The Image of God Revisited: From Eden to New Creation

Abstract contemplative artwork of two glowing human silhouettes standing hand in hand under a vast starry night sky. Golden crowns rest on their heads, symbolising humanity’s royal vocation as the image of God. They are bathed in soft golden light, walking toward a distant radiant city on the horizon, with deep blues and purples blending into warm tones of dawn.”

The Bible begins with one of its most subversive claims: humanity is made in the “image of God” (Genesis 1:26–27). This phrase has sparked centuries of reflection. What does it mean to bear God’s image? Is it about dignity, rationality, creativity, or something even greater?

Humanity in the Image of God: Creation as a Cosmic Temple

Genesis 1 is not only a story of beginnings but a story of ordering. The repeated refrain “And God said… and it was so… and God saw that it was good” has the rhythm of a liturgy. Each day God separates, names, and fills, establishing order out of chaos (Genesis 1:2–10).

In the ancient Near Eastern world, temples were microcosms of the universe. They represented the ordered dwelling place of a deity within the chaotic world outside. At the heart of every temple stood an image of the god, placed there after the temple was “ordered” through ritual. This image signified the presence and rule of the god within that sacred space.

Genesis takes this familiar idea but reimagines it in a radically different way. The cosmos itself is God’s temple. The heavens are his canopy (Isaiah 40:22), the earth his footstool (Isaiah 66:1). The seven days of creation culminate in God’s “rest” (Genesis 2:2–3), which in temple language means not inactivity but taking up residence and beginning to reign. God has ordered his cosmic sanctuary, and now he rules from it.

The twist is the image placed within this temple. Unlike the lifeless idols of stone or wood, God’s image is living humanity (Genesis 1:26–28). Men and women are appointed as his representatives, reflecting his character and carrying out his rule in creation. In John Walton’s words, the world is God’s cosmic temple, and humanity is his living idol.

This means the vocation of the image-bearer is inseparable from worship. To be made in God’s image is to participate in the ordering of creation, to extend the boundaries of sacred space until all the earth becomes filled with the knowledge of the Lord (Habakkuk 2:14). Humanity’s task is temple work: to tend, to guard, and to expand the harmony of God’s presence.

Eden as the First Temple and Humanity’s Priestly Role

Genesis does not describe Eden in architectural terms, but later Scripture makes clear that the garden and the temple are deeply connected. The garden is the archetype of sacred space, and the temple is patterned after it.

In Eden, Adam and Eve are given the commission “to work it and keep it” (Genesis 2:15). These two Hebrew verbs abad (to serve) and shamar (to guard), reappear later in the Torah, not for farmers but for priests. The Levites are said “to serve and to guard” the tabernacle (Numbers 3:7–8; 8:25–26). Their task is not just maintenance but worship, guarding the holiness of God’s dwelling from intrusion and defilement. Adam and Eve, then, can be mapped onto the priesthood as its first representatives, called to minister in God’s sanctuary.

The parallels between Eden and Israel’s sanctuary reinforce this. Both are entered from the east (Genesis 3:24; Ezekiel 40:6). Both are filled with imagery of trees, cherubim, and rivers of life (Genesis 2:10–14; 1 Kings 6:29–35; Ezekiel 47:1–12). Gold and precious stones adorn Eden (Genesis 2:11–12), just as they decorate the temple (1 Kings 7:48–50). Even the menorah, with its branches and blossoms, recalls the tree of life at the garden’s centre.

Scholars have argued that the temple is a deliberate echo of Eden, a place where heaven and earth meet, where God’s presence dwells, and where humanity is invited to serve as a kind of priesthood. What Adam and Eve were in the garden, Israel’s priests became in the temple. And what Israel’s priests foreshadowed, the church is called to embody in Christ: a royal priesthood serving in the cosmic temple of the new creation (1 Peter 2:9; Revelation 21:22).

The Distortion of the Image of God Through Idolatry

When humanity abandoned its calling, the image of God became distorted. Instead of reflecting the living God into the world, human beings turned their gaze downward and outward to created things. Scripture calls this idolatry.

The psalmist captures the tragedy with cutting irony: “Their idols are silver and gold, made by human hands. They have mouths, but cannot speak, eyes, but cannot see. They have ears, but cannot hear, noses, but cannot smell… Those who make them will be like them, and so will all who trust in them” (Psalm 115:4–8).

