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 God as Our Father, Part 3: Provision

March 2, 2023 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Introduction | Part 2: Likeness

What else does is God for us, because he is our Father?

I suppose the most obvious thing a father does for his family is to provide what they need. Often the first thing a wife will say to commend her husband is that “he is a good provider.” That’s expected in cultures all around the world. The father will see to it that his family has a place to live, and food to eat, and clothes to wear. And that makes sense: since the mother is typically tasked with the care of the children, and since, at least in cultures where most paid work requires physical labor, the father is the physically stronger of the couple, it falls to the father to “bring home the bacon.”

Our heavenly Father isn’t bound by either of those constraints, but he still provides for us his children, and abundantly. Jesus has already noted that he gives rain to the just and to the unjust (Mt 5.45), but that’s just the beginning. I’ve written before on the fact that everything we really need—both physical and spiritual—is free, thanks to God’s provision. But Jesus takes it beyond common grace.

He delights to give to his children, to meet their needs, and even to give them extra. Jesus tells us to just ask the Father, and he will give us what we need: “pray to your Father who is in secret, and your Father who sees what is done in secret will reward you” (Mt 6.6). Just earlier, he has said that if we make charitable contributions in secret, the Father will reward us (Mt 6.4). There are other references to the Father’s “reward” in this chapter (Mt 6.1, 18). And he knows what his children need even before they ask (Mt 6.8).

Then Jesus gives his disciples a pattern for daily prayer—what we’ve come to call “The Lord’s Prayer.” We call on our Father (Mt 6.9), and we ask him for “our daily bread” (Mt 6.11)—because even though our earthly father goes to work to bring home the bacon, his ability to do so—and our ability, once we’re working—comes from God, both in his giving of health and strength and in his providential direction.

Now Jesus uses an earthy illustration to set his point. Look at the lilies, he says; they don’t do anything to provide for themselves, yet the Father arrays them in clothing of unsurpassed beauty. Look at the birds; they do no agriculture whatsoever, but the Father sees that they always have food when they need it—seeds, berries, a worm or two. Even when nature is broken by sin, “red in tooth and claw,” as Tennyson put it, the creatures of the earth manage to survive and even thrive on the Father’s generous provision.

Jesus is using here a rhetorical device called an a fortiori argument, working from the weak to the strong. If the Father provides for birds and flowers, how much more will he provide for his actual children?

He makes the point again in the next chapter—

If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give what is good to those who ask Him! (Mt 7.11).

And it goes even further. If he will provide our temporal, physical needs, how much more the eternal, spiritual ones? He justifies us, declaring us to be perfect, as he is perfect (2Co 5.21); he sanctifies us, setting us aside as his special treasure (1P 2.9), and progressively conforming us to the character of his Son (2Co 3.18); and one day, no matter how far we are from the finish line of perfection, he will take us the rest of the way (1J 3.2), by his grace, because that’s what we need.

That’s what fathers do.

Part 4: Oversight | Part 5: Accountability

Photo by Derek Thomson on Unsplash

Filed Under: Bible, Theology Tagged With: fatherhood, Matthew, New Testament, Sermon on the Mount, systematic theology, theology proper

On God as Our Father, Part 2: Likeness

February 27, 2023 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

Part 1: Introduction

We’re surveying Jesus’ teaching about our Father God in the Sermon on the Mount, where there’s a cluster of references to the topic. We’ve noted that Jesus begins (Mt 5.16) with the almost off-handed comment, or assumption, that our purpose in life is to generate respect or honor for God as our Father.

The first chapter of the sermon includes a list of areas in which Jesus tells his hearers that they must do better than just what the Law of Moses required. He states his premise first: “unless your righteousness surpasses that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven” (Mt 5.20). And then he lists several examples:

  • Refraining from murder is not enough; you must refrain from even hating your brother (Mt 5.21-26).
  • Refraining from adultery is not enough; you must refrain from lust (Mt 5.27-30).
  • Following the legally prescribed procedure for divorce is not enough; you must remain united even through hard times (Mt 5.31-32).
  • Keeping your vows is not enough; you must keep your word so faithfully that vows aren’t even needed (Mt 5.33-37).
  • Limiting your vengeance to what is appropriate to the offense is not enough; you must “turn the other cheek” (Mt 5.38-42).
  • Loving your neighbor is not enough; you must love your enemy as well (Mt 5.43-48).

