Archives for March 2018

Firstborn!: You and the Jehovah’s Witnesses, Part 5

March 29, 2018 by Dan Olinger 2 Comments

We’ve found 3 places in the OT where the word firstborn clearly does not mean “the first one to be born.” So what does it mean in those cases? Let’s work on one of those occurrences and see what we can learn.

Psalm 89.27 reads, “And I will make him the firstborn, the highest of the kings of the earth.” Before we can determine what this means, we need to know who it’s talking about. And that means identifying those pronouns—or rather, the antecedents of those pronouns. Who is “I”? And who is “him”? (And yes, that’s grammatically correct, even though it sounds awful.)

Let’s start with the “I.” Who is speaking in the passage? Well, the previous verse says, “He shall cry to me, ‘You are my Father, my God, and the Rock of my salvation.’ ” OK, the speaker is God; the Psalmist, Ethan the Ezrahite, is quoting God at some length beginning in verse 19.

And who is God going to make his firstborn? We see the answer toward the beginning of the quotation, in verse 20. He’s talking about David.

So. God will make David his firstborn, the highest of the kings of the earth.

Now, we know that firstborn here can’t mean “the first one to be born,” for two simple reasons:

David wasn’t the firstborn. In fact, he was the youngest of eight brothers (1Sam 16.10).
The verb’s all wrong. You can’t “make” someone the first one born, after he’s born. Either he’s already the first one born, or he’s not.

Well, then, what does the word mean? The last part of the verse tells us: “the highest of the kings of the earth.”

Not “the oldest,” mind you, but “the highest.” Here God is using the word firstborn to refer to someone who is over others—who is more important than those around him, who is pre-eminent.

And come to think of it, we know of situations like that in the Bible. Jacob buys the birthright from his (slightly) older brother, Esau (Gen 25.29-34); decades later the same Jacob intentionally gives his grandson Ephraim the blessing of the firstborn over his older brother Manasseh (Gen 48.13-19), to the displeasure of their father, Joseph. The younger became more important than the older.

So how did a mathematical, biological word like firstborn come to have this very non-literal nuance?

The answer is obvious. The firstborn son in a family in the ancient world had certain rights and responsibilities. In the Mosaic Law, the firstborn son received a double portion of the inheritance—so if there were 3 sons, the oldest got 2/4, and each of the other two got 1/4 (Dt 21.15-17). The firstborn would rule the family in the father’s absence; he would be “lord” over his brothers (Gen 27.29).

Since the most important characteristic of the firstborn was his pre-eminence, it was natural to make the word mean that. So the word firstborn came to mean “the pre-eminent one,” “the boss,” “the highest one.”

And that seems to be what the word means in those other two occurrences we found at the end of the previous post.

When God tells Pharaoh that Israel is his firstborn son (Ex 4.22), he is saying that he prefers Israel above all others—including Egypt—and that ol’ Pharaoh had better keep his bloomin’ hands to himself—and Pharaoh learns that lesson in spades through the plagues (Ex 7.14ff) and the massacre at the Red Sea (Ex 14.26-29).
Similarly, when Jeremiah quotes God as saying that Ephraim is his firstborn (Jer 31.9), he means that he prefers Israel (implied as included in the one tribe Ephraim) over their Babylonian captors, and he will certainly restore them to their land after the captivity.

So the word firstborn in Colossians 1.15 could have at least two possible meanings.

It could be used literally: Jesus came into existence by God’s creative act before anything else was created. This is the Jehovah’s Witness position, and it seems heavily favored by the word’s usage statistics.
Or it could be used metaphorically, as it is only rarely elsewhere: Jesus is pre-eminent over all (merely) created things.

Now right here is where most Christians make their big mistake. We’ll talk about that next time.

Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

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Firstborn!: You and the Jehovah’s Witnesses, Part 4

March 26, 2018 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

You and two hypothetical Jehovah’s Witnesses are having a discussion, and they’ve pointed you to Colossians 1.15, where Christ is said to be the “firstborn of all creation.” We’ve noted that the operative word here is the term firstborn, and we’ve set out to discover what it means.

Defining the key terms

Since words have multiple meanings, we need to gather a list of what this key term could possibly mean. We’ve noted that according to its etymology, it simply means that the person is the first one to be born, or to come into existence. That means that our Jehovah’s Witness friends are winning.

But we’ve also noted that etymology is notoriously unreliable as an indicator of meaning. We need to look further.

