Biblical theology within Hebrew Bible (HB) scholarship has enjoyed remarkable interest, considering the fact that some have challenged its validity, vitality, and even legitimacy (see Albertz 1995; Barr 1999; Lemche 1995; Reventlow 1986; cf. Schmid 2015). The often-competing discipline of Religionsgeschichte, unfortunately, has not always been a good neighbor to biblical theology, leading to a steady up and down in the discipline, even though it appears that this tension is more prominent in continental scholarship (cf. Hasel 1991 and 1994).
One of the key issues in this discussion revolves around the nature and definition of theology. Schmid’s (2015) provocative question “Is there theology in the Hebrew Bible?” considers this crucial question and concludes that “theology in the didactic sense or as a systematically explicit entity is not extant” (Schmid 2015, 116) in the HB, even though Schmid recognizes the presence of “implicit theology” that can be illustrated by clear inner-biblical exegesis demonstrating theological reflection.
While the importance and role of biblical theology within the larger discipline of theological and exegetical studies of both testaments has, at times, been challenged, the study of ritual and its significance in the biblical text has been marked by vigorous discussion and an increasing multidisciplinary conversation encompassing many disciplines, including Religionsgeschichte, general ritual studies (or “ritualistics” as suggested by Sørensen [1993]), archaeology and the study of the material world of the ANE, sociology and anthropology, as well as comparative studies (Babcock 2014; Bergen 2005; Bibb 2009; DeMaris 2008; Eberhart 2011; Gane 2005; Gruenwald 2003; Klingbeil 2007; cf. Olyan 2000, 2015; Watts 2007).
This essay seeks to clarify the intriguing triangle between ritual, ritual texts, and biblical theology—for, as has been argued before (Klingbeil 2004)—there is a link between human activity (or action, i.e., ritual) and human reflection, especially considering the realm of human-divine engagement. More recently, Johnson, discussing the epistemology of knowledge and its link to ritual, has suggested that some rites in the HB “have a clear epistemological impetus (e.g., Gen 15:13) and goal (e.g., Lev 23:43)” (Johnson 2016, 13). Ritual participation was a way “to know” the world and sought to illustrate God’s engagement with Israel (and the larger world).
The focus in what follows will be on three important characteristics of ritual, including (1) ritual as an integral part of human existence and its role in the biblical text; (2) ritual as a vehicle for complex concepts; and (3) ritual and its relationship to worship against the backdrop of the relational concept of the “I and Thou” connecting humanity with the divine. Finally, reflecting more specifically about ritual’s connection with biblical theology, we will look at the convergence of text and theology, try to maneuver the methodological jump from ritual activity to theological reflection, review the history of that connection, and consider the transcending power of ritual in religious thought and a larger worshipping community. As will be argued here, ritual activity, as preserved in ritual texts, goes beyond being a specific text genre (Koch 1990) or a mere rhetorical device (Watts 2007). Ritual’s social dimension and its web-like connections in time and space offer us a unique snapshot of Israelite religious thinking—and theology. This is, however, not just an intellectual exercise. Ritual and theology do not only engage the intellect and human reflection. They also address an emotional level of human existence that may (or may not) be always easily recognizable. We generally do because we feel, know, are committed (to a certain cause), or remember passionately. Recent cognitive research has clearly highlighted the close link between ritual, memory formation, and emotions or emotive experiences and stimuli that help to shape memory (Czachesz 2010)—a point discussed in more detail in this essay.
Ritual is an integral part of every society in every cultural context. While there are ritual-dense (e.g., a tribal context in Africa or the Amazonas in South America) and ritual-poor (e.g., most western societies, including Europe and North America) cultures, the presence of ritual at crucial cultural or historical moments is easily recognizable. We generally associate ritual with religious activities (as, for example, in most of the essays contained in this volume), but it should be noted that ritual activity goes significantly beyond the realm of religion or the sacred (against the limited definition of ritual found in Seymour-Smith 1986, 248). Ritual appears constantly in secular contexts. Just consider the way rival fans celebrate Monday Night Football games or World Cup soccer games (see Bergen 2005, 27–43). National anthems are sung at a specific moment; songs and choreography designed to taunt the opposing team are performed by the fans of both teams; specific clothing items have to be worn; etc. All this happens in a social context and illustrates the important social dimensions of ritual. One could easily think of other non-religious events, such as a presidential swearing-in ceremony, retirement ceremonies, academic graduation ceremonies, state dinners, secular marriage rituals or significant birthday celebrations (such as a quinceañera or fifteenth birthday party in Latin American communities, cf. McLeod 1990). Whether we realize it or not, ritual is an ever-present part of the fabric of human society.
