drama

The Festival Music Drama

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The festival music drama as described here is a type of drama in which the entire congregation plays a role. It involves many of the traditional elements in a worship service, reordered so that their dramatic quality is realized. The central theme is always that of the life of Jesus Christ, which is presented in dramatic fashion to give believers an opportunity to celebrate Christ’s victory and to present the gospel narrative to unbelievers.

The festival drama is an innovative type of musical drama that enacts significant events in the life of Christ for the purpose of celebration and evangelism. Its unique characteristics are (1) the full participation of the congregation in a group role, and (2) the incorporation of many worship elements such as singing, Scripture reading, prayer, confession, and sermon.

In each festival music drama, Christ is the central character. All the dialogue and actions lead up to climactic moments of praise and celebration of who Jesus is and what he has done and continues to do for us. Festival music dramas may celebrate Christ’s birth, his death, and resurrection, and can also celebrate his adoration by the magi, his baptism and temptation, his transfiguration, his Holy Week descent into grief and suffering, his ascension, and his second coming.

The festival music drama is designed not only to celebrate Jesus but to be an evangelistic outreach. While participating Christians are celebrating Jesus, the nonbelievers in attendance will see and hear the joyful sound of Christians’ acclamations and singing. The nonbeliever will also witness the story of Christ’s love and salvation. After each presentation, he or she will be given an opportunity to respond to what has been witnessed.

The first distinctive characteristic of the festival drama is that it is participation-oriented, not performance-oriented. The congregation becomes actively involved in the story since it is given the role of shepherds/shepherdesses, villagers, servants, or worshipers in the temple. From beginning to end, the congregation sings and dialogues, most often during a worship action. It also participates in processions, pilgrimages, or other journeys. Its members perform many other simple rituals such as carrying candles or offering gifts. It also participates by receiving or giving symbols or central images.

Also, unique to the festival music drama is the use of stages or stations throughout the church, such as the aisles, the right and left sides of the sanctuary, or church hall. In this way, it resembles a pageant.

The festival music drama is as musical as it is dramatic. Throughout the presentation, various types of congregational, responsorial, antiphonal, and choral music occur. While choirs are used in the festival music drama, they are given a dramatic role; they never sing to the congregation, but with it or during a congregational action.

A second distinguishing facet of the festival music drama is its inclusion of worship elements, such as the call to worship, sometimes a confession, prayers, reading or recitations of the Scriptures, and also a sermon. These worship elements are part of the storyline and may not be clearly identified since they are reframed into a dramatic framework. A lead character is also a worship leader. He or she “directs” the congregation in much the same way a pastor or music minister directs a congregation. While the festival music drama is not designed to be a worship service, it could be considered a celebration service.

The concept of the festival music drama is based upon the celebration of the three pilgrim festivals found in the Old Testament: the Feast of Passover, Feast of Pentecost, and the Feast of Tabernacles. Three times a year the Israelites went to Jerusalem for one or two weeks to observe these feast days. While the Bible does not clearly indicate all the types of services and celebrative activities that took place, other sources do indicate that there were elaborate ceremonies and several celebrative events.

One such event might have been some form of dramatic enactment. During each festival, a “festival scroll” was read. These included such biblical books as the Song of Solomon, Esther, and Ruth. These narratives were read by one priest, but other priests may have made certain movements acting out what was being read.

The festival music drama has also a historical antecedent in the medieval liturgical drama. Originally short dramatic scenes or tropes were sung before the Mass. However these tropes became too dramatic, so they were expelled from use. They developed into full-length music dramas that had several liturgical elements.

Christmas and Easter are the two primary festivals; however, the celebration of Christ’s second advent and final establishment of his kingdom on earth has the potential of becoming a third major festival. This festival is already found in the Lutheran and Catholic churches. There is a strong biblical exhortation for all believers to look forward to Christ’s return. The festival music drama is one way the Christian church can celebrate this future glorious day. The model used to demonstrate the festival music drama is based upon the Feast of Christ the King, since it not only shows the what and how of this musical drama, but will give an idea of how this day can be celebrated.

This participatory festive music drama is offered as another way for the Christian community to joyfully celebrate the greatest events in history. At the same time, it will be a witness of the gospel to unbelievers.

Types of Drama for Use in Worship

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This article argues for the intentional and imaginative use of drama in worship. Its unique contribution is a helpful explanation of the various types or varieties of theater that can be incorporated into worship.

Incorporating the art of theater into the worship setting is an important and exciting ministry. To accomplish this, we must deal not only with practical matters regarding how a drama ministry might be launched in our churches but also with the complicated history of drama in worship. We must understand and accept the nature and limitations of the form and see the art of theater in its large intended creative context—as an art form with the capacity for revelation, praise, challenge, and comfort. Theater does not merely use language or the symbols of love; it can enact love. It can show us the love of parents, of friends or brethren. Theater can also challenge us by exposing sin while reminding us that we are not alone. It is a collaborative art form that places words and ideas in action through character. It isn’t merely oral or sermonic; it’s oral, physical, and visual.

One of the things that intrigues me is the complex history of the theater and the church. As far as we can ascertain, theater actually arose from the impulse of religious celebration and from the need to express the longings of a people for their creator. Through dramatic ritual, humanity gained a glimpse of the divine. In certain periods—notably the Greek and medieval—theater became a primary avenue for religious expression. Yet, even within those periods, ecclesiastical suspicion fell on theatrical practitioners. As Jonas Barish points out in The Antitheatrical Prejudice (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1981), “Thespis, who gave his name to the art of acting, was called a liar by Solon because he was pretending to be someone else” (p. 1). As a church, we are no different. We too are uncomfortable with those who would make their living by dissimulation. Actors of this lowly art were and are still segregated, set apart as somehow unworthy or unclean. As historians note, often theater was abandoned by the institutionalized church, left to thieves, prostitutes, and vagabonds, further polarizing it from the church and, at times, mainstream society. And because no dialogue between believing and unbelieving people occurred, the theater began to live up to its reputation. For example, H. R. Rookmaaker, in his book, Art Needs No Justification, wonders where the Christians were in the eighteenth century when humanism was born. Humanism in this period managed to re-direct society away from the needs of the human spirit so that it might seek pleasure and power. Rookmaaker posits that those believing societies had turned to a purely pietistic Christianity and rejected the arts. “Too easily, large areas of human reality, such as philosophy, science, the arts, economics, and politics were handed over to the world, as Christians concentrated mainly on pious activities” (quoted in Harry Farra, “Theater Position: A Report to the Strategy Planning Task Force,” Geneva College, 1991, p. 5).

This antitheatrical urge has persisted to the present. We readily accept the awesome power of this art to destroy but rarely acknowledge its capacity to heal as well. The church responded to theater too often by pulling away, allowing for an increasing secularization of the medium and eventually resulting in out-and-out hostility. In some denominations, the impulse for keeping theater away from the flock was a matter of theological priority. In his book Contours of a World View [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1983], Arthur Holmes makes this perceptive comment:

Traditions with a strong emphasis on the physical in creation, incarnation, and sacrament, like the Roman Catholic and the Anglican, have generally been productive in the arts. Traditions that stress a law-governed creation, such as the Reformed, have put creative energies into government and work. The Anabaptist tradition, emphasizing God’s provision for human needs, has attended to work and works of compassion and healing. American Evangelicalism’s theology focuses largely on sin and grace, and its most creative outlet has therefore been in evangelism and missions. Theology naturally gives direction as well as meaning to creativity. But a complete and balanced theology should direct it into every area of responsibility: art, science, society, and church. (Contours of a World View, 205–206)

Interpreting this statement correctly implies that we have always asserted the validity of the arts but have placed our energies for the most part elsewhere. Incorporating drama in worship will constitute a huge risk for many constituencies. Theater can engender very strong reactions, especially when it disturbs the comfort of those used to more traditional methods of worship. The theater is viewed by many with suspicion and a bit of fear. “What does it have to do with us?” they ask. “It doesn’t belong in the service. Worship isn’t entertainment. We’ve got our focus all wrong. Drama is all right as long as it stays with the children, but keep it away from the traditional service.” Those who view theater in this manner see theater as an enemy, a Goliath, a force that threatens from without. It’s foreign and secular. To many, it simply doesn’t belong.

