Dan Olinger

"If the Bible is true, then none of our fears are legitimate, none of our frustrations are permanent, and none of our opposition is significant."

Dan Olinger

 

Retired Bible Professor,

Bob Jones University

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On How to Think about Enemies, Part 5: More Exemplary Pagans

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Part 1: Introduction  | Part 2: Jonah, for the First Time | Part 3: Exemplary Pagans | Part 4: A Psalm 

Act II of this morality play, as we’ve noted, follows the same structure as Act I. It begins with God’s command to Jonah to go to Nineveh and prophesy (Jon 3.1-2). In chapter 1 the command was the same, but it was accompanied by a reason: Nineveh’s wickedness. The explanation obviously isn’t necessary the second time. 

This second time, in stark contrast, Jonah obeys immediately. No doubt his experience of disobedience has motivated him to behave himself. So off he goes to Nineveh (Jon 3.3). 

There’s considerable discussion about the statement that “Nineveh was an exceeding great city of three days’ journey.” That sounds at first as though it took three days to get there; but following the Fertile Crescent, which was the only way anyone could survive the trip, Nineveh was over 500 miles from the nearest part of Israel, a distance well over “three days’ journey.” Some scholars think the city was so large that it would take someone three days to travel through it, preaching along the way (cf. Jon 3.4). Others have held that it would take three days to travel its circumference. I’m inclined to agree with a recent theory that on official visits to highly important cities, diplomats would spend three days there:

“On the first day a state visitor (ambassador, visiting royalty, etc.) would arrive, get settled, locate the appropriate government officials and present credentials to them. On the second day the visitor would be received by the official(s) in charge and the desired business would be conducted. On the third day an official send-off would be provided, with any responses to the government of the visiting state handed over to the emissaries at that time” (New Bible Commentary). 

Thus it’s a measure not of distance, but of geopolitical significance. 

Makes sense, but I note that Jonah didn’t follow that procedure. 

At any rate, it’s safe to say that nobody’s really sure at this point what the phrase means. 

When Jonah arrives, he gets right to work, going directly downtown, so to speak, and delivering his exceedingly brief message: 

Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall be overthrown (Jon 3.4). 

And once again, the pagans respond better than the prophet does. They repent and believe (Jon 3.5). I note that those two actions are the very definition of conversion. The author seems to say that this repentance was universal in the city. Even the king repented (Jon 3.6) and proclaimed citywide repentance (Jon 3.7-8). 

And he gives his reason: perhaps this foreign god will show them mercy (Jon 3.9). 

I suppose we could question whether everyone was completely sincere; when an ancient Near Eastern potentate issues a proclamation, it’s wise to do whatever he says if you value your life. But God does respond favorably to this remarkable mass repentance (Jon 3.10); apparently it was good enough for him. Centuries later, Jesus would use their repentance as an example of what God wanted from his own chosen people (Mt 12.38-41). 

Now, that raises a question. God didn’t say his threat was conditional, did he? Jonah, the prophet, had simply promised judgment. Did God break his threatening promise? 

There are hints even in the prophecy that it might not be literally fulfilled—that God was offering them a chance at deliverance. First, he sent a prophet. Second, he gave them forty days to think about it. Both of those facts imply that mercy was available. And apparently the Ninevites didn’t need the whole forty days to make up their minds. 

Why did they respond so quickly and decisively? 

Assyrian inscriptions indicate that the Assyrians viewed certain omens as calling for fasting: invasion, eclipse, famine, and flood. One commentator notes, 

“Before Jonah arrived at this seemingly impregnable fortress-city, two plagues had erupted there (in 765 and 759 B.C.) and a total eclipse of the sun occurred on June 15, 763. These … may help explain why the Ninevites responded so readily to Jonah’s message, around 759” (Bible Knowledge Commentary). 

So did God change his mind (Jon 3.10)? I’ve written on that here before. 

This account makes it clear that God responds with mercy to people who genuinely seek it. We know that judgment did indeed come to a later generation of Ninevites, but to those who pled, God was kind. 

