First Sunday after Christmas– Year C

Sermon Notes from the Church’s Ministry Among Jewish People

RCL Readings[1] – Isaiah 61:10-62:3; Psalm 147; Galatians 3:23-25, 4:4-7; John 1:1-18.

ACNA Readings – Isaiah 61:10-62:5; Psalm 147:12-20; Galatians 3:23–4:7; John 1:1-18.



Seasonal Introduction.  Christmas is the greatest Jewish story ever told. It can be easy to be distracted by all the things that have been added onto the story through commercialization or traditions, but Christmas highlights the simple truth that God desires to dwell among His people. God, the God who created the universe and breathed life into man’s nostrils, humbled Himself to dwell among the people He created. God then provided a way that we can dwell with Him. 


Common Theme. In each of our passages, we see what the transformation of God’s salvation brings. Whether it is physical or spiritual or, as is most likely, both simultaneously, God changes us for the better. We were the enemies of God, estranged from the God who made us. But He didn’t abandon Zion and Israel and He never will. He won’t abandon us either, for He has called us to believe in Him and become the children of God. The Incarnation shows just how much God desired to dwell among us.


Hebraic Context. The Torah begins with a declaration of God's sovereignty over both the spiritual and physical realms: “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth” (Genesis 1:1). This verse encapsulates the holistic nature of reality in Hebraic thought. Humanity, created in God’s image, is both spiritual and physical—a unity that reflects God’s design.[2]


Genesis 2:7 describes God forming humanity from the dust of the ground and breathing into it the "breath of life" (נִשְׁמַת חַיִּים, nishmat chayim). This union of earthly material and divine breath creates the נֶפֶשׁ (nefesh), which more accurately refers to the whole person—body, spirit, and life-force. Importantly, the physical world is not secondary or inferior; it is declared “very good” (Genesis 1:31). This affirmation establishes the sanctity of the material as integral to God’s purposes, predating the fall and the entry of sin into the world.


Throughout Scripture, God’s redemptive work addresses both spiritual estrangement and physical brokenness. The liberation of Israel from Egypt is both a physical deliverance from slavery and a spiritual reorientation to draw near to God. The giving of the Torah at Sinai transforms Israel into a covenant people, integrating their worship and daily lives. Following the covenant at Mt. Sinai, God’s presence dwells tangibly among His people through the Mishkan (Tabernacle) and later the Temple. These spaces symbolize the union of heaven and earth, where physical holiness facilitates God’s holy presence in the community. 


In contrast to the Hebraic worldview, Hellenistic dualism, deeply rooted in Greek philosophical traditions (particularly those of Plato), sees reality as sharply divided into the spiritual and physical realms. In this view, the spiritual is regarded as pure, eternal, and perfect, while the physical is corrupt, temporary, and inherently inferior. The ultimate goal is to escape the constraints of the physical body and ascend to a purely spiritual existence. The mind or soul is elevated as the true essence of a person, while the body is seen as a prison that limits and distorts.


Plato’s famous Allegory of the Cave encapsulates this perspective, portraying the physical world as a dim, shadowy reflection of the ideal realm. Similarly, Stoicism and Neoplatonism emphasize transcending physical passions and aligning with higher, spiritual principles. These ideas profoundly influenced early Christian theology, particularly leading to interpretations that prioritized the salvation of the soul over the body. Popular slogans like, “This is not my world, I’m just passing through,” reflect this lingering tension between the physical and spiritual. 


Gnosticism, an esoteric movement that arose in the first few centuries CE, draws on Hellenistic dualism but extends its ideas with a radical cosmology and emphasis on mystical salvation. Gnosticism envisions a cosmic struggle between the spiritual realm, ruled by the supreme unknowable God, and the physical realm, which it sees as the flawed creation of an inferior or malevolent demiurge.[3] This sharp division casts the material world as inherently evil, with human bodies seen as traps for divine sparks of light—fragments of the spiritual realm that have fallen into the corrupted material order.

Salvation in Gnosticism comes through gnosis (secret knowledge), which reveals the divine origin of the soul and provides the means to escape the physical world. This perspective often leads to hostility toward the Creator depicted in the Hebrew Bible, who is identified with the demiurge responsible for the material realm. As a result, Gnostics struggled with central Christian doctrines such as the Incarnation—rejecting the idea of God taking on flesh in Jesus as incompatible with their view of the material as inherently evil. Similarly, they denied the bodily resurrection, focusing instead on a purely spiritual liberation.

