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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Servant Song 1, Part 1: First Look

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Introduction

Isaiah’s first Servant Song appears at the beginning of chapter 42. There’s some disagreement among scholars as to where precisely it ends; in fact, the precise references of all the Servant Songs are somewhat fuzzy. For the first song, many would limit it to the first 4 verses, while others would take it through verse 9—in which case the song has a second stanza. I decided to memorize the longer passage, so we’ll take two posts for this song, one for each stanza.

This first stanza is in the voice of God, addressing Isaiah’s audience (note the plural “you” in Is 42.9) and referring to the Servant in the third person: “Behold my servant” (Is 42.1). God begins describing with affection, in relational terms:

  • God’s soul delights in him (Is 42.1).
  • God has put his “spirit” upon him (Is 42.1).

I find it interesting that God speaks of both his own soul and his own spirit. Now, since God is not a human, the question of trichotomy—is he body, soul and spirit, or just body and soul?—does not apply to him. I’d suggest, then, that his use of both terms together may suggest that he is “all in” in his relationship with the Servant.

Would it be reading the New Testament back into the Old to find a trinitarian implication here?—that the soul is that of the Father, and the spirit is the distinct person of the Holy Spirit? That would lead us to conclude that the Servant is the “missing” third person of the Trinity, the Son.

My background in biblical theology inclines me to be cautious about seeing too much later revelation here, centuries before the incarnation, so I’ll leave that question open.

The rest of the stanza speaks of the Servant’s task—his calling, if you will—and the manner in which he carries it out. Note the repeated theme of justice:

  • “He shall bring forth justice to the Gentiles” (Is 42.1);
  • “He shall bring forth justice unto truth” (Is 42.3);
  • He shall “set justice in the earth” (Is 42.4).

The Servant’s primary task, apparently, is to overturn the injustice of the world system and make it a place where justice is done. We’re not told yet how he will do this, but those of us who’ve read the rest of the story can see easily where this is going.

The stanza ends with several descriptors of the Servant’s manner. We find that manner surprising, for a couple of reasons. First, he’s presented as mild-mannered; and frankly, mild-mannered approaches don’t typically overturn injustice, especially given the commitment of world rulers to maintaining their own power structures. But this one

  • will “not cry, nor lift up, nor cause his voice to be heard in the street” (Is 42.2);
  • “A bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking flax shall he not quench” (Is 42.3).

A second surprise comes when we read the third description of his manner:

  • “He shall not fail nor be discouraged” (Is 42.4).

This seems to come right out of the blue. Here is someone who has God’s spirit upon him, who is called and empowered to overturn unjust earthly power structures and establish justice all across the earth, reorganizing even Gentile states (Is 42.1), the “isles” (distant coastlands) over which “his law” shall reign (Is 42.4)—so why would we be concerned that he might fail or be discouraged? Where did that come from?

In this first stanza of this first Servant Song, then, we find that the Servant is empowered by God, and in a special relationship with him, and therefore able to do world-shaking things in the cause of justice. Yet, in some way, we’re supposed to be surprised by that. This is a theme we’ll see again in the Songs.

I can’t fail to mention that this stanza shows up in the New Testament, in reference to Christ’s earthly ministry, and specifically in connection to what scholars call the “messianic secret.” Jesus sometimes tells his followers, and the recipients of his miracles, not to tell anyone what he has done. Matthew tells us that he did that in order to fulfill the prophecy of this stanza (Mt 12.15-21); part of his mission, apparently, is to appear not as a conquering king, but as someone who seems not to have any likelihood to be who he really is.

Why? Well, we’re not told. But it occurs to me that God delights in those who come to him by faith, and it doesn’t take much faith to trust in a conquering king on a white stallion. But a Jewish carpenter? from Nazareth (Jn 1.46)? Now, that’s another story.

Photo by Mick Haupt on Unsplash

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Servant Songs, Part 1: Introduction

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For several weeks now I’ve been working on memorizing Isaiah’s “Servant Songs.” I’ve found them difficult to memorize, for a couple of reasons. First, I’m aging, and everything is getting more difficult to memorize. I’ve heard that the brain is more like a muscle than a bucket, and that the more you use it, the stronger it gets. I hope that’s true; if it is, then the difficulty I’m having would be even worse if I weren’t actively exercising my memory muscles.

