Dan Olinger

On Jaywalking

October 20, 2025 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Longer post than usual.

New experience last Friday. I got hit by a car while crossing the street.

I was jaywalking, which I now don’t recommend.

A teenager was turning left into the street I was crossing. She looked left: clear. She looked right: a car coming, but waaaaay down the street. Plenty of time to get into the traffic flow if she didn’t dally. Watching left, which was her only traffic, she gave it gas.

At that moment, I stepped into the lane she was turning into, having followed precisely the same mental process she had, verifying that it was safe to cross. I was looking right, away from her, to make sure the far lane was remaining clear.

The next few seconds were kinda confusing.

Why are my feet above my head? Why is my head on the ground? Why am I covered in [censored for the squeamish; if you’re not, and you want to see a really cool pic, click here]?

I was EMT-certified years ago, after our first daughter was born, and one of the things I have known since then is that scalp abrasions and lacerations bleed profusely for a few seconds and then settle right down. They look a LOT worse than they really are. So I wasn’t particularly concerned by the ruby cascade, but of course lots of people would be horrified.

Then began the screaming and crying.

Not me, you knucklehead. Her.

I’ve been driving for over 50 years, and I’ve been in multiple accidents, some of which I caused, but I’ve never hit a pedestrian. That must feel awful.

And she’s just a kid.

I feel terrible about that. And especially since she really didn’t do anything that a more experienced driver couldn’t have done.

I spent some time trying to calm her down—”I’m OK,” that sort of thing. But she was having a really bad experience.

I also feel terrible about the fact that it happened on an arterial to the BJU campus, at 7.50a, just when everybody’s showing up for the day. I started getting texts immediately. The whole institution apparently saw the newly retired Chair of the Division of Biblical Studies and Theology go, um, head over teakettle and bleed all over the street.

Oh, great.

A BJU staff member jumped out of his car to see if I was all right. Turns out he was my student 20 years ago. Thanks, Nick.

The highly conscientious and effective and thoughtful city of Greenville sent everybody they had, in literally seconds. Ambulance. Police. Fire truck, for crying out loud. Back all the traffic up, so everybody can get a really good, leisurely look.

Oh, great.

They did a really good job. I considered refusing treatment—I really felt fine—but the EMT voice in my head kept whispering “Subdural hematoma, you bonehead,” and I acquiesced.

Fun conversation with the EMTs in the ambulance. One of them was a sister-in-law of another former student. Fond memories, Drew. Fun conversation with the folks who greeted me in the ER. Fun conversation with the nurses who wired me up to the cardiogram and the sphygmomanometer and the little oximeter on my index finger.

Wait for the doctor.

Wait some more for the doctor.

Fun conversation with the policeman who cited me for jaywalking. Just for the record, given the layout of that street, I had a perfectly good reason to be jaywalking, and I’m pretty sure I can argue for it if I need to. But I probably won’t. Need to, that is. The traffic judges here have a pretty good reputation for being reasonable.

By the way, he didn’t cite the driver. I’m no expert on the law, but at this point I don’t have any reason to object. I wish her the best.

Wait for the doctor.

Initial consult. Doc says I’m in great shape for a guy my age, and that I’m “highest priority” for the CT scanner.

Wait for the scanner.

Fun conversation with the nurse, who asks if I need anything. I tell her I desperately need the C-collar to go away. She sympathizes, but there’s nothing she can do.

Wait some more for the scanner, for which I am, ahem, “highest priority.”

Several more conversations, over an unremittingly lengthening timespan, with the nurse, who is very attentive and eager, but she can’t remove the C-collar or bring me a decaf latte with half and half from the food court in the main lobby. I ask if I can just pop over there and get one. I think you can guess what her answer is.

Fun conversation with the transporter who shows up to take my gurney and me to the scanner.

Fun time in the scanner. It’s not as loud or scary or uncomfortable as I thought it would be.

Fun conversation with the (different) transport person who takes me back to my cozy little alcove in the ER. I feel like asking him to take me by the food court in the lobby, but I’ve resigned myself to what I know his answer will be.

Wait for the doctor.

Wait some more for the doctor.

Here he comes. It has now been, oh, about 5 hours.

He checks my neck. Says the scan showed nothing going on in my head.

No kidding!? I’ve known that for decades.

He and a medical student on rotation clean my head wound—that hurts, but within reason—and wash the blood out of my hair. I ask if he can add some body to my hair while he’s at it. The student laughs.