We become what we worship. When we worship idols, we are shaped by their lifelessness. They cannot speak, and so their worshippers lose the voice of true praise. They cannot see, and so their worshippers lose spiritual sight. They cannot act, and so their worshippers lose vitality, becoming passive shadows of what God created them to be. The tragedy of idolatry is not only that we fail to worship God but that we are dehumanised in the process.

Paul makes this point in Romans 1. Refusing to glorify God, humanity “exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images made to look like a mortal human being and birds and animals and reptiles” (Romans 1:23). In turning from the Creator to creation, humans traded their vocation as living images of God for dead imitations of what they desired. Instead of becoming radiant icons of God’s glory, we turn into caricatures, mirrors of idols that can never give life.

This is why idolatry is not just a matter of bowing to statues or pagan gods. It is about misplaced devotion. Career, nation, wealth, pleasure, or even family can become idols when they take the place of God. And when they do, they shape us. A culture that worships money becomes consumed by greed. A society that worships power tends to become violent. A person who worships self becomes hollow. As the prophets warn, idolatry always diminishes. It silences, blinds, and hardens.

Idolatry is the anti-image. It reverses humanity’s vocation. Instead of being mirrors angled toward God and creation, as N. T. Wright puts it, we become mirrors angled in on ourselves. We reflect nothing beyond our own emptiness. This is why the Bible treats idolatry not as a minor sin but as the root distortion of what it means to be human.

Israel as a Kingdom of Priests and a Corporate Image of God

Israel was chosen to carry forward the vocation of Adam and Eve. At Sinai, God declared: “You shall be to me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation” (Exodus 19:6). Scholars stress that Israel was called corporately to bear God’s image by reflecting his character to the nations (Deuteronomy 4:6–8; Isaiah 42:6).

The tabernacle and temple were microcosms of Eden, places where God’s presence dwelt (Exodus 25:8–9; 1 Kings 8:10–11). Israel’s priests mirrored Adam’s task, serving and guarding holy space. Yet, like Adam, Israel fell into idolatry (2 Kings 17:7–18; Jeremiah 2:11–13).

Jesus Christ as the True Image of God

The New Testament announces that Jesus Christ is “the image of the invisible God” (Colossians 1:15). What Adam distorted and Israel failed to embody, Christ fulfils. He is the perfect image, “the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being” (Hebrews 1:3).

Where Adam reached for autonomy, Jesus humbled himself in obedience (Philippians 2:6–8). Where Israel was faithless, Jesus remained faithful. In Jesus, we see true humanity at last: the angled mirror restored. He reflects God into the world and lifts creation’s praises back to the Father.

At the cross, the curse of Adam was undone (Romans 5:17–19). The cross itself becomes a new “tree of life” (Revelation 2:7; 22:2), and from Christ flows the river of living water (John 7:37–39). In the resurrection, humanity’s vocation is renewed (1 Corinthians 15:20–22).

The Church as a New Creation and Royal Priesthood

Through union with Christ, the church is restored as the image-bearing community. Paul calls believers “a new creation” (2 Corinthians 5:17). Peter calls them “a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation” (1 Peter 2:9). This echoes both the Edenic and Sinai experiences.

Empowered by the Spirit (Acts 2:1–4), the church is called to extend God’s reign, to embody his presence in the world, and to reflect his character to the nations (Matthew 5:14–16). The church is not saved to escape the world but to anticipate the renewal of creation, partnering with God, bearing His image in Spirit-filled lives of holiness, justice, and worship.

Revelation and the Fulfilment of the Image of God

The final pages of Scripture reveal where the entire story has been leading. John’s vision in Revelation is not about escaping earth but about heaven and earth becoming one, creation renewed, restored, and filled with God’s presence.

He sees a new heaven and a new earth (Revelation 21:1). The holy city comes down, radiant and alive, like a bride prepared for her husband (Revelation 21:2). A voice from the throne declares what was always God’s intention: “Look, God’s dwelling place is now among the people, and he will dwell with them” (Revelation 21:3). What was glimpsed in Eden, God walking with humanity in the cool of the day, is now fulfilled on a cosmic scale.

John says there is no temple. “I did not see a temple in the city, because the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are its temple” (Revelation 21:22). The temple has served its purpose as a signpost. Now the whole creation has become the sanctuary. God’s presence is not contained in any building but fills every space, and his people live fully as priests within it.

The imagery takes us straight back to Eden. A river of life flows from the throne, and on each side stands the tree of life, bearing fruit each month and bringing healing to the nations (Revelation 22:1–2). The garden sanctuary, lost through sin, is restored, expanded, and secured forever. The exile east of Eden is undone, and humanity is brought home.

