in this more prophetic/typological sense. In this sense, though the παραβολή is only an outline of the reality it signifies, much like a clay model or an architectural blueprint, it contains important connections of continuity with the analogous signified reality that make it able to communicate that reality in a partial way. In this case, the rites in question foreshadowed the time that has arrived, the climactic, eschatological time in which the covenant has been inaugurated, the consciences of the worshippers have been completed by being purified, and the complete forgiveness of sins has been instituted through the supreme blood sacrifice.
Hebrews 9:11–28 then offers the most extensive statement about the blood of Jesus in the NT, and it does so according to the rubric of the atonement system in the old covenant. His coming as the high priest of the good things that have come to be (or, according to the textual variant, the good things that are “about to be” in reference to promises that have yet to come to pass) is initially referenced in the aorist tense as a statement about his earthly coming (since the text references his “arrival” or “becoming present”). Yet, at the same time, it is said that he entered the greater and more complete/perfect tabernacle that is not part of this creation (cf. Wisdom 9:8). His entrance into the sanctuary of the more complete/perfect tabernacle had to be by the same means as entrance into the sanctuary on the Day of Atonement: blood. That is to say, the outpouring of blood to enter the sanctuary signifies the pouring out of life that is the proper consequence of our sinfulness, but that by that same means of life given in death, God provides deliverance and forgiveness. This was signified temporarily in the old covenant, but it has become a lasting reality in the new covenant as Jesus gave up his life in the crucifixion in order for God to renew him again in resurrection, thereby forging a path through his flesh and blood for others to follow from mortality, through death and burial, and out the other side into resurrected new life.
Of course, to enter the more perfect sanctuary, it would not do to have only the blood of bulls and goats, which provide only temporary cleanness. But Jesus’s blood had obtained everlasting redemption, which is not only a perfect admission price for entrance into the sanctuary, but a means of purchasing entrance for others into the presence of God (since it had been indicated already in Hebrews that Jesus was without sin and thus did not need redemption [4:15; 9:14]). Indeed, this point of purchase for others becomes explicit in 10:19–25. Furthermore, the purification provided by his blood is not only an outward cleanness, but a complete one that in turn delivers from acts of death into the service of the living God. It is both a salvation from and a salvation for.
As in the Eucharistic texts, the author links Jesus to the hope of the new covenant and with it the promised everlasting inheritance. This covenant is, of course, superior to the old and so is its mediator, a claim the author has already established with the earlier comparisons to Moses. In this context, the superiority of Jesus works itself out in that he, as mediator/broker, provides everlasting redemption even for sins committed under the law of the old covenant. Thus, we see a reference to the new exodus (particularly with the redemption language) in the same breath as the new covenant (an interpretation receiving further corroboration from the mention of everlasting inheritance), as is confirmed in the earlier use of Jer 31 in ch. 8.
Before I proceed to the rest of the chapter, I want to focus on the Trinitarian dynamic of v. 14. Here the author speaks about the blood of Christ, who offers himself without blemish through the Holy Spirit to God the Father. We see here one of the roots of the later doctrine of perichoresis and unity of action in the Trinity. While the roles the persons of the Trinity play in any given action may be differentiated to some extent, the fact remains that there is no action of God in which all three members of the Trinity are not acting in unity; they are all involved in every aspect of every action, albeit in extents and roles that are not always strictly the same. The same is true here in the work that brings reconciliation through purification and forgiveness of sins. In this one action, Christ effects reconciliation by offering himself to God through the Holy Spirit on behalf of others who were created to bear the image of God but cannot do so as a vocation because of their sinfulness. The Holy Spirit—the same Spirit who unites Christ with Christians and makes the latter like the former—effects reconciliation in linking the work of the Son and the Father, which he does by being united with Jesus in his sacrifice and being the one through whom this sacrifice is presented to God. God the Father effects reconciliation from beginning to end by dictating this work as the way of salvation to set the world aright, sending Jesus and the Holy Spirit to make it happen, and receiving the sacrifice of Jesus as that which satisfies his will and propitiates his wrath toward sin by purifying his image-bearers.
The author then switches gears to discuss the necessity of shedding blood for the enactment of the covenant, this time using the common term for “covenant”—διαθήκη—in the sense of “will” or “testament”, though with overtones relevant for “covenant” in general. One cannot put a will into effect until the death of the maker. The old covenant was in effect before the death of Moses, but required vicarious death through sacrifice. The blood, signifying the will itself, thus had to be sprinkled—along with a mixture of others elements such as water and hyssop—upon the elements and participants of the covenant to indicate acceptance of the enforcement of the will. Hence, Moses sprinkled blood on the scroll of the law, the people who were to keep it, the tabernacle at the center of their worship, and the vessels used in the ceremonies there. The author comes to the conclusion that almost all things were cleansed through blood in the old covenant and that ultimately without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness under the old or the new covenants. Since the old covenant was the model for the deeper reality of the new covenant, it was properly a necessity under the old covenant as well as under the new one that life was given through the giving of life. Only through such death could life come. There is no resurrection unto everlasting life that releases everlasting life unto others without the prior death.