Students are like that.

The student tells me that one of her classmates in med school is a BJU grad. I don’t recognize his name, so I immediately feel sorry for him for going all the way through BJU, with all those excruciatingly difficult pre-med classes from Dr. Chetta, without taking a single class from me.

My wife shows up. The nurse says I’m all ready to go, with nothing to sign or nuttin’.

Limp to the exit. Hmm—starting to feel some pain in the hip. (I’m kinda surprised they don’t put me in a wheelchair; I’ve seen hospital staff insist on that when I’ve picked up other people to take them home. And I do have a yellow band on my wrist that says “Fall Risk.” I wonder if six months ago it would have said “Spring Risk.”)

My beloved brings the car around, having to maneuver through the tight space left by a meal delivery person who took up the whole bloomin’ two-lane drive-through. At the ER. Now *there’s* a knucklehead.

Home.

Alive. Well. Sore, sure, but did you notice the alive and well part?

Let’s end with some theology.

I can testify that God is good. But if I were seriously injured, or dead, he would still be good.

Amen.

Have a good day.

And be careful crossing the street.

Photo by Jonnica Hill on Unsplash

On the Big Story, Part 3: The Kingdom of God

October 16, 2025 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

Part 1: Introduction | Part 2: Israel and the Church 

How do Israel and the church fit together? And are there any other stages in the Big Story that God is telling?

What should we make of all this?

Oh, my friend, this is not dusty theology. This has everything to do with today’s news cycle, and more importantly how we live in and respond to it.

The New Testament speaks often of “the kingdom of God.” John the Baptist introduces the term (Mt 3.2), and Jesus presents himself as the fulfillment of John’s prophecy (Mt 4.17; 12.28; 16.28). It’s a major theme of Jesus’ teaching (e.g. Mt 13), and it shows up in the writings of Paul, Peter, John, and James.

So what is it? Well, a kingdom typically involves three elements:

A king, or ruler

A realm, or sphere of authority

A people, or subjects

The kingdom of God, then, might be defined this way:

God reigns in heaven and on earth, over a people he has created and called, for the praise of his glory (Ps 103.19).

That reign has manifested itself persistently through the history of the world and will continue forever:

The cosmos (Gen 1-11): God created it from nothing, and he sovereignly directs it. We literally set our watches by this cosmic direction.

Israel (Gen 12-Mal): This is the kingdom of God as manifested throughout the Old Testament. He originates it in Abram; he constitutes it at Sinai; he appoints its leadership, climaxing in David and Solomon; he sovereignly directs its location in Canaan, then Egypt, then Israel, and even Babylon and Persia.

The church (Acts-Jude): This is the kingdom of God throughout the New Testament and up through today, all the way to the return of Christ. God originates it at Pentecost through the work of his Spirit; he empowers its spread as evidenced in Acts; He sets forth its moral code in the Epistles.

The eschaton (Revelation): “Eschaton” is just a fancy term for the time after Jesus returns; it literally means “the last thing.” At that time God will invade the realm of earth and establish his kingdom (Rev 20). (Here I’m taking the position that the millennial kingdom is visible, earthly, and yet future. Many will disagree with me.) Then he will create a New Heaven and a New Earth (Rev 21-22).

So how does all this affect the way you and I live today and tomorrow?

To begin with, we recognize and take into account the fundamental, universal principle of all existence, which is that God is in charge.

A lot of people don’t like that principle, particularly in the West, where democracy is ingrained into us, and we talk a lot about our “rights.” But I’ll observe that according to the USA’s founding document, we are endowed with those inalienable rights by our Creator; even our democratic republican system begins by recognizing that God is in charge.

Now. How do we think and live under that dominating principle? How do we respond to the evidences of brokenness in our human social and political systems? We manifest God’s rule in multiple ways. Let me suggest just a few and leave you to see how far down that road your own thinking can take you:

We seek to know Him personally.

We obey His will as expressed in the Scripture.

We submit to earthly authorities* because they are under His dominion (Rom 13).

We live trustingly and confidently—optimistically—in a broken world, or at least we’re supposed to, because we know that the Sovereign is wise and good and will bring it all out in a good place.

We seek an eternal kingdom, thereby relatively devaluing the present world. That means we live in grace, peace, and confidence instead of fear, frustration, and anger.