And, in their defense, it is true that worship is not entertainment. Theater not incorporated properly into the service can seem like mere show. My most effective collaborations have occurred when my pastor and I mapped out specifically the goals and scriptural themes for the service. When I first started doing this; however, there were a few times when the coordination wasn’t there and the congregation was left thinking why was that included? or so what? That shouldn’t happen.

How do you get started? And how do you avoid some basic pitfalls? Let’s talk about a beginning: the basic nuts and bolts of incorporating theater into your service, the types of occasions that theater may be suitable for within your individual churches, and the different styles of theater possible.

The Process of Starting a Drama Ministry

Purposes. There are several different functions or purposes of scripts in worship. A first function would be the use of drama for sermon illustrations. Lasting from five to ten minutes, they provide physical illustrations of a service’s sermon or homily. These are perhaps the most common and popular methods of incorporating theater into your worship, but they are frequently limited by time restrictions and therefore can express only a simple point, not complex ideas. Generally, the tone of these pieces tends to be lighter and more comedic.

A second type might be called evangelical illustrations. Their time length can vary depending on the occasion. They can also take the form of a five- to ten-minute sketch. These openly proclaim the gospel as a means of grace and salvation in the church, to bring people to the altar, or to call us to our knees.

A third type is theatrical plays. These are longer dramatic pieces that on special occasions replace a sermon or homily. The best plays pose questions and don’t offer pat solutions; theater is not meant to take the place of a sermon.

Setting. Any worship setting may be appropriate for theater in your church. Plays can be a part of either morning or evening services, a youth or children’s worship proper, or they can highlight seasonal events, celebrations of the church calendar, retreats, and so on. Your purpose, occasion, and performing space will dictate the length and degree of seriousness of such plays.

Theatrical Style. In addition to understanding the different types and intentions of scripts possible in any of your worship services, you also must have some knowledge about the variety of expressions possible with theater. There are many different styles of theater to contend with as well. There are four basic theatrical styles that are appropriate for use in worship: reader’s theater, choral staging, realistic representation, and presentational performance.

Readers’ theater is a script-in-hand interpretation that reenacts (rather than represents) the actions in the text. It may be used with virtually any type of material or theme. Readers’ theater performances may be formal and static or have limited staging. Churches often use them where physical facilities and sightlines are problematic.

Readers’ theater may be performed with either static staging or limited staging. In static staging, the actor’s focus is directed to the audience. Actors don’t relate directly with their fellow actors; instead, they choose a point out in the audience where the character they address is located. The actors cross their focuses so that the illusion is maintained that the performers are speaking to each other. (If actor B stands onstage to actor A’s right, actor A looks out in the audience to the right at a diagonal. Actor B does the reverse. Thus, focuses are said to be crossed.) Limited staging, in contrast, does involve some movement, generally to indicate characters entering or exiting, and to focus the audience’s attention on specific actors. In the reader’s theater, the manipulation of gesture and body positions is still possible. This is especially essential when actors are playing multiple roles and the uniqueness of individual characters needs to be portrayed.

Choral staging is an ensemble performance that may be either script-in-hand or memorized. This style also works well for churches that have spaces with limited performance capabilities. Patterns of movement among the actors are the key to this style of representation. Most often they take the form of geometric patterns: v-shapes, x-shapes, diagonal lines, squares, circles, semicircles, and so on. Choral staging minimizes the role of individual characters. Actors may speak both in unison or in concert. The group is the character: individual characters are not represented in this style. (Individual voices, perhaps, but they are simply reflective of the whole unit.) This style works well with non-narrative forms, including poetry, psalms, and more abstract prose.

Realistic representation involves a fully memorized performance. This style may have grand or modest production values in setting, costume, and lighting. In this style, the action proceeds as if it is really happening, the virtual present. It represents reality, the reality we observe in day-to-day life. The actors behave as if the audience were not there to witness their activities. The actors are perceived as real people (three-dimensional). Gestures and physical movement should be as natural as the space permits.

Presentational performance is a fully memorized performance. Generally, production values center on the performer and not the setting (e.g., Madeleine L’Engle poetry). The action is directed out to the audience as a presentation of content rather than a representation of reality. Actors are performers representing themselves. Most often they don’t assume the role of other characters. If they do portray a character, that character is most likely to be a stock character or stereotypical character, not a three-dimensional character. This style works well with musical venues, revue-style sketches, poetry, and some prose.

Scripts. There are several types of scripts that may be employed in a worship setting. First, you can employ a literal rendering of Scripture, taking a passage from the Bible and performing it as it is written. Second, you can choose a script that interprets a scriptural event, aligning it in time very closely to the actual biblical reference. Third, a script could be chosen for its application of a scriptural event in contemporary terms, transplanting the events into our culture. Fourth, you may determine the best way to communicate your message is to choose a script that represents contemporary cultural satire. These types of scripts look at the world we live in and expose our cultural values for what they truly are. Finally, you may choose to employ a script that combines cultural illustration and confession. These comment on the human condition and expose our fears, concerns, and failing.

Organization. How do you set up a ministry? Having a coordinator in each model is crucial, as is identifying and describing the parameters of the ministry. One possible model for such a ministry is ACTS (Actors Committed to the Teachings of the Savior), involving a lay minister but relying on no support from the church administration except with special events programming. (ACTS was primarily an internal support ministry that provided sermon illustrations once a month and helped in a special evening of evangelism). Another model is that of Parable Players, a para-professional outreach ministry involving direct administrative support from the church. The artistic leader, a Ph.D. in theater, was a volunteer, but the actors (some academically trained, others not) were paid a small honorarium per performance. This outreach ministry toured regionally with two different full-length plays in its repertoire, performing on average eight times per month. The repertoire could change from year to year, and all roles in each play were the double case, allowing for an interesting mixture of actors from performance to performance. Another model is used at Willow Creek, a large nondenominational church in the suburbs of Chicago, where a professional staff (led by an artistic director with a Ph.D.) provides drama once a week. The ministry involves staff writers and performers in addition to congregational members. Whatever you do, start off small, producing no more than one to three events per year. Build a core of people interested in committing to this ministry. Send lay ministers to workshops and lectures to aid in training. Let your ministry grow through interest, not by decree.

More than Evangelism

To conclude, it is my hope that the majority of Christian people can think of more than Bible drama when they consider church and theater. Theater used strictly as a tool to evangelize limits its power to communicate to us. Legitimizing theatrical endeavor by slapping an evangelical label on it reduces art to function. Stuffed with facts, a dramatic form frequently labors to express tracts and dogma, quoting faithfully and duly Scripture texts that should resound and roar in our minds and hearts. Why not use a sermon to preach the message of salvation and allow the theater to relate to the drama of human experience?

You see, this is one of the theater’s greatest strengths: to hold a mirror up to nature and allow us to see ourselves. And in seeing to change and grow, to mature in the things that matter. Theater can share the Gospel in a powerful and exciting way; it can evangelize when done well. But it can also show us the reality of living in a fallen world and what sin does to our lives. It can show laughter and pain, joy and despair. It can also bind us together as common people. Stuart Scadron-Wattles, artistic director of Theater & Company, a Canadian Equity theater that produces works from a biblical perspective, believes that “we should find ourselves moving from the use of drama to achieve certain religious ends into something broader and more demanding: the dramatic expression of the kingdom of God.”

The most truthful statements about God’s goodness, his creation, and the fallenness of his creatures should be derived from the church. However, as Nigel Forde of Riding Lights Theater Company in England points out, “The reason that the most trenchant, memorable, and truthful statements about ourselves and the universe come from outside the Christian church is that Christians are all too easily shocked by reality; they want the truth to be completely beautiful. Whereas the real truth about truth in a fallen world is that it is likely to be both beautiful and horrible, both pure and filthy” (Theatercraft: Creativity and the Art of Drama [Wheaton, Ill.: Harold Shaw, 1990], 101). We need to be truthful in our churches and allow mature discussions to flourish to nurture and challenge us. Too often when we shove some material aside and say that it’s secular, we create walls between acceptable discussion material and unacceptable, Christian and secular. Think of theater in a broader perspective in your church. “It is the imagination that shows us the truth of what is going on around us. It is imagination that makes art not a copy of life, not a snapshot, but an appraisal, a vision, sometimes a prophecy” (Forde, Theatercraft, 110).