This acknowledgment is even more necessary to the act of entering the heavenly tabernacle, which required even better sacrifice. That is, the apocalyptic view here shows that the import of Jesus’s sacrifice was far greater than any done in the tabernacle or the temple because it also involved participation in the heavenly tabernacle. Jesus, by means of the purchase of his death, has now entered into the presence of God once more for us (a nod to what the author has already said about Jesus’ intercession for us). But unlike the Levitical high priests, he does not need to make this sort of sacrifice annually to come into the Most Holy Place and indeed into the presence of God. In fact, if he were to operate as the priests of the old covenant did, he would have needed to suffer again and again from the foundation of the world until the present time. Rather, his sacrifice was once for all, a sacrifice that can actually do away with sin (so it is appropriately at the consummation of the ages) and by his own blood rather than by the blood of another.
The last three verses of this chapter in particular provide a powerful rhetorical punch to the end of this sub-unit before 10:1–18. Verse 26 features two vivid contrasts. One is between suffering many times—as would have been necessary if Jesus had to make many sacrifices like the high priests of the old covenant—and his one appearance that was necessary given the magnitude of his sacrifice. Likewise, while sacrifices had to be done on a regular basis for the removal of sins in the old covenant, Jesus’s sacrifice was done once because it was effective once and for all for the removal of sins. The other is between the foundation of the world and the completion/consummation of the ages (i.e., it is a contrast between protology and eschatology). As I noted in my article, this text supports my earlier proposed reading of 1:2, since it uses a different word for “world” than for “age” in this case. In any case, the differentiation is not simply made between “world” and “age” but also between the foundation/creation and the eschatological completion or “coming together”, which I have noted above is similar in meaning to “denouement”, although here it is in the form of a noun rather than a verb. Verse 27 then establishes an analogy between the fate of humans and the purpose of Jesus. Humans die once and afterwards will face the final judgment. Jesus shares in this fate, but in a way appropriate for the one who is the embodiment of the union of God and human. He has died once to bear the sins of the many and now he will appear a second time at the eschaton for the salvation of those who eagerly wait for him. That is, he will consummate the conquest of sin by consummating the conquest of death for others that he accomplished in his first coming. Furthermore, the term referring to his appearance (ὀφθήσεται) may well be a simple reference to Jesus’s appearance, but it was also a term used for Jesus’s post-resurrection appearances, in which the double sense of the passive (as well as middle) form of this verb came to the fore (i.e., Jesus appeared to the disciples and was seen by them; cf. Matt 28:7, 10; Mark 16:7; Luke 24:34; Acts 9:17; 13:31; 26:16; 1 Cor 15:5–8).
The important term σκιά reappears in v. 1 as a description of the old covenant institutions. They were foreshadows of the coming good things, that is, the things of the new covenant, which have come already and are yet to come. The old covenant features were the image of these things, not the things themselves. As such, the sacrifices of the old covenant could never fully achieve the ends of the things they signified. The Day of Atonement sacrifices had to be offered each year and as such they could never truly complete those who approach the sanctuary. If they were the things themselves, there would have been no need for a new covenant and there would be no need for the sacrifices to cease because the worshipers had been cleansed. Rather, these sacrifices provide a yearly reminder of sins.
Next, the author interprets another text prosopologically, attributing Ps 40:6–8 (LXX: 39:7–9) to Jesus in his Incarnation (“when he entered the world”). While the historical author of this psalm of thanksgiving and petition has been traditionally identified as David, the author sees David here as operating in a prophetic capacity, speaking in the persona of Christ himself concerning his incarnation. In other words, the words here go beyond indicating the importance of something deeper than the mere rituals of the old covenant to foreshadowing the realities of the new covenant in which sacrifices and offerings are no longer necessary. The LXX version also was especially conducive to a prosopological reading because of the second clause in v. 6, which refers to a body prepared for the speaker by God, which obviously resonates with the Son of God taking on a body prepared for him by the Father (the MT version could also work in light of chs. 4 and 5, but not in connection with the incarnation). Furthermore, the last verse—in both the MT and LXX—resonates with Jesus in ways that this author in particular has emphasized. As the speaker, Jesus has come to do the will of God, and this is in accordance with the volume or the scroll of the book of which it is written about him. The first part of the statement fits with the faithfulness of Jesus to do the will of God while the second part of the statement fits with the testimony of Scripture concerning Christ and the notion that he is the climax of the story of Scripture.
Indeed, the author points out the appropriateness of Christ—the mediator of the new covenant—to be the speaker here because the part of his statement that indicates that God does not ultimately desire sacrifices and offerings in connection with the part of the statement that the speaker has come to do God’s will fits with how Christ abolished the first precisely by doing the second, thereby firmly establishing the will of God in history. It is by that will and the execution of it by Jesus in offering his body that believers are sanctified once and for all. While it was necessary for the priest to stand at service each day in the tabernacle and temple in order to offer the same sacrifices again and again because of their inability to remove sins altogether, Jesus was able to sit down at the right hand of God after his single sacrifice for the sake of sins for all time. Since that time, he has been waiting expectantly for the last part of the promise of Ps 110:1 to be fulfilled when God will place all his enemies under his feet. Until then, his reign is expressed by the fact that his single offering brings completion for all time the ones who are sanctified.