Before proceeding further in the discussion of the relationship between ritual theology and biblical theology, however, it will be helpful to consider a working definition of ritual. Scholars working in the fields of Religionsgeschichte or sociology and anthropology have produced a large body of literature trying to define “ritual” (see cf. Klingbeil 2007, 14–19; Platvoet 1995, 42–45). Platvoet (1995, 41) has offered a helpful concise, yet comprehensive, definition suggesting that ritual is “that ordered sequence of stylized social behavior that may be distinguished from ordinary interaction by its alerting qualities which enable it to focus the attention of its audiences—its congregation as well as the wider public—onto itself and cause them to perceive it as a special event, performed at a special place and/or time, for a special occasion and/or with a special message.”
Every ritual, sacred or secular, points beyond itself and wants to communicate or critique (see the later discussion of ritual innovation). Knowledge and ritual are integrally related to each other in many biblical texts (Johnson 2016, 15–18). Ritual requires a specific space, time, occasion, and participants to achieve a particular outcome. This definition alone requires the reader of ritual texts (including the many biblical ritual texts) to pay attention to the emotions, underlying message, and outcome evoked, associated with, attributed to or accomplished by the ritual. Thus it seems that rituals have both a pre-life as well as an afterlife. The pre-life centers around what triggers a ritual; the afterlife concerns what the ritual purports to accomplish.
Emotions are a significant part of human life—and also play an important role in religious activities, including ritual performance and prophetic ritualized behavior (cf. Klingbeil and Klingbeil 2015). The past decades have witnessed an explosive growth of research into cognitive sciences and insights from this field into the neurological and linguistic processes involved in the expression of emotions contribute also to the study of biblical texts—including also rituals (Kazen 2011; Kotzé 2004; cf. Kruger 2000 and 2001). A particular emotion (such as, for example, the recognition of guilt and sin) may trigger a specific ritual response (such as a sacrifice). Emotions can be relevance detectors—we usually get emotionally involved when we consider something important. In this sense, emotions are an indicator of reflection. Emotions are generated by thoughts and memories, and these then react upon cognitive processes and strengthen or inhibit certain mental activities. It is even possible to generate an emotion by imagined representations.
Emotions can interrupt a behavioral sequence and serve as the trigger for setting new goals and plans (Scherer 2000; 2005, 701–702). Due to their dynamic nature, emotions often echo the dynamic of ritual activity. Emotional responses to ritual activity can be part of a particular ritual type (e.g., mourning rites or the presentation ceremony of medals during Olympics or any other sport event), or they can evoke a ritual response (e.g., the cutting of the throat of a sacrificial animal would, most likely, trigger an emotional response). The repetitive nature of ritual activity does not automatically suggest lack of emotions due to “routine” activities. Rather, a well-known and familiar ritual activity offers the perfect “vessel” to express emotions that may otherwise not be easily expressed. A good modern example of this principle can be seen in the rituals associated with raising the flag and singing the anthem before important sporting events. Even though most participants may have experienced similar moments dozens or even hundreds of times, the emotive power of the occasion is often overpowering.
Emotions are expressed verbally and non-verbally through language, sounds, and facial expressions. These are key elements of human communication. Thus, emotions impact communication and social interaction. They can create community or lead to dissonance. The physical appearance, albeit often involuntary, of facial expressions usually leads to a reaction in one’s conversation partner. Subtle changes in non-verbal expressions may indicate dissonance from verbal expressions and communication. These facial changes are at times expressed in texts in representation of emotions (cf. Kruger 2005 for the HB).