Theater can break down barriers and create new avenues of discussion among the members of your congregations. In The Antitheatrical Prejudice (p. 266), Jonas Barish writes:

The theatrical process works to complicate our judgments and disarm our vindictiveness. It makes us apprehend [theatrical characters] as feeling beings like ourselves, in whom virtue may be strong or nearly as strong as a vice, but for whom circumstances may have been stronger, who have struggled painfully but at length unsuccessfully against their passions. And so, as it makes us less judgmental, it validates our claim to be teaching us something. It educates by widening our imaginative range.

Nigel Forde puts it this way: “Theater does not browbeat man into accepting a rule or message written in flaming letters on stone. Rather it opens his eyes and enlarges his sympathies. If it is written on anything, it is written in water; it soaks in and nourishes the parts that otherwise would not be reached” (Forde, Theatercraft, 109). That’s my prayer for our work in the church: that it would break the stone hearts we carry within us and make us eager to walk in love, as Christ’s ambassadors on earth. I know that means making a small beginning first. But I don’t want to leave you stuck at “GO.” I pray that you catch a vision for the incredible revelatory promise that reconciliation between theater and church holds.

By grace, we can create. Arthur Holmes says, “A world amenable to human creativity, and human creativity itself, bear witness to their creator. These are living God’s good gifts, evidence of his continued creativity in human affairs” (Contours of a World View, 204). Through theater in our churches we can bear witness to our Creator God. Finally, I’d like to leave you with a comment by Lee Krahenbuhl, professor of theater at Judson College:

It is the Lord’s work to demolish walls that divide. When theater makes us less judgmental, when it teaches us something by widening our imaginative range, when it eliminates labels, it continues to work. I find it interesting that the same Hebrew name with we translate Jesus via the Greek of the New Testament, Y’shua, is in the Old Testament translated Joshua—through whom God brought the walls of Jericho tumbling down.

A theater ministry in your church could tear down a great many walls. And build the kingdom.

The Value of Dramatic Representation

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Drama is an extremely powerful means of communication, able to depict a narrative from many points of view and to portray the cosmic themes in situations that touch everyday life. The planning and execution of drama is also beneficial in that it can use the gifts of a variety of people of all ages in a congregation. While not addressing drama in worship directly, the following article raises important issues that should be considered regarding every dramatic moment in worship.

The interest in drama in Mennonite circles is slowly growing. There are not only more requests for plays to be presented for special holidays or to illustrate specific topics, but there is a growing interest in the essential nature of drama and an appreciation of its power.

The word drama means “a thing done.” It suggests an action, a piece of work, a worthy task for the human being. John Jay, a former drama professor, presently a minister of the gospel, says drama is a means of “enfleshing the word.” So it is not only “a thing done,” it is the abstract made concrete, the metaphysical joined to the physical. Its dynamic is like that of the “word” becoming “flesh.” By taking on human form, Christ showed the Father; it was in his life and death that he focused and made visible to the human eye the struggle between God and the devil—between good and evil. He showed us the truth.

Since the fifth century b.c. the word theater has meant “seeing place,” a place where the enfleshed word in action could be seen by a group. In spite of our fear and suspicion of the theater, the word still means the same thing today: it is the place where the group, the community, can sit back and watch an enactment of the conflicting forces of life which, taken to their ultimate source, are the forces of good and evil.

The conflict is usually in the form of a fictitious story (usually fictitious) that in some essential way represents reality. But the dramatic story is different from the short story or the novel: the tale is told not primarily from the point of view of the main character, but from various points of view. This objectivity allows the viewer to see the whole development of the conflict: its beginning, its development, and its conclusion. Moreover, the viewer is enabled to see the interplay of opposing forces in all its complexity: the many faces of evil, its insidious entry into our lives, and its propensity to masquerade as good. But this interplay also shows us how good can come out of evil and win the day. The sermon tells us about this; the drama allows it all to be played out before us, turning the bright truth upon “the whole.” Because it is in story form, we are less likely to be defensive.

In this process, we often see and hear things we do not like. Some characters may well offend us by their actions and their language, as people do in life. This is not to say that any evil act is either stageworthy or useful in presenting life with its many conflicts—a certain decorum and restraint must be observed. But to show only what we confirm and applaud, to force all characters to speak virtuously and sensitively, is to diminish the action and to deny the essential nature of the conflict. The morality of a play cannot be faulted for its parts. It must be judged as a whole, and on what it all comes to—the final resolution.

All this is to admit that drama has its disturbing elements: it stirs up rather than soothes. It is just as likely to reveal our vulnerability and weakness as it is to point us to our source of strength and our potential for good.

Balance and objectivity are not the whole of the argument in favor of drama. The objectivity does not preclude a certain identification with the characters on the stage. From their position in the auditorium, the observers are able to identify first with one and then another. As they enter into another person’s struggles, fears, aversions, and despair, they are made vulnerable but are also enabled to recognize and face the darkness within themselves. In the process, they vicariously “learn by going how to go” (Roethke).

A drama is like a dream that simultaneously raises thought and emotion in order to bring us new insights. And as we enter into the world of the play, we invariably sense that the essential struggle does not lie in the world around us (our neighborhood, the society, or the system) but rather in our inner world. The dialectical power of a great drama clarifies the struggle and brings it home to its source—which is the human heart.

All of this speaks of the high seriousness of drama. To stage a drama is to take a certain risk and to work hard. But there is a reason why the written script, which is the basis of the dramatic production, is called a play. To fully enjoy a drama as an audience member, one must be willing to play. The playwright wants to give pleasure to the audience. People do not attend a drama with the attitude of going to work, but to be at leisure. And the audience says of the actors, “They are playing their parts.” What is the nature and importance of this “play?” What should be the aim? Does drama build the body which is the church?

In drama, playing means entering into an imaginative world in which we temporarily free ourselves from the structures of “real life.” Whether purely for pleasure or for both pleasure and some other purpose (e.g., sharing a vision), a world on stage in which actors imagine themselves to be the people of the play. As the restrictions of “real life” are temporarily lifted, people are given the freedom to explore something new or something hidden deep within themselves. There is a certain abandonment in play that allows us to leave our everyday serious or inhibited self at the door and to call upon the “child within”—that aspect of personality that allows us to be spontaneous, eager, carefree, and readily in touch with emotion. In doing this we may reawaken thoughts and feelings, ways of behavior, and ways of seeing the world that has lain dormant for a long time. In the reawakening, we enrich and rediscover ourselves.

One of the special features of a dramatic production is its intergenerational character. Many plays call for people of various ages. As the octogenarian “plays” with a child of seven, or with a teenager, the gaps between the generations are inadvertently bridged. A peculiar bonding takes place as people of different statures and ages commit themselves to a task that calls for a certain element of risk, commitment, and play.

Another benefit accruing to the church family is the drama’s ability to call forth a wide variety of gifts in the church. Even a short one-act play may call for a number of imaginative and courageous people to act the parts, technicians to produce sound and light, artists to design the set and programs, craftspeople to build sets, sew costumes, and make props. Finally, people with organizational skills are needed to direct and produce the play. A dramatic production is not only play; it is also work, as anyone who has ever participated knows.

The plays that embody a Christian theme and that also “play well” on the stage are scarce. Understandably, church audiences are more concerned with the content than the form. The person educated in drama is often more concerned with the play’s artistry because he or she knows from experience that unless the piece “plays” on the stage, it is difficult to communicate its truth, however important that may be. Plays that meet with the approval of both groups are hard to find. Many plays that would be spurned by the professional director, who can choose from hundreds of well-wrought scripts, will work to a greater or lesser extent in the church, particularly where there is excitement and eagerness for dramatization. It is not unusual for a production to assume more significance than the script itself.

Then too some worthy plays may incorporate ideas that may make a Christian director uneasy. It is possible, in cases where the playwright is still living, to negotiate permission to change or to delete something potentially offensive if it is not substantive to the play. I would caution against the easy tendency to make changes in the script, but I admit having changed some lines now and then, particularly when they present a theological problem.