It’s in this last section that he invokes the fatherhood of God. He says that we should love our enemies “so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven” (Mt 5.45).

Now this sounds as though Jesus is placing a works requirement on our relationship with God: “if you want to be a child of God, you’re going to have to love your enemies.” But I don’t think the context supports that interpretation at all. He goes on to describe what we call “common grace”; God gives rain to everyone, whether they’re good to him or not. In other words, God loves his enemies, and it only makes sense that those with his DNA should be like him in that respect. The point is not that if you want to be in God’s family, you’d better love your enemies; the point is that those who are in God’s family logically ought to resemble him, and by loving your enemy, you demonstrate that you do. Being like God is not a condition for being his; it’s evidence that you already are his.

Jesus adds to his thought with a logical argument: why should you get credit for loving people who love you? That’s just natural impulse, something that everybody does; you’re not so special in doing that. But if you love people who don’t love you back, well, then, that’s something extraordinary, something supernatural, something divine. That’s something that shows you are influenced by something—Someone—that most people aren’t.

And so Jesus ends the chapter by telling us to “be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Mt 5.48).

Now, this clearly requires some explanation. You and I will never be as morally perfect as God is. The unanimous testimony of centuries of Christians who have tried desperately to love God and their neighbor and their enemy is that they just can’t do it—they fall short, no matter how hard they try.

But remember the context. Jesus is not saying, “If you want a relationship with me—and my Father—you’d better be good!” That’s impossible, and he knows it’s impossible. He’s just said that our righteousness is going to have to be greater than that of the scribes and Pharisees (Mt 5.20), and Jesus knew that in the minds of his hearers, nobody could be that righteous.

Jesus is demonstrating pedagogically what his Apostle Paul will later state directly: that the way to God is not in keeping the Law, for we all know that that’s impossible. The Law was good (Ro 7.12), but it was not intended to make us righteous (Ga 3.24); it was given to show us our sin, that we are not and cannot ever be righteous. And the Law, like everything else that God gives us, does its job exceedingly well.

The Law also teaches us that we need a substitute—a lamb. And Jesus is introduced by John the Baptist as “the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world” (Jn 1.29). This Lamb will keep the Law in our place, and will die in our place, and his righteousness will be given freely to us (2Co 5.21).

And through his power, we can be perfect, even as our Father in heaven is perfect.

Sons and daughters are like their fathers. And so are we like Him.

Part 3: Provision | Part 4: Oversight | Part 5: Accountability

Photo by Derek Thomson on Unsplash

Filed Under: Bible, Theology Tagged With: fatherhood, Matthew, New Testament, Sermon on the Mount, theology proper

On God as Our Father, Part 1: Introduction

February 23, 2023 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

The Scripture uses a lot of metaphors to describe God’s relationship with his people; it’s almost as though that relationship is so rich, so round, so multifaceted, so complex that no single earthly relationship can picture it all. The one we think of the most, though—the one that Jesus begins his pattern prayer with—is “Father.”

It’s a term widely misunderstood, especially in that theological liberals frequently speak of the “universal fatherhood of God,” with the implication that all humans are brothers, and, further, that “we all worship the same God.” Given that the gods worshiped by various cultural groups—Jews, Muslims, Hindus, animists, Christians—have significantly different natures, that statement is illogical on its face.

Christians have frequently rejected this liberal tenet—the “universal fatherhood of God”—outright, because, well, that’s what you do with liberal ideas. But our responsibility isn’t to reject reactively any view of a heretical group, but to test it by the Scripture and to be guided to the scriptural truth.

Interestingly, there is a sense in which God is the Father of all in that he is the source of their life; he is their Creator. Paul endorses this idea by citing a classical Greek poet in his sermon at Mars Hill in Athens: “we are his offspring” (Acts 17.28, citing Aratus, Phaenomena, line 5, referring to Zeus). The idea that we are all God’s created offspring is certainly biblical.

But typically when we speak of God as our Father, we’re speaking of the narrower sense in which God usually uses it—of those who are His children through the new birth, whom He has adopted into His family. 

There are about 100 passages in the New Testament that speak of God as our Father. There’s a cluster of them—by my count, about 1/6 of the total—in the Sermon on the Mount. Further, most of the important applications that the Bible makes concerning the fatherhood of God are condensed into this one sermon. It’s worth our time to take a few posts to meditate on what Jesus has to say here about this topic.