When emotions intersect with ritual, they usually point to key values of a community. The binomes of pure/impure, clean/unclean, and holy/common are significant concepts in the HB and are often associated with ritual activity. Purity and holiness had ethical and ritual (or ceremonial) implications. Animals could be clean or unclean (Lev 11; cf. Houston 1993; Meshel 2008; Moskala 2000), as could people in certain contexts (e.g., after touching a corpse [Num 5:2; 19:11–22; Lev 5:2, 6] or after having sexual intercourse [Lev 15:1–33] or having given birth to a child [Lev 12:1–8]). For humans this state could generally be reverted by the passing of a specific time and the performance of a particular ritual. Very often those who had become unclean had to separate from the larger community. Uncleanness per se was not dangerous, except if the prescribed purification rites were not performed at the right time, the right place, using the right implements, or following the right sequence (cf. Moskala 2000, 191). Uncleanness, however, could become mortally dangerous when the unclean connects to the holy. The fact that a particular state (such as impurity) could affect the larger community and could result in the isolation of individuals underlines the power of ritual concepts and their effect on social entities.
Rituals are a powerful vehicle to communicate often complex ideas and concepts. Ritual shorthand implies abbreviation and familiarity with generally recognized ritual building blocks. An intriguing example of the ability of rituals to abbreviate and communicate complex concepts can be found in the altar construction texts in Genesis (8:20; 12:7, 8; 13:18; 22:9, 10; 22:9; 26:25; 35:7). In an earlier study (Klingbeil 2004), I have suggested that these short descriptive vignettes of ritual activity in the patriarchal narratives illustrate the power of abbreviation. Abbreviation serves as a means to communicate concepts, similar to a red STOP sign next to the road, warning a driver or pedestrian to pay attention, come to a complete halt, look carefully around, ascertain if and when the journey can continue, and then take off. All these elements are not spelled out on the sign—yet they are implied, explicitly mentioned in traffic rules, and commonly accepted and enforced by law enforcement authorities.
Rituals in biblical texts often include these type of abbreviations, possibly suggesting distinct anticipated audiences. While the more complex priestly ordination ritual (Lev 8) or the Day of Atonement ritual (Lev 16) describe dense public ritual action to be performed by certain participants at specific moments and locations and in the right sequence, using the correct objects, other biblical ritual texts are highly abbreviated. The altar construction texts in Genesis, for example, do not tell the reader what type of altar had to be built. Archaeologists have distinguished between nearly a dozen typical ANE altar forms (Stendebach 1976; Zevit 2001, 298–314) but the biblical text does not detail the particular form envisioned. Furthermore, the reader is not told how the altar had to be built, who was involved in the building, and how long it took to complete the altar construction. The text does not indicate specifically how the altar was used (involving blood sacrifices or libations, for example). The biblical text is silent on all these details—most likely due to the fact that these short altar construction notes function primarily as some type of public indicator (or sign) to highlight the patriarchs’ obedient compliance with the divine commands and document their desire to communicate with YHWH as they “called upon the name of the Lord.” In contrast to the anonymous tower-builders described in Gen 11 who wanted to make a name for themselves (11:4) and were seeking to reach heaven on their own steam, using their own ingenuity, Abraham (and his descendants) trust God to make their name great (Gen 12:2) and seem to follow the more “standard” way of communication between earth and heaven by means of an altar (see Klingbeil and Klingbeil 2000, 175–198), something that is well known in all ANE cultures.