The ultimate example of the integration of body, spirit, and life-force that God made is found in Jesus, the Word made flesh—although He also integrated the divine in the incarnation. While it may sound strange to say today, the Incarnation is a reflection of the pre-Hellenized Jewish worldview as taught in the Scriptures—the spiritual and physical are deeply intertwined. This perspective challenges dualistic thinking and invites us into a fuller understanding of how God works through all dimensions of existence to bring about His purposes. 


Not only does God care about us spiritually, He cares about us physically. Whether it is walking with God in the garden, or having the Temple facilitate His presence on Earth, the material realm is a place where we encounter God. In turn, we should care about God not only spiritually but also physically. This perspective extends to worship, including our physical worship. Tangible practices—sacrifices, festivals, and ethical living—are integral expressions of spiritual devotion, involving the whole person: heart, mind, and body. In Deuteronomy 6:5, the command to love God with all one’s heart (lev), soul (nefesh), and strength (me’od) further underscores that transformation leaves no aspect of life untouched. 


Isaiah 61:10-62:5. This passage cannot be understood distinct from the preceding declaration of the “year of the Lord’s favor.” The context of this phrase is the future redemptive activity of the Lord, carried out through one anointed by the Spirit of God. Additionally, the prophecy of Isaiah 61 contains the Hebraic tension of God’s justice[4] alongside renewed blessing and restoration. The comfort and restoration that the Lord will bring is described poetically as the transformation from beauty to ashes and joy in place of mourning. For many cultures in antiquity, mourning was symbolized with placing ashes on the head. Instead of ashes to embody mourning and sadness there will be a crown that reflects beauty and joy. 


Isaiah’s imagery of the beautiful headdress (פאר, pe’er) further illustrates the theme of restoration. This word, used sparingly in the Hebrew Scriptures, often connects beauty with holiness. The word is largely defined in Exodus 39:28 (echoed in Ezekiel 44:18). The priests were to wear a (פארי המגבעת) headdress turban.[5] On the turban of the high priest was the declaration Holy to the LORD. However, in Ezekiel 24 the headdress is closely related to mourning–it seems like there was a custom to not wear the beautiful headdress when weeping and mourning. However, as we see from the Isaiah passage, the mourning that Israel goes through would be transformed from the sadness of a widow into the joy of a bride; from a priest who cannot wear the turban that declares his status before God into someone who can show the salvation of God.


Salvation without transformation is not the salvation of God. As such, salvation is paired with righteousness in classic Hebraic parallelism.[6] First it is paired with the righteousness of God, understood as the redemptive, saving activity of God. God transforms Zion from a desolation to a delight of the LORD. However, the scope of God’s salvation is universal, “so the Lord GOD will cause righteousness and praise to sprout up before all the nations.” This vision of universal redemption reveals God’s mercy and generosity in bringing His redemptive work to all peoples. 


Likewise, salvation is also paired with the righteousness of Zion. The transformative, saving power of God will shine from those who were once desolate. His salvation and His righteousness will cause righteousness to come up from Zion. God’s salvation, though it comes through the Jewish people, is not limited to them. Isaiah says, “I will not keep silent”. In the same vein and with the same passion we too must rejoice in the LORD, for we who were once God’s enemies have seen the righteousness of God.


Psalm 147. Psalm 147 begins with the imperative, “Praise the LORD! For it is good to sing praises to our God; for it is pleasant, and a song of praise is fitting.”[7] The psalmist then provides several reasons for this worship: celebrating God’s care for creation, sovereign power over nature, and His protection of His people. This psalm offers a powerful reminder of God’s love, not only for humanity but for all creation. For instance, He “determines the number of stars; He gives to all of them their names” (Psalm 147:4). 


God’s care for all creation is emphasized in that He provides food for the animals and sends rain to water the earth (Psalm 147:8-9). He also can command nature to do as He desires. This care of nature, and power over it, reminds us that humanity is not the sole focus of God’s attention, even though we are made in His image and beloved by Him. When the Lord casts His eyes towards mankind it is the humble of heart that takes His attention. The wicked, those with pride instead of humility, are driven into the ground.