To these teachings he adds the testimony of the Holy Spirit, once again quoting from Jer 31, although the text was earlier attributed to God the Father. The attributing of one text to both of these members of the Trinity while relating it to what was accomplished in and by the Son indicates the unison that the author sees in the work of the Trinity. In any case, this quotation is slightly different from the earlier one that more closely matched the LXX (with some notable differences). The quote is of vv. 33 and 34c. The first verse has the same differences from the LXX as the earlier quote, although this time the author also switches the places of “heart” and “mind” from the earlier quote, which indicates that the author regards these terms as essentially interchangeable in this context. Also, the first line of the verse is generalized from the earlier reference of “with the house of Israel” to “with them.” The part of v. 34 quoted is different for changing “unrighteousness” to “lawlessness”—again seemingly indicating that the author sees these terms as interchangeable—and switching its position in the promise after “sins” instead of before it. The verb tense of “remember” is also different as it is no longer the aorist subjunctive—as would be fitting for a verb following οὐμή—but is now the future indicative, which makes the force of the οὐμή statement even more emphatic as a state of affairs that will never happen. Still, for all the small changes, the meaning remains intact and its function for the argument here is to show how Christ fulfills this testimony of the Holy Spirit and God the Father by interiorizing the covenant—thereby sanctifying the people—and providing forgiveness for sins. Since this forgiveness has been achieved, there is no need for further sin offerings.
In the phrasing of typology, the “anti-” in “anti-type” should be understood as something like “corresponding” rather than “opposing” or “against.” Additionally, in terms of historically considered typology, it has the sense of what will come “in place of” the type and fulfill it by its correspondence to and amplification of the type.
Frances M. Young, Biblical Exegesis and the Formation of Christian Culture (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 1997), 148–57, 192–201, 209–13.
Young, Biblical Exegesis, 152.
Young, Biblical Exegesis, 198–201.
Alistair Stewart-Sykes (The Lamb’s High Feast: Melito, Peri Pascha and the Quatrodeciman Paschal Liturgy at Sardis, VCSup 42 [Leiden: Brill, 1998], 86–89) suggests that Melito’s rhetorical and philosophical training would have led him to look at Scripture as a riddle that hides divine wisdom and typology as the means by which to unravel it.
See the translation from Melito of Sardis, “On the Passover,” Kerux 4 (1989): 5–35, URL: http://www.kerux.com/doc/0401A1.asp.
Dragos-Andrei Giulea, “Seeing Christ Through Scriptures at the Paschal Celebration: Exegesis as Mystery Performance in the Paschal Writings of Melito, Pseudo-Hippolytus, and Origen,” OCP 74 (2008): 36.
Cf. John Hainsworth, “The Force of the Mystery: Anamnesis and Exegesis in Melito’s Peri Pascha,” SVTQ 46 (2002): 132–34; Henry M. Knapp, “Melito’s Use of Scripture in Peri Pascha: Second-Century Typology,” VC 54 (2000): 370–73.
Giulea, “Seeing Christ,” 32.
For overviews on the use of the Old Testament in Hebrews, see Gareth Lee Cockerill, The Epistle to the Hebrews, NICNT (Grand Rapids; Cambridge: Eerdmans, 2012), 41–49; Paul Ellingworth, The Epistle to the Hebrews: A Commentary on the Greek Text, NIGTC (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans; Carlisle: Paternoster: 1993), 37–42; George H. Guthrie, “Hebrews” in Commentary on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament, ed. G. K. Beale and D. A. Carson (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2007), 919–23; William L. Lane, Hebrews 1-8, WBC 47A (Dallas: Word, 1991), cxii–cxxiv. For more detailed analyses, see Susan Docherty, The Use of the Old Testament in Hebrews, WUNT 2/260 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2009), 144–200; Barry C. Joslin, Hebrews, Christ, and the Law: The Theology of the Mosaic Law in Hebrews 7:1-10:18 (Milton Keynes: Paternoster, 2008); King L. She, The Use of Exodus in Hebrews, StBibLit 142 (New York: Lang, 2011), 127–47.
Philip Church, Hebrews and the Temple: Attitudes to the Temple in Second Temple Judaism and in Hebrews, NovTSup 171 (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 431; Joslin, Hebrews, 183–85, 252–55.
Ole Jakob Filtveldt, The Identity of God’s People and the Paradox of Hebrews, WUNT 2/400 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2015), 93–94.
Church, Temple, 405–11; Cockerill, Hebrews, 28–32, 359–62, 416; Lane, Hebrews 1-8, 206–8; She, Exodus, 134–35. Contra Ellingworth, Hebrews, 491.
While Melito does not use this adjective, he uses the contrast of τίμιος (“valuable/precious”) and ἄτιμος (“valueless/worthless”).
Filtveldt, Identity, 92. Contra Cockerill, Hebrews, 366.