On the opposite end of the continuum between abbreviation and expansion the HB also includes ritually very dense texts used to describe complex religious activities. Two highly significant moments in the religious life reflected in the HB come to mind. The first involves the lengthy (and multifaceted) priestly ordination ritual (prescribed in Exod 29; described in Lev 8; summary statement in Exod 40:12–15). The second is the complex Day of Atonement ritual described in Lev 16. There is literature galore focusing on both events (Gane 2005; Jürgens 2001; cf. Klingbeil 1998; also Janowski 2012; Rodríguez 1996; Seidl 1999; and the significant contributions of Levine and Milgrom in their respective commentaries). Both rituals represent important moments in the religious life of a community that required the service of religious specialists and purification of the sanctuary as part of a yearly cycle. This ritual density of the ordination ritual, for example, has been identified with reference to more than 100 verbal forms used in the biblical text (see Klingbeil 1998, 219–310), indicating mostly succession (and using predominantly wayyqtl forms) and, sometimes, epexegesis. It also is reflected in the startling number of ritual objects and ritual participants. Time is not always clearly discernible, even though sequence can be noted. Very often, these complex sequences are summarized at crucial moment. Leviticus 8:34, for example, suggests that all this activity is done “to make atonement for you [pl.].” The verbal form of the root kpr and its wide-ranging use in theologically significant texts of the HB (cf. Janowski 1982; Kiuchi 1987; Schmitt 2001; etc.) suggests importance and requires a broad interpretation as has been noted by Gorman (1990, 137), who argues that “the word already carried a broad meaning which covered several distinct acts: purgation, purification, averting the wrath of Yahweh, institutionalization, passage, maintenance of the sacred, and solidification of the divine-human relations.” If one ritually significant term possibly alluded to all these elements, the reader (both ancient and modern) needs to pay close attention when attempting to interpret similar statements of purpose. All these elements, taken together, highlight the power of ritual to communicate complex concepts.
Beyond the power of communicating complex ideas (and theology), biblical ritual also has a formative dimension. Ritual activity transforms the participants and observing community alike (Johnson 2016, 45–46). Emic knowledge and discernment becomes an avenue of transformation.
The theoretical advances in ritual theory over the past decades have also impacted the discussion of liturgy and worship (Grimes 1992; Hoffman 1991; Jennings 1987; Kelleher 1991 and 1993; cf. Lopresti 1978; Schiefelbein 2016). Research has highlighted the power of ritual within worship and liturgy to communicate key values and concepts of a worshipping community. Intriguingly, this focus on worship is not a twenty-first century innovation associated with mega churches. Ritual and liturgy and worship have long been companions in the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament. The intertestamental texts from Qumran point to a ritually dense community (involving purity rituals, prayers, ritual bathings, and other rites of passage; Davila 2000; Jassen 2007; cf. Kugler 2002). In fact, it seems that prayer, praise, and priestly-cultic self-definition replaced the sacrificial requirements contained in the HB by means of what Kugler (2000, 112) called, “harmonizing and narrowing exegesis.” These ritual texts from Qumran represent intriguing examples of creative innovation and contextualization of existing ritual to new realities or mental worlds. Similar patterns can be seen in the NT communion (or Eucharist) ritual and its connection to the HB Passover ritual.
Liturgical scholars and worship leaders have long recognized the teaching power of ritual and the conscious inclusion of important elements of ritual has been part of efforts to renew worship. Repeatedly, cult reform in the HB went along with the renewal of a particular ritual. Hezekiah’s and Josiah’s cult reforms were both associated with the reinstallation and celebration of the Passover (2 Chron 30; 2 Kings 23:21–23|2 Chron 35:1–19). When the exilees returned to Jerusalem following the Babylonian exile, one of their first ritual activities (following the completion of the rebuilding of the temple) involved the celebration of the Passover (Ezra 6:19–22). These shared experiences reconnected their new reality to the memory of the exodus and liberation from slavery and reminded them of their covenant with YHWH. The old (and often forgotten) became part of the new—and it all happened in the context of a worshipping community.
The ability of ritual to build community (or communitas as coined by anthropologist Victor Turner) is an important benefit of integrating ritual as a medium of worship in a time when people living in urban centers feel increasingly isolated and attached to virtual realities. The mnemonic function of ritual can help unlock memories and is a powerful teaching tool. All this, however, requires serious reflection and represents a theological task (Carroll 2005), if one is to avoid the rut and routine so often condemned by Israel’s writing prophets (cf. Klingbeil 2007, 70–80; also Boecker 1981; Callaway 1993; Lafferty 2010; Zenger 1979). Ritual activity does not automatically mean theological reflection, but theological reflection can be discerned in ritual activity.