Some plays are more suitable for the church college than for the church itself because of their length and difficulty. While I would encourage even the inexperienced group to begin working and playing at short plays (called sketches, not skits), I would discourage them from beginning with anything longer than a one-act play. To “enflesh the word” takes considerable time and energy. A church director will generally find people in the church blessed with various skills mentioned above. Teamwork is of the essence and pays valuable dividends.

Some plays are most useful to the church if they are performed as readers’ theater. Although this style of presentation does not preclude memory work, it most often allows people to sit and hold the script in hand while reading their parts. It should be noted that stools are not a necessity. Various boxes may be used for different levels, and in the case of a very short play, readers may stand. Anyone interested in using this style might be advised to buy a good manual on readers’ theater.

In her book Eighth Day of Creation, Elizabeth O’Connor says, “When we describe church we like to say that it is a gift-evoking, gift-bearing community—a description based on the conviction that when God calls a person, he calls him into the fullness of his own potential.”

A Biblical Philosophy of the Literary Arts

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By far the most important of the fine arts in Israel and the early church was the field of literature. The Bible itself is the result of the sensitivity of literary artists to the Spirit of God. Each of the many forms of biblical literature contributes to our understanding of the philosophy of the worship arts.

Literature: Israel’s Enduring Monument

Archaeological excavations reveal that the material culture of ancient Israel was less advanced than that of the Canaanite city-states it displaced. Coming from a seminomadic state as a nation of tent dwellers, the Israelite tribes had no significant tradition of architectural, artistic, or technological innovation, although the nation had artisans such as Bezalel and Oholiab. Even the great temple of Solomon was actually designed and erected by a foreign contractor and reflects Phoenician models; it stood for less than four centuries. Israel left no monumental works of sculpture, art, or architecture to be placed alongside the cultural remains of other ancient civilizations that have survived to our day. The monument of Israel is a literary one: the Bible. It was in the various forms of the literary arts that Israel, including the Israel of the new covenant, excelled.

The literature of the Scriptures is the testimony to a community’s faith. The names of individual authors may be attached to it, and it may bear the distinctive imprint of a personality such as David, Jeremiah, or the apostle Paul. Nevertheless, as literature, it is never the artistic creation of an individual for the purpose of self-expression or recognition. In ancient cultures, the ability to write was a specialized skill, whereas the art of recitation from memory was widely practiced. Most of the Bible existed first in oral form and depended for its survival on a circle of people who memorized it, recited it, and handed it down to successive generations. Isaiah gives us a glimpse of this practice in his remark, “Bind up the testimony, seal the teaching among my disciples” (Isa. 8:16 NASB). Eventually, some major crises in the circle of tradition, such as the insecurities of the period of the fall and exile of Judah, would provide the impetus for writing the material down.

Even in New Testament times the teachings of Jesus and the stories of his acts seem to have circulated orally until the passing of the apostles and the linguistic transition from Aramaic to Greek made it desirable to produce written Gospels for the instruction of the church. In the Gospels we read of “the scribes and Pharisees” (Matt. 5:20 RSV); the scribes were men who had memorized the Mosaic law and the traditions associated with it and who served as a kind of walking concordance or reference Bible for the Pharisaic teachers. The practice of memorizing large portions of the Scripture and the rabbinic traditions continue in Judaism to this day. These procedures of oral transmission in a circle of dedicated people highlight the point that, from the biblical perspective, literature as a form of art belongs to the covenant community as a whole and not to the individual authors who serve as its spokespersons.

Forms of Biblical Literature

The important forms of literature preserved in Scripture can be listed briefly, in order to convey something of the fullness of this form of artistic activity as practiced in the life of the people of the covenant.

History. Historical literature, including chronicle and genealogy, grows out of covenant worship, in which the worshiper confesses his faith by telling the story of God’s dealings with his people. But the narrative and saga of the Hebrew Bible are remarkable in that, while written from a pronounced theological perspective, it often presents a realistic, nonidealized portrait of human leaders such as Abraham, Moses, Samuel, David, and those who followed. The Gospels and the Acts continue the same tradition, portraying Jesus in an authoritative yet convincing manner and his apostles as down-to-earth and familiarly human types. Biblical history shows that God deals with people as he finds them, in whatever circumstance or state of personal growth. God’s openness to people as they are allows the worshiper to come before him honestly, not boasting in his or her own worth but confident of the grace of God as manifested in his great redeeming acts.

Law. Covenant structure also yields the laws or instructions governing the community’s relation to the Great King. The Mosaic Torah contains laws in both the absolute form (“Thou shalt, thou shalt not … ”) and the conditional form (“If this happens, then …, but if this happens, then … ”); the absolute form especially is well adapted to recitation in worship acts of covenant renewal. Jesus’ principles of the kingdom of God are sometimes similarly cast in metrical form, as in the Beatitudes and other parts of the Sermon on the Mount (Matt. 5–7). The nature of Israelite “law” is often misunderstood; as Torah, it is really “instruction” rather than law in the modern sense of legally binding statutes and belongs in the context of worship rather than that of jurisprudence.

Prophetic Indictment. Equally dependent on the covenant foundation is the basic form of prophetic utterance, the judgment speech (or covenant lawsuit), in which the spokespersons of the Lord utter the consequences of the people’s unfaithfulness to their agreement with him. These indictments, as well as other kinds of prophetic address, are almost always given in poetic and musical form, evidencing considerable artistic reflection on the part of the prophets as they opened themselves to the word of the Lord. The same artistic skill is evident in the Revelation, where John uses a dramatic idiom to amplify the effects of the ruptured covenant.

Poetry. Since a great part of the Bible is poetry, the principles of poetic composition apply to many of the biblical literary forms. As to metrical structure, biblical poetry does not scan in some recurring pattern of metric “feet,” nor does it use rhyme. Instead, it generally employs a rhythm of stressed syllables, with a variable number of intervening unstressed syllables. Such a structure is well adapted to chanting or singing, in a style similar to what we know as the “recitative” in seventeenth-century oratorios such as Handel’s Messiah; most of the poetic material in Scripture was probably originally sung.

The most distinctive feature of biblical poetry, however, is the principle of parallelism of ideas. That is, the second line in a couplet repeats the same idea, using different words (synonymous parallelism); or it may present the contrasting or opposite idea (antithetic parallelism); or it may take the idea of the first line and develop some aspect of its thought (synthetic parallelism). Parallelism in one form or another appears throughout the Bible in poetic or semi-poetic sections such as the Genesis account of Creation, the oracles of the prophets, the Psalms, the Proverbs, and the Sermon on the Mount.

Both the stressed metrical structure and the parallelism of ideas of biblical poetry can be translated into other languages without destroying their character; they are what makes the Bible sound like the Bible in any language. Philosophically speaking, the proper use and appreciation of literature constructed in this way require close attention to the words being used and the images and associations they bear, not only from an intellectual standpoint but also from that of a word artist. The cadence of biblical poetry and hymnody, or even of metrically grouped teachings and commandments, adds to worship a sense of awe and solemnity, lifting it above the plane of the merely prosaic.

Proverb and Wisdom. The biblical proverb, or wise saying, is part of an international tradition of wisdom Israel shared with other cultures of the ancient Near East. Biblical wisdom, however, takes on a distinctive coloration because of the character and sovereignty of Yahweh. The temptation to exalt human wisdom is always tempered by the realization that “there is no wisdom, no insight, no plan that can succeed against the Lord” (Prov. 21:30). Biblical wisdom is therefore practical; it is not the exploration of the esoteric but the consideration of how to live in “the fear of the Lord” (Prov. 9:10). Even the books of Ecclesiastes and Job, which probe the deeper issues of human suffering, eventually come up against the sovereignty of God as the only “answer” to life’s ultimate quest. This literature, too, is thus brought within the orbit of worship, which celebrates the sovereignty of the God of the covenant.

