The Symbolism of Deuteronomy 26

In this essay, we are going to look at the symbolism and meaning in Deuteronomy 26—a place where you might not think there is going to be symbolism at all.

What is fascinating about this passage is that it serves as good practice for learning to read and notice things well. It appears to be a more normal, straightforward text. There is nothing that immediately jumps out as strange or as obviously calling for deep symbolic meaning. So this is a great exercise for sharpening our literary eyes.

The Liturgy of the Firstfruits

Let us begin by looking at the text itself:

When you come into the land the Lord your God is giving you for an inheritance, and have taken possession of it and live in it, you shall take some of the first of all the fruit of the ground which you have harvested from your land that the Lord your God is giving you, and you shall put it in a basket, and you shall go to the place the Lord your God will choose to make his name dwell there. And you shall go to the priest who is in office at that time, and say to him, “I declare today to the Lord your God that I have come into the land the Lord swore to our fathers to give us.”

Then the priest shall take the basket from your hand and set it down before the altar of the Lord your God. And you shall make response before the Lord your God:

“A wandering Aramean was my father, and he went down into Egypt and sojourned there, few in number; and there he became a nation, great, mighty, and populous. And the Egyptians treated us harshly and humiliated us and laid on us hard labor. Then we cried out to the Lord, the God of our fathers, and the Lord heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression. And the Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with great deeds of terror, and signs and wonders. And he brought us into this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. And behold, now I bring the firstfruits of the ground, which you, O Lord, have given me.”

And you shall set it before the Lord your God and worship before the Lord your God. And you shall rejoice in all the good that the Lord your God has given to you and to your house, you and the Levite and the sojourner who is among you.

The Broad Architecture

What is particularly fascinating about this? Let us step back and think about the broad architecture of what is happening here.

You have been working the soil, and you have harvested your firstfruit. You are commanded to take that fruit, put it into a basket, and carry it on a journey to the Tabernacle or the Temple. You bring it before the altar, and there you perform this liturgy: you present this offering, you make this sacrifice, and you recite this specific speech. That is the overarching architecture.

Now let us start thinking through the symbolism.

The Altar as Mount Eden

First, we need to understand what an altar actually is. An altar is a symbolic mountain. In its earliest form, like in Abraham’s day, it is simply a pile of rocks. Later on, when you get to the Tabernacle and the Temple, it becomes much more stylized, but it remains a symbolic mountain.

The purpose of setting up an altar is to declare, “I want to go back there.” When Abraham sets up altars throughout the land, he is essentially saying, “I want to go back to the mountain.”

Well, what mountain? Mount Eden.

How do we know Eden was a mountain? We know it in two ways. First, the river flows down out of Eden and divides into four rivers, which indicates elevation. Second, in Ezekiel 29, Eden is explicitly described as a holy mountain. It is Mount Eden. An altar is a miniature Mount Eden.

What sits on top of an altar? Fire, consuming the animals placed upon it. And what was placed on the mountain of Eden after mankind was driven out? Cherubim with a flaming sword turning every which way.

So the altar says, “I want to go back to this mountain, but I cannot go back there until God calls me back. In the meantime, I am going to make these little memorials.” It is like when a soldier goes off to war and carries a photograph of his wife. He is saying, “I cannot wait to get back to her, and I have this little token to hold onto until I can return.” The altar is that miniature mountain token.

Taking Fruit in a Redemptive Mode

Now look at what the Israelite does at this mountain. Notice what the text says: he is taking fruit.

I realize that “fruit of the ground” functions as an idiom for whatever agricultural produce he has harvested, but the text specifically uses the word fruit. Think about that phrasing: have we ever heard of someone “taking fruit” before?

Yes, of course. This is an intentional replay of Genesis, but now enacted in a redemptive mode.

In the beginning, in Genesis 3, we took the fruit and stole it away from God. Now, the worshiper is commanded to take fruit, go on a journey up the mountain, and give that fruit back to God. That is the exact symbolism taking place. In Eden, we grabbed the fruit for ourselves; here on the altar mountain, God requires us to surrender it back to him.

Reversing the Silence of Adam

It is also remarkable that this ritual requires such a long verbal liturgy. This is very unique, and it is one of those places where you have to train yourself to see what might otherwise slip right past you.

Consider the whole Mosaic law: there are very, very few verbal liturgical requirements. Most ritual instructions are practical action requirements: do this with the animal, bring it here, cut it here, sprinkle the blood this way, do this a certain number of times. Almost all of the commands specify physical ritual actions. There are hardly any requirements that mandate, “Say this exact speech, say these exact words.”

Yet here in Deuteronomy 26, you encounter the longest verbal liturgical requirement in the entire law. Why?

I think perhaps it is because of a defining characteristic of Adam in Genesis 3: Adam was silent. Adam was given the solemn charge to guard and protect the garden. Then the serpent approaches his wife and begins speaking to her—which is the most bizarre thing in the world—insinuating things that are clearly false. And what does Adam do? He stands there silent. He says absolutely nothing.

In response, in this profound reversal of Adam’s failure, God says, “I am going to require you to speak these words.” This liturgy forces the worshiper to remember God and proclaim all the great deeds he has done. That is the precise opposite of Adam. Adam failed to remember God, and in his silent forgetfulness, he fell into sin.

Every single year, the Israelite was required to rehearse this liturgical drama of the reversal of Eden: take your fruit up the mountain and give it back to God, confessing his salvation with your mouth. This annual drama was meant to shape and form the Israelite’s whole life.

And that, my friends, is why the Bible is art.

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