Holiness and worship are often referenced together in discussions of the religion of ancient Israel. The description of Israel as a “kingdom of priests and a holy nation” in Exod 19:6 is reflected in many HB texts discussing worship. To worship a holy God means to approach him with reverence and trepidation, yet at the same time boldly as his representative to the world. Balentine’s recognition that “covenant-making, from God’s perspective, is an act comparable to world-making” (1999, 123) helps us to realize the close proximity of creation and covenant meeting each other within the context of worship. Israel’s worship recognized the Creator and the covenant-deity in its liturgy as well as in its prayers (see Klingbeil 2015 for the all-pervasive echoes of creation in the HB). These prayers have been recognized as useful sources of understanding Israel’s thinking about God (i.e., theology; cf. Boda 2006 on penitentiary prayer) but beyond the traditional historical-critical reconstruction of the sequence and Sitz im Leben of the literature of the HB few studies have considered the link between prayer and cult. One of the exceptions to this trend is the discussion of the temple as a house of prayer (Balentine 1993, 80–88), focusing upon 1 Kings 8 and Solomon’s prayer about the temple as the locus for prayer. Beyond a literary or purely rhetorical approach to prayer, the recognition of ritual elements within prayer should further help connect this important two-way street of communication between humanity and a transcendent God to the task of doing biblical theology in response to humanity’s existential questions (Greenberg 1983, 1–18).
The human search for answers to our most-deeply felt questions offers a good avenue into the key question of this chapter. How can ritual texts that may or may not reflect ancient religious practices help in the search to better understand a transcendent and often silent God who speaks and acts within history through texts transmitted for millennia? The following four subsections will focus on this question more directly and, I hope, offer some answers.
Biblical theology begins with biblical texts. Different from an anthropologist studying the religious concepts and practices of a small tribal community in the Amazon basin, biblical scholars do not have access to standard tools used in anthropological research. There are no interviews, video or audio recordings, personal observations, and conversations with tribal stakeholders. Biblical scholars work with texts and literary constructs. Does this make their insights less reliable or trustworthy? Not necessarily, as we have been reminded by anthropologists themselves who recognize the potential shortcomings of interviews, audio or video recordings, and even observations. Texts, like any media, require interpretation.
Historically, critical scholarship has favored a text-layer approach to the study of biblical ritual texts, often resulting in the devaluation of the place and role of ritual in biblical texts, religion, and theology by either attacking it outright or by ignoring it altogether (cf. Gorman 1995, 13–20; Klingbeil 2007, 49). Some of the earlier resentment toward ritual may have been due to the Protestant bias against ritual, which was often considered as “barbaric” or as focused on the law (as opposed to divine grace, cf. Brueggemann 1997, 652–653). As noted by McConville (1981, 20–21), biblical ritual was often understood as an early development within the evolution of biblical religion.
However, even when the final text is considered and read as a carefully designed literary unit, the question whether texts equal facts, or, put more explicitly, if the biblical ritual texts represented actual performance, requires consideration. Watts, using rhetorical analysis, has argued that ritual texts were primarily literary constructs with a distinct purpose. He suggested that the authority of the temple and its priesthood was based on the ancient ritual traditions practiced in it (2007, 214), as they were prescribed (and described) in the Pentateuch. In this sense, “ritual and text supported each other” (215), guaranteeing the legitimacy of the temple rites while, at the same time, elevating the status of the text. Watts’s point is well taken. Texts and reality are interconnected, and a careful reading of biblical texts, including ritual texts, will undoubtedly lead to the recognition of literary designs in service of communicative strategies. This should not, however, automatically disqualify the rituals described in these texts from being considered historical events. In fact, archaeological data suggests a wide repertoire of ritual religious activity in the Levant (Klingbeil 2008; Nakhai 2001 with additional bibliography). Considered together with numerous comparative ritual texts from surrounding cultures (including Egypt, Emar, Ugarit, Hatti, and Mesopotamia; Babcock 2014; Feder 2011; Klingbeil 1998a; cf. Wright 1987; etc.) as well as the many images (both on miniature art and on monumental pictorial remains) depicting ritual activity (Carstens 1998; cf. Klingbeil and Klingbeil 2012), there can be no doubt that ritual played an important role in real life in the ANE.