That’s part of what we’ll learn here in this series about how to think about our enemies. 

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On How to Think about Enemies, Part 4: A Psalm

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Part 1: Introduction  | Part 2: Jonah, for the First Time | Part 3: Exemplary Pagans 

The disobedient prophet now finds himself dramatically rescued from drowning, but still in a difficult state: he’s in the belly of a great fish. He responds by praying, but not in the usual sense; he doesn’t ask God for anything, even though his circumstances are unpleasant. Instead he offers thanks to God for delivering him. We’re tempted to think that this means he has repented of his resistance to God’s will; but as we’ll soon discover, he has not. He’s apparently just relieved—very greatly relieved—that he’s not drowning anymore—as, I suppose, any of us would be. 

This prayer of thanksgiving is actually a psalm. One commentator notes, “Thanksgiving psalms have usually five elements: (i) an introductory statement of appreciation for rescue; (ii) a description of the misery rescued from; (iii) a description of the appeal for rescue; (iv) an indication of the rescue itself; and (v) a testimonial or vow to continue to show gratitude via future worship. The psalm of Jonah includes all five elements, in the order listed above” (New Bible Commentary). 

Naturally, there are sceptical scholars who question whether anyone could compose such a literary work under Jonah’s circumstances, and then remember it later to write it down. I readily confess that I couldn’t do it, but then, I’m not a prophet working under divine inspiration—and neither, I observe, are the sceptics. 

We have what we have, and we have no sufficient reason to reject it as spurious. So let’s allow the psalm to reveal its standard form. 

Statement of appreciation 

Jonah 2.2 is a declaration of his rescue and a strong implication of his gratitude (“He answered me … You heard my voice”). He emphasizes this by saying the same thing twice in slightly different words—what scholars call “synonymous parallelism.” He described his state as being rescued “from the depth of Sheol,” or the place of the dead. Interestingly, it was a common belief in those days that the journey to Sheol took the soul three days and three nights. The last verse of chapter 1 reports that that was how long Jonah spent in the fish’s stomach—an experience, then, of death itself. 

Misery Rescued From 

Jonah turns to describing the condition he was in before his rescue (Jon 2.3-6). 

Note that he says that God, not the sailors,  “cast [him] into the deep.” He recognizes the sailors as simply the agents of divine providence. 

“The deep” or “the roots of the mountains” may not mean literally the very bottom of the Mediterranean; its average depth is nearly a mile, and of course no one could hold his breath for the time needed to reach that depth. Hyperbole is one of many figures of speech commonly used in poetry. But he was in way over his head—literally—and he had no hope of survival apart from God’s intervention. 

Appeal for Rescue 

His appeal covers just one verse, Jonah 2.7. 

Jonah the rebellious prophet did what anybody of any spiritual state would do facing death: he prayed. And God heard him, and he suddenly found himself no longer drowning. How long it took him to figure out where he was we can’t know. He knew the place smelled bad, but he also knew he could breathe. To a drowning man, that is literally the only thing he wants. 

Rescue 

He describes the rescue itself in the last line, or stich, of verse 6 and in verse 8. God has “brought up [his] life from the pit.” Verse 8 describes those who “forsake their faithfulness,” reminding us that God and his people are in a relationship that expects commitment. By describing others this way, Jonah implies that God, unlike them, has been faithful to the relationship that they share. This is that great Hebrew word hesed, steadfast loving loyalty to a committed relationship. 

Gratitude 

Jonah expresses his gratitude and, like the sailors before him, promises to offer sacrifices of thanksgiving to his rescuer (Jon 2.9). 

Deliverance 

As many have noted, the fish was more obedient than the prophet (Jon 2.10). 

Chapter 3 will surprise us again. This psalm sounds as though Jonah is fully repentant. But he’s not. He’s happy for the deliverance, of course, but his heart still resists the call and will of God. 

More to come. 