Step 3: Possible meanings–context

The best indicator of a word’s meaning is how it’s actually used. If Michael Jackson used the word bad to mean “good,” then we need to know that when one of his fans uses the word bad.

Similarly, we need to survey how the word firstborn is used. The most reliable indicator is typically how it’s used in “near context”—the same chapter, the same epistle, the same author. The word does appear just a few verses below this occurrence, in verse 18; we’ll come back to that later. For now, we notice that it appears 3 times in Paul, twice in Hebrews, and twice in the Gospels. If you’re being extra diligent and using Strong’s numbers to check the underlying Greek word, you find 2 more uses, translated “first begotten” in the KJV, both in Hebrews.

So 9 uses in the New Testament. That’s a problem in that 9 uses are nowhere enough to constitute a meaningful dataset; statisticians will tell you that you need 50 whatevers before you can start drawing statistical conclusions. Furthermore, the problem gets worse; of these 9 occurrences, 8 of them are simply calling Jesus the firstborn, which is the very thing we’re trying to figure out. We need verses that use the term to refer to other things, so we can see what the term actually means. Our one instance in the NT, Hebrews 11.28, is a reference to Passover, when the death angel destroyed the firstborn of Egypt, and that’s talking about people and animals that were literally the first ones to come into existence.

Too little evidence, and what little we have says that the Jehovah’s Witness is still winning.

Drat. Again.

But we do have another resource. The Old Testament, the Scripture of the same cultural group, was translated into Greek about 200 years before Christ, which is close enough in time to be useful as evidence. We can take a look at that Greek OT, the Septuagint, to see how much it uses the term.

Firstborn occurs in the KJV OT 110 times. Now there’s a dataset. (If you get more technical and count the number of times the Greek word prototokos occurs in the Septuagint, you’ll get 124. That number’s different for several reasons, which won’t make any significant difference in our work here.)

Of those 110 occurrences, about 97% are literal—that is, we’re talking about a human or animal that is literally the first one born. So 97% of the time, this word speaks of coming into existence.

Who’s winning? The Jehovah’s Witness. Still. And by a mile.

But 97% is not 100%. There are a few instances where the word is used of someone or something that is not the first one born:

Then you shall say to Pharaoh, ‘Thus says the Lord, Israel is my firstborn son (Ex 4.22).
And I will make him the firstborn, the highest of the kings of the earth (Ps 89.27).
With weeping they shall come, and with pleas for mercy I will lead them back, I will make them walk by brooks of water, in a straight path in which they shall not stumble, for I am a father to Israel, and Ephraim is my firstborn (Jer 31.9).

Next time we’ll take a closer look at one of those passages, and we’ll learn of a second possible meaning for our word.

And, more importantly, we’ll also learn how not to completely abuse the Scripture in the process.

Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

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Firstborn!: You and the Jehovah’s Witnesses, Part 3

March 22, 2018 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1 Part 2

Defining the key terms

So you’re deep in conversation with the Jehovah’s Witnesses, and you’re discussing the deity of Christ, and the spokesman clobbers you with Colossians 1.15: Christ is “the firstborn of all creation.” He’s the first created being.

Now what?

Well, you treat this passage like any other. You follow the exegetical process to determine what it means. Since this is a short passage and a simple statement, the process will be a little simpler than if you’re working in, say, Ezekiel 40-48, so this shouldn’t take long.

Step 1: Identifying the key words

You begin by looking at the words. (Were you expecting something more, well, profound?) What are the key words in the passage? You’re going to start with the subject and the main verb, then other nouns and verbs, then adjectives and adverbs. If you were dealing with a longer passage, you’d look closely at conjunctions as well, to see how the statements fit together.

The main verb of the verse is simply a form of “to be,” which in this case is fairly simple. There are nouns—image, God, creature—which here have fairly plain meaning (image excepted, perhaps) and in any case are not the focus of the theological disagreement. Both you and the Jehovah’s Witnesses are going to agree that the key word, the central character in the disagreement, is the adjective firstborn. What does it mean that Jesus is “firstborn”? Everything hangs on the answer to that question.

Step 2: Possible meanings–etymology

Now that you’ve identified the key word(s), you need to find out what they mean. This process will involve multiple steps.