Those of us who grew up in church probably noticed in our childhood Bibles that there’s a section of Matthew where the red letters fill whole pages. There are actually two, if you include the Olivet Discourse in Matthew 24-25, but the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 5-7 is longer. Bible students have long recognized the unique power of this sermon, from the Beatitudes with which it opens to the Parable of the Wise and Foolish Builders with which it ends. The judgment of its first hearers is certainly accurate: “[Jesus] taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes” (Mt 7.29).

What does Jesus have to say about the relationship between us and our Heavenly Father? In what ways is God like a Father to us? Perhaps surprisingly, the teaching seems to be organized logically as Jesus progresses through the Sermon; if we survey his uses of the word father in order, they seem to make a logical outline.

His first reference to the Father is in Matthew 5.16: “let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.”

In what is almost a casual reference, Jesus assumes that our primary goal in life is to behave in such a way that others will “give glory to” our Father, or see him as worthy of respect, exaltation, even worship. Hot on the heels of the Beatitudes, which are bestowals of blessings on us, he assumes that after all, we are not the center of the universe, and that our comfort and blessing should not be our primary motivation.

We’re here to generate profound respect for someone else.

In most cultures this fits well with the concept of fatherhood. Your father is someone you respect, desire to please, and seek to obey.

Of course, all earthly fathers are flawed; none are worthy of worship, and there are many examples of fathers who are not even worthy of respect.

But God is the perfect example of fatherhood; he does all things well.

He has been a perfect Father to me and to you, and so we start with respect, with glory.

There’s much more to follow.

Part 2: Likeness | Part 3: Provision | Part 4: Oversight | Part 5: Accountability

Photo by Derek Thomson on Unsplash

Filed Under: Bible, Theology Tagged With: fatherhood, Matthew, New Testament, Sermon on the Mount, systematic theology, theology proper

On Thinking Like Christ, Part 10: Final Thoughts

February 2, 2023 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: The Most Important Thing | Part 2: Moving to the Dump | Part 3: It Gets Worse | Part 4: And Worse | Part 5: Reversal | Part 6: Risen | Part 7: Ascended | Part 8: Enthroned | Part 9: Coming Again

So what’s involved in “let[ting] this mind be in [us], which was also in Christ Jesus”? In what ways ought we to think like Christ?

It’s easy to find things to imitate in the first stanza of Paul’s hymn, the humiliation phase:

  • We should be willing to give up comfort as not something to be grasped. We should not hang on to our possessions, or our status, or our circumstances. As Christ was confident in his standing as the Son of God, we should be confident in our standing as his sons and daughters, whom he will protect, and for whom he will provide all that we need. We should see our goods as resources to be invested rather than riches to be hoarded.
  • We should willingly endure discomfort, even death, for the sake of others. As Christ loves his creatures, those in his image, so should we. Even when they treat us viciously or offend our sensibilities. Or when they’re just gross. If Jesus’ life was not too much to give for their benefit, how could ours possibly be?
  • We should obey the Father no matter what. When we know what he wants us to do—when we see his will revealed in the Scriptures—we should disregard the cost, whether personal, social, financial, or whatever, and Just Do It.
  • We should see Christ’s death as an exaltation. If he “despis[ed] the shame” of the cross (He 12.2), so should we. I feel I must add, given the climate of our times, that there’s no need to be a jerk as an ambassador of Christ, but we should not back down from the truth of the gospel.

At this point in the passage some may think that there’s nothing further in Christ’s thinking that we should imitate. We shouldn’t seek to be exalted, should we? We shouldn’t seek to have a name that is above every name, should we?

Of course not. But there’s still much in Christ’s thinking that we might—indeed must—imitate.

In the first post of this series I wrote, “Jesus did not humble himself in order to be exalted; he was already exalted, as verse 6 makes clear. He humbled himself, first, in obedience to the Father’s plan, and second, to rescue those he loved as his creatures in his image. The exaltation unavoidably followed.”

We can imitate him in those two areas:

  • We can make our first priority our obedience to the Father’s will; and
  • We can love and seek the benefit of those he loves, those who are in his image.