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On How to Think about Enemies, Part 3: Exemplary Pagans 

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Part 1: Introduction  | Part 2: Jonah, for the First Time 

Though the book of Jonah is unusual among the Prophets, as we’ve noted, it does begin in the usual way, with a call from God to a prophet to deliver a message. God calls Jonah to deliver a message of judgment to Nineveh for its great wickedness. 

So far, so good. 

But verse 3 slaps us in the face with surprise. Jonah not only refuses the call (can prophets even do that?!), but he boards a ship bound for Tarshish, all the way at the other end of Mediterranean Sea, about as far as anyone of that day could get from Israel—or Nineveh. Does he think he can distance himself from God? 

And why does he run in the first place? We know that Assyria, of which Nineveh was the capital, was the imperial power of the day, and that it was unspeakably cruel as well. Assyrian soldiers would pile the heads of their conquered enemies in a pyramid at the front gate of the conquered city; they would cover the city walls with the skins of their victims; they would torture men, women, and children in ways that I choose not to specify. (This is a family-friendly blog, after all.) Further, both Hosea and Amos, who prophesied at roughly the same time as Jonah, warned that Israel would one day go into captivity in Assyria. All Jews, including Jonah, hated the Assyrians. Why would he hesitate to deliver a message of judgment? 

Well, we’re going to find out later, but until then we’ll have to be patient. 

Remember my earlier assertion that this book is not about Jonah, but about God? We see that demonstrated clearly in the rest of this first chapter, where the actor in chief is God himself. 

First God sends a great storm (Jonah 1.4)—literally, he “flung a powerful wind.” The sailors, likely Phoenicians, call out to their gods for help (Jonah 1.5); they do seem genuinely religious, not something we would expect of sailors—but then this is an unusual storm. 

Sidebar: I’ll note in passing that this account parallels in many ways the story of Jesus calming the Sea of Galilee. I’m not sure why, but it’s interesting to think about. 

Then they cast lots to see who’s to blame for the storm. The Mosaic Law condemns the use of various devices of divination, but these pagans do what comes naturally. And what do you know: here the lots are reliable. So here’s a second thing that God “throws” into the account. 

The lot identifies Jonah. By interviewing him, they learn where he’s from and can thereby identify, in their minds, which god is angry (Jonah 1.9). They ask the prophet how they can best appease his god (Jonah 1.11), and he tells them (Jonah 1.12). 

Initially they don’t want to throw him overboard; they try to row to shore. But since their efforts are to no avail (Jonah 1.13), and since Jonah has already told them what to do, they throw him overboard (Jonah 1.15)—they too do some throwing—but not before asking Jonah’s God to forgive them (Jonah 1.14). And they demonstrate reverent respect for the God of Israel (Jonah 1.16). 

How much better were the pagans than the prophet? Though he had nearly cost them their lives, they treated him with kindness and grace. And how was Jonah treating his enemies? Even worse than it initially seems; as I’ve noted, the full explanation will come later. 

There’s a third thing that the Lord sends. He sends a great fish (Jonah 1.17), who swallows the drowning prophet, thereby protecting him from the raging sea. 

Now, this is a mixed bag. He’s no longer drowning—he can still breathe—but what he’s breathing is pretty unpleasant; we’ve all learned what stomach contents smell like when they show up uninvited. 

This first of the two narratives in the book will end, as I’ve noted, with a conversation with God. We’ll look at that next time. 

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On How to Think about Enemies, Part 2: Jonah, for the First Time 

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Part 1: Introduction 

We all think we know the story of Jonah and the whale.

Well, clearly, we don’t.

It wasn’t called a whale, but a “great fish.” Now, the word fish can refer to anything that looks like what we think of as a fish, so I suppose the creature could have been a whale. Back then, biological taxonomy wasn’t what it is today.

But the book of Jonah is not about the fish. It really isn’t even about Jonah; Jonah is the foil for God, who is the real protagonist.