Such humility is crucial for understanding our place in creation—a theme explored throughout Scripture and echoed by thinkers like C.S. Lewis. As Lewis writes in Mere Christianity, “Humility is not thinking less of yourself, but thinking of yourself less.” This perspective aligns with the psalmist’s depiction of God lifting the humble while casting down the proud (Psalm 147:6).


The interplay between humility and pride is a recurring biblical theme. Proverbs declares, “The LORD detests all the proud of heart” (16:5), and both Hannah’s and Mary’s prayers celebrate God’s lifting of the humble. In Psalm 147, the psalmist affirms that God’s favor rests on those who fear Him, rather than on human strength or achievements (vv. 10-11). Moses, described as “very meek, more than all people who were on the face of the earth” (Numbers 12:3), was allowed to speak face to face with God, something the Scriptures attributes to no one else. This humility, as the psalmist suggests, is key to drawing near to God.[8]


The psalm, likely composed in the post-exilic period, also reflects the restoration of Israel under Nehemiah. The Septuagint, the Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures, treats Psalm 147 as two separate psalms, with verse 12 marking the beginning of the second psalm. This division, along with the additional superscription, “A Psalm of Haggai and Zechariah,” ties it to the prophetic era of rebuilding Jerusalem. Understanding this historical context highlights the psalm’s message: even amid adversity and struggle, joy arises from God’s sovereignty and faithfulness.


God’s power over creation and protection of His people are connected in Psalm 147:18-20. The words spoken to create the world are still used to order nature today. And those same words were used to speak to Israel. For the returning exiles, the words of God—the statutes represented God’s ongoing presence and guidance—were a source of hope and joy as they rebuilt their community. In this, Psalm 147 reflects an enduring truth: God is both the Creator and Sustainer of all things, sovereign over the universe yet deeply involved in the lives of His people.


Galatians 3:23-25, 4:4-7.[9] Paul had a very deep understanding of Hebraic thought and understandings of the Scriptures and commonly used them to build up his argument. The Torah, law, is never regarded as a bad thing in Scripture. The Hebraic belief that the Torah gives life is so strong, based on Leviticus 18:5 “You shall therefore keep my statutes and my rules; if a person does them, he shall live by them: I am the LORD” that if obedience of a law would directly and clearly lead to death—such as in the case of lying to save someone’s life during the holocaust or working in a hospital on Shabbat—then that law could be temporarily suspended in that particular case as God gave the Torah to provide life and not death. Psalm 119 is a beautiful ode to the Torah of God, “Blessed are those whose way is blameless, who walk in the law of the LORD… Oh how I love your law! It is my meditation all the day”. And Jesus even declared that he came to fulfill, or carry out, the law in Matthew 5:17. But there is something greater than the law—the lawgiver.


This leads to Paul’s central point: through Christ, God transforms our relationship with the law. The law, though good and life-giving, was never meant to be the ultimate source of redemption. Instead, it serves as a guide and a tutor, preparing humanity for the coming of the Messiah. In Galatians 4:1–7, Paul uses a metaphor familiar to his audience: adoption in Roman law. In Roman law, adoption was a transformative process that secured the status of an heir within a family. This could be done for non-biological children or adults.[10] Once this adoption was made, it was binding. Obviously, there are very real differences between Jew and Greek, as there are very real differences between male and female, but through the Messiah, our status as an heir could be secured in equal measures. Paul uses this concept to illustrate the spiritual transformation believers undergo. Obviously, there are very real differences between Jew and Greek, as there are very real differences between male and female, but through the Messiah our status as heirs is equal before God.


In this context, Paul makes a striking statement, “When the fullness of time had come, God sent forth His Son.” Jesus was sent into human history to redeem those who were under the law. Paul emphasizes the incarnation and the perfect timing of God’s plan. While much attention is often placed on Jesus’ death and resurrection, Paul highlights the incarnation as the foundation of redemption. Paul’s argument is that God’s ultimate purpose is not only to demonstrate His power over life and death but to dwell among His people. Without the incarnation—God taking on human flesh—there could be no death, no resurrection, and no redemption. 


But Jesus was also sent at a specific time in history. When did the fullness of time come? The idea that this "fullness of time" was due to Roman infrastructure, such as roads or a period of peace, is misleading. The Roman Empire was far from peaceful, often at war and notoriously persecuting and enslaving their enemies, particularly the Jewish people. Jesus came when the Jewish people had prepared the way for the coming of the Messiah. John the Baptist preached about the kingdom of heaven and repentance and many came to the wilderness to prepare the way for the Messiah.