Are there specific ways to do that implied in this passage? I think so:

  • We can see Christ’s authority as good and right, as he himself did. That is the important first step to obeying him—which is to obey the Father, since Christ’s will is one with the Father’s.
  • We can see serving others as appropriate, even if they are “beneath” us. If Jesus can serve his people from his exalted place at the Father’s right hand, how can anyone be “beneath” us?
  • We can be devoted to his plan and purpose, as he is. We can live in the light of the biblical metanarrative, which is the essence of his plan:
    • We are God’s creatures, created for his glory and not our own.
    • We are fallen and in need of his constant help; we are not wise to trust ourselves implicitly.
    • We have been rescued from our fallenness and are thus both God’s servants and his sons and daughters.
    • We are destined for glory and perfect service, in the Father’s good time.
  • We can resist God’s defeated enemy as our enemy too, with confidence in his final defeat. We can live without fear.
  • We can trust Christ’s delay in coming. We can carry on with strength and anticipation of his good will for us.

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Filed Under: Bible, Theology Tagged With: Christology, New Testament, Philippians, systematic theology

On Thinking Like Christ, Part 9: Coming Again

January 30, 2023 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: The Most Important Thing | Part 2: Moving to the Dump | Part 3: It Gets Worse | Part 4: And Worse | Part 5: Reversal | Part 6: Risen | Part 7: Ascended | Part 8: Enthroned

How can Christ’s exaltation get any more glorious than his being seated, enthroned, at the right hand of the Father in heaven, with seraphim crying “Holy!”?

I’d suggest that God is glorified in many ways, but he seems to receive particular glory in his keeping of his promises, his accomplishing of his plan.

Do you recall when he appeared in the burning bush in the wilderness? His words to Moses were, “I am the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob” (Ex 3.6). Why does he say that? Because, as Moses knew, God had made promises to those patriarchs, one of which was that Abraham’s offspring would inhabitant the land where he was then living in tents (Ge 15.18). As the bush burned, that promise had not been kept; Abraham’s descendants were in Egypt, and slaves at that.

God would not let that status continue. So he called Moses, and he empowered him to deliver the Israelites from Not Canaan and bring them to The Land.

He keeps his promises.

So back to our question. If Jesus is seated at the right hand of the Father, how can his glory be increased?

I’m sure there are many ways, most of which are beyond our ability to imagination. But one that I’m pretty certain of is that he can be further glorified by the completion of his plan, his purpose for creating the cosmos in the first place. He is glorified when he leaves no intention incomplete, no promise unfulfilled.

What has he promised that remains undone?

I’ll mention two significant things.

First, the evil one remains active and effective; the cosmos is wracked by sin and pain and death. Christ has defeated the Evil One at the cross, of course, but the battlefield still needs a lot of mopping up, clearing out of pockets of resistance, and final, crushing humiliation and defeat of The Enemy. Christ has already seen Satan fall from heaven (Lk 10.18), and as Luther said (auf Deutsch), “Lo, his doom is sure,” but we await the coup de grace.

That will come, and delay indicates not weakness but grace.

Second, the Son has yet to reign on the throne of his father David for a thousand years (Re 20.4-5), during which the nations will bring their treasures to Jerusalem (Hag 2.7) in order to worship the God of Israel.

Now, my theologian friends will realize from that last statement that I’m one of those “premillennialists” who reads prophecy as literally as possible. Some of them will undoubtedly disagree with me on that point. That’s OK. But I’m confident that they’ll agree with me on the first point.

So, I think, Christ’s glorious exaltation will be magnified and culminated when he comes, finally, to restore creation to its flawless original state, and maybe even better.

I saw heaven opened, and behold a white horse; and he that sat upon him was called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he doth judge and make war. 12 His eyes were as a flame of fire, and on his head were many crowns; and he had a name written, that no man knew, but he himself. 13 And he was clothed with a vesture dipped in blood: and his name is called The Word of God. 14 And the armies which were in heaven followed him upon white horses, clothed in fine linen, white and clean. 15 And out of his mouth goeth a sharp sword, that with it he should smite the nations: and he shall rule them with a rod of iron: and he treadeth the winepress of the fierceness and wrath of Almighty God. 16 And he hath on his vesture and on his thigh a name written, KING OF KINGS, AND LORD OF LORDS (Re 19.11-16).

The exaltation of Christ is not yet complete. He will yet come in glory, and every eye shall see Him. He will lay waste to His enemy, that old serpent, the devil, and he will reign for ever and ever. Even so come, Lord Jesus.

Some final thoughts in the next post.