In the first verse we learn that Jonah is a son of Amittai. That’s also noted in 2 Kings 14.25, where we also learn that he was from Gath Hepher, a village in Galilee, just 3 miles northeast of Nazareth. So he was from the Northern Kingdom of Israel. The Kings passage also places him in the reign of Jeroboam II. Scholars note that Assyria and its capital Nineveh were weak around that time, a fact that might explain the Ninevite king’s apparent humility and call for repentance.

Before we get to the theology, we ought to ask a basic question: Is the story true?

There are elements of the story that, though not technically miraculous, are remarkable evidences of providence—most especially the fish, of course, and the rapidly living and dying vine. Sceptics would reject anything smacking of the miraculous. But scholars have noted that this story doesn’t have the typical characteristics of allegory, or parable, or fable. There’s no known fictional form into which the story robustly fits.

If there is a God, and if he acts, then there is no reason to reject the story as fictional. And since the 2 Kings passage is historical narrative, not historical fiction, a reader would have to reject more than just the fish to call the whole account unhistorical.

Of course Jesus referred to Jonah (Mt 12.39-41). Now there is such a thing as literary allusion, and if I refer to Ebenezer Scrooge as a stingy old miser, that doesn’t mean I think he actually existed. But Jesus referred to Jonah as a prophet, not merely a fictional character, and he cited the conversion of Nineveh as an example for Israel—a fact that would make little sense if the Ninevites’ repentance never happened. Further, in the same discourse Jesus cited the Queen of Sheba (Mt 12.42), whom the Scripture presents as clearly a historical figure.

Jonah is a unique book among the prophets, in that it contains almost no prophecy. His entire prophetic message consists of a few words in Jonah 3.4; the rest is narrative. Further, most other prophets don’t engage in dialogue with God (Habakkuk being the most notable exception). And Jonah, of all the prophets, is simply a bad guy. He’s a bigot who refuses God’s command and complains when the prophecy is fulfilled.

Maybe there’s hope for some of the rest of us to be prophets.

I’m kidding, of course.

The book is structured* around two times that God called Jonah (Jon 1.2; 3.1-2). He disobeys the first call, but a group of pagans, the sailors, demonstrate more piety than he does. He obeys the second call, but only reluctantly, and again, a group of pagans—this time the Ninevites—demonstrate more piety than he does. In both halves of the book, Jonah ends up in a private conversation with the Almighty, and there we get to the meat of the book: who God is with respect to his enemies—and by implication, who we should be as well.

* I’m indebted to the Holman Concise Bible Commentary for this structural analysis.

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On How to Think about Enemies, Part 1: Introduction

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We all have enemies, of one sort or another. A lot of people, particularly Christians, are uncomfortable with that thought: love your neighbor, and love your enemies, and all that. But I’ll observe that the very fact that Jesus tells us to love our enemies assumes, or at least implies, that we have some. And even if you’re one of the few who regularly succeeds at loving your enemies and wishing harm to no one, those enemies are still out there. You may not even consider them enemies and hope and work for peace, but they still consider you an enemy, and that fact is going to affect your relationship. 

People are enemies for lots of reasons. Throughout history countries and ethnicities have positioned themselves as enemies; as the old antiwar song goes, “the French hate the Germans; the Germans hate the Poles; Italians hate Yugoslavs; South Africans hate the Dutch; and I don’t like anybody very much.” These days we hear a lot about political enemies; candidates speak condemningly of their opponents, and the followers of each do the same. Sometimes family members become enemies, often after the death of a parent, when battles begin over what’s left behind. And of course there are religious enemies. Judaism and Christianity have often provoked animosity from nonbelievers, even without our considering the regrettable sinfulness of their adherents. 

All of this, of course, is a consequence of sin, the fallenness of the present world. Of the innumerable attempts by well-meaning persons to bring peace to the world, or to set up a peaceful system within it, all have failed, whether with a bang or a whimper. 

The Scripture speaks of a time of universal peace, and of a Prince of Peace, but he has yet to come. No one is beating his swords into plowshares, despite the statue in front of the United Nations building in New York. 

So what do we do in the meantime? Do we just focus on our friends, and cut out “toxic people” from our daily interactions? Do we present them with indisputable proofs of how wrong they are, and just assume that if they reject our arguments they must be stupid—and thus hate them all the more? 

Do we despair? 

What do we do? 

If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, I think you can predict what I’m going to say next. 

As the sufficient Word of God, the Scripture speaks to this question, as well as all the others. 

There were times in its history when the nation of Israel, which has always been surrounded by enemies, was in particular peril. Two enemies were particularly strong and thus particularly dangerous. The earlier one was Assyria, which in the 700s BC was the Big Kid on the block. After it, in the 500s, came Babylon, which defeated Assyria and assumed its dominance in the world of its day. As we might expect, both of them were bullies—as countries with strong militaries are often inclined to be. 

During those times Israel had many prophets, sent by God both to warn and to encourage his people. Some of them had their prophecies collected into books of the Bible that bear their names. And three of those speak particularly to Israel, and to us, about how we should think about our enemies. Those three, in chronological order, are Jonah and Nahum, who wrote about Assyria, and Habakkuk, who wrote about Babylon (or as he called it, “Chaldea”). 

Because they were speaking for God and by his Spirit, and because God has preserved their words for us today, we can be confident that what they said can be instructive for us as we face our enemies, large and small, intimidating and not. 

I’d like to spend a few—oh, quite a few—posts meditating on what they said about the subject. 

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On the Believer’s Dual Citizenship, Part 4: Longing for the Eternal City 2 

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Part 1: Introduction | Part 2: Living for the Eternal King | Part 3: Longing for the Eternal City 1 

At this point in Hebrews 11 the author pauses to summarize and, perhaps, to clarify what he has said so far. These 5 people—Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, and Sarah—have been chosen for the “Hall of Faith” for a single reason: they trusted God. 

They demonstrated that trust, that faith, by believing that what God had promised he would do, and by embracing those promises (He 11.13). What did that look like? In Abel’s case, it meant simply offering a sacrifice to God from what God had given him, with an attitude that pleased him. The specifics of his attitude aren’t described, but it’s easy to imagine that it involved gratitude and willingness rather than stinginess. In the case of Enoch, the comment that he “walked with God” seems to indicate fellowship between friends. Noah and Abraham evidenced their trust in God by obeying a significantly difficult command. And Sarah perhaps appears here just because of the attitude of her heart as she anticipated a labor and delivery in old age. 

In these different ways, these examples demonstrated that they looked forward to something beyond this life: that after they died, they would have a life that was worth sacrificing for here (He 11.14-16). 

More examples follow: Abraham’s willingness to sacrifice his son Isaac (He 11.17-19); Isaac’s instruction of his sons (He 11.20); Jacob’s anticipating of the covenant blessings on his grandsons as well as his sons (He 11.21); Joseph’s expectation of the Exodus (He 11.22); Moses’ obedience to God in leading it (He 11.23-29); Joshua’s obedience at Jericho (He 11.30); and Rahab’s faith in the one true God (He 11.31). 

And then comes a simple list of names, with no descriptions (He 11.32), and of others unnamed (He 11.33-38), all who valued the life to come more than this one, because they trusted God to keep his promises. 

We’ve noted that the author of Hebrews clearly expects us to follow their example. 

What would that look like in these “modern” days? 

It would look like valuing the eternal over the things you can’t take with you. And that would mean that our values and aspirations would be pretty much the exact opposite of the prevailing values and aspirations of our culture. Wealth? Political power? Fame? Are you kidding me? 

That completely changes how significantly this or that election, or this or that scandal, or this or that government policy, affects us. 

It changes how much we value and therefore cling to our earthly possessions. Giving to those in need brings us much less hesitation. Augustine’s earthly city starts to seem relatively trivial. 

It gives us a confident faith in the Great Certainties: 

  • The greater value of the heavenly kingdom 
  • God’s certain deliverance of us to that kingdom  
  • The goodness of God’s plan for us here 

Note that valuing eternity more than the temporal does not mean that we despise the temporal; God gives us good things, and it is appropriate to receive them with gratitude. I like my riding mower. I note that Abraham did indeed prefer Canaan to Ur, even though it wasn’t the heavenly city. 

Eternal values, exercised wisely as we inhabit a temporal kingdom. Stewarding present responsibilities and opportunities even as we await eternal life in a very different place. 

Grace, mercy, and peace. 

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On the Believer’s Dual Citizenship, Part 3: Longing for the Eternal City 1

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Part 1: Introduction | Part 2: Living for the Eternal King 

As citizens of both an earthly nation and a heavenly home, believers think and live in ways that are markedly different from those with only an earthly citizenship. In the previous post we started that contrast by recalling our heavenly King’s Prime Directive, the “Great Commission” (Mt 28.19-20). Our life focus, our overriding mission, is to take the gospel to the ends of the earth. It’s been my pleasure to do that on several continents, but it’s worth noting that Jesus’ command was to start where we live (Ac 1.8). 

As we do that, other distinctives reveal themselves. There are many examples in Scripture, in both Testaments, of people who carried God’s Word to their families and neighbors. The classic summary of these efforts appears in Hebrews 11, the so-called “Hall of Faith.” Here we meet several believers from the Old Testament—some of whom we’re surprised to find here—with a description of their attitudes. It’s worth looking through those descriptions for attitudes that we should adopt these centuries later. 

The writer begins by talking about faith, the characteristic he’s going to choose as key for his list. In the larger context of Hebrews, he’s writing to what we might call New Testament Jewish believers, urging them not to return to Judaism. So it’s pretty clear that he intends this list of Old Testament examples to be examples for us, living as Christians in the New Testament economy. The writer confirms that in verse 4, when he says, “he being dead yet speaketh.” These long-dead saints are speaking to us. 

What are they saying? 

The first example is Abel, who “offered a more excellent sacrifice than Cain” (He 11.4). We’re not told why it was more excellent; I was taught as a youngster that Abel offered the blood sacrifice that God required. But there’s no indication in the Genesis account that God had given any instruction about blood sacrifice; some note that God made Adam and Eve “coats of skins” after their sin, and it’s reasonable to conclude that the animals who donated those skins died, but their death is not called a sacrifice, and in any case, God offered it rather than commanding Adam and Eve to offer it. We certainly can’t hold Abel—or Cain—to the Abrahamic or Mosaic requirements centuries before they were given. All we know is that Abel’s sacrificed pleased God, while Cain’s didn’t. Cain’s response—murderous rage and then arguing with God (Ge 4.5-15)—indicates that the difference between the two men was in their attitude toward God. Our Hebrews passage will develop more details about that. 

The second example is Enoch, who is said simply to have “pleased God” (He 11.5); the OT account says that he “walked with God” (Ge 5.22). 

What do Abel and Enoch have in common? Their focus was on what God wanted, not merely their own earthly concerns. They wanted to please God. 

And our author next tells us that there’s only one way to please God, and that’s to trust him. In the original languages, “trust” and “faith” are the same word, both as nouns and as verbs. “To have faith” simply means to trust. 

We find this principle repeated in the next examples. Noah trusted God that rain was coming, even though it had never rained before, and he proved his trust by spending a century building a really big boat. Abraham trusted God’s call and proved it by uprooting his sizable business and moving to a place he’d never been. Sarah had some doubts about the pregnancy, of course—she was 90 years old, and the whole concept made her laugh (Ge 18.10-12)—but once she was pregnant, she believed that God would give her strength to deliver, and Abraham named her son Isaac—“laughter”—in a delightful double entendre, a nod to Sarah’s faithlessness and God’s faithfulness. 

There’s much more to consider in this passage. Next time. 

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

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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 

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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 15th 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 19th and 20th—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 

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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