As the people of God, we inhabit our phase of history, of God’s plan, with confidence in the one whom we know intimately, who has all power and exercises it wisely and beneficently. And I’ll observe that as God’s people, we can do the world a lot more good by living that way, in sharp contrast to the spirit of any age, than by acting as frustrated, angry, and afreid as everybody else.

Vive la difference.

* As I’ve noted before, there are exceptions to this rule at times when our authorities are not in fact respecting God’s dominion.

Photo by Carlos Magno on Unsplash

On the Big Story, Part 2: Israel and the Church

October 13, 2025 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Introduction

We all know that the Bible consists of two parts, the Old Testament and the New Testament. Within those two divisions, we find that the people of God are organized differently. In the Old Testament, after the primeval period in Genesis 1-11, God begins to establish his people as a family—specifically the family of Abraham, then Isaac, then Jacob, whom he later names Israel. As the family grows, Jacob’s twelve sons become tribes constituting the people of Israel.

In Exodus, God turns this family, this people, into a nation, with defined leadership and explicit laws. And the rest of the Old Testament is the story of this nation—a turbulent story indeed.

These are the people of God.

How do you become part of the people of God? Usually, you’re born into it, but there are exceptions. When the Israelite slaves are delivered from Egypt, some Egyptians come with them; at Jericho, a Canaanite woman—a prostitute!—asks for asylum and is granted it. And the Mosaic Law provides for “strangers”—foreigners—who can be admitted to Israelite citizenship.

But for the most part, the people of God in this stage are genetically determined. And that leads to some, well, imperfections. Throughout Israel’s history, some percentage of Israelites do not believe in Israel’s God. At times, hardly anybody in Israel really belongs to God. The prophets paint a dark. stark picture. But for now, the people of God are defined in terms of ethnicity, of nationality, and, after the Conquest, of geography.

When we come to the New Testament, the whole picture changes. Now the people of God are defined by their belief in God. Ethnicity (Ga 3.28) and nationality (Ro 13) and geography (Mt 28.19-20) become irrelevant; the church begins in Jerusalem and expands throughout Judea, but soon it’s in Samaria, and then it explodes across the Mediterranean Basin. Within a generation or so it’s in India, and soon in China, and once the New World is discovered in the late 15^th century* it immediately takes hold there as well.

Now. How do these two manifestations of “the people of God” relate?

So far in church history there have been two basic answers to that question. There may be other theories in the future, but for now this is what we have.

One approach is that Israel has been replaced by the church. The promises that God made to Israel in that historical context have either been fulfilled already (e.g. the land promise [Gen 15.18] under Solomon) or are now given to the church. That means that modern Israel has no biblical or theological significance; it’s just another country, like Liechtenstein or Malawi. And that means that Christ’s kingdom is not an earthly, political kingdom; it’s either the influence of the church in the world (postmillennialism) or the reign of Christ in the hearts of his people today (amillennialism).

For most of church history, this approach, and specifically amillennialism, has been by far the majority view. Today it’s called “Covenant Theology” and is held by Presbyterians and a few other groups.

Another answer to the question is that Israel and the Church are distinct—perhaps eternally distinct—entities. God has not yet completely fulfilled his promises to Israel—most especially the Land Promise. That means that he will fulfill that promise at some future time, in a political kingdom here on earth. The Temple will be rebuilt; David’s greater son, Christ, will reign from Jerusalem, and that earthly reign will last for a thousand years.

Elements of this view were held in early apostolic times; many of the Apostolic Fathers, for example, held to a literal earthly reign of Christ. But fairly soon a literal reading of prophecy fell out of favor, and the idea of spiritualizing the kingdom became dominant. But in recent centuries—the 19^th and 20^th—this second view, called Dispensationalism, has become popular and even dominant in evangelical Christian culture.

I prefer one of these two views, but I don’t believe that this question should cause rancorous divisions in the body of Christ. I think it helps us to see that we all agree on The Big Story:

God is creating a people for his glory.

He began doing so with a physical illustration (Israel), including an ethnicity and a legal system.

That people demonstrated a need for something beyond the physical arrangement.

Having demonstrated his point, God graciously did what Israel could not.

Incarnate, he kept their Law in their place.

He offered himself as the perfect sacrifice for their sin.

He promised to return as king.

And then he extended this offer of grace to the entire world.

Next time we tie these two entities, and more, into the Really Big Picture.