The second reason this has been difficult is specific to the passages. They’re a set of four, by the same author, in the same prophetic book, and there’s a lot of parallel phrasing in there. (Compare, for example, Isaiah 42.6 and 49.8, and 42.7 and 49.9.) It’s taken some time to get the passages into my head so that my brain knows which specific phrasing goes with which context.

But there are benefits to all that recitation and repetition.

First, as with any memorization, you notice details you didn’t notice before—where the “wills” are as opposed to where the “shalls” are, for example, but often more significant things* such as parallel phrasings that give insight into the structure of the text and thus the mind of the author at the moment he was writing.

Further, the repetition gives you time to “think on these things.” The text makes a greater impression on your mind, and the process forces you to think more deeply about what the author is saying. You notice connections between verses (take a look, for example, at Isaiah 53, which is a chain of thoughts, one link connected to the next phrasally; I first noticed this phenomenon when I was memorizing Psalm 27). My ADHD mind is not good at meditating on things abstractly, but the process of memorization overcomes that disability quite nicely, since I have to think about the thoughts and their connections over a period of time.

A particular benefit of memorizing the Servant Songs is that, in a very real sense, they’re not written to me; they’re written to the Servant of Yahweh, God the Son, the Messiah. As a result, they give us insight into the mind of Christ that we don’t get anywhere else.

In Biblical Studies there’s a concept called “the messianic consciousness”: the idea that the man Jesus didn’t fully understand his divine identity from infancy, but that it developed in his mind as he matured. The Bible does teach that “Jesus increased in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man” (Lk 2.52). Exactly what that looked like is of course a mystery to us—how can the omniscient God increase in wisdom? how can God the Son increase in favor with God? But it says he did. And we presume that he didn’t speak fluent Hebrew when he was a week old or dissertate on the hypostatic union when he was three—though he did astonish the rabbis when he was twelve, and at that age he clearly knew that God was his Father in a way that Joseph wasn’t (Lk 2.46-49).

This concept has raised in my mind visual images of the boy Jesus listening to the Scripture in the synagogue. (His family almost certainly did not have Tanakh scrolls that he could read at home.) At some point along the way, when he heard the Servant Songs read, he realized, “That’s me! That’s talking about me!” Did this realization hit him suddenly, like the proverbial Mack truck, or did the light of understanding rise slowly in his mind, like dawn on the eastern horizon?

I don’t know. But at some point these songs became his. Did he memorize them? Did he pray them to his Father over those long nights alone on a hillside? Did he contemplate them during walks near Nazareth, among lilies and sparrows and brilliantly ornamented wildflowers? Did he come to find meaning in the idea that “this is my Father’s world” that goes well beyond anything that we can say of ourselves?

I’d like to take a few posts, maybe more than usual, to meditate on these songs as a vehicle to seeing Christ the Servant in a richer and rounder light.

* My apologies to our British cousins, who think the difference between “will” and “shall” is meaningful, and who make a practice of using the two words correctly. I can never remember the difference.

Photo by Mick Haupt on Unsplash

Song 1, Part 1 | Song 1, Part 2 | Song 2, Part 1 | Song 2, Part 2 | Song 2, Part 3 | Song 3 | Song 4, Part 1 | Song 4, Part 2 | Song 4, Part 3 | Song 4, Part 4 | Song 4, Part 5

On Sources for the Bible, Part 2: Specifics

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Part 1: Summary

In the previous post I observed that the biblical writers often used other works as they composed their writings—and that they didn’t confine themselves to other biblical works.

Here are the specifics.

I like to organize these references into 2 categories:

  • Consultation, by which I mean that the author says, “This is also recorded in such-and-such a document.”
  • Allusion or quotation, where the author quotes, loosely or directly, from another source, whether he specifies it or not.

First the consultations.

Jewish Sources

  • Book of Genealogies (Gen 5.1)
  • Book of Jasher (Josh 10.13; 2Sam 1.18)
  • Book of Nathan the Prophet (1Ch 29.29; 2Ch 9.29)
  • Prophecy of Ahijah the Shilonite (2Ch 9.29)
  • Visions of Iddo the Seer (2Ch 9.29; 12.15; 13.22)
  • Book of Shemaiah the Prophet (2Ch 12.15)
  • Book of the Acts of Solomon (1K 11.41)
  • Book of Gad the Seer (1Ch 29.29)
  • Sayings of the Seers (2Ch 33.19)

Note that two passages, 1Ch 29.29 and 2Ch 9.29, are particularly rich in these consultations.

I also note that these sources cannot be divinely inspired, since they have not been preserved, as God promised that his Word would be.

A Persian Source

  • The author of Esther (perhaps Mordecai?) consulted “The book of the chronicles of the kings of Media and Persia” (Es 10.2)—perhaps in the same warehouse where the unnamed servant grabbed a clay tablet at random to read to Xerxes so he could sleep (Es 6.1).

And now the allusions and quotations. Where possible I’ve included links to the sources on the internet so you can check ‘em for yourself.

Jewish Sources

Pagan Sources

  • Aeschylus, Agamemnon l. 1915 / 1624 (Acts 9.5)
    • This is included in Jesus’ words to Paul from heaven. Jesus’ sentence is clearly the same as the line from “Agamemnon,” but we can’t be certain that Jesus is quoting that poem. It’s possible that Aeschylus’s line became common in the ancient culture—similar to, say, “Early to bed and early to rise”—and Jesus is simply referring to the popular expression.
  • Epimenides, Cretica (Acts 17.28a; Titus 1.12-13)
  • Aratus, Phaenomena l. 5 (Acts 17.28b)
  • Menander, Thais 218 (1Cor 15.33)

So What?

What does all this mean?

  • The Spirit-driven biblical writers used sources, including pagan sources, with no apparent discomfort.
  • They did so using the standard practices of their day; for example, Paul uses a couple of lines about Zeus and applies them to the Lord. The hearers would be expected to understand what he was doing, and there was no intent to deceive.

Here’s what it doesn’t mean. It doesn’t mean that the source is inspired. We do not “live, and move, and have our being” in Zeus.

One closing note.

Jude cites 1 Enoch in his epistle. Now, we know that the biblical Enoch is not the author of everything in 1 Enoch—but there’s no reason that the traditions on which 1 Enoch is based couldn’t have included some authentic statements of the ancient saint. If Jude had simply cited 1 Enoch without any comment, it wouldn’t matter whether or not what he quoted was actually spoken by Enoch. But he puts it this way:

And Enoch also, the seventh from Adam, prophesied of these, saying … (Jude 14).

In my opinion, Jude is stating that the historical Enoch, seven generations from Adam (and long before “1 Enoch” was written), said these words. And since Jude is inspired, I believe that the verse he quotes from 1 Enoch is in fact an authentic saying of the ancient prophet.

Have fun with all this.

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On Sources for the Bible, Part 1: Summary

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Where did the Bible come from?

The answer to that question depends on what you mean.

Most simply, and most importantly, the Bible comes from God. Paul tells Timothy that the words of the Scripture (and in this context, he pretty clearly means the Hebrew Scripture, or what we Christians call the Old Testament) were breathed out by God (2Ti 3.16), and Peter says that the human authors were “moved” by the Holy Spirit (2P 1.21). That word “moved” is used in Acts of the storm (Ac 27.15, 17) that nearly blew Paul’s ship all the way to Africa (Ac 27.17). Since the Greek word for “wind” is the same as the word for “spirit,” it’s pretty clear that Peter is engaged in wordplay.

But the Bible also came from human authors, people like us. The fact that they were blown along by the Holy Wind doesn’t mean that they had no control over what they were writing. When the prophet Jeremiah accuses the Lord of deceiving him (Je 20.7), he’s clearly expressing his own opinion, not God’s. And when Paul writes that he baptized only two people in Corinth (1Co 1.14), you can see his thought process as he corrects himself in the succeeding verses: “Oh, yeah, I baptized that one family—and, uh, I don’t remember whether I baptized anybody else” (1Co 1.16). (That’s clearly my informal paraphrase.) Paul’s words clearly indicate that he isn’t just quoting the Holy Spirit, who most certainly does remember whether Paul baptized anybody else.

In the famous “needle’s eye” passage, Matthew (Mt 19.24) and Mark (Mk 10.25) use the common Greek word for “needle,” the kind of needle any first-century Jew could find in his house. But many manuscripts have Luke (Lk 18.25) using a different word for “needle,” a technical term for a surgical needle. Luke, the doctor, uses the first Greek word that comes to mind for “needle”; he speaks from his own experience.*

So the authors, though completely under the direction of the Spirit, played a role in the composition of the biblical text.

Let’s take this a step further. The authors themselves used other sources as they composed their works. I’m not speaking here of the common critical assumption that the Genesis creation story came from the Enuma Elish, or that the flood story came from the Epic of Gilgamesh. I think it’s much more likely that those pagan myths came from the cultural memory of an actual ancient creation and an actual ancient global flood, the one Moses describes in Genesis.

Rather, I’m saying that the authors borrowed freely from other ancient works, often saying so at the time—in effect, inserting a footnote.

Now, we all know that the New Testament often quotes from the Old. The simplest way to see this clearly and quickly is to flip through the Christian Standard Version (available online for free at biblegateway.com). The editors of that version have opted to set all NT quotations of the OT in bold-faced type, making them visually jump right off the page. And if you start in Matthew, who quotes the OT frequently, you’ll see a lot of bold-faced type.

But the biblical writers don’t limit themselves to quoting just other writers of Scripture. They quote from all over the place—including Persian historical archives and classical Greek poets waxing eloquent about Zeus. It’s possible, though not certain, that Jesus himself, resurrected, glorified, and at the right hand of the Father, quotes a classical Greek poet.

And these writers do so without seeming to sense any need to explain themselves or to offer some sort of disclaimer.

Next time we’ll look at what’s there in the biblical text.

* A note for those of you thinking as you read: which Greek word did Jesus actually use? And which Gospel author reported that word inaccurately? Freak out thou not, my friend; Jesus almost certainly was speaking Aramaic, and he used the common word for “needle” in that language. Matthew, Mark, and Luke were translating Jesus’ words into Greek as they wrote, and so each writer would choose the first Greek word for “needle” that popped into his head, based on his experience.

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Part 2: Specifics

On Reading The Message

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For many years I’ve made a practice of reading through the Bible in a year. I also like to read as many different versions as possible, for reasons I detail in the link in the previous sentence.

This past year I read through Eugene Peterson’s The Message, which I’d never read before. Since I usually prefer to read versions at the formal end of the spectrum, this choice was unusual for me; Peterson famously sought to make The Message speak in everyday, even casual language. I suppose we could argue over whether this work is a dynamic translation or a paraphrase, but it’s definitely “looser” than the versions I usually read.

A blog post is not the place for a detailed formal book review, but I noticed something in reading this translation that I hadn’t anticipated, something that I suspect would logically affect other similar versions as well.

I was struck from the outset at the general uniformity of style. In most formal Bible translations—indeed, in most literature, period—you get stylistic variations from genre to genre. Narrative is straightforward, descriptive, matter-of-fact. Poetry is much more stylized and terse, denser in meaning and implication. Legal documents are rigidly formal and plain. Speeches are often flowery.

Further, within narrative, different characters have different ways of speaking. Their personalities and character qualities show up in their speech. You learn about the characters from the form of their words as well as their content.

In The Message, a lot of that—maybe most of it—disappears. Abraham sounds like Moses sounds like David sounds like Peter sounds like Paul. Even God talks the same way as everybody else. That’s most evident in dialogue, but it carries over into the prophetic and epistolary literature as well.

When a translation preserves those stylistic differences, you can tell the difference between Peter, the impetuous fisherman, and Paul, the highly trained rabbi from Hellenistic Tarsus. You can tell the difference between Ezra, the ready scribe in the Law of Moses, and Amos, the shepherd from Tekoa. And the more slowly and attentively you read, the more you notice, the more there is to savor.

Now, I think plastering over those stylistic differences lowers the literary quality of the work, and it renders it more difficult for us readers to pick up on the subtleties that were designed into the stylistic variations among the genres and the characters in the Scripture.

That said, I’m a firm believer in making the Scripture accessible to the ploughboy, and if losing those stylistic subtleties were the price of making the Word comprehensible to readers of a given educational or socioeconomic stratum, that’s a price I’d be willing to pay, every time.

But I don’t think that price is necessary. I wish Peterson’s eminently understandable text preserved more of those subtleties.

As I’ve said, I suspect that this is a characteristic of all paraphrases, and likely of translations of the more dynamic sort—those closest to paraphrases. The literary style becomes the style of the translator / paraphraser.

That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t read these works, of course; as one of my college Bible professors commented, the power of the Word of God is not limited by the imperfections of its translators. We ought to read every Bible we can get our hands on. I’ve learned some things from Peterson, as has everyone who has read from The Message.

But works like this should most certainly not be the only Bible translation you read.

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When You’re Really Scared, Part 4: Response

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Part 1: Background | Part 2: Panic | Part 3: Presence

Now David moves from God’s presence to God’s action. God is not just an observer here; he responds to what he sees.

David says that God distinguishes between his people and his enemies (“the wicked”), and he acts to accomplish different outcomes for the two groups. In the situations that frighten his people, he is “trying” us (Ps 11.5a)—not in the sense that he needs to know how things will turn out for us, or how we will respond to the fear; God is omniscient, and he doesn’t need to “find out” anything. No, he is putting us to the test in that sense that he is exercising us for our own betterment.

We all know how this works with athletes; a coach puts them through hard things to make them stronger, better athletes. So God exercises us with hard things, sometimes scary things, to make us stronger, more like his son. Paul talks about that process in Romans 5:

We glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience; 4 And patience, experience; and experience, hope: 5 And hope maketh not ashamed; because the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost which is given unto us (Ro 5.3b-5).

Hardship brings endurance; endurance brings experience of success; experience of success brings confidence of success the next time.

So God’s intention for us is entirely benevolent, even when things are hard.

But for the wicked, things are very different. The hard things they experience are warnings of judgment, which they must anticipate.

Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone,
And an horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup (Ps 11.6).

The word snares is a bit surprising; why would God rain down animal traps? Is he speaking of sending destructive things their way?

Could well be. But readers of the Hebrew text have noticed that if you swap a couple of vowels in the word for “snares” (pachim), you get a word that means “coals” (picham), which makes a lot more sense in the context of “fire and brimstone.” (And since the vowels in Hebrew weren’t written during biblical times, the distinction could have been unnoticed at the time.) Several of the modern English versions (e.g. CSB ESV NIV) render it that way.

This kind of fiery judgment is what awaits the wicked. It happened to Sodom and Gomorrah; it will be the end of Gog (Ezk 38.22), and of the beast of Revelation (Re 14.10), and of the devil (Re 20.10), and of the wicked at the Great White Throne (Re 21.8).

The KJV’s “horrible tempest” is a “raging wind,” raging especially in the sense of “hot.” Mediterranean peoples are well aware of the sirocco, which blows sand from North Africa across the Mediterranean Basin. It’s hot, biting, and destructive to crops as well as just generally unpleasant.

In another Psalm, the same David writes,

If a man does not repent, God will whet his sword; he has bent and readied his bow (Ps 7.12).

It turns out that David’s enemies aren’t the only ones flexing a bow (Ps 11.2).

But David notes that God is not all anger. He is also love—and he loves his people thoroughly, truly, and perfectly.

For the righteous Lord loveth righteousness;
His countenance doth behold the upright (Ps 11.7).

The second line reads in Hebrew, “the upright shall behold his face.”

The Lord told Moses that no one could see his face and live. Moses was allowed to see his “back” (Ex 33.23).

But we have seen the glory of God in the face of Christ (2Co 4.6), and one day we shall see his face (Re 22.4).

David said in yet another psalm,

One thing have I desired of the Lord, that will I seek after;
That I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life,
To behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in his temple (Ps 27.4).

May it be so for us all.

Fear not.

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When You’re Really Scared, Part 3: Presence

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Part 1: Background | Part 2: Panic

Verse 4 is the pivot point of Psalm 11. David has heard the warnings of his advisers, including the panic in their voices. Now it’s time for him to respond.

It’s important to note that David never denies the truth of what they are telling him. He never says, “There are no enemies; they’re not planning evil against me; you guys are just seeing things.” He has enough experience with opposition to know that what they’re saying is very likely true.

But he doesn’t take their advice, either. He doesn’t panic; he doesn’t run. And we should expect that of him, for he’s begun the psalm with his thesis statement, his life principle:

In the LORD have I put my trust (Ps 11.1).

Now he’s going to flesh out that principle.

4The LORD is in his holy temple,
The LORD’s throne is in heaven:
His eyes behold,
His eyelids try, the children of men (Ps 11.4).

Notice how the LORD’s name begins the first two lines. Readers of the Hebrew would say the name is “fronted”; it’s pushed forward in the sentence into an emphatic position. In English we would italicize or underline or circle it; if we said it out loud, we would punch the volume when we spoke his name.

This isn’t Baal or Chemosh or Dagon in the temple, or any of the gods of the other nations, who cannot see or speak or act in response to the prayers of their devotees. No. This is Yahweh, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the creator of heaven and earth, the covenant-keeping God, the one true God.

This is—and I say this reverently—the Real Deal.

And he is in his temple. Not just any temple, mind you, like the one Samson pushed down with his two hands. This is the holy temple.

At its most basic, the word holy means “unique,” “one of a kind,” “in a class by itself.” The LORD’s temple is like no other. Some four centuries later the prophet Habakkuk will quote this line of the psalm and add a line of his own to emphasize the necessary response to the holiness of this temple:

Let all the earth keep silence before him (Hab 2.20).

And so the enemies pale into insignificance. What possible threat can they be, here under the shadow of the Almighty?

Now David adds another line, another consideration:

The LORD’s throne is in heaven.

The LORD has the high ground.

A military veteran like David knows that the high ground is a significant tactical advantage. From the high ground you can see farther than your attackers, who are below you, can see. You can see where the enemy is, and you can shoot down on him, the force of gravity adding to the force of your spears and arrows and slingstones. You have all the advantages.

The LORD has the high ground.

Now, the ironic thing about that is that the LORD doesn’t need the high ground. In the light of his omnipotence, the enemy is insignificant, trivial. The battle is not close enough for any tactical advantage to throw the outcome to one side or the other.

But he does have the high ground.

And so, David continues,

His eyes behold,
His eyelids try, the children of men.

He sees. He knows. He notices.

Nothing escapes him.

You can do that from the high ground. Or even better with omniscience.

God would later tell Judah’s King Jehoshaphat,

The eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to shew himself strong in the behalf of them whose heart is perfect toward him (2Ch 16.9a).

He knows who his people are, and he doesn’t just watch their battles play out; he takes action on their behalf. He knows as well who the enemy is; the foe is located, recognized, identified, and opposed.

What will he do next?

Next time.

Part 4: Response

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When You’re Really Scared, Part 2: Panic

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Part 1: Background

David begins with his thesis statement in verse 1. I’ll get to that eventually, but first I’d like to take a look at what his advisors are telling him.

They begin with the action item: Run!

Flee as a bird to your mountain! (Ps 11.1b).

They’re going to explain the danger in a minute, but it’s as if they need to call for action immediately—as if they’re in a panic. That idea is reinforced by their simile; birds skedaddle in a hurry. And where should the bird that is David skedaddle to? A mountain, a place of strength, high ground, with a tactical military advantage.

David knows about fleeing like a bird. The second time that he confronts Saul and refuses to harm him, he describes the king as “one who hunts a partridge in the mountains” (1S 26.20). He also knows about taking refuge in a mountain; earlier in his flight from Saul, he “lived in the strongholds of Engedi” (1S 23.29). Many scholars think this refers to Masada, the mesa-top fortress used as a refuge through the years of Roman domination around the time of Christ.

Now his advisors give him the reason: You’re in immediate danger!

For, lo, the wicked bend their bow,
They make ready their arrow upon the string,
That they may privily shoot at the upright in heart (Ps 11.2).

Here’s another sign of panic: Lo! Look! Pay attention! This is serious!

The wicked, David’s enemies, are “stepping on the bow”—that’s the literal Hebrew—and they’re notching the arrow. In modern terms, they’re pulling back the hammer, they’re racking the round. This is an act of naked aggression, and evidence that they mean to harm him.

And they’re preparing to shoot “privily.” This is an Elizabethan-era word that means “secretly.” ESV renders it “in the dark”; CSB and NIV render it “from the shadows.”

This is an ambush, a sneak attack. You may not be able to see them just yet, but the threat is real and imminent. This is no idle threat, and it’s certainly no joke.

David’s advisors wrap up their presentation with an assessment: It’s hopeless!

If the foundations be destroyed,
What can the righteous do? (Ps 11.3).

This is a scream, a cry of despair. AAAAGGGGGHHHH!

I’ve seen this verse used fairly frequently by Christians who mean it as a warning against apathy and complacency, a call for alertness and stewardship in the face of danger. I once spoke at a Christian school convention that chose this verse as their organizing theme that year.

I wouldn’t deny that the Scripture calls God’s people to alertness, to stewardship. God called Nehemiah to rebuild the walls of Jerusalem, and for much of the construction period the workers labored with a sword hanging from their belt, because of the imminent threat from the enemies of Israel (Ne 4.18). David himself chided Saul’s bodyguard for sleeping on duty during that second confrontation (1S 26.15-16). Paul tells Christians to “walk circumspectly [looking around], not as fools, but as wise” (Ep 5.15). Jesus himself repeatedly commanded his disciples to watch, to be alert (Mt 24.42; 25.13; Mk 13.37) and chided them when they didn’t (Mt 26.38-41).

But this is a different context, making a different point entirely. My friends at the conference were using the words of the godless to motivate the godly.

And David’s response to them tells us that. To this point I’ve skipped most of verse 1; it’s time to recall it here. David says to his advisors, “How can you even say this to me?! What are you thinking?! I have put my trust in the LORD! He is my refuge! How can I seek another?”

Of what use is a rocky Judean mesa when the Almighty God is your protector?

Here, halfway through the psalm, we already know where David is headed. We’ll see him develop his thesis more thoroughly in the next post.

Part 3: Presence | Part 4: Response

Photo by Alexandra Gorn on Unsplash

When You’re Really Scared, Part 1: Background

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Last week I preached on Psalm 11 in my school’s chapel service. Since this passage of Scripture is clear, counterintuitive, and timely, I’d like to repurpose the message here.

What do you do when you’re really, really scared? Everybody gets scared; that’s no evidence of cowardice. The key is how you respond to being scared—and how you respond depends primarily on your worldview, specifically what you believe about God.

The Psalm reads as follows:

1      In the Lord put I my trust:


How say ye to my soul,
Flee as a bird to your mountain?
2      For, lo, the wicked bend their bow,
They make ready their arrow upon the string,
That they may privily shoot at the upright in heart.
3      If the foundations be destroyed,
What can the righteous do?


4      The Lord is in his holy temple,
The Lord’s throne is in heaven:
His eyes behold,
His eyelids try, the children of men.
5      The Lord trieth the righteous:
But the wicked and him that loveth violence his soul hateth.
6      Upon the wicked he shall rain snares, fire and brimstone,|
And an horrible tempest: this shall be the portion of their cup.
7      For the righteous Lord loveth righteousness;
His countenance doth behold the upright. (KJV)

I’ve inserted vertical space to show the psalm’s three divisions: the opening thesis statement (Ps 11.1a), David’s report of the advice he’s getting (Ps 11.1b-3), and then his response to that advice with wisdom of his own. But we should begin by trying to figure out the historical context—why he’s getting the advice in the first place.

His advisors tell him that he’s in danger, that he has enemies who want to kill him. Anyone who knows the story of David knows that there were many times in his life when that would have been the case. Long before he became king, the nation’s prophet, Samuel, anointed him for kingship (1S 16.13)—while Saul was still king, and while this king was planning to have his son Jonathan succeed him (1S 20.30-31). We know that Saul pursued David for a decade, seeking to eliminate him as a claimant to the throne—during which time, ironically, David expressed no interest in seizing the throne and even passed up multiple opportunities to do so. On at least two occasions (1S 24.1-4; 26.3-12) Saul was within a few feet of David, unawares, and David was in a position to kill him on the spot.