Millions of Jews lived in the Roman Empire, with the majority outside of the land of Israel.[11] With the spread of the Jewish people throughout the empire, issues such as the biblical understanding of judgment, morality, salvation, the messiah, and sin could be understood and take root in not only the Jewish communities but also the Gentile God-fearers who followed the Jewish faith. In this way, the world was prepared for the gospel and at this time God sent forth His Son.


John 1:1-18. The Gospel of John does not begin with the earthly birth of Jesus in Bethlehem, as Matthew and Luke do, nor does it leap into His adult ministry, as Mark does. Instead, it begins with a profound statement: “In the beginning” (John 1:1). These words echo the opening of Genesis 1:1 in the Septuagint.[12] This connection immediately situates John's Gospel within the broader story of creation and establishes the eternal nature of the Logos.

Where Genesis 1 continues, “In the beginning, God,” John introduces the divine Logos (λόγος), declaring, “In the beginning was the Word.” This Logos is a concept deeply rooted in both Jewish and Greek thought. For the Greeks, from Heraclitus to the Stoics, Logos was the rational principle ordering the universe, often described by the Stoics as the logos spermatikos, or the seed-bearing rationality underlying creation. For the Jewish tradition, however, Logos (or מֵימְרָא, Memra, in Aramaic) carried a more dynamic and personal dimension, often identified with God Himself in the Targums, the Aramaic translations and interpretations of Hebrew Scriptures. For example, in Genesis 28:21, Memra replaces the divine name, indicating God’s active presence in the world.[13] 

While many accepted the idea of the Logos as divine, John introduces an unprecedented assertion: “The Word was with God, and the Word was God.” This raises a question: How can the Logos be with God and simultaneously be God? The answer becomes clear in John 1:14-18, where the Logos is identified as Jesus Christ. While this idea may initially seem like a radical theological leap, the Hebrew Scriptures themselves anticipate such a relationship within the Godhead.

Isaiah 48:12-16 is particularly significant as a backdrop to John's introduction. In this passage, Isaiah introduces the creator of the heavens and the earth who declares, “I am the first, and I am the last.” Clearly this is God. Yet this same figure, who is “the first and the last,” is sent by the Lord GOD and His Spirit. The creator of the heavens and earth was sent by God. Just as John introduces Jesus in John 1 as the creator and also as God, Jesus concludes in Revelation 22:13, “I am the Alpha and the Omega, the first and the last, the beginning and the end”, once more connecting Himself to the creator in Isaiah 48. 

John also describes Jesus as “the true light, which gives light to everyone” (John 1:9). This motif of light and darkness originates in the Genesis creation narrative and resonates deeply with Jewish exegesis of the Second Temple period. The Dead Sea community famously divided humanity into the "sons of light" and the "sons of darkness." But God’s light shining in salvation in the face of darkness and death is also of great importance throughout Isaiah. By identifying Jesus as this true light, John aligns Jesus with God's salvific work, continually influencing the world even after His ascension.[14]

John’s statement, “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14), is firmly rooted in Hebraic theology. Unlike the distant gods of pagan mythology, who resided atop mountains or in inaccessible realms, the God of Israel has always desired to dwell among His people. From walking with Adam in the Garden of Eden to commanding the construction of the Tabernacle (Exodus 25:8), God’s closeness with creation is a recurring theme. Notably, the Hebrew text of Exodus 25:8 indicates that God desired to dwell “within them,” emphasizing intimacy over separation, and not simply within the tent they were building.[15] Seen in this light, Jesus coming to dwell among us as the Messiah is the reaffirmation of His desire to be intimately involved in the life of His creation—a theme that continues with the sending of the Holy Spirit after the ascension.

Hebraic Perspective. Salvation, as revealed in Scripture, is not about returning to a previous state of being (however good that may have been). While Hebraic repentance is understood to be a return to communion with God, the redemption of God leads to something new and enriched.


Transformation in salvation always involves three recurring patterns in Scripture: crisis, divine intervention, and response. Transformation often begins in moments of brokenness or exile, such as Jacob wrestling with God or the Babylonian exile. God initiates change through promises, miracles, or prophetic declarations, as seen in Isaiah’s proclamation of Zion’s restoration. Finally, human response—faith, repentance, and obedience—brings about renewal. At Mount Sinai, Israel responds to God’s covenant with obedience, becoming a holy nation. In Jeremiah 31:33, God writes His law on the hearts of His people, signifying a deep internal renewal that leads to outward transformation.