And what of the image of God? It reaches its fulfilment here. “They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads” (Revelation 22:4). To bear God’s name is to bear his image perfectly, no longer fractured by sin, no longer bent toward idols, no longer half-lit by shadows. Humanity’s destiny is communion, not autonomy, participation in glory rather than deformation into lifelessness. “They will reign for ever and ever” (Revelation 22:5).

Here everything comes together. The cosmic temple finds its goal. The priesthood of Eden, the vocation of Israel, the faithfulness of Christ, and the Spirit-filled life of the church are all gathered up and perfected in the New Jerusalem. What was distorted by idolatry and restored in Christ is now complete.

To speak of the image of God is to speak of our future. We are not creatures fumbling for meaning in the dark. We are God’s living images, created to reflect his glory into creation and creation’s praise back to him. Revelation shows us that future fulfilled: humanity radiant with God’s presence, reigning with the Lamb, mirrors angled perfectly at last.

The Church of Eden

Some people, in order to discover God, read books. But there is a great book: the very appearance of created things. Look above you! Look below you! Note it. Read it. God, whom you want to discover, never wrote that book with ink. Instead, He set before your eyes the things that He had made. Can you ask for a louder voice than that?

Saint Augustine. The City of God, Book XVI

In my experience, Christianity and nature don’t go together. I think a lot of us Protestants are scared of making an idol out of cheese. Stepping out and getting any spiritual substance from nature feels like pagan worship. Nevertheless, for thousands of years, the Church and even the Old Testament Jews have had a rich tradition of finding God not only in the pages of sacred texts or within the walls of a temple or a church but in nature itself. For me, church on a Sunday can get boring. Nature doesn’t. At church, we have baptisms in a font. In nature, God baptises the world with ever-winding rivers, boundless oceans, and tranquil lakes. At church, we have choirs and bands that stir a crowd. In nature, God stirs the heart with the clap of the trees, the melody of the wind, and the euphony of the animals. At church, we preach from the Scriptures to teach, correct, and rebuke. In nature, God strikes the reader with awe as we pore over the stars. In church, we meet with God in sometimes clinical rituals, polished halls, and typically with masks on. In nature, we meet with God in untamed sacraments, wild establishments, and unmasked hearts.

I’m not a hippy. I don’t hug trees, and I’m not about to join PETA. I’m not even a good environmentalist. I love long showers, I’m often lazy with recycling, and I love a good steak. (and wings). There are days, weeks even where I’d rather spend my time playing video games, binging the Big Bang Theory, and scrolling through Facebook. I love rainy days, coffee, and sleeping in. As much as I know nature is a good place for me to be, it takes more effort than I’m proud to admit to get amongst. Nevertheless, when I’m forced to climb that mountain and see that view, or when I’m walking along the esplanade and I see the ocean stretched out before me, I’m always struck, even just a little, by how God takes up and dwells in more than the four walls of a church.

Elsewhere, I argue that our churches should be a slice of paradise. A taste of the newly created earth. A miniature Eden and a sacred space. I can’t remember the last time, if ever, where I felt awe-inspired, moved, and truly like I was treading hollowed ground in a church. Particularly within the Protestant tradition, we have demystified, disenchanted, and robbed our sacred spaces of their “magic.” We’ve traded awe and wonder for fog machines and light. We’ve sold profound unity and community and bought programs. We’ve replaced stories and myths with conversations about the weather and movies. We’ve exchanged God’s presence for “doing church.”

In the beginning, God created the world; it was wild and waste; there was darkness and chaos, but God’s Spirit hovered over the deep. Over six days, God moulded the world. He placed the stars, the sun, and the moon in the sky and gave them purpose. God divided the seas above from the waters below, filled them, and gave them purpose. He raised trees, shrubs, bushes, mountains, oceans, rivers, and streams from the earth and gave them purpose. God filled the world with birds, fish, and land animals and gave them purpose. He created humanity and gave them purpose. Finally, on the seventh day, God dwelled with what He had made, and there was purpose and goodness. This is how things are supposed to be in our local churches. Our local churches should feel like we’ve tasted a bit of heaven. Goodness, purpose, God’s presence, unity, flourishing, and life should all be markers of a healthy church. Yet I talk to people who experience emptiness, frustration, shallow relationships, trivial teachings, and superficial prayers every week. It seems that our churches are less Eden and more Tower of Babel.