* Sure, the Vikings. But they made no lasting settlement. And the Native Americans apparently had no history of contact with Christianity before they arrived in North America.

Photo by Carlos Magno on Unsplash

On the Big Story, Part 1: Introduction

October 9, 2025 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

I think it’s time for something different here on the blog. I often write about theology—by my count 518 (65%) of the 800 (!) posts so far, with 266 (33%) focusing on systematic theology and 25 (3%) on biblical theology. (I’ll confess that my recordkeeping has been imperfect; there’s another project for my retirement.) While I’ve taught academically in a university environment, I’ve determined to keep this blog on a popular level, simple enough that even I can understand it. No theological nerditude here.

But I’d like to get a little more academic in this brief series—still simple and clear, Lord willing, but sounding more like a teacher than an opiner—because I think this topic is worth addressing in this venue.

I’d like to talk about the theology behind The Big Story. It’s often been observed that the Bible, while a book of commandments and morals as well as a collection of stories, most of which we like to tell our children, is at its most basic a Big Story, and a story not so much about Adam and Noah and Abraham and David and Peter and Paul as about God: who he is, what he’s like, and what he’s doing here on earth and beyond for his own purposes. In light of that, it’s worth taking a look at the big picture so we can accurately place all the little ones.

What God is doing in this Big Story is gathering a people for himself—a people to be his sons and daughters (or whatever we’ll call people in eternity, where there is apparently no sexual identity; Mt 22.30), to know him, to love him, to serve him perfectly and successfully, and to glorify him forever. How he’s been doing this is a lesson in wisdom, power, and grace.

He began by including everyone; both of the two original humans were in his image, after his likeness (Ge 1.26-27), and they have multiplied and filled the earth (Ge 1.28). But as we know, those first humans opted out of God’s family, rejecting his plan and going their own way (Ge 3.1-24). Maybe God drew them back to himself later; though there are rare hints, we’re not told whether or when.

Now, God knew this would happen; this is just the beginning of his plan, and one way he is showing his wisdom and goodness in that plan.

Over the next few centuries there are individual people who walk with God. The Scripture mentions Abel, and Enoch, and Noah, and a line of “sons of God” (Gen 6.2; and no, I don’t think those were angels; don’t even get me started on the current fascination with the Nephilim).

But God’s plan goes well beyond just a few individuals. He has in mind an eternal nation, a people for himself.

His first step toward that great goal is to designate an earthly nation, Israel, as his own people. As we know, they proved to be highly erratic and unfaithful, though they were also an avenue for God’s Word and for the Coming King, in whom God permanently embodied himself as a man. And even in this early stage, God makes it clear that Gentiles—proselytes, converts—are welcome in this nation, if they will follow him.

But when the King comes—the first time—God expands the vision. He begins at Jerusalem and Judea, but then expands to Samaria, and to a Roman centurion and his family, and by commission to the ends of the earth. The family is now not one nation, but representatives from every nation—all who will come. And Jesus uses a word the Jews already know well—ekklesia, assembly—to describe this new “nation,” the church.

The Scripture uses a third term for the people of God, one that envelops both Israel and the Church and looks ahead to the eternal state. All of this is “the kingdom of God.”

There’s a lively discussion about these entities and how they relate to one another. I don’t intend to answer all the questions and solve all the problems, because that’s well beyond my ability. But I would like to take a few posts to lay out the land, so to speak, and to identify the questions. I have a position on the questions, but I hope to be reasonably objective.

Next time: Israel and the church. Wish me fair winds and following seas.

Photo by Carlos Magno on Unsplash

On Memes

October 6, 2025 by Dan Olinger 2 Comments

This past week I came across a link to an interview about memes. It sprang from a news story about something—I’ll just say, um, edgy—that the president did, posting a meme that portrayed Hakeem Jeffries, the House Minority Leader, in a sombrero and stereotypical moustache. It wasn’t exactly high art, just a sloppy cut-and-paste job—it was, after all, a meme, and one of the defining features of memes is sloppy cut and paste. The White House released it in both photo and video form; The Guardian and numerous other outlets called the latter a “deep-fake video,” but I don’t think the production values of the video nearly rise, or sink, to that level, though it did put words, including vulgar ones, in Sen. Schumer’s mouth.