The pictorial images found in ANE iconography suggest another intriguing insight as we consider biblical ritual texts and their ability to contribute meaningfully to a biblical theology. In a sense, both texts and images offer a snapshot, or perhaps better, still life, requiring the reader and observer to decipher and engage with a reality far removed from our own (Klingbeil and Klingbeil 2012, 2). The inherent dynamic nature of ritual (which generally involves action) and the seemingly static nature of images suggest an overlap between both media, images and texts. This reciprocal relationship between the dynamic and the static is characterized by a number of important concepts: first, both ritual texts and images containing rituals serve as markers to a broader cultic reality; second, they have a tendency to abbreviate or even reduce this reality to the level of a symbol; third, they invite the reader/viewer to become involved in the communication and appropriate the intended effects (Klingbeil and Klingbeil 2012, 15). In other words, biblical ritual texts—while often abbreviating or summarizing an activity—are tools to invite the reader (and participant) to become engaged. Generally, engagement engenders reflection.
The rituals associated with worship and liturgy offer important primary material for a biblical theology of the HB. Together with the psalms and the prophets, they offer the reader a chance to mentally walk the line from practice to reflection. “It is in worship,” writes Brueggemann, “and not in contextless, cerebral activity, that Israel worked out its peculiar identity and sustained its odd life in the world” (1997, 653). While he recognizes the little interest in the actual theological intention of Israel’s worship, Brueggemann argues for a model that considers these texts theologically—even though he does not develop that model systematically and focuses predominantly upon the temple and the divine presence associated with the temple.
Rituals texts in the HB appear either in prescriptive or in descriptive form (cf. Levine 1965). The first prescribe, usually in a detailed way, the objects, participants, location(s), time(s), and actions of the ritual. This may suggest an audience of religious professionals (such as priests or other cult personnel). Descriptive texts, on the other hand, depict the performance of the ritual. The priestly ordination ritual offers a helpful example. While Exodus 29 prescribes the priestly ordination ritual, we are only told about the successful performance of that ritual in Leviticus 8—following the construction of the wilderness tabernacle. There exist a number of minor differences between Exod 29 and Lev 8. Traditionally, critical scholarship has offered a number of explanations, mostly based on postulating different sources or redactional layers (see summary in Klingbeil 1998, 104–107). Milgrom (1991, 552–553) has convincingly suggested that differences between the prescriptive and descriptive sections of comparative ANE ritual texts were common occurrences, since the description did not need not to be a verbatim copy of the prescription using the same vocabulary. Furthermore, most descriptive texts also contained fulfillment formulas missing in the prescriptive texts.
However, beyond the question of literary distinctions between prescriptive and descriptive ritual texts there lurks another issue that is even more significant—especially when considering the importance of ritual for formulating biblical theology. Can these texts, beyond their literary and possibly historical dimensions, truly contribute to our understanding that both testaments seek to communicate about God and his presence in this world? Or, to quote Hasel (1991, 195), do we realize that these texts are “at the same time theological witnesses in the sense that they testify as the word of God to the divine reality and activity as it impinges on the historicality of man?” And, furthermore, do the insights gained from developing a biblical theology (including also data from biblical ritual texts) have any significance for people (including the Church) living in the twenty-first century? What kind of authority does a comprehensive biblical theology involving both testaments have in the life of the contemporary Church and society where issues of authority and normativity are heatedly debated at all levels? Is it appropriate for a biblical theology to move beyond description to prescription of action (House 1998, 53)?
How does the three-step movement from biblical ritual text to the contextual (and historical) interpretation of the ritual to the integration of the gathered data into a biblical theology really work? Using terminology borrowed from linguistics, we should strive to describe the “morphology” of the ritual (forms, elements, sequence, etc.) before moving on to its “semantic” (i.e., its meaning within the particular historical context). However, morphology and semantics alone will not help the linguist to completely understand a new language. “Syntax” and “pragmatics,” seeking to understand the ritual within the larger framework of biblical religion and its explicit or implicit statements about God, will focus upon the function and the normative power of the ritual. The next section will focus upon the installation of the Lord’s Supper (or Eucharist) as an example of a two-fold juxtaposition, connecting testaments and contributing significantly to biblical theology.