Part 10: Final Thoughts

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Filed Under: Bible, Theology Tagged With: Christology, New Testament, Philippians, systematic theology

On Thinking Like Christ, Part 8: Enthroned

January 26, 2023 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: The Most Important Thing | Part 2: Moving to the Dump | Part 3: It Gets Worse | Part 4: And Worse | Part 5: Reversal | Part 6: Risen | Part 7: Ascended

Seated at the right hand of the Father, in a position of infinite glory and authority, Christ—surprisingly—serves his people. He intercedes for us, we are told (He 7.25); he acts as our attorney before God’s throne (1J 2.1).

I wonder—why does he do that? The Father is propitiated, is he not (Ro 3.25; 1J 2.2, 4.10)? He’s not angry; the Son doesn’t have to hold him back from pouring out his wrath on us, because the Son himself has absorbed that wrath in our place. The Father looks on us with love, with grace, with shalom. When you, as his child, sin, he doesn’t regress to rage, as though you’re a stranger. He’s your Father, the most perfectly loving father you’ve ever had.

Further, the Father is omniscient; he doesn’t need the Son to remind him of his death on the cross and the consequent forgiveness of our sins and statement of our justification. He hasn’t forgotten, because he cannot forget.

So why the intercession? Why the presence of the attorney?

I think we should be tentative about our logical extrapolations from Scripture; we should recognize when the Scripture directly states things, and when it doesn’t. So my most precise answer to my own question is that I don’t know why.

But I suspect—and this is just a guess—that it’s a reflection of the fact that God is One. The persons of the Godhead are indeed distinct, and they do carry out different roles—theologians refer to that as “separability of operations”—but those separate operations are quite limited (typically confined to eternal generation for the Son and eternal procession for the Spirit—although those restrictions are speculative as well). The triunity of the Godhead does not contradict God’s essential unity. And I suspect that the visible presence of the Son at the Father’s throne, metaphorically pleading our case, is an expression of that unity. The Father and the Son are not at cross purposes; they act together to accomplish, recognize, and delight in our justification, our presence at the table.

In the end, we are one with the One God.

And so even in his exaltation, he ministers on our behalf.

Astonishing.

But he is, in fact, infinitely exalted. As the millions of angels sing around his throne, he is worthy—because he was slain (Re 5.11-12).

  • He is before all things, and by Him all things consist; He is worthy.
  • All things were created by Him, and for Him; He is worthy.
  • The government shall be upon his shoulder; He is worthy.
  • His name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace; He is worthy.
  • He is the beloved Son, in whom the Father is well pleased; He is worthy.
  • He who knew no sin became sin for us, that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him; He is worthy.
  • He has blotted out the handwriting of ordinances that was against us, nailing it to his cross; and having looted principalities and powers, he made a shew of them openly, triumphing over them in it; He is worthy.
  • He is our peace, who has made both Jews and Gentiles one, and has broken down the middle wall of partition between us; He is worthy.
  • He is declared to be the Son of God with power by the resurrection from the dead; He is worthy.
  • He is by the right hand of God exalted, and has shed forth his Spirit at Pentecost and in all the days since; He is worthy.
  • He is man; He is God; He is worthy.

Worthy is the Lamb to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing.

Amen. Let it ever be so.

And still, there’s more.

Part 9: Coming Again | Part 10: Final Thoughts

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Filed Under: Bible, Theology Tagged With: Christology, New Testament, Philippians, systematic theology

On Thinking Like Christ, Part 7: Ascended

January 23, 2023 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: The Most Important Thing | Part 2: Moving to the Dump | Part 3: It Gets Worse | Part 4: And Worse | Part 5: Reversal | Part 6: Risen

The exaltation continues.

For forty days and nights the risen Christ walks among His disciples, collecting witnesses to His resurrected glory (1Co 15.5-7). Then, Luke writes, “while they beheld, he was taken up; and a cloud received him out of their sight” (Acts 1:9).

He was taken up. This is a fitting end to His earthly ministry. Surrounded by those He loved to the uttermost (Jn 13.1), He is lifted up from among them to take His place as the glorified Son of God.

His great humiliation comes to an end. He is not left in the garbage dump of earth, to rub shoulders with sinful mankind and suffer the revulsion of sin forever.

The New Testament writers see this moment as a significant event, a major development beyond what the resurrection has already declared. Paul tells Timothy that Jesus—whom, according to a significant manuscript tradition, he calls “God” (1Ti 3.16)—was “received up into glory.” It’s interesting to me that before the ascension, the resurrected Jesus doesn’t appear to exhibit any visible “glory”: at the empty tomb, Mary thinks he’s the gardener (Jn 20.15), and the two disciples on the Emmaus road think he’s just some guy walking in the same direction—and not a very attentive one at that (Lk 24.18), and the disciples on the boat take a minute to recognize the man tending the fire on the beach (Jn 21.7). But with the Ascension, the Son is glorified; his status visibly changes, not only by virtue of his physical ascension—that’s obviously not an ordinary phenomenon—but apparently in his appearance as well.

Peter likewise recalls for his readers the fact that Jesus “is gone into heaven” (1P 3.22) and notes the close association of that event with his reception of cosmic authority.

Which brings us to the immediate subsequent of the Ascension.

Repeatedly the New Testament writers connect the Ascension with the Session, or the fact that on his arrival in the heavenly dimension, the Son took a seat at the right hand of the Father (Ro 8.34; Ep 1.20; Co 3.1). I think the most elegant statement of this concept comes from someone whose name we don’t even know, the anonymous author of Hebrews:

1 God, who at sundry times and in divers manners spake in time past unto the fathers by the prophets, 2 Hath in these last days spoken unto us by his Son, whom he hath appointed heir of all things, by whom also he made the worlds; 3 Who being the brightness of his glory, and the express image of his person, and upholding all things by the word of his power, when he had by himself purged our sins, sat down on the right hand of the Majesty on high; 4 Being made so much better than the angels, as he hath by inheritance obtained a more excellent name than they (He 1.1-4).

That act—sitting down in the presence, and indeed on the right hand, of the Father—is the most impressive and astonishing event in this whole series.

No subject sits in the presence of majesty. Refusing to rise for the king will get an earthly subject’s head removed. How much more an offense it is to sit in the presence of the Majesty on high.

Yet Christ does sit, and it is no offense. He is not subject to His Majesty; He is His Majesty.

He has completed His great work—“It is finished,” he cried on the cross—and now, in an ultimate act of exaltation, He sits down in the presence of the Majesty on high.

There is much more yet to say. We have departed somewhat from our initial text in Philippians 2, and Paul there tells us more about this phase of Christ’s ministry. And the next one.

We continue in the next post.

Part 8: Enthroned | Part 9: Coming Again | Part 10: Final Thoughts

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Filed Under: Bible, Theology Tagged With: Christology, New Testament, Philippians, systematic theology

On Thinking Like Christ, Part 6: Risen

January 19, 2023 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: The Most Important Thing | Part 2: Moving to the Dump | Part 3: It Gets Worse | Part 4: And Worse | Part 5: Reversal

And now begins the Father’s work in making visible—making obvious—all that had been implied in those earlier prophecies and private events.

The body of the executed “blasphemer” and “seditionist” has been removed from the cross and placed in a borrowed tomb—a really nice one, apparently, but one that gives no hint of what is about to happen. The corpse has not been sufficiently prepared for burial after the Jewish custom, because the preparations have been hurried and then interrupted by the arrival of the Sabbath rest.

His followers return dejectedly to their homes, wondering what has happened, and how, and what could possibly be next.

The cosmos waits.

And very few know, when it happens early Sunday morning, about the earthquake and the rolling away of the stone, opening the view to the interior of the tomb, and thus revealing that there’s nothing there.

The body is gone and unaccounted for—but there is an unearthly presence (Mt 28.2-4).

The sentries collapse, and probably later hightail it to headquarters and begin to make arrangements to protect themselves from the execution that should certainly come for their dereliction of duty.

And as daylight slowly rises, a small group of women comes to the tomb to finish the burial procedure, to wrap the body in fabric strips that hold in place the spices that will delay decomposition and disguise the inevitable odor.

They are surprised that the stone has been moved, and the sentries are apparently nowhere to be seen. But the unearthly one says to them, “Don’t be afraid. I know you’re looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here, for he is risen, as he predicted. Come in, and see where the body was.”

Apparently a few seconds later, he continues, “Now go, and tell his disciples that he is resurrected. He’s going into Galilee and will meet you there, I promise.”