Dialogue. The biblical concept of “truth” is not the modern idea of absolute, scientifically verifiable fact; in Hebraic culture “truth” is created by speaking it, and the most powerful speaker creates the prevailing truth, hence the importance of dialogue as a way of approaching the truth. The best example of this principle is the dialogue of Job, in which Job, his three friends, and Elihu approach the problem of justifying God’s seemingly unjust ways from a variety of angles; if they cannot solve the problem, they can at least talk it to death. However, as the book brings out at the end, the supreme biblical dialogue is always with God, who listens but whose word establishes the final truth. Men and women of the Bible are not afraid to argue with God, to plead with him to change his mind, especially about the execution of his judgments, as we note from the examples of Abraham (Gen. 18:22–33), Moses (Exod. 32:7–14), Amos (Amos 7:1–6), and even Jesus in the garden (Matt. 26:36–44). God expects such a dialogue from his partners in the covenant, and this principle undergirds the teaching of Jesus and the apostles about the importance of prayer.

Parable. Although the parable was an ancient literary form, Jesus brought it to its highest level of artistic development in his parables of the kingdom of God. In these stories, Christ used familiar characters and situations from common life—a farmer sowing seed, a rebellious son, a corrupt judge, a woman who loses a coin, a servant forgiven a great debt, a merchant who discovers a priceless pearl—to illustrate the value of God’s kingdom and the consequences for those who refuse it. A parable is not an allegory, in which every detail stands for some hidden truth; the meaning of Jesus’ parables was quite clear and was offensive to the religious establishment of the time (Luke 20:19). To make its point, the parable depends on the human capacity to imagine and to make a transference of imagery from an ordinary sphere of activity to another, more significant sphere of concern. This must take place in the words and motions of worship, which is therefore highly parabolic.

Drama. In drama, there is a movement from problem to resolution presented in dialogue and action involving complementary and contrasting characters. Biblical history as a whole is a great drama; the problem is the rebellion of humankind, and the resolution is the appearance of the New Jerusalem in which the Lord dwells in the midst of his faithful people. The drama has its ebb and flow, with a hint of the ultimate resolution appearing already in the Lord’s covenant with Abraham. Scripture embraces a more specifically dramatic idiom in several places, particularly at the very culmination in the Revelation to John.

A feature of biblical drama wherever it appears is dynamic imagery in the form of word pictures that convey the sense of movement and energy in the situation. The description of Solomon’s bride (Song of Sol. 4), the four living creatures supporting God’s throne, the sun darkened and the moon turned blood red, fire or stars falling from heaven, the rending of the temple veil, the beasts from the sea and the land, the Word of God with the sword, a city coming down from heaven—these are images intended to propel and intensify the drama. As literary symbols, they are powerful and gripping. Reduced to visual form, as though literal, they lose their compelling power and become merely grotesque or even trite. Biblical drama builds with word pictures; the cross of Christ itself is such a word picture, an instrument of execution transferred through preaching (not visual representation) into a symbol of victory and the renewal of the covenant. Biblical worship is the enactment of the imaged resolution to the great drama of Scripture. The loaf and the cup of the Eucharist are powerful not as visual symbols, but as dramatic symbols, an acted-out word picture of the presence of the living Christ with his people. Perhaps more than any other literary form, drama brings the worshiper into the realm of the numinous and that communion with the holy that fulfills the chief end and aim of humankind: to glorify God and to enjoy him forever.

Symbolic Acts and Gestures in Biblical Worship

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Biblical men and women experienced the Lord as a dynamic God known through his interaction with them in the course of history. It is fitting, therefore, that much of the symbolism of biblical worship consists of physical actions that direct people beyond themselves to spiritual realities.

Lifting of Hands

A common symbolic gesture is the lifting of hands. Still widely used in modern worship, it was a universal ancient symbol of covenant loyalty. A bas-relief contemporaneous with the reign of Hezekiah shows the Babylonian ruler Merodach-Baladan (2 Kings 20:12) making a grant to an official; each holds a staff in the left hand and has the right hand raised in oath (James B. Pritchard, The Ancient Near East [Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1958], plate 125). Covenants were sometimes signified by the scarring of the wrist; when the hand of the vassal was lifted to his monarch, the scar was a visible reminder of the great king’s responsibility to defend and protect his servant. These traditions no doubt underlie the common practice of lifting hands in worship. The people of Israel made supplication with hands extended toward the sanctuary, the earthly dwelling of the great King (Pss. 28:2; 134:2); toward the ark of the covenant, which symbolized his throne (Lam. 2:19); or toward heaven (Lam. 3:41). As Solomon’s prayer at the dedication of the temple indicates (1 Kings 8:28–30), by the lifting of hands prayer was directed toward the sanctuary, as part of the tribute offered to the great King (Meredith G. Kline, The Structure of Biblical Authority [Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1972], p. 62). Moses stood with hands upraised while Joshua led Israel in war with the Amalekites. As long as his hands were up, Israel prevailed in the battle (Exod. 17:10–13).

Lifting Hands in Covenant Oath

David likens the lifting of his hands to the evening sacrifice (Ps. 141:2), a daily offering to Yahweh, which was specified in the covenant regulations. There was a meat offering at that time, but David’s reference is to the offering of incense (Exod. 30:8). Incense, in turn, symbolizes the prayers of God’s people (Rev. 8:3–4). In many churches this practice is preserved as worshipers in the new covenant lift their hands in praise, affirmation, or supplication toward the Lord. Paul expresses the desire that all believers should lift up holy hands (1 Tim. 2:8), that is, hands belonging to people set apart for the Lord through the covenant relationship.

Bowing, Kneeling, Falling Prostrate

Related to the lifting of hands are the gestures of bowing, kneeling, and falling prostrate, all of which were acts of obeisance and humility common throughout the ancient world. Usually these acts were carried out in the presence of a monarch or other powerful figure; thus they demonstrate respect and even a measure of fear. Moses fell down before the Lord in dread of his wrath because of Israel’s rebellion (Deut. 9:18–19). A bas-relief from Nineveh depicts the siege of the Judean city of Lachish by the Assyrians; inhabitants of the city are shown kneeling before Sennacherib, the Assyrian ruler (Pritchard, plate 101). And the Black Obelisk of Shalmaneser III pictures Jehu, the king of Israel, kneeling with his face to the floor as he presents tribute to the monarch (Pritchard, plate 100A). Israel bowed before Yahweh because, as their God, he was their Lord or King (Ps. 95:6; Isa. 45:23). When the Magi bowed before the infant Jesus, they showed that they recognized his identity as King of Israel, despite the humble circumstances in which they found him.

Kneeling was a common posture assumed during prayer by saints of both the old and new covenants. At the consecration of the temple, Solomon knelt with his hands lifted to invoke the blessing of the Lord on the new sanctuary (2 Chron. 6:13). Daniel knelt to pray and give thanks three times every day (Dan. 6:10). Peter knelt to pray over the body of Dorcas (Acts 9:40). Paul and the elders from Ephesus knelt together to pray as Paul took his leave (Acts 20:36). And Jesus prayed on his knees in the Garden of Gethsemane (Luke 22:41).

Clapping the Hands

Israel worshiped the Lord also with the clapping of hands (Ps. 47:1); even the rivers (Ps. 98:8) and the trees of the open country (Isa. 55:12) are urged to clap their hands. Clapping was symbolic of a king’s victory over his enemies; the people clapped their hands at the coronation of King Joash (2 Kings 11:12), which ended the heathen rule of the queen mother Athaliah. Hand clapping in Christian worship is more than the rhythmic beating of time; it is a declaration of the victory and dominion of the Lord.

Symbolic Drama

The prophets often engaged in symbolic acts. Jeremiah visited the house of a potter (Jer. 18:1–6), and broke a jar before the elders of the people (Jer. 19:1–11) to demonstrate that God planned to break Judah and Jerusalem. Later he bought a field at Anathoth, as a token of God’s promise to restore Judah to the land (Jer. 32:6–44). Ezekiel drew a picture of Jerusalem on a brick and besieged it (Ezek. 4:1–3), among other actions, as a message to the nation of impending disaster. To picture the coming exile, he was told to dig a hole in the city wall and carry his belongings out through it (Ezek. 12:1–7). Hosea married a harlot (Hos. 1:2) as a symbol of Yahweh’s relationship with idolatrous and unfaithful Israel. The dramatic actions of the prophets were not acts of worship, but some of them may have been performed during festival times, when large crowds would be gathered at the sanctuary. They were object lessons to illustrate the consequence of breaking the covenant.