The conversation in the podcast—I assume that’s what this interview was part of—turned to the social significance of memes in the current culture, in conjunction with a discussion about whether this particular meme was racist. The guest observed that when he was a young journalist, he would have thought that it was, but that now he’s inclined to see it as a form of political satire. In the process he seemed to be defining memes as a new, creative literary form, combining kitschy art (that was not his term) with creative social comment. I took him to mean that they are an ironic combination of lowbrow graphics with much more nuanced implied commentary.

I don’t think I agree with him—about the novelty, I mean. It seems to me that memes are simply another form in a long tradition of cartooning. This meme, I think, is an example of a specific form of cartooning, the political cartoon, in the tradition of Thomas Nast, but many memes have no political content at all, thus falling into the general category of cartooning. This “new” art form has been birthed by a couple of social factors: the fact that the internet has made everyone a publisher (there was lots of commentary on that 25 years ago or so), and the rise of simple and efficient computer-aided graphics in association with word processing. These factors were new 25 years ago with the advent of the web, but they’re common now; and as I say, the art form of social commentary through graphic design goes all the way back to the ancients.

And that means that the edginess, the acidity, the, well, meanness, of the art form is absolutely nothing new. I easily recall the Palatine Alexamenos Graffito, which pictures Christ on the cross with the head of a donkey; and I’m sure that those with wider expertise in the ancient world could cite numerous examples from the inscriptions and literature that are centuries older than that.

There is a power in cartooning that derives from the cleverness of the nonverbal art. All humans react, at some level or other, to the ironic twist, the “Gotcha!” of a new insight, a new take, especially when it involves a heated social controversy. It makes the proponents laugh, and it makes the opponents rage.

It occurs to me that this rhetorical power is accompanied by a counterbalancing danger, which is apparent in this specific meme. Any visual art, such as a political cartoon, is inherently subjective; it allows the viewer to impose a variety of meanings onto it, with what we might call a reader-response reaction; those who see it will interpret it in the light of their own experiences and ideologies. In this case, the president’s opponents will invariably see it as racist, and his supporters will invariably tell the opponents to lighten up—it’s just a joke.

And that will be followed by commentary on the sad socio-political situation of extreme polarization that gives everybody a hair-trigger, knee-jerk response.

Thus, I suppose, has it ever been.

The current situation gives us a frank look at the moral brokenness of humans. We treat our opponents without empathy, and then we criticize them when they respond as emotional beings with strong convictions—as I do to the Alexamenos Graffito. I don’t see mocking of the Son of God, in the act of dying for my sins, as anything near clever. And I ought to be able, therefore, to empathize with emotional responses to the mocking of the deep commitments of my fellow humans, even those with whom I have significant disagreements.

In every generation there are those who decry the lack of empathy. But if history is any guide, it is likely to remain part of our social fabric until Jesus comes.

I find comfort in Jesus’ promise of return and redemption. For those who see that as fiction, I’m afraid I have no realistic long-term comfort to offer.

On Greeting Strangers

October 2, 2025 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

This is an Old Guy Observation and Meditation.

I’ve noticed over the decades that the practice of greeting strangers is declining. When you pass someone on the sidewalk—or on the street if there is no sidewalk—fewer and fewer of those someones will look you in the eye, smile, maybe nod, and say “Hello!”

During my student days, my school encouraged a culture where you said hello when you passed someone on campus. Of course, there were logistical constraints; if the sidewalk was crowded (say, between classes), nobody felt the need to greet each of those people—though you might greet friends in the crowd as they came by. More recently I’ve noticed that the practice no longer seems to be part of that culture.

Now, I’m not going all “good old days” here; the old days had their imperfections and irritations, and I, like everybody else, noticed them and complained about them more than I should have. And cultural practices change over time, often for perfectly good reasons. I can think of a couple of reasons the practice of greeting strangers has declined.

The first, I think, is a consequence of the Sexual Revolution of the 1960s, which promoted sex as a simple biological function rather than a blessed consequence of a committed union. Anytime a culture rejects the purpose of a divine gift, that gift will become distorted, and the distorted practice will bring dangers and other harms.

In this case, it’s standard safety practice now for lone women to ignore men they don’t know. With the increase in sex-related crimes since the ’60s*, women don’t want to act friendly in situations they perceive as risky. You look straight ahead and ignore the guy. And that’s good thinking. I’m always conscious of when I’m alone and walking behind a lone woman; I don’t want to cause her anxiety, so I’ll typically walk slower to increase the distance between us or even change my course. And of course, if a lone woman doesn’t greet me on the sidewalk, I take no offense. She has no idea what kind of monster I might be.