Scholars studying the Lord’s Supper in the NT have repeatedly drawn a straight line between the HB Passover celebration and the NT Lord’s Supper (or Eucharist) of the nascent Christian church (cf. Brumberg-Kraus 1999; Buchanan 1980). As has been noted before, in times of religious, political, or cultural changes, well-known rituals may be reenacted and innovated upon in order to adapt to a new reality (Bell 1997, 223–224; Platvoet 1995, 29). Innovation always involves re-imagination and critique (see the helpful essays in MacDonald 2016). In this sense, and considering the close connection between the HB and the NT, joined by history, theology, and the notion of prophetic timing (cf. Klingbeil 2011), these links are highlighted in many NT texts, suggesting conscious reflection making historical and typological connections (1 Cor 10:11; cf. Davidson 1981).
The depiction of the Passover celebration of Jesus and his disciples in John’s gospel includes a unique reference to a foot-washing rite preceding the actual meal (John 13:3–10), which is the basis for an important teaching moment of Jesus (vv. 12–17), highlighting the key value of service and transformation. It seems that some later lists of Christian practices included that transformation rite (1 Tim 5:10; Macchia 1997; cf. Neyrey 1995; Thomas 1997). Washings and ritual baths were well known in intertestamental Judaism and pointed to transformation and the movement from one state to another. Jesus connects this transformational aspect of the Lord’s Supper to the element of service. The Master bends down to serve the disciple, anticipating the sacrificial Lamb of God, which serves as the natural link between Passover and the Lord’s Supper (Borchert 2002, 86).
The Synoptic Gospels do not include the reference to the foot-washing rite but focus exclusively on the reinterpretation of the known Passover ritual with its food consumption. Matthew mentions four activities associated with the bread in Matt 26:26, involving taking, blessing, breaking, and giving. These activities echo several key biblical moments. The sequence of verbal activities represents the reversed sequence of Gen 3:6 in the Fall narrative where the woman takes, eats, and then gives to the man (Johnson 2016, 266). The theological implications of this inversion are significant. Jesus’ death and resurrection shape the knowledge of the early Christian community. Furthermore, the sacrificial language of bringing, laying of hands, killing, and sprinkling of the blood around the altar and the curtain dividing the holy from the holy of holies echoes the ʿōlâׄ offering (cf. Lev 1:3–9). However, instead of the regular Q&A session prescribed in Exod 12:26–27 Jesus includes an explanatory (and, predictably, enigmatic) statement: “Take, eat; this is my body.” The reader (similar most likely to the disciples) understands the syntax and semantics of this statement, but what does it conceptually mean? Why does the bread represent the broken body of Jesus—after all, he had anticipated his substitutionary death repeatedly (Matt 16:21–23; 17:22, 23; 20:17–19; similarly, in the other synoptic gospels)? How can the substitutionary typology of a slain lamb be applied to the anticipated death of Jesus? These questions illustrate the fact that ritual innovation is not always straightforward but requires distinct theological reflection and explanation.
Matthew offers a longer explanation for the second element, the cup of wine in Matt 26:27–29. The reference to the “blood of the covenant” highlights the important theological motif of God’s covenant with Israel. The phrase echoes Exod 24:8 where Moses uses a similar phrase in the final blood sprinkling rite concluding the covenant ceremony between and YHWH and Israel (cf. also Zech 9:11). Readers who are deeply rooted in the texts of the HB would most likely catch the implication of this ritual innovation quickly: something new, something as foundational as Israel’s first covenant-making ritual at Sinai is about to happen (Klingbeil, forthcoming). Distinct from that moment, however, is the reference to the “many” (which seems to echo Isa 53:4, 10, 12), thus extending the breadth and width of the anticipated covenant. Partaking of this covenant was not based on blood relations but on “eating” and “drinking” the food symbolizing the body and blood of Jesus. In the words of Blomberg (1992, 391): “The covenant language implies the creation of a community, now to be constituted of those who in their eating and drinking identify with the benefits of Jesus’ sacrificial death. This ‘true Israel’ stands over against the natural Israel of the old covenant.”