The New Testament prophet Agabus engaged in symbolic action to picture the events that awaited the apostle Paul in Jerusalem (Acts 21:10–11). The Gospels record symbolic dramas performed by Jesus. The most colorful of these was his triumphal entry into Jerusalem to the acclamations of his disciples. Matthew (Matt. 21:5) explains the symbolism as the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy of the redemption of Jerusalem (Isa. 62:11–12) and Zechariah’s announcement of the coming of the King to Zion (Zech. 9:9). According to Luke, this was not only a festive occasion, but one that dramatized the impending destruction of the city. Jesus wept over Jerusalem because of the people’s blindness to the true deliverance of the Lord and went on to predict that the city would be leveled “because you did not recognize the time of God’s coming to you” (Luke 19:41–44).

In the synoptic Gospels, another symbolic drama follows immediately. With a whip, Jesus drives the money changers from the temple (Mark 11:15–17), reminding them of the words of Isaiah and Jeremiah, “My house will be called a house of prayer for all nations” (Isa. 56:7), “Has this house … become a den of robbers to you?” (Jer. 7:11). Jesus’ action dramatizes the change from the old covenant to the new, wherein God’s “house” or kingdom will include not only believing Jews but all nations of the world.

Jesus’ parables of the kingdom of God are word pictures that often take a dramatic turn. Through stories about such things as a vineyard rented out to wicked tenants (Matt. 21:33–46; Mark 12:1–11), a wedding feast to which the guests refuse to come (Matt. 22:1–14; Luke 14:16–24), and ten virgins waiting for a bridegroom (Matt. 25:1–13), Jesus illustrates the judgment that is soon to befall Jerusalem and the religious system it represents.

Symbolic Rituals

It can be said that the Israelite sanctuary with all its furnishings and the whole sacrificial system that accompanied it were one eloquent symbol. All the colors, the various metals, tables and lampstands, linen robes, fragrant incense, the ark with its cherubim, and the complicated rituals taken together pictured the salvation God would eventually enact, not to Israel alone, but to all the world in the person of his Son. Here we will consider a few of the more prominent symbolic actions in the worship of Israel and Judah.

Firstborn and Firstfruits. Because Israel was in covenant with Yahweh and recognized him as King, the people were required to bring him tribute. While all the sacrifices specified in the Law represented this tribute, the offering of first things carried a special symbolism of Yahweh’s sovereignty over the nation. Thus Israel presented the firstborn to the Lord, sacrificed or redeemed the first of all animals to open the womb, and brought the offering of firstfruits at the harvest. In presenting these things, Israel acknowledged that all its possessions and indeed all its people belonged to the Lord of the covenant; these offerings were a token of the whole. Jesus, as the firstborn, was presented to the Lord in the same manner (Luke 2:22–24).

The Day of Atonement. Once each year, on the Day of Atonement, which immediately preceded the Feast of Tabernacles, the high priest would enter the Most Holy Place of the sanctuary where the ark of the covenant was placed. He brought with him blood from the altar of sacrifice, where animals were being offered in behalf of Israel’s sins, and sprinkled it on the kapporet, or cover of the ark, to represent God’s cleansing of the people and his continued commitment to the covenant relationship.

On the same day two male goats were brought before the priests. One was offered for the sins of the priest and his household to prepare him ceremonially to offer sacrifices for the people. The other was presented live before the Lord; after the sin offering was completed, the high priest laid his hands on the goat’s head, confessing the iniquities of the nation. Symbolically he transferred their sins to the goat, who was sent into the wilderness to take them away (Lev. 16:5–10, 20–22).

Living in Booths (Tabernacles). During the celebration of the Feast of Tabernacles the people were instructed to make temporary shelters (sukkot) for themselves from tree branches and to live in them for seven days. The act of dwelling in these shelters, called “booths” or “tabernacles” in English versions, symbolized the forty years of wandering in the wilderness when Israel had no permanent home (Lev. 23:40–43). During that period the people traveled about as the Lord led them in the movements of the ark of the covenant; thus the Feast of Tabernacles reminded the worshipers that their real leader and king was the Lord of hosts (Zech. 14:16–18).

Passover Symbolism. In the same way, the Feast of Unleavened Bread, which culminated in the Passover celebration, symbolically recalled the events through which Yahweh had delivered Israel from slavery in Egypt. The matzah was a reminder of the night they left Egypt in such haste that the bread did not have time to rise. The Passover supper included lamb as a symbol of the lamb killed and eaten by each family, whose blood, smeared over the doors of their homes, protected Israel’s firstborn sons from the avenging angel of death. The bitter herbs that completed the menu symbolized the bitterness of the slavery they were leaving. Although these were visual objects, the focus was not on the various foods themselves but on the act of eating them in the setting of family and community.

Processions

Ceremonial processions, frequently including dance, were a feature of the festival worship of Israel. The festal march symbolized God’s reign over Israel and presented the picture of an army following its King into war.

Processions in Israel’s Worship. The procession around the walls of Jericho, which began the conquest of Canaan, was a ceremonial act that took place in the context of actual warfare (Josh. 6). Similarly, a company of musicians and worshipers led the armies of Jehoshaphat into battle (2 Chron. 20:21–22) and afterward marched back into Jerusalem carrying their instruments and rejoicing in the Lord’s victory in their behalf (2 Chron. 20:27–28).

The most vivid biblical description of a festal procession is David’s portrayal of the movement of the ark of God in Psalm 68. The psalm begins with the cry, “May God arise, may his enemies be scattered; may his foes flee before him” (Ps. 68:1). Moses used the same words whenever the ark was to move out before the congregation of Israel in their trek through the wilderness (Num. 10:35). David continues with an invitation to praise the Lord, “who rides through the deserts” (Ps. 68:4 nasb), and indeed the entire psalm appears to be a symbolic recalling of the wilderness wanderings of Israel. As such it may have been a liturgy for an annual festival such as the Feast of Tabernacles. David sings,

When you went out before your people, O God,
when you marched through the wasteland,
the earth shook,
… before God, the One of Sinai,
before God, the God of Israel.…
The Lord announced the word,
and great was the company of those who proclaimed it.…
When you ascended on high,
you led captives in your train.…
Your procession has come into view, O God,
the procession of my God and King into the sanctuary.
In front are the singers, after them the musicians;
with them are the maidens playing tambourines.…
There is the little tribe of Benjamin, leading them,
there the great throng of Judah’s princes,
and there the princes of Zebulun and of
Naphtali. (Ps. 68:7–8, 11, 18, 24–25, 27)

As the ark is returned to its place in the tabernacle David had erected for it, the musicians sing, “You are awesome, O God, in your sanctuary” (Ps. 68:35).

One is reminded of the festal procession that accompanied the bringing of the ark from Kiriath Jearim and three months later from the house of Obed-Edom up to David’s tabernacle in Zion. In the former instance “David and the whole house of Israel were celebrating with all their might before the Lord, with songs and with harps, lyres, tambourines, sistrums and cymbals” (2 Sam. 6:5). In the latter, it is recorded that David, clad in a linen ephod like those worn by the priests, leaped and danced before Lord “with all his might” (2 Sam. 6:14, 16). Perhaps Psalm 68 was used in this procession since it is a Davidic psalm celebrating the movement of the ark into the sanctuary.

In Psalm 42, a Korahite psalm, the speaker, apparently detained away from the sanctuary (Ps. 42:6), expresses his longing for former days when “I used to go with the multitude, leading the procession to the house of God” (Ps. 42:4). At the dedication ceremonies for the rebuilt wall of Jerusalem, Nehemiah summoned the musicians, priests, Levites, and leading citizens of Judah for a procession of thanksgiving to the Lord (Neh. 12:27). Two great choirs led the marchers in opposite directions upon the wall until they met at the house of the Lord (Neh. 12:31–40). This was followed by rejoicing so boisterous that the sounds were heard far outside the city (Neh. 12:43).

Processions in the New Testament. The Gospels describe a procession similar to those found in the Old Testament, with one notable difference: instead of being led by the ark, the symbol of God’s presence, this procession centers around Jesus Christ himself riding on a donkey, surrounded with throngs of worshipers, waving palm branches and shouting, “Hosanna!” or “Save us, Lord!” (Matt. 21:1–9; Mark 11:1–10; John 12:12–15). This celebration pictures the coronation of Christ as king of Israel. It is repeated in the Revelation as the great multitude of the redeemed stands before the throne with palm branches in their hands crying out, “Salvation belongs to our God, who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb” (Rev. 7:10). A similar procession pictures the Lamb on Mount Zion and 144,000 worshipers, symbolic of the faithful of both old and new covenants, following him wherever he goes, singing a new song (Rev. 14:1–4). Again, we see Christ wearing a robe dipped in blood, his eyes like fire and crowned with many crowns, leading an army of saints in white linen, who also ride white horses (Rev. 19:11–14). These visionary processions depict the spiritual reality of the victorious Christ as King over his worshiping people, which the Israelite processions symbolically anticipated. Like these biblical processions, those in the church’s worship today dramatize the kingship of Christ.

Dance

Music and dancing of various kinds accompanied processions in Israel, whether liturgical or simply those that celebrated military victories or other joyous occasions. As used in the worship of the Lord, dance is a form of self-abandon by the creature made aware of the mystery and majesty of his Creator. It is thus a recognition of the presence of the holy. David’s dance before the ark is an illustration of this abandon in worship. The orchestrated movement of group dancing involves the subordination of the individual to the corporate expression of praise and can therefore be a token of the covenant of the Lord with all his people.

Ceremonial dances were a feature of the feast of the Lord held at Shiloh each year (Judg. 21:19–21). Jephthah’s only daughter greeted him with tambourines and dancing when he returned victorious from battle with the Ammonites (Judg. 11:32–34). Women danced in the streets of all the cities of Israel, singing and playing tambourines and other instruments, as King Saul and his young servant David returned from the slaying of Goliath (1 Sam. 18:6).

David cries out in exultation to the God of the covenant, “You turned my wailing into dancing … that my heart may sing to you” (Ps. 30:11–12). Other psalmists invite all God’s people to praise him with dance: “Let the people of Zion be glad in their King. Let them praise his name with dancing” (Ps. 149:2; cf. Ps. 150:4).

For Jeremiah, the cessation of dancing is part of the curse visited upon Israel because it has broken the covenant. “Our dancing has turned to mourning … ” he weeps. “Woe to us, for we have sinned!” (Lam. 5:15–16). However, in his prophecy of the new covenant, he promises the restoration of dance as a symbol of the blessing of Yahweh on his people. “Again you will take up your tambourines and go out to dance with the joyful.… Then maidens will dance and be glad, young men and old as well. I will turn their mourning into gladness” (Jer. 31:4, 13).

Symbolic Structures

In the Bible, the primary aspect of God’s character is that he is “holy,” not only in the sense of being good and righteous, but in the sense of being “sacred, sacrosanct,” set apart from the ordinary. The Lord’s people, because they belong to him, participate in his holiness (Lev. 20:26). But not only are the Lord and his people holy; physical objects, including structures and the space they represent or enclose, can be separated to God for his exclusive use and thus serve a symbolic function as windows into sacred reality. This is true of the altar, the tent (tabernacle), and the temple.

The Altar

The Hebrew word mizbe‡ḥ, “altar,” means a place of sacrifice. Except for the altar of the tabernacle and temple, which was originally a portable altar of bronze, altars erected in the Bible were of stone. The Pentateuch (Exod. 20:24–26) stipulates that altars are to be constructed of earth (that is, brick) or of stone; if made of stone, the stones must not be cut with chisels because “you will defile it if you use a tool on it” (Exod. 20:25). The meaning seems to be that, as an instrument of sacrifice to the holy God, the altar and other material things “should be used for the service of God only in their natural condition before they have been interfered with in any way by man” (Roland de Vaux, Ancient Israel: Its Life and Institutions [London: Darton, Longman & Todd, 1961], p. 408). The prohibition of steps on the altar also served to separate it from anything profane. The Scriptures rarely speak of the altar of sacrifice as a “table” (Ezek. 44:16; Mal. 1:7, 12), since Israel rejected the pagan notion that what was placed on the altar was food for the gods. The biblical view is well expressed by Paul who, in preaching to the Athenians, rejects the idea that God can be literally served by human hands, “as if he needed anything” (Acts 17:25; cf. Ps. 50:12–13).

The altar is a sign of the presence of God. For this reason, in the period before the Israelite kingdoms, altars were often erected as memorials to a theophany, or appearance, of the Lord (by Abraham, Gen. 12:7; 26:24–25; by Jacob, Gen. 35:7, 14). As a structure commemorating a manifestation of God, an altar might be given a name, as with Jacob’s altar at Bethel (’El, the God of Israel, Gen. 33:20) or the altar erected by Moses after Israel’s defeat of the Amalekites (Yahveh nissi, “The Lord is my Banner,” Exod. 17:15–16). Memorial altars were not necessarily used for sacrificial worship. The tribes that settled east of the Jordan built an altar, which they (when confronted by the rest of Israel) claimed was not for sacrifice but for “a witness between us and you” that they, too, were a part of Israel (Josh. 22:7–34).

Various Types of Altars

As a token of the presence of the holy, the altar was sacrosanct, a “bearer of the holy.” Jesus acknowledged this concept when he reminded the Pharisees that the gift offered on the altar is sanctified by the altar, not the other way around (Matt. 23:19). In the regular worship of Israel, as laid out in the Mosaic directives, only the priests, specially consecrated for the service of the altar, could “draw near” to officiate in sacrifice. Yet even the altar of the sanctuary was not inherently holy; it had to be purified each year on the Day of Atonement when atonement was made for the sin of the entire worshiping community. The sanctity of the altar is a reflection of the holiness of the God who receives the tribute of his people offered thereon.

In the Christian church there are no true altars, for the sacrifice has been offered once for all in Christ’s death on the cross. Nor is the cross called an altar; as the author of Hebrews makes clear, the sacrifice of Christ is offered in the heavenly sanctuary (Heb. 8–9), with the implication that Jesus himself is the altar as well as the sacrifice and the officiating priest (Heb. 13:10–13). In a sense the Christian “altar” is a “Communion table,” although the Bible does not use that expression. The Israelite worshiper, having brought a sacrifice, was typically given back a portion of his offering to eat, becoming as it were a participant in a meal hosted by the Lord (cf. 1 Cor. 10:18). In the same manner, the Lord hosts his people in the Lord’s Supper, the sacred meal of the new covenant. But the symbolism is in the action performed, not in the altar or table. In the Revelation to John, the martyrs cry out from “under the altar” (Rev. 6:9). The witness of the persecuted church, in its participation in Christ’s suffering (Phil. 3:10) and its faithfulness to the true covenant, is the foundation for its sacrificial offering to God.

The Tent (Tabernacle)

The tent or tabernacle in Scripture is a picture of the Lord’s presence with his people and of the true communion with the Lord which comes through faithfulness to his covenant.

The Tent in the Old Testament. The desert sanctuary established in the Mosaic covenant was called the tent, or tabernacle (’ohel). The tabernacle continued in use as the worship center after the settlement of Canaan, being stationed at a series of locations including Shiloh and Gibeon, until replaced by the temple. The tent stood within an enclosure, or court, which also contained the altar of sacrifice. The Pentateuch contains detailed instructions for the construction of the tabernacle (Exod. 26:1–30), which was made so that it could be easily disassembled, transported, and reassembled at a new site as the community moved about.