Isaiah paints a vivid picture of transformation through the imagery of Zion and Jerusalem. The city, once broken and desolate, becomes adorned like a bride with righteousness and salvation. There will be no return to the Garden of Eden–where paradise was once the Garden of Eden, one day God will bring “the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.”[16] In Isaiah 62:2, God promises to give Zion a new name, signifying its transformation into the delight of the Lord. 


God also renames individuals as a sign of transformation: Abram, the wandering nomad, becomes Abraham, the father of many nations even as Sarai is renamed Sarah; Jacob, the deceiver, who becomes Israel; and Simon becomes Peter.[17]


Psalm 147 expands on this theme of restoration, describing God as the rebuilder of Jerusalem who gathers exiles, heals the brokenhearted, and provides for all creation. Salvation here is tangible, bridging the spiritual and material realms. It is a reminder that God’s promises extend beyond personal redemption to encompass the restoration of cities, communities, and the physical world itself. Salvation integrates the promises of heaven with the realities of earth, demonstrating God’s commitment to renew all aspects of life.


In John 1:1–18, the transformative power of salvation is seen in the Incarnation—the Word becoming flesh. This ultimate act of God entering human experience reshapes humanity’s relationship with Him and transforms the world itself. Through Jesus, the light of salvation shines into the darkness, and humanity is offered the right to become children of God. This new identity transcends ethnic, social, and gender distinctions, as highlighted in Galatians 3:23–4:7, where Paul emphasizes that those who are baptized into Christ are clothed with Him and adopted as sons and heirs of God’s promises. Baptism, originally a ritual of purity, is redefined through Christ’s death and resurrection as a sign of transformation—from slavery to freedom, estrangement to belonging, and death to life. Transformation in the biblical sense is comprehensive, touching every aspect of life—spiritual, ethical, emotional, and physical.


This pattern of transformation is woven throughout the biblical narrative. For example, the children of Israel are transformed at Mount Sinai, where God’s presence and the giving of the Torah reshape them from a disjointed assembly of freed slaves into a covenant community—a kingdom of priests and a holy nation. Similarly, the return from exile is not merely a restoration of the past but a movement toward something new. 


Salvation, therefore, is not static but dynamic, reshaping the world and humanity into a new creation filled with God’s presence and promises. The grand arc of transformation from Eden to the New Jerusalem underscores the comprehensive and holistic nature of salvation. It involves not just spiritual renewal but also physical and communal restoration. 


Through God’s transformative work, individuals are given new identities, communities are rebuilt, and creation is renewed. As Isaiah declares, God is doing a new thing, making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland. This vision of salvation assures us that God’s redemptive power is not limited to the past but continues to bring forth new life and hope, leading His people into something greater than they could ever imagine.

Endnotes

  1. Alternative RCL readings: I Samuel 2:18-20, 26; Psalm 148; Colossians 3:12-17; Luke 2:41-52
  2. The Nicene Creed also starts with the sentence, “We believe in one God, the Father, the almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all that is seen and unseen.” This is a reflection of Biblical truth in a time when the lure of gnostic heresy, that everything physical was bad, was felt strongly in the church. Today, this heresy is, unfortunately, becoming popular once again.
  3. Specifically, the god of creation—who is also the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
  4. Isaiah 61:8-9 speaks of the justice and recompense of the LORD. The Hebrew word here is mishpat מִשְׁפָּט which, indeed, means justice. We might have an understanding of what justice means to us–the righting of wrongs, punishment of wrongdoing. and perhaps even vengeance. In Deuteronomy 32:4 Moses declares that all God’s ways are justice. Many translations render the word mishpat מִשְׁפָּט as ‘just’ so that it reads better in English, “all your way are just”. However, the actual word is justice. Moses is clearly proclaiming that everything that the Lord does is in some way, even if unknown at the time, a form of justice. His blessings, rewards, chastisements, punishments are all part of the actions of God in enacting justice—blessings in that God attaches the idea of everlasting covenant (with the knowledge of God spreading among the nations through the blessings given to Israel) with His recompense.
  5. Scholars can only speculate what the headdress or the turban looked like or even if they are different head coverings or the same head covering
  6. The Bible contains both prose and poetry, however, Hebraic prose often includes poetic qualities even as Hebraic poetry often commemorates historic events. (Even Hebraic narrative often includes poetic qualities–the repetition of the word “eyes” at every key point in the story of Samson to highlight that every man did what was right in their own eyes.) But the most common form of poetry in the Hebrew Scriptures is parallelisms, the expression of one idea or concept in two or more different ways. For example, “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light for my path”. In this particular parallelism from Psalm 119:105 the words lamp and light are paired with feet and path.
  7. The word ‘Hallelujah’ הַלְלוּיָה as an imperative to ‘Praise the Lord’ begins eleven psalms: 106, 111-113, 117, 135, 146-150. Hallelujah is also the final word of twelve psalms: 104-106, 113, 115-116, 135, 146-150. These have come to be known as the Hallel psalms. An imperative is an exhortation or command, such as saying to someone, “Sit” or “Stand up!” It is not inconceivable that, during the Temple service, the conductor of worship would shout Hallelujah, and the worshippers present would then respond to the instruction and join with the Levites in praising the Lord.
  8. James will write the same, “Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will exalt you.” While Paul provides an example to follow, “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit,but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus” (Phil. 2:35).
  9. ACNA includes Galatians 3:26-4:3
  10. The status of biological children could be secured through the legal declarations of wills.
  11. One source, the Syrian Orthodox Primate Gregory Bar Hebraeus, from the 13th century, thought that upwards of 10% of the Roman Empire was Jewish. This was likely a misreading of the percentage of people who lived under the Roman Empire and the number of actual Roman citizens, just under 10% (roughly 6 million Roman citizens in Claudius’ census from 48 CE). Nonetheless, there was a large number of Judeans in the Roman Empire (and, according to Josephus, Israelites in Parthia). Alexandria, one of the larger cities in the Roman Empire, was a major Jewish centre with upwards of 35% of its population being Jewish. From 66-136, between the three great Jewish revolts, an estimated 1.6 million Jews were killed. Cassius Dio, in Roman History 69.14, wrote after the Bar Kokhba revolt, “Five hundred and eighty thousand men were slain in the various raids and battles, and the number of those that perished by famine, disease and fire was past finding out.”
  12. The Septuagint, the Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures widely used in the time of Jesus and the early church, uses the identical first words as John 1:1’s ἐν ἀρχῇ in Genesis 1:1.
  13. Genesis 28:21 in the Targum “וְאֵתוּב בִּשְׁלַם לְבֵית אַבָּא וִיהֵא מֵימְרָא דַיְיָ לִי לֵאלָהָא” (so that I come again to my father’s house in peace, then the מֵימְרָא [LORD] shall be my God.”); Exodus 19:17 also connects מֵימְרָא (Memra, word) to the divine, “וְאַפֵּיק משֶׁה יָת עַמָא לְקַדָמוּת מֵימְרָא דַיְיָ מִן מַשְׁרִיתָא וְאִתְעַתָּדוּ בְּשִׁפּוֹלֵי טוּרָא” (“Then Moses brought the people out of the camp to meet מֵימְרָא [God], and they took their stand at the foot of the mountain.”)
  14. The Greek present participle in John 1:9 suggests that the true light is continually coming into the world. Even after His ascension, Jesus’ light remains, influencing and dispelling darkness.
  15. Exodus spends more chapters describing the construction of the Tabernacle than it does describing the actual exodus from Egypt—which was also so God could dwell among them according to Exodus 29:45-46. God is in the details. The construction of the tent is obviously important, otherwise why spend so much time talking about it. The material used to make the inner sanctuary was called ‘tachash’, a mysterious type of skin. Some versions of the Bible translate this as badger skin or some other animal. Regardless of which animal is being described, the point is that the material is skin. Exodus also tells us it took 9 months to complete the construction of the Tabernacle. It is an ancient Hebrew tradition that says God chose to reside inside a structure made of skin that took nine months to fashion.
  16. Revelation 21:2
  17. God never changed Saul’s name to Paul or called him by his changed name. We don’t know precisely when Saul became changed his name nor why, whether he emulated his forefathers in receiving a new name or simply wished to have a simpler name for the Romans and Greeks he so commonly interacted with than Sha’ul.