The biblical text contains a theologically explicit explanation of the newly established ritual innovation: the cup representing the blood that is poured out (the same Greek term is used in the LXX of Lev 4:7, 18, 25, 30, 34) for many is εἰς ἄφεσιν ἁμαρτιῶν, “for the remission [or forgiveness] of sins.” The HB Passover ritual remembered God’s redemptive acts during the exodus; the new shared meal, however, focuses upon an even more existential human need, namely, the forgiveness of sin. Both moments in salvation history are characterized by divine acts of redemption. Yet it is the innovation of the Lord’s Supper that is applicable to “many,” thus broadening the divine economy of grace. Ritual innovation generally involves the conscious contextualization to a new historical, cultural, or religious reality.
Reading the same texts does not necessarily lead to the same ritual expressions or arriving at the same theological conclusions. This can be easily seen in how the three Abrahamic faiths (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam) approach the many shared texts and interpret the stories and rituals contained in them. Gregg (2015) offers an intriguing view of the “rival tellings” of the same stories, even though his emphasis is not on ritual or biblical theology but on narrative texts or specific stories (including Cain and Abel, Sarah and Hagar, Joseph’s temptation, Jonah the angry prophet, and Mary, the mother of Jesus) and utilizes literature and art as his primary source material. Ultimately, Gregg argues, “telling, retelling, and refashioning sacred narratives were intentional efforts at reinforcing each community’s core beliefs, codes of behavior, and modes of worship” (2015, 595). Another important element of varying interpretations of similar texts was due to the constant competition between these religious communities. Texts, stories, and ritual practice was used to defend one’s belief system against attacks and, where possible, score victories over the opponents’ arguments (2015, 596).
Rituals are often used to demarcate boundaries. Some have argued that Judaism’s immersion of converts as a ritual of initiation likely developed in competition and interaction with early Christianity (Rouwhorst 2009). Hollender’s (2012) study of circumcision in the three Abrahamic faiths concludes that “in Christian contexts, Jewish communities developed concepts regarding the salvific power of circumcision in a complex interaction with Christian interpretations of both circumcision and baptism, a process that was parallel to the continual ritualization of this practice” (2012, 245), while specific time and space was emphasized as the distinguishing mark when Jewish communities found themselves in close proximity to Islam, as a means of distinguishing Jewish circumcision from circumcision in Islam.
This continuing engagement between different faiths is often a matter of survival. It straddles the balance between assimilation and confrontation. Scherer (1982) has highlighted some of the creative assimilation within Judaism that assured continuity as well as renewal.
The power and significance of ritual should not be underestimated as one considers biblical theology. In fact, numerous biblical narratives involving ritual activity or ritual legislation focus on “knowing”—right from wrong, the God of Israel, etc. (Gen 15:13; Lev 23:43; cf. Johnson 2016). Focusing on action, time, space, sequence, objects, and sounds, ritual tells important stories and often functions as indicator of key values and concepts of a particular group or community. Careful recognition of these key elements of ritual should point the reader (or observer) to these key values and concepts of a particular ritual activity.
Ritual’s ability to act as a trigger for important events and its power to communicate complex concepts while engaging participants and observers facilitates reflection and represents an important part of “doing” theology. Thus rather than being an archaic relic or a throwback to primitive religiosity it plays a vital role in biblical theology.
Future studies could use the study of ritual as an important window opening a broad perspective on the thinking and theological values of the worlds of the Hebrew Bible and the New Testament. Without trying to force a particular hermeneutical methodology on a biblical text, the focus on ritual (both written and enacted) would allow the text to speak “from the inside out.” By consciously bringing together ritual studies and biblical theology, future studies will be able to explore the links between disciplines to begin to formulate a big-picture theology. In a world that seems to be intrigued by building higher and higher walls (both physically and mentally) between cultures, races, ideas, religions, and worldviews, the cross-pollination of the two important sub disciplines at the heart of this essay offers the opportunity to connect the dots and listen carefully—for listening and observing engenders understanding, which, in turn, fosters community.