A related matter is the increase in sex slavery in more recent years. In particular, children are warned about “stranger danger,” and those warnings are eminently sensible. So if kids don’t greet me, I take no offense at that either; in fact, I’m less inclined than I used to be to greet children I don’t know. Who’s this strange old man, anyway?

A second reason for the decline in greetings is technology—phones and earbuds, most commonly. Lots of people multitask with their walking time, listening to music or podcasts, or catching up on texts. Nothing objectionable about that. I’ve noticed a few occasions where I couldn’t see any earbuds, said hello, and the person just completely ignored me. I try to exercise the biblical principle of giving people the benefit of the doubt (1Co 13.4-7, most directly) and just let it pass. Maybe the problem’s more with my eyes than their ears.

But though I understand the forward march of culture, I miss the old practice of saying howdy.

Speaking of culture, something I’ve noticed in rural Africa is the good reason why hardly anything begins on time: when you’re walking to an appointment, you’ll likely meet someone you know, and of course you’ll stop and greet him, and ask him how his family is—each family member, by name—and take some time to demonstrate that you value his friendship. It’s not seen as rude to keep people at your destination waiting; wouldn’t it be even more rude to brush off someone who’s standing right next to you?

I love the sense that makes.

So Africans—and African-Americans—will talk about “Africa time” and laugh, and I’ve come to appreciate the laughter as a nod to a cultural valuation of grace and love for neighbor. Of course we’re not going to start on time—and that’s a good thing!

I’m not going to grouse about the “defects” of our culture like an old curmudgeon, but I am going to keep looking on-comers in the eye and say howdy if they return my look.

If they don’t, no judgment. But I think our world would be a better place if we were on Africa time.

* There’s complexity to the data, including varying legal definitions of rape and consent, and the question of a possible increase in reporting rather than incidence.

Photo by Weichao Deng on Unsplash

Light on the Horizon

September 29, 2025 by Dan Olinger 5 Comments

First, a personal note. Today is the 44^th anniversary of our first date. Happy anniversary, Babe.

Now, the post.

I have a clear memory of an event from when I was just 3 or 4 years old.

My father and I were going someplace in the car—I believe that would have been the yellow 1954 Nash Rambler. I was standing up on the floor behind the front seat. (We weren’t much on child restraint—or anybody restraint—in those days.) It was nighttime, and I got interested in the oncoming headlights. There wasn’t a lot of traffic, but every so often another pair would appear on the horizon. I got to saying, “Here come annuddah one” when that happened.

Dad joined in the game, responding with, “That’s all, Dan, no more.” Of course, that just increased my excitement when the next one appeared. Before long I was jumping up and down and screaming, “HERE COME ANNUDDAH ONE!!!” and laughing hysterically. Dad was laughing enthusiastically too.

I didn’t really understand his joy until I became a Dad myself.

And nearly 70 years later, I remember hanging onto the back of the front seat, and seeing the oncoming headlights, and jumping up and down, and screaming, and hearing my Dad laugh with unmitigated enjoyment.

Dad remembered it too, until the day he died after six years of dementia. We often spoke of it.

Another thought, seemingly unrelated. Bear with me.

My wife and I like to go to Hilton Head Island once a year, sometimes more. I like the fact that now that I’m retired, we can go during the school year, the “off season,” and get lower rates.

When we’re there, one of my favorite activities is to get up an hour or so before sunrise and walk east on the beach for a couple of miles, timing it so I arrive at a certain favorite spot just as the sun peeks the top of his shiny bald head up over the horizon. Typically the beach is empty when I start the walk, but by sunrise there are a dozen or so people at the spot, some doing yoga poses as they face the sun, others reading their Bibles, others just walking around picking up shells.

World War II correspondent Ernie Pyle once wrote, “Dawn is the most perfect part of the day—if you’ve got the nerve to get up and see it” (“Roving Reporter,” The Pittsburgh Press, 7/7/43).

Some people worship the sun; maybe some of the people out on the beach with me fall into that category. But whatever the specifics, we all seem to have this visceral response to the sunrise. It seems meaningful to us, in some way.

Long, long ago the Creator of heaven and earth made a promise. After a global flood of judgment, he said that no such flood would happen again. And then he said,

While the earth remaineth, seedtime and harvest, and cold and heat, and summer and winter, and day and night shall not cease (Ge 8.22).