You begin with a critical observation: words mean more than one thing. If you look up any word (in any language, come to think of it) in the dictionary, it’s pretty much always going to have more than one definition. There are exceptions, mostly very technical terms—deoxyribonucleic, for example—but every biblical word I’ve ever studied has multiple definitions (or, as the scholars like to say, “nuances”).

It might seem like the logical place to start is with the question, “Well, where did the word come from?” Or, to put it more technically, what is the word’s etymology? The word firstborn looks pretty obvious, and it is: it comes from two words meaning, um, “first” and “born.” So, the first one to be born, or to come into being. Jesus is the first one to come into being.

Who’s winning so far? The Jehovah’s Witness.

You can double-check in a formal source, like the Oxford English Dictionary (at the library), or Merriam Webster’s, or even dictionary.com. They’ll all say the same thing. First. Born.

Hmm. Well, how about the Greek? I don’t recommend that people who don’t know Greek set out to “check the Greek,” for reasons both practical and professional, but I’ll save you the trouble. The Greek word is prototokos. Proto, “first.” Tokos, “born.”

Drat.

He’s still winning.

I’ll tell you a little secret, though.

Etymology is a lousy way to find out what a word means. There’s even an exegetical error called the “etymological fallacy.” The reason for that is really simple: we’re in the image of God, and God’s creative, and consequently so are we. One of the ways we show that is by coming up with creative uses for our existing words. One reason you can’t understand half the things your teenagers say is that they’re using existing words with meanings that only they and their friends know. Back in the 80s Michael Jackson decided that the word bad actually meant “good,” and we’ve been messed up ever since.

If I were to say, “When the sun set, I polished my chess set while my wife set her hair,” you wouldn’t have any problem understanding the sentence, although it would seem like an odd juxtaposition of observations. The word set occurs in that sentence with 3 completely different and unrelated meanings (to go down; a collection of objects; and to harden in place), but if you’re a native speaker of English, it didn’t even slow you down. How did you sort out the meanings?

Context. The accompanying words sun, chess, and hair told you which meaning, or nuance, I intended in each instance.

So to find out what our word firstborn means, we’re going to have to do some work with context.

Next time.

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

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Firstborn!: You and the Jehovah’s Witnesses, Part 2

March 19, 2018 by Dan Olinger 2 Comments

Part 1

The battleground

So you’re standing on the porch, or maybe sitting in your living room, and the conversation begins. You have a couple of choices. You can just let them talk, and ask clarifying questions along the way, or you can drive the conversation yourself. Either way, eventually you’re going to get to the most serious difference between JW theology and biblical Christianity: the deity of Christ.

Jehovah’s Witnesses, as modern ideological descendants of Arius and his followers, believe that Jesus is a created being, the first of God’s creatures, and then the creator of everything else. They happily show you where your Bible teaches that:

Who [Jesus] is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation (Col 1.15).

The designated spokesman of the pair will show you the passage in your Bible and then say, trying not to sound triumphal, “You see, this verse clearly says that Jesus was the first created being.”

What are you going to say to that? Many Christians find the statement a little troubling and seek to counter it with a bunch of other verses that, they say, teach the deity of Christ. You know, verses like John 1.1 (boy, is there going to be an argument about that one; few things are more comically futile than two people who don’t know Greek arguing about what the Greek says), and John 8.58, and Titus 2.13, and Isaiah 9.6, and …

But there’s a problem or three with that approach. First, you’re trying to win an argument by having the more verses. And in doing that you’re implying that the Bible teaches both sides, and the side with the more verses wins. And that’s an implicit denial of the unity and inerrancy of Scripture. Second, you’ve failed to respond meaningfully to his argument, thereby giving him a solidly planted tent peg that he doesn’t deserve. And most important, you haven’t gained from the Word what this verse actually teaches. If all the Scripture is profitable (2Ti 3.16), then you ought to mine the gold from this passage.

So what do you say about this passage? Here you have a wonderful opportunity to teach beyond the argument. You have a chance to teach these folks some exegesis, through which, if they heed it, they’ll be finding problems with their own theology all by themselves for the rest of their time as Jehovah’s Witnesses.

But it’s going to take some time. So, I suppose, those of you who are sitting on comfortable couches and drinking iced tea will have a bit of an advantage.

Exegesis is simply the process of getting the author’s intended meaning from a piece of writing. You do exegesis all the time, even if you’ve never heard the word before. In fact, you’re doing it right now—you’re reading my words and getting the meaning from them.

Most of our daily exegesis is pretty simple: Stop. Authorized personnel only. Exit left. Wait here to be seated. Waffles $8.95. Electronics Department. Lather, rinse, repeat.

But lots of writing requires more care in understanding correctly. Good poetry, for example, typically requires some scratching of the head, stroking of the beard, and furrowing of the brow. Narrative is much easier. In biblical studies, epistolary literature, of which Colossians is one example, requires considerable thought, especially when it’s developing an argument over multiple paragraphs and even chapters.

That means there’s a process for exegeting challenging writing. This process has multiple steps, each of which you need to do in its order and with careful thought. This passage is a great opportunity to learn the process, because it’s brief, but it also requires all the steps of the process if you’re going to understand what it’s saying. Further—and this is really cool—if you follow the process carefully, the meaning is absolutely clear, and it’s absolutely impossible for the passage to say what the Jehovah’s Witness claims it says. But all along the way, until the very end, your JW friend is going to think that he’s headed for a win; he’s going to be the proverbial hare to your tortoise.

All of that makes the exercise deeply enjoyable.

So next time, we’ll head jauntily off toward Understanding.

Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

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Firstborn! You and the Jehovah’s Witnesses, Part 1

March 15, 2018 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

To engage or not to engage

It’s not a question of “if.”

It’s only a question of “when.”

You’re going to open your front door, and two Jehovah’s Witnesses are going to be standing there. And they’re going to want to talk.

There was a time in this country when door-to-door salesmen were common and generally welcome, as another supply vector—for Fuller brushes or Hoover vacuum cleaners or Schwan’s ice cream. But those days are gone; today Americans are unanimously thinking How can I get this bozo off my porch and get on with my life? That’s not true in many other countries, but it’s true here.

So I know what you’re going to be thinking about those JWs.

Great. Just great. This is not a good time. Come to think of it, it’ll never be a good time. I have better things to do.

But. Do you? Really? Unless you’ve just called 911, and somebody’s exsanguinating on your kitchen floor, I’m not so sure you really do have better things to do.

There is a heaven, and there is a hell. And everyone’s going one place or the other. And here are two people, in the image of God, who have gone to the trouble of coming right to your door, and who want to talk about Jesus.

Now, exactly what better things do you have to do?

First question: do you invite them in? or do you talk on the porch?

Most Christians know about 2 John 7-11—I suspect mostly because it’s a great way to get yourself out of talking to them and back to those “better” things you have to do:

⁷For many deceivers have gone out into the world, those who do not confess the coming of Jesus Christ in the flesh. Such a one is the deceiver and the antichrist. ⁸Watch yourselves, so that you may not lose what we have worked for, but may win a full reward. ⁹Everyone who goes on ahead and does not abide in the teaching of Christ, does not have God. Whoever abides in the teaching has both the Father and the Son. ¹⁰If anyone comes to you and does not bring this teaching, do not receive him into your house or give him any greeting, ¹¹for whoever greets him takes part in his wicked works.

So someone who “does not abide in the teaching of Christ,” who, as in this case, denies the deity of Christ, is a false teacher, and we’re not supposed to let him into the house.

Several years ago, I was helping a pastor friend plant a church in a Boston suburb. One afternoon we were planning the next Sunday’s service when the doorbell rang, and there were two JWs. My pastor’s words to them were curt:

“I know who you are; you’re Jehovah’s Witness; you’re heretics, Arians, and your heresy was condemned by the church in the fourth century. The Bible says I can’t invite you into my house, so I have nothing to say to you. If Dan wants to talk to you out here on the porch, he’s welcome to do so, but as far as I’m concerned, this conversation is over.”

And he closed the door in their faces. (I was young and a seminary student and spoilin’ for a fight, so I engaged them for quite a bit there on the porch—but that’s a story for another time.)

My pastor friend interpreted the 2 John passage very literally—on the porch, OK, but not in the house.

Other students of the Bible have read the passage differently. They suggest that in the first century, to “receive [someone] into your house” meant to give him a place to stay, and that meant that you were effectively endorsing him in your community. They note that when Jason, a man from Thessalonica, offered Paul and his team a place to stay, the locals took that as support and endorsement and even threatened Jason with civil forfeiture (Acts 17.1-9). Long before that, Lot took strangers (actually angels) into his house and felt obligated to protect them from the townsmen to the point that he offered the mob his own daughters for sexual assault (Gen 19.1-11). Hospitality in the ancient Near East was a very serious business indeed.

So, these interpreters suggest, the issue isn’t whether the conversation takes place inside or outside the house; the issue is whether you act toward them in a way that implies endorsement or recognition as anything other than false teachers. So, they would say, invite them in; show them to a seat; offer them some (sweetened!) ice tea. And then have a gracious but frank conversation with them about the error of their ways.

Whichever interpretation you take, I think you ought to have the conversation. The image of God is very serious business as well.

Next time: then what?

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

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On Existential Providence

March 12, 2018 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

God’s in charge.

He’s sovereign; his will is always accomplished. That includes the big things, and the tiny little things. In my case, tiny little things brought existential results: I wouldn’t exist without them.

My Mom grew up in Brockton, MA, the daughter of hardworking and really interesting Universalists. On graduation from high school, she went to secretarial school and then moved to Baltimore during World War II to work some sort of secretarial job. She got an apartment with a roommate named Nikki.

Dad grew up in the Pacific Northwest, born in Salmon, ID. By age 13 he’d lost both of his parents, and he finished his youth under the freewheeling stewardship of his older siblings, mostly in Spokane, WA, and LA (where he experienced the Long Beach earthquake of 1933). Around 1944 he volunteered for the Army, mostly, I suspect, to get out of the house. Basic training at Camp Roberts in California, then off on a troop ship to the Philippines, as a replacement soldier for the combat-depleted 31^st “Dixie” Division, known today as the Alabama National Guard. Spent time on both Leyte and Mindanao, with little combat; made a little extra money by cutting other soldiers’ hair in the jungle.

When the war ended, he returned Stateside and was sent to Fort Meade, MD, during the last days of his enlistment.

One weekend he got a pass and went into Baltimore.

I dunno, I think I’d have gone to Washington. But he went to Baltimore.

He and a buddy or two dropped in to a café to get something to eat. As they were getting seated, Dad noticed another couple of soldiers making a clumsy pass at two girls who were paying their bill at the register. The girls clearly didn’t want to talk, but the guys kept trying.

Dad got up and told them to knock it off. We can all see they don’t want to talk to you; leave them alone, and get out.

They were privates. Dad was a corporal. They got out.

Dad said a few words to one of the girls. Yeah, she was my Mom.

And 8 years later, along came Yours Truly.

So for me, this is really an existential story. I wouldn’t be here if that hadn’t happened. And oh, yeah, neither would my sisters.

What are the odds?

How did a boy from Idaho, 2 miles down from the Continental Divide, end up in the Philippines with a unit from Alabama?

And how did he and the future Mrs. O. end up in Baltimore, where neither of them had ever been before, at the same time for completely unrelated reasons?

And how did they end up at the same hole-in-the-wall café on supper shifts that overlapped by about 10 minutes?

What if he’d come to supper 15 minutes later?

What if a couple of jerks hadn’t hassled the girls on their way out?

What if?

Our lives are an endless stream of details, winding in and out of other endless streams, sometimes apart, but occasionally intersecting. And those intersections are usually brief and trivial and quickly forgotten. What was the name of the guy you greeted on the way into the drugstore yesterday afternoon?

But sometimes those intersections change lives, and those times they change all the world for the people involved.

And God oversees and directs the whole symphony.

The God who raises up kings and sets them down again, who empowers the existence and continuance of the whole universe, who sees that the water cycle and the seasonal cycle continue despite our attempts to contort and convolute them, this God engineers the tiny little details as well.

The tiny little trivial ones, and the tiny little existential ones.

I’m glad of that.

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Cry, the Beloved Country

March 8, 2018 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

I visited South Africa for the first time in the year 2000. I tell my friends, and my students, that you cannot visit Africa without leaving a piece of your heart there. I love many countries and people in Africa, but South Africa is as close to my heart as any. It has a stark beauty in its land, in its people, in its many languages, even in its accents.

My favorite place in the world, oddly enough, is not in my homeland; it is in South Africa—Dias Beach, at the Cape of Good Hope. It’s like no other beach—or place—in the world.

And so it’s hard to put into words how deeply my heart was broken by the news that the South African Parliament, which meets in Cape Town, has voted to expropriate farms owned by whites without any payment, to establish justice for apartheid.

It’s not certain yet; the proposed constitutional amendment needs to be approved by the Constitutional Review Committee, which will render a decision by August, and then be approved by 2/3 of Parliament. I’m not well enough informed on South African politics to guess on the odds of that happening. But I do enough theology to comment on the underlying causes.

For decades the South African government viewed black Africans as inferior and instituted a system of segregation and discrimination against blacks that it called apartheid, Afrikaans for “apartness.” It was similar in many ways to conditions in the Jim Crow South, though there were some differences in the particulars.

One law was that blacks were not allowed to own land. The predictable result was that virtually all private land was owned by whites. Under increasing world pressure, the white government abolished apartheid in the early 1990s, and former prisoner Nelson Mandela rode a wave of popular support to the presidency in 1994.

It was a precarious time. There were cries for retribution in the name of justice, and whites, whether landowners or not, were afraid. To pretty much everyone’s relief, Mandela rose to the occasion, declaring that there would be justice for all, but not revenge. A Truth and Reconciliation Commission was established to hear testimonies of injustice and abuse under apartheid. The truth was both told and heard, and the explosive situation was handled deftly. Every white South African I’ve spoken to in the years since has told me that Mandela was a good man. They mourned his death alongside his black countrymen, who called him by the tribal honorific “Madiba.”

Mandela was a flawed man, like any other. He did foolish and sinful things in his younger days. But I have respected his conscious decision to rise above revenge to act for the good of his country. We all could benefit from more such men.

So South Africa prospered, unlike its near neighbor Zimbabwe, which raced headlong into revenge mode. Under the dictator Robert Mugabe, Zimbabwe confiscated white-owned farms in the name of retribution and justice. The country swiftly descended into economic chaos, and societal chaos quickly followed. When I visited Zimbabwe in 2010 you could buy a 1 billion dollar note as a souvenir for a couple of US dollars; the Zimbabwean retailers wouldn’t even take Zimbabwean money, but our US dollars were welcome.

I don’t know what will happen in South Africa. The new president, Cyril Ramaphosa, claims the confiscations will be done in a way not to cause economic harm. I don’t see any way he can keep that promise. I’m afraid that South Africa is about to learn that killing the goose doesn’t yield any more golden eggs. And a great country will face a long period of economic and social hardship.

This is what sin does.

God created men and women—all of them—in his image. World history is an unbroken story of peoples in power abusing those out of power, denying their imageship. And that sin, like all sin, has consequences, and long-lasting ones at that—consequences that outlast generations. Apartheid set the stage for suspicion, hatred, revenge; and this generation and future generations will reap a bitter harvest.

My prayer is for grace, mercy, and peace for all the dear people of South Africa. May the gracious hearts of my many South African friends—black, white, and coloured, in places like Guguletu, Kuilsrivier, and Beverly Park—prevail to bring peace and mutual respect to their beautiful land.

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On Reading Numbers (the Book, not the Digits)

March 5, 2018 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Well, you got through Leviticus, and you found that it’s got a real devotional punch if you pay attention to the big ideas. And now you’re in Numbers. Funny name. Lots of repetition. And details. And, well, numbers.

What’s with that?

When Numbers begins, Israel is still at Sinai, where they’ve been for the year since leaving Egypt. They’ve received the Law (that’s the last part of Exodus, and all of Leviticus), and they’re preparing to continue to Canaan. When Numbers ends, the people of Israel are at the Jordan River, ready to enter the land (Dt 1.1). For those of you keeping score, that means that the entire 40 years of wilderness wandering takes place in Numbers.

So what’s with the numbers? What’s that all about?

Oh, this is really good. Really good.

The book begins, as you might expect, with numbers: a census. God directs Moses to count all the men in the Israelite army (Num 1.2-3). Moses obeys, and we’re told that Israel’s army numbers just over 600,000 (Num 1.46).

Hold that thought.

Now Israel prepares to travel from Sinai, what we might call Constitution City, to their permanent home, promised by God to Abraham all those centuries ago. If there are 600,000 soldiers, then you probably have about 2 million people in all, and moving that many people around is going to require some organization. So God describes the organization of the camp (Num 2); the jobs of the Levites in breaking down, carrying, and setting up the Tabernacle (Num 3-4); and the dedication of the Tabernacle to active service (Num 7-9).

Now we’re ready to move. Off we go.

The Israelites decamp and head for Canaan (Num 10-12), arriving at Kadesh-Barnea, near Canaan’s southern border, where God instructs them to investigate the land they’re about to enter (Num 13). What they see makes them afraid, and they refuse the land God has assured them is theirs (Num 14). God sends them on a 40-year hiatus, where the fearful adults will all die, leaving their “vulnerable” children to take the land by force (Num 14.28-35).

Yikes. That’s a turn of events.

And the rest of the book describes the torturous turns of those 40 years of wandering in the wilderness. Someone has estimated that for those 40 years, about 85 people died every day, on average, until all the adults were gone. That’s 40 years of daily grief, reminding Israel of the perils of faithlessness.

God is killing them all. Will he eradicate them? Or will he keep his promise to Abraham, 400 years ago, that they would occupy the land (Gen 17.8)?

Well, that’s where the numbers come in.

In chapter 26, Israel has arrived at the plains of Moab, just across the Jordan River from Jericho and the rest of The Land. All the older generation is gone now, and the current generation can see the land ahead of them. Will they be able to take it?

God answers their question with a second census. Count all the soldiers, he says. They do.

How many soldiers are there? 600,000 (Num 26.51). Just as many as there were before.

In judgment, God remembers mercy. He destroys the faithless generation, but he sees to it that four decades later, the army is just as large as it was before, despite their less-than-ideal living and breeding conditions.

The promise is still good. The land is still theirs. God’s judgment has not disabled the promise.

The numbers have spoken.

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One Tiny Reason Why I’m Not a Secular Humanist

March 1, 2018 by Dan Olinger 3 Comments

One Wednesday evening I was driving to an elders’ meeting at my church. Because I had taught a 4 pm class, I had just 40 minutes, from 4:50 to 5:30, to get to the meeting. And at 5 the traffic picks up considerably on the arterial I need to drive on, so the pressure’s on. Sometimes I just skip supper and wait to eat till I get home, but that day I was hungry—hangry—and there’s a Hardee’s right on the way so, maybe, if I time it just right, I can rush out of class, get on the road before the crush starts, and pop into the drive-through lane for a quick burger that I can eat on the way. Boy, that would be great.

No students need to talk to me after class—that’s the first auspicious sign. I skip dropping my stuff off at the office and hustle to the car, parked right outside the classroom building, and throw the books into the back seat. Fire up the car, straight ahead, left at the gym, out the side gate, right to the light, left to the Hardee’s. Not much traffic so far.

Nobody in line at the drive-through! Awesome! I pull into the parking lot and swing around to the order spot. Hustle, hustle, hustle.

The voice comes on. I order the mushroom and swiss burger, “Just the sandwich, please.”

“Would you like fries with that?”

“No thank you, just the sandwich, please.”

“How about a drink?”

“No, just the sandwich.”

“Could I interest you in a—“

“JUST THE SANDWICH!”

Oh, great. My single-minded focus on my own little problem has just led me to yell at a perfectly nice teen-aged girl who’s working hard and taking responsibility for her own life, just like I always say teen-agers ought to. And in a minute I’m going to pull up at her window and have to talk to her face to face.

What an idiom. What a maroon.

I briefly consider just driving away, but that would be, well, cowardly, and plus, I’m still hungry.

So I pull around to the window, and the little wisp of a thing leans out of the window and says, “I’m sorry, sir, but I have to ask you those questions. I’ll get fired if I don’t.”

I tell her I’m sorry, and I know she was just doing her job, and she’s doing an excellent job at that, and what I said was uncalled for, and I’m sorry, and I’m really, really sorry.

And I was. Because I was wrong. Utterly, completely, abysmally wrong.

Where did that rudeness come from? I was on my way to an elders’ meeting, for crying out loud. At church. All for Jesus!

That rudeness showed up because it was in there. Because it’s a part of who I am. Self-centered. Impatient. Unkind. Just rude.

I want to think otherwise. I really do. I’m a good person, right?

No, I’m not. Not because people are basically good, and not because I had two good parents, and not because I grew up learning to get along with siblings, and not because we didn’t have video games when I was a boy, and not because uphill both ways.

And this after more than 50 years of sanctifying work by the ever-faithful Spirit of God. After all this time, you’d think I’d be better than this.

But I’m not.

And that, my friend, is just one tiny reason, of many, why I’m not a secular humanist.

From every stormy wind that blows,
From every swelling tide of woes,
There is a calm, a sure retreat—
’Tis found beneath the mercy seat.

Hugh Stowell

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