This psalm could well have been written at almost any time during those final years of Saul’s reign.

We also know that David faced a rebellion from one of his sons, Absalom, which led to civil war, with David and his closest advisors being exiled from Jerusalem (2S 15.10-16) and from Israel (2S 17.22-24), to seek refuge across the Jordan River in northern Ammon.

The psalm could well spring from that period as well. While we can’t place it more narrowly than that, we can note that David was someone who knew what he was talking about when he spoke to personal physical danger; his experience made him a much more reliable judge of both the danger he faced, and an appropriate response to it, than his advisors were. Even if he weren’t inspired, he’d be well worth listening to.

Next time we’ll look at the psalm’s first stanza, which reports the counsel of his advisors; in the third post, we’ll consider the second stanza, in which he responds to them.

Part 2: Panic | Part 3: Presence | Part 4: Response

Photo by Alexandra Gorn on Unsplash

On Protest, Part 1: Initial Thoughts

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I’ve lived all my life in an environment of protest. I came of age in the 60s, so it started early. Activist writers in those days noted that public protest is a way to get on the political agenda; it’s a way to overcome government inertia and stimulate otherwise uninterested authorities to pay attention. Just as Jesus described a presumably fictional unjust judge (Lk 18.1-8)—I guess governmental inertia was a thing in his day too—politicians will often be unmoved by citizens’ problems unless the citizens find a way to make inertia inconvenient in the lives of the leadership.

So people protest. This is de rigeur in democratic societies, of course, where officials face the prospect of being voted out of office, and where the protesters find it reasonably safe to raise their voices. But it happens in totalitarian societies as well, where the risk is considerably higher. The Soviet Union saw public protests in Czechoslovakia in 1968—that didn’t turn out well for the protesters—and in East Berlin in 1989. (That turned out better.) The Chinese Communists saw a confrontation in Tiananmen Square that same year. The people of Iran rose up against the mullahs just last year. And there are many, many more examples.

Over the course of my life I’ve seen many causes promoted by protest: civil rights (both racial and women’s rights), war and peace, economic policy, criminal justice, right to life (as considered in both abortion and capital punishment), terrorism, tax policy, environment, and others. Most recently there have been protests worldwide against Hamas’s terrorist attack on Israel on October 7 and Israel’s response in Gaza. Many have expressed the opinion that this one seems bigger, more volatile than what has typically preceded; some are talking seriously about the end of the world.

Well, I don’t know when the end of the world is coming, and neither does anybody else. I think it would be unwise to try to predict it even if Jesus hadn’t told us not to. (If he didn’t know the date when he was walking amongst us, how likely are we to get it right?)

But the protests are ubiquitous, and they’re intense. People are expected to take a side.

Sometimes—often—taking a side is precisely the right thing to do. As an acquaintance of mine commented decades ago, the middle of the road is where the yellow stripe is.

I don’t think the protests are going to get quieter, or the issues simpler, as time rolls on. It’s our duty, I’d suggest, to think through a philosophy of protest, something that can guide us through emotional, murky, and rapidly moving times. As a Christian, I need to base my philosophy of protest, like anything else, on the Scripture. I’d like to take a few posts to offer some suggestions and to invite feedback.

I’ll begin with the overarching biblical principle: we live for the glory of God (1Co 10.31). We pattern our thinking after his, as expressed in his Word; we decide our actions, from choosing a vocation to deciding whether to speed up or stop for that deeply pink traffic light, on the same basis. And we establish our priorities, including the decision to join a particular protest movement, based on his. Only he is worth all our love, all our loyalty, and all our devotion. God is the only person we can follow blindly—and He doesn’t ask us to (Is 1.18).

Next time, we’ll tease out other biblical principles that we need to consider in developing our philosophy of protest.

Photo by Teemu Paananen on Unsplash

Part 2: Biblical Principles | Part 3: What Now? | Part 4: Tactics | Part 5: The Long View