Every morning, he said, the sun will rise.

I think that our attraction to sunrise is based in the fact that we, in the image of God, rejoice that he keeps his promises—that he is faithful. Even those who don’t know him respond to that image at the very core of their being.

We were at Hilton Head again this past week. And do you know what I thought each morning as I saw the southeastern sky slowly lighten, and the color display adorn the horizon?

“HERE COME ANUDDAH ONE!”

I didn’t jump up and down and shout and laugh hysterically, because I didn’t want to spend the rest of my time at Hilton Head in a padded room.

But the joy was just as intense—even more so, because this light on the horizon is infinitely more meaningful than those oncoming headlights all those decades ago.

And you know what? That sunrise is always there. It’s not transitory. It’s a permanent halo around the earth, which is rotating underneath it at a thousand miles an hour (at the equator). And thus we see it every morning, and again from the other side every evening.

Before they died, my wife’s parents had a small plaque hanging in their hall bathroom. It featured a nature scene and the words “Ever watchful / ever faithful / everlasting is the Lord.”

Indeed.

Photo by Jason Pischke on Unsplash

How God Makes Well-Rounded Christians, Part 10: Closing Thoughts

September 25, 2025 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

So how does God make well-rounded Christians?

Well, like all maturation, it takes time. It involves growth in comprehension, beginning with knowledge that is supplemented by understanding that comes from the means of grace and from experience. It involves growing in one’s knowledge of God and the consequent maturation of a living, personal relationship with him. It involves experiencing hard things that develop endurance and, yet again, more understanding. It involves experiencing victories that teach methods for and confidence in future victories.

The primary element, I would assert, is that personal relationship, that love of God, that makes our confidence in his presence and trustworthiness almost second nature to us, beyond even the ways that we trust our closest human friends. With that relational foundation we walk with him throughout the day; we expect his direction and empowerment; we trust his will, in the light and in the darkness; and we see everything as from his hand, prompted by his wise love, something for which we should be profoundly grateful.

That’s what I want to be when I grow up.

Who is He on yonder tree
Dies in grief and agony?

Who is He who from the grave
Comes to succor, help, and save?

Who is He who from His throne
Rules through all the worlds alone?

’Tis the Lord! oh wondrous story!
’Tis the Lord! the King of glory!
At His feet we humbly fall;
  Crown Him! crown Him, Lord of all!

– Benjamin Russell Hanby

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

How God Makes Well-Rounded Christians, Part 9: Specifics 2

September 22, 2025 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

As we noted last time, Paul ends this chapter by listing, in two parts, a number of things for which we should be thankful. The first part lists what God, in the persons of both the Father and the Son, has done in his work of saving us. The second part, which we turn to in this post, is more personal; in the chapter’s final paragraph Paul focuses on what God has done in us as well as for us; and he meditates on how that has affected his life and ministry, and by implication, how it can affect ours as well.

Building on his summary of what God has done for us in the previous paragraph, he now begins to talk about consequences. What difference does it make in us that the Father and the Son have “qualified us to be partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light” (Co 1.12)?

He has reconciled us to God (Co 1.21-22); we’re not his enemies anymore. We don’t have to be afraid.

How has he done that? The Son became human, corporeal, so that he could die “in the body of his flesh” (Co 1.22); and by that death he paid the price for the sins we had committed, which sins had positioned us as God’s enemies. The offended one took the offense on himself and brought reconciliation. We are forgiven.

As a result we are “holy and unblameable and unreproveable in his sight” (Co 1.22). As far as he is concerned, we are in a special class, with nothing to answer for. And this is someone who knows all things perfectly. He knows. But he will never speak of our offenses again.

If you stick with it (Co 1.23). Now, this calls for some explanation. Paul is not saying that we have to stop sinning in order to “stay saved”; he has already said clearly that those who have begun by faith cannot mature through works (Ga 3.3), and he will later tell a protégé that we are not justified by any works of righteousness (Ti 3.5). He is referring here to Jesus’ teaching (Jn 15.1-10) that all who are genuinely in Christ will abide in him; “continuing in the faith” (Co 1.23) is not the cause of our salvation, but evidence that it has happened. We will endure; we will succeed.

Now Paul gets more personal. He begins to express his thankfulness that God has allowed him to have a part in telling the Colossians and others of these great gifts of salvation (Co 1.23-29). He vows to remain faithful to his calling, to continue to spread the word of the gospel so that more may hear.