Some of those who insist on disbelieving the obvious have an interesting theory here. They have devised the “wrong tomb” theory. The poor ladies, they say, were too upset by the emotions of the preceding days to understand what was being said to them. “He is not here,” they were told; “You have come to the wrong tomb. Come over here, and see the place where he is really buried.”

I do not understand why this theory isn’t roundly condemned for the sexist, misogynistic assertion that it is. A theological conservative would be laughed off the stage for suggesting such a thing.

You know how women are. Emotional, hysterical. Can’t follow directions, and all that.

Silly women? No. Silly scholars. The angel’s words are clear and unmistakable. He was crucified; He is risen. You shall see Him.

Death could not keep its prey, Jesus my Savior;
He tore the bars away, Jesus my Lord.
Up from the grave He arose
With a mighty triumph o’er His foes;
He arose a victor from the vast domain,
And He lives forever with His saints to reign.
He arose; He arose; Hallelujah, Christ arose!

Paul tells us that “had the princes of this world known” what was happening at Calvary, “they would not have crucified the Lord of glory” (I Co 2:8). They thought to destroy their Great Enemy; instead they destroyed themselves. They were no match for the Lord of Glory, even at His lowest point.

He is risen.

But the exaltation has just begun.

Next time.

Part 7: Ascended | Part 8: Enthroned | Part 9: Coming Again | Part 10: Final Thoughts

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Filed Under: Bible, Theology Tagged With: Christology, New Testament, Philippians, systematic theology

On Thinking Like Christ, Part 5: Reversal

January 16, 2023 by Dan Olinger 2 Comments

Part 1: The Most Important Thing | Part 2: Moving to the Dump | Part 3: It Gets Worse | Part 4: And Worse

We’ve traced Paul’s description of Jesus’ humiliation in Philippians 2, all the way to “even the death of the cross” (Php 2.8). It is a deep humiliation indeed.

But the Father does not leave the Son in that abyss. With just one word, we learn that all we have seen so far is just prelude—or more precisely, it is simply the ground for an earthshaking conclusion.

“Therefore,” Paul writes (Php 2.9). “Therefore.” You can feel the atmosphere of the room crackle electric; you can all but hear the power of Paul’s voice as he speaks to his amanuensis. “Therefore, God has highly exalted him.”

Some years ago, I was walking on the beach at the Isle of Palms near Charleston, SC, when I spied an old man clambering over the boulders of a jetty as he worked his way up the beach toward me. He had on swim trunks and no shirt. As he approached I realized that I recognized him. It was Senator Ernest “Fritz” Hollings. At the time Hollings was a very powerful political force, in his third term in the US Senate. Just two years later he would be a candidate for president—though he got trounced in New Hampshire and then endorsed Gary Hart, who was (unsuccessfully) battling Walter Mondale for the nomination.

But what I remember about that scene was how ordinary—in fact, weak and vulnerable—the man looked. If I’d been closer when I saw him on the jetty, I probably would have run over and offered to help him.

People are like that. The most powerful of us are ordinary and weak outside of our carefully controlled public manifestation.

The man on the cross is not like that.

To begin with, he is the Son, the beloved one. His exaltation began long before He ascended to heaven, even before he rose from the dead. It springs, of course, from His person, who He is, and He has always been worthy and exalted, from eternity past. But even during His earthly ministry, in the midst of His humiliation, we see the light of His glory shining through.

We see it even before his birth, from the very first prophecy in the Bible, when God promises that “the seed of the woman” will crush the serpent’s head. We see it at his birth, when the aged prophet Simeon calls him “a light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of thy people Israel” (Lk 2.32). We see it at his baptism, when a voice from heaven calls out, “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased” (Mt 3.17). We see it again on the holy mount, when “His face shone like the sun, and His garments became as white as light” (Mt 17.2)—and the Voice came again (Mt 17.5).

And we see it hidden deep in his own words to Nicodemus, the great but benighted Jewish rabbi and Sanhedrist, when he says, in words dripping red, “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of Man be lifted up” (Jn 3.14). Here is a remarkable statement. What Nicodemus doesn’t see is that Jesus is speaking of his own death, the very death that we have described repeatedly here as his greatest humiliation. Speaking of the cross, Jesus says that He will be “lifted up.” At the very depth, as he dies the death of common criminal, bearing the sins of all mankind and being cursed while hanging on a tree, He is “lifted up.” Even his debasement is an exaltation.