Tents were the dwelling places of Israel during the nomadic period of the wilderness; the tabernacle of the Lord is also called the mishkan, or “dwelling,” representing his presence or “name” (Deut. 12:5) in the midst of his people. Like other dwellings of the period, the Lord’s house had its hearth (the altar), its table (the table of shewbread), and its lamp, which burned continuously, there being no windows in most houses. In place of the bed, the inner sanctuary contained the ark, representing Yahweh’s seat or throne. As a movable dwelling, the tent is an appropriate symbol of the dynamic character of Yahweh. Even his name, given to Moses in the desert, is interpreted to reveal a God who is not stationary, but ever on the move: “I will be who I will be” (Exod. 3:14 author’s translation). When David proposed to erect a permanent temple as the house of the Lord, the prophet Nathan made it clear that Yahweh was satisfied to be “moving from place to place with a tent” (2 Sam. 7:5–7). The Israelite worshiper understood that the presence of the God who made heaven and earth could not be confined to one geographic location; this truth was more easily sustained through the symbolism of a simple tabernacle than that of a grand permanent structure, though Solomon attempted to do so in his prayer at the dedication of the temple (1 Kings 8:27). Many of the early psalms seem to have been composed for the worship David established in Jerusalem before the building of the temple; at this time the ark of the covenant stood in a tent of its own on Zion (1 Chron. 16:1), while the Mosaic tent remained at Gibeon (1 Chron. 21:29). As the Psalms passed into the worship of the temple, the words for the tabernacle came to stand for it as well.

After the settlement of Canaan, the Israelites began to live in permanent structures, houses built within villages or fortified cities. Israelite culture became influenced by that of Canaan, which included the polytheistic fertility cults and the political system of rule by kings instead of by tribal elders and family heads. Thus the tent became a symbol of the idealized Israel, its roots in the nomadic life of the desert where it had received the covenant and had faithfully served Yahweh. When Rehoboam refused to lighten the heavy burden of taxation and service that his father Solomon had levied on the nation for his grandiose court and construction projects, the northern tribes revolted with the cry, “To your tents, O Israel!” (1 Kings 12:16). In token of the nomadic ideal, the Rechabites (followers of Jonadab ben Rechab) refused to live in houses or cultivate the land but lived in tents; the prophet Jeremiah held them up as an example of faithfulness to the Lord (Jer. 35:5–10).

The Tent in the New Testament. Tent symbolism occurs in the New Testament also, where its meaning is dependent on Old Testament precedents. The letter to the Hebrews views the earthly institutions of Israelite religion as pictures of greater spiritual realities. Being the Great High Priest, Jesus “serves in the sanctuary, the true tabernacle set up by the Lord, not by man” (Heb. 8:1–2). This “greater and more perfect tabernacle” (Heb. 9:11) is a word picture of the heavenly and spiritual communion of the new covenant which the worshiper may enter in virtue of the atonement made by Jesus Christ.

But in another sense, Jesus himself is the tabernacle, as are those who belong to him. John introduces his Gospel with the statement, “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us” (John 1:14); the Greek word translated “made his dwelling” is skēnoō, literally “pitch a tent, tabernacle.” The incarnation of the Word in Jesus fulfills the symbolism of the Israelite tabernacle, in which the Lord dwells in the midst of the community of his people to maintain the covenant. At the ascension of Christ, the Word in bodily form is succeeded by the Spirit of Christ, the Helper promised by Jesus (John 16:7), who dwells with the people who are his temple (1 Cor. 3:16–17; 6:19; 2 Cor. 6:16). The tabernacle (skēnē) is the worshiping church, the bride of the Lamb: “Behold, the tabernacle of God is among men” (Rev. 21:3 nasb).

Both Paul and Peter speak of the Christian’s body as a “tent” (2 Cor. 5:1–2; 2 Pet. 1:13–14), a temporary residence to be replaced by an eternal one. This should not be misunderstood in an individualistic sense. The eternal “tabernacle” is not the believer’s body, but the believer as the body of the Spirit. This is made clear by Paul’s comparison of the “spiritual body” of the resurrection to Adam, who was filled with life by the Spirit or breath of God (1 Cor. 15:44–45). The life of the resurrection is corporate, since there is “one body and one Spirit” (Eph. 4:4).

The Temple As Sacred Space

The temple on Mount Zion epitomizes the concept of “sacred space.” Like other sanctuaries, it was erected on a mountain or hill. Ancient peoples regarded such elevations as places where heaven and earth might intersect, as in Jacob’s dream at Bethel in which he sees a ladder connecting heaven and earth with the angels of God ascending and descending on it. Upon awakening, Jacob is overcome with awe and exclaims, “This is none other than the house of God; this is the gate of heaven” (Gen. 28:11–18).

As the intersection of the cosmic and the earthly, the temple is also a picture of the universe in miniature, incorporating heaven, land, and sea within its confines. On Zion, sang the Israelite worshiper, the Lord “built his sanctuary like the heights, like the earth that he established forever” (Ps. 78:69). In the inner sanctuary, containing the ark of the covenant, the Lord is “enthroned between the cherubim” (Ps. 80:1; 99:1); he rides through the heavens on them to come to the aid of his anointed (Ps. 18:10). Ascending to the sanctuary in pilgrimage, the worshiper cries, “I lift up my eyes to you, to you whose throne is in heaven” (Ps. 123:1). “The Lord made the heavens,” proclaims the psalmist, and in his next breath, “Splendor and majesty are before him; strength and glory are in his sanctuary” (Ps. 96:5–6). The heavenly majesty of the Lord, who covers himself “in light as with a garment,” is depicted in psalmic imagery reminiscent of various features of the temple: its beams, its curtains, the fires and smoky cloud of the altar of incense (Ps. 104:2–4).

At the same time, the temple’s sacred space is an architectural representation of the earth, its land and vegetation, its seas and rivers, and its inhabitants. The celebration of Yahweh’s kingship in the sanctuary, as recorded in the Psalms, includes recognition that he sustains the physical creation: “The Lord reigns. The world is firmly established, it cannot be moved” (Ps. 96:10; cf. Ps. 93:1–2). Because of the overwhelming and beautiful presence of the Lord in his sanctuary, the field exults and the trees of the forest sing for joy before the judge of the earth (Ps. 96:12). Even the birds find a nest at the altars of the house of the Lord (Ps. 84:3). Through his covenant faithfulness, he preserves both “man and beast” in the place where “both high and low among men find refuge in the shadow of your wings” (Ps. 36:7), a reference to the wings of the cherubim overshadowing the ark. Here, encountering the radiant presence of the holy, “in your light we see light” (Ps. 36:9)—the first of God’s creations (Gen. 1:3).

The sanctuary also represents the earth as the setting for Israel’s “sacred history,” the drama of the Lord’s deliverance of his people from their enemies. “His tent is in Salem, his dwelling place in Zion. There he broke the flashing arrows, the shields and the swords, the weapons of war” (Ps. 76:2–3). Because God’s dwelling place is in the midst of his city, attacking armies are defeated; the worshiper is invited to “come and see the works of the Lord, the desolations he has brought on the earth,” destroying the enemy’s armaments (Ps. 46:8).

A telling expression occurs in Psalm 24, which proclaims that “the earth is the Lord’s, and all it contains, the world, and those who dwell in it. For He has founded it upon the seas, and established it upon the rivers” (Ps. 24:1–2 nasb). Mention of seas and rivers seems out of place in landlocked Jerusalem, which has no stream except the intermittent brook of Kidron. But the sea and the river are in the temple! The metal “sea” cast by Solomon’s craftsmen seems an oddity until we understand that the temple’s sacred space also pictures the sea upon which the earth is established, “the floods,” which “have lifted up their voice” to the mighty Lord (Ps. 93:3–4). In the sanctuary, “the sea roars” before the coming judge of the earth (Ps. 96:11–13). As to rivers, “there is a river whose streams make glad the city of God, the holy places where the Most High dwells” (Ps. 46:4). It is the sacred river, part of this symbolic microcosm, which Ezekiel sees flowing forth from the restored sanctuary to heal the land; “so where the river flows everything will live” (Ezek. 47:9).

In its architectural embrace of the creation, the sanctuary imparts to it a spiritual aspect; “in His temple everything says, ‘Glory!’ ” (Ps. 29:9 nasb). We are reminded that heaven and earth were created as the setting in which the drama of human sin and divine redemption through the covenant is acted out and that they are witnesses to the covenant between the Lord and his worshipers (Deut. 4:26; 30:19).

As a pictorial microcosm of heaven and earth, the Israelite sanctuary proclaims the presence of the living God throughout all creation as he manifests his glory to his worshiping people. In thinking about the architectural needs of the church today, we do well to ponder the importance of “sacred space” as a symbol of the Lord’s indwelling of his spiritual temple, the body of Christ.