How is that something for which we can be thankful?

Well, Paul is not unique in his divine calling. Jesus’ last words to his disciples—and by extension to us (Mt 28.19-20)—were the same call that Paul would later receive (Ac 9.15): we are to take the gospel to the ends of the earth.

What a privilege that is! That we should be appointed representatives of the very God who created heaven and earth! That we should be ambassadors of reconciliation, of peace, of joy to those who walk in darkness! That every day we can watch for divine appointments, “chance” meetings, brief interactions that can make an eternal difference!

How can we not thank him?

How can we not face the real and significant challenges of each day with the joy of anticipating God’s presence and power and provision from beginning to end?

How can we not face the darkness and chaos of our culture with the joy of knowing that God has already provided the means of reconciliation and applies it, with infinite power and certain success, to the hearts of those who believe?

Next time: a brief closing thought.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

How God Makes Well-Rounded Christians, Part 8: Specifics 1

September 18, 2025 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Paul has spent just under 3½ verses (Co 1.9-12a) summarizing the process by which God matures his people. That’s taken up 7 posts so far in this series. Now, jumping off from his final step of thankfulness, Paul spends almost 17 verses—almost 5 times as many—delineating specific things for which we should be thankful.

This is no afterthought. It’s at the core of what matures us. If we want to grow up, we need to pay thoughtful attention to the list, so we can construct our thinking around it—so it can inform and underlie what we think about everything else.

I note that Paul’s list comes in two sections. In the first (Co 1.12-23), he focuses on what God has done for us in salvation. In the second (Co 1.23-29), he meditates on the great gift God has shown him personally in allowing him to have a role in spreading the story of that salvation.

Much could be written on these verses—and much has been. One of my commentaries has more than 50 pages of dense type exegeting just these 17-18 verses. Given the purpose of this blog, I won’t do that. :-) I’ll summarize.

But here at the beginning I’ll say that these truths should fill our thoughts every day; they should inform our decisions; they should drive our goals. They should be how we live.

So we turn to what God has done for us. Paul focuses first on the Father’s work, and then on that of the Son.

What has the Father done?

who has qualified us to share in the inheritance of the saints in light (Co 1.12). We were by nature not qualified to be saints (“holy ones”) and thus to inherit their standing before God. God has made us qualified. (Paul will explain how he has done that in a bit.)

He rescued us from the domain of darkness, and transferred us to the kingdom of His beloved Son (Co 1.13). We were by nature citizens of a dark kingdom, one ruled by the evil one; and we were not inclined to emigrate. But God made us citizens of an infinitely brighter kingdom, one ruled by his Son, one greater than the Evil One.

Now Paul expands on the person and work of the Son, who has redeemed us.

in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins (Co 1.14). The Son has removed us from under the authority of the Evil One and has made us his own, or redeemed us. We have a new passport, one that gives us entrance to the spiritual universe over which God himself rules. And he has done all this by the simple (!) act of forgiving our sins. That’s what frees us from the Evil One; that’s what “qualifies us to share in the inheritance of the saints in light” (Co 1.12).

He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation (Co 1.15). The Son is Lord over all—even the Evil One. I’ve written much more extensively on this passage elsewhere.

For by Him all things were created, both in the heavens and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things have been created through Him and for Him (Co 1.16). The Son is the Creator; he is the “Elohim,” “God,” of Genesis 1.

He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together (Co 1.17). He also maintains all that he has created; he is what we call “Providence.”

He is also head of the body, the church; and He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, so that He Himself will come to have first place in everything (Co 1.18). As the one who created us and who redeemed us from the Evil One, he is the head of the body of all believers; he directs our life here on earth, and we represent him here. Further, his resurrection from the dead guarantees our own resurrection in due time.

For it was the Father’s good pleasure for all the fullness to dwell in Him (Co 1.19). The Son is all that the Father is; God is One.

²⁰and through Him to reconcile all things to Himself, having made peace through the blood of His cross; through Him, I say, whether things on earth or things in heaven (Co 1.20). All of this is but a part of something far bigger than you and I. God is reconciling everything—the universe and everything that is not the universe—to himself. In his plan, all will be at peace, ruled justly and cohesively. The chaos will end.

Is there anything here for which we can be thankful? Because of which we can face the pressures and trials of the day?

A day in the light of these truths is a good day indeed.

There’s even more to come. Next time.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash