Shedding Light on the Garden

Introduction

The grammatical-historical method is the modern water that much of evangelicalism swims in, while anything outside of it often gets labeled as something akin to sewer water, a corruption. But what if looking outside of the grammatical-historical context of a particular text can actually shed greater light to what we see going on in that text that lies in front of us? What if we could take the very beginning of Scripture and see how, as we read through the rest of Scripture, God, the divine author, actually gives us other lenses through which to look back on what occurred in Eden in order for us to understand it in richer detail? It’s my belief that this is precisely what we see occurring as God progressively reveals himself and his plan of redemption across the canon of Scripture. God breathed out the account of Eden through Moses’s pen, but he did so, as the One who has always known that he would reveal himself progressively across centuries of time through various other inspired pens. He inspired Moses’s account of creation in a way that would be the foundation for the rest of Scripture to come, with all of the various imagery and language that could then be used to look back on Eden to grow in understanding of what happened there. In summary, if Genesis 1-3, or even the rest of the Pentateuch, is all that you use to understand the narrative given there, you’re missing out on the fully-orbed story of Eden.

It might be easy, in our Enlightenment-influenced world, to dismiss the claim that later Old Testament authors could’ve shed light on what occurred in the garden aeons ago, a narrative they were centuries removed from. This is precisely what we see from theologically-liberal, critical scholarship nowadays. For them, even Moses could not have had a sure understanding of the Eden account, yet alone write about it. But should we be taking our cues from those who deny the divine authorship of Scripture? As I look out upon the evangelical landscape, it seems as if many actually have, though they probably aren’t avid readers of critical scholarship. It isn’t difficult to find articles, papers, and books recommending to readers that we shouldn’t use anything outside of Moses to interpret Moses, or that there is no such concept as the priority of later divine revelation. Some would even go as far as to say that such a concept as sensus plenior, the fuller sense of a text, is gnostic, abolishing the literal for the spiritual. Thus when one begins making claims that Adam should be seen as a priest in the garden-temple of Eden, or that God actually entered into a works covenant with Adam in Eden, many begin losing their hermeneutical minds. Modern day evangelicalism has been raised since the womb to rarely, if ever, zoom out of an individual text in order to understand its meaning. I would argue that the authors of Scripture give us a better hermeneutic, and that the sensus plenior of the Eden narrative, derived from all of Scripture, is anything but gnostic.

Scripture’s Multi-Faceted Take on Eden

When we open Genesis and read through the first three chapters we’re given a stunning lens through which to think upon God’s creation of all things. But as we sit back and meditate on what we read there, is that the only lens through which to dwell on the Eden narrative? Has Moses alone given us the breadth of all that God did and who he was tasking Adam and Eve to be? As we move beyond Eden and into the rest of Scripture it becomes clear that many of the other writers of Scripture were thinking on what occurred in Eden, and they brought their own, divinely-inspired takes to the canonical table.

For instance, as the prophet Ezekiel describes the fall of the King of Tyre, this figure is said to have been a guardian cherub in Eden, the mountain of God (Ezekiel 28:13-14), but if you gaze back upon the literal words of Genesis 1-3, you will not find the word “mountain” anywhere. Is Ezekiel mistaken, or taking some liberty with imagery, in describing Eden as the very mountain of God? I don’t believe so. Ezekiel is not being fanciful here, but rather is describing Eden truthfully as a prophet who is being given these words from God, the divine author. He’s describing the garden of God in a way that is packed with theological significance for Israel, and, in doing so, is bringing another interpretive lens to the table for the readers of the Eden narrative in Genesis. 

Now, Eden as the mountain of God is an easier case-study to settle, but how about we bring the more debated interpretive lenses that were brought up earlier into this conversation? As one journeys through Scripture, I would argue that the reality that God entered into a covenant arrangement with Adam in Eden becomes clear, even though the literal word “covenant” does not appear in the narrative in Genesis 1-3. As the rest of the canonical witness describes what occurred in Eden between God and Adam, we see covenantal language come to the forefront. In the Mosaic covenant, we’re given a reduplication, of sorts, of this garden covenant. Just as Adam was commanded not to eat of the forbidden tree, in order to enter into God’s eschatological Sabbath rest, having expanded God’s garden throughout the earth, so the people of Israel, through Moses, are told they they must obey this covenant arrangement if they are to enter God’s rest in God’s promised land before them. There is a temporal works principle in the Mosaic covenant that mirrors what Adam was told. This bolsters the argument that what Adam entered into, like Israel later at Sinai, was indeed a covenant with God. Similarly, the prophet Hosea speaks of Adam as a covenant-breaker. Judah and Ephraim in this prophetic declaration are to see their covenant-breaking like the covenant-breaking of Adam that plunged all of humanity into separation from God. Their coming exile among the nations would be but a shadow of the spiritual exile all of humanity is born into because Adam, as humanity’s representative in Eden, broke the covenant arrangement made with him. 

Moving beyond the Old Testament, this idea that Adam entered into a covenant with God continues to be made clear as Paul compares the first Adam with the last Adam, Jesus Christ. In his letter to the Romans, we’re given this comparison between Adam and Christ. Just as death spread on account of Adam’s transgression, so life and redemption are accomplished for God’s people on account of Christ’s obedience. Justification flows from Christ obeying the covenant, the agreement, made between him and the Father (Ephesians 1), just as separation, and the lack of vindication, flows from Adam breaking the covenant made between him and God in Eden. Thus, Paul makes clear that all of humanity find themselves in either one of two camps: in Adam or in Christ. Again, with both Romans and Genesis, even though the literal word “covenant” is not used, broader canonical context sheds light on all that we see going on in these passages of Scripture.

Two other inter-related lenses that we’re given for the Eden narrative as we move across the canon are temple and priesthood. While the text in Genesis does not literally say that Eden is a temple of God, or that Adam is a priest within that temple, broader canonical context gives us reason for making that assertion. Eden is described as the very presence of God with man, his dwelling place, just as the latter temple of God in Jerusalem was the physical dwelling place of God with his national people. Even the manner in which Eden is described in Genesis 1-2 mirrors the beauty and grandeur of the designs of the tabernacle and the temple in Israel. But just as the latter temple would be filled with priests who work within it, so we see the same in Eden. Interestingly, as Adam enters into covenant with God, he’s commanded to guard the garden of God. This word for “guard” is also used throughout the Old Testament to speak of how Levitical priests were to guard the temple of God, his dwelling place within the people of Israel, from being defiled from that which is unclean. Adam then, using the the rest of the Old Testament context, can be seen as a priest within God’s garden. Adam’s priestly role though wouldn’t have merely been one of guardianship, but one of teaching as well. Just as priests were to teach God’s law to the people of Israel, so we can assume that Adam would have taught God’s law and covenant to his offspring in Eden. Thus, the rest of the Old Testament, as it progressively unfolds, paints this picture of Eden as the proto-temple of God, and that Adam, as a priest, was charged to guard this dwelling place from being made unclean, presumably from rebellion. Eden was to be a place of rest and worship for Adam as he sought to walk in obedience to his covenant God, but that garden-temple soon was defiled by Adam’s covenant-breaking. Similarly, the same picture is put forth towards the end of the Old Testament as God must leave the temple in Jerusalem (Ezekiel 10-11) on account of the temple’s defilement through Israel’s covenant-breaking.

Moving from the Old Testament to the New this picture does not change. Christ creates a new temple, his very own body, made up of all who are united to him in faith. As the new covenant dwelling place, God’s Spirit fills believers just as the Spirit of God filled the temple of God in Israel. Now you may be asking here, how does this relate to what we’re seeing in regards to the argument that Eden was a proto-temple of God? Well, moving through the New Testament canon, we see that new covenant believers are made priests, as those who are the dwelling place of God by the Spirit, by virtue of the fact that we’ve been united to our greater High Priest in Christ. The ascended Christ now reigns in the heavens as both king and great high priest. The author of Hebrews explains this reality in stunning detail as he reminds his readers, and us, that Christ is the mediator of a better covenant than was made with Israel. Going back even further, we can say as well that Christ, as the last Adam, was the priest that Adam was commanded to be. And unlike Adam, Christ will bring the new covenant temple, his body, into the new heavens and earth undefiled on account of his own righteousness credited to his people who make up that body. Christ’s temple is undefiled, not because we are a clean people in and of ourselves, but because Christ has made us clean by his very own blood. Finally, as we move into John’s Apocalypse, the connections between the New Jerusalem and Eden are unmistakable. The New Jerusalem, like Eden, is described as having a river flowing from it. The tree of life that once resided in Eden will now reside again in the new city of God. The jewels that make up the walls of this new city mirror those found in the garden of God. Unlike Eden though, this new city will not be a mere garden on a mountain, but rather it will spread across the whole earth. There will no longer be a physical temple, but rather the entirety of the new earth, the new Jerusalem, will be the dwelling place of God with all those who have access to that tree of life through faith in the King of this coming city. All that was intended in Eden will be fulfilled in the New Jerusalem as both the people of God and the new creation enter into that promised, eschatological Sabbath rest with God.

Eden and Sensus Plenior

As stated at the beginning, the canonical authors give us a better hermeneutic than those who would amputate any broader, theological, canonical context from a particular text. This better hermeneutic is what I’ve sought to employ throughout this piece. It’s using the broader context of the whole of Scripture, with all of its divinely-authored allusions and echoes, in order to bring fuller meaning to the particular text or passage we have in front of us. Our doctrine of God is to greatly influence how we read Scripture as a whole, and subsequently how we’re to interpret individual texts in light of the whole.

Thus, as we zoom out from the individual tree of the Eden narrative and stare out at the forest of Scripture, we’re given a sensus plenior that ought to take our breath away as we look back down upon our individual tree. With all of Scripture in view, we see that Eden was always intended to be a porto-temple of sorts, the very dwelling place of God with mankind on a mountain. Mankind, as represented in Adam, were to be priests within this garden-temple, guarding it from corruption and continuing to teach God’s law and covenant to all those coming after them as the borders of this garden-temple spread over the whole earth. Yet, as Adam fails in his covenant task, this sensus plenior in the Eden narrative also sheds a brighter light upon the covenantal work of Christ on behalf of his people. All that Adam was commanded to be, Christ was perfectly for his people. He has built his new covenant temple, filled with the living stones that are his body, and has done all that is required in order to bring his people into that eschatological Sabbath rest that was held out to Adam in Eden. Christ is the last Adam, bringing justification and life to all who are united to him in faith.

This better hermeneutic is anything but gnostic. It doesn’t rid readers of the literal intent of the human author for the spiritual, rather it uses the literal as a springboard into seeing the fuller, spiritual sense that God, the divine author, always intended as the God who sits outside of time and space, breathing out his perfect Scriptures through the pens of human men. May we be those who read and know Scripture as a whole well enough that we can see the rich, fuller sense awaiting us in every text of Scripture we come to day by day.