In a very different context, speaking of Israel’s unbelief and the subsequent opening of the gospel to the Gentiles, Paul writes, “Now if the fall of them be the riches of the world, and the diminishing of them the riches of the Gentiles; how much more their fulness?” (Ro 11.12). We can say here similarly, if the Son’s humiliation brings such glory and blessing, what will his exaltation bring?

More to come.

Part 6: Risen | Part 7: Ascended | Part 8: Enthroned | Part 9: Coming Again | Part 10: Final Thoughts

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Filed Under: Bible, Theology Tagged With: Christology, New Testament, Philippians, systematic theology

On Thinking Like Christ, Part 4: And Worse 

January 12, 2023 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: The Most Important Thing | Part 2: Moving to the Dump | Part 3: It Gets Worse 

By becoming fully human—“in the likeness of men” (Php 2.7)—God the Son experienced restrictions that seem ordinary, normal to us, but they are utterly humiliating to the Eternal and All-Powerful God. We meditated on some of those in the previous post.

But now Paul takes it down to further, unimaginable humiliation.

Being found in appearance as a man, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross (Php 2.8).

It doesn’t get any worse than this.

He dies. And not at a ripe old age, surrounded by loving family who are singing him into the presence of the angels. Even that would be incomprehensible for God. He cannot die, and for him to die under the best of circumstances would still be abhorrent.

He dies young, in the prime of his life. He dies a criminal, convicted of things he has never done. I say “things”—plural—because the religious establishment changes the charge as they deem it necessary to the circumstance. Before the Sanhedrin, the Jewish Supreme Court, the charge is blasphemy (Mt 26.65), because that’s the surest path to the death penalty from that body. But because the Romans have removed the Sanhedrin’s authority for capital punishment (Jn 18.31), they need to get a Roman judgment, and they know the Romans won’t care a fig about blasphemy, so they change the charge to sedition (Jn 19.12)—though even before the Romans they admit that the real reason is his claim to be the Son of God (Jn 19.7).

Whatever it takes.

There were lots of ways to execute a criminal in those days. None of them were as peaceful or nonviolent as taking too many sleeping pills. There’s stoning, and there’s beheading, which, if done expertly, is relatively painless—or so it appears. But God the Son is sent off to be crucified.

Crucifixion was intentionally designed to kill the victim as slowly and painfully as possible. I won’t go into details—you can find them in a few seconds on the internet—but put simply, there was not, and there never has been, a more painful way to die.

And that was the way he died.

Humiliation.

But there’s something else to be said.

I used the word victim a few lines up. It’s important to note that Jesus was no victim.

He said, “No one takes [my life] from me. I lay it down by myself” (Jn 10.18). As he stood before Pilate, who said “Don’t you know that I have authority to crucify you?!” (Jn 19.10), he responded, “You have no authority over me, except what has been given you from above” (Jn 19.11).

He had set his face like flint to go to Jerusalem (Is 50.7); he had said repeatedly that he “must” go to Jerusalem, and be rejected by the elders, and suffer, and be treated with contempt (Mt 16.21; Mk 8.31, 9.12).

And when it was time, when he knew that everything had been accomplished (Jn 19.28), when he had pronounced it “Finished!” (Jn 19.30), he mentally and volitionally reached inside himself, picked up his spirit, and delivered it over to his Father (Jn 19.30).

In a very real sense, he did not die from crucifixion; he died by an act of his will.

When the soldiers came to break his legs so that he would die before the onset of the Sabbath, they found that he was already dead. People usually lasted much longer—often several days, if there wasn’t a Sabbath to bring a merciful death.

So at his lowest—at the deepest valley of his humiliation—he was still calling the shots.

He was in charge the whole time.

Even the pagan centurion saw it (Mk 15.39).

Jesus obeys the Father, to the most extreme outcome—but without ever relinquishing his divine authority.

Now, we have none of that authority, except what the Son has delegated to his people (Mk 13.34; Jn 1.12; 1Co 8.9; He 13.10). But Paul tells us to have the mind that he had (Php 2.5).

If the Son can walk that path, which was infinitely deep, certainly we can trace the comparatively gentle slope of laying down what rights and privileges we have for the sake of the gospel.

Part 5: Reversal | Part 6: Risen | Part 7: Ascended | Part 8: Enthroned | Part 9: Coming Again | Part 10: Final Thoughts

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Filed Under: Bible, Theology Tagged With: Christology, New Testament, Philippians, systematic theology

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