Theology – Page 21

No Ordinary Servant, Part 2: The Son of God

July 21, 2022 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

Part 1: The Surprise

How does Mark begin his Gospel, his telling of the story of this servant of God?

The very first sentence surprises us:

The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God (Mk 1.1).

To a Jewish reader, this would be astonishing.

We learn first that this man has a typical Jewish name: Joshua. No real surprise there.

But then we learn that he’s specially anointed: that’s what the title Christ means. It’s the Greek synonym for the Hebrew Messiah, “Anointed One.”

Now, this isn’t necessarily surprising in itself. In the Hebrew Scriptures—what we Christians call “the Old Testament”—lots of people were anointed as a sign that they were being set aside for a particular role:

The priests were anointed (Ex 28.41)—but they had to be descendants of Aaron, from the tribe of Levi, so Jesus, a descendant of Judah, couldn’t be one of those, or so it appears.
The prophets were sometimes anointed (1K 19.16); perhaps Jesus will be a prophet? Well, there have been lots of prophets, so while that would be interesting, it wouldn’t be astonishing.
The kings were anointed as well (1S 15.1; 16.12-13)—and Jesus is indeed from the tribe of Judah, David’s tribe (1Ch 2.3, 15), the tribe to whom Jacob had prophesied that “the scepter” belonged (Ge 49.10).

Could Jesus be the coming king? That would be a much bigger surprise. There hasn’t been a king since just before Judah’s exile to Babylon, six centuries ago. (That would be like the year 1400—well before Columbus—to those of us living in the 21^st century.) But how can there be a king, with Rome dominating the entire known world? And much more significantly, how can there be a king, if God has cursed the royal line by telling Jehoiachin, the last Davidic king, that none of his descendants would ever sit on the throne of his father David (Je 22.24-30)?

OK, maybe Jesus is just a prophet, then. That’s reasonable, and it meets the terms of the verse’s language, and it will make a good story. Elijah was interesting, wasn’t he? And Elishah? And Jonah?

But then Mark explodes all of our expectations with three little words.

Jesus, the anointed one, is the son of God.

To a first-century Jew, what does that mean?

There’s the reference to the “sons of God” in Genesis 6.2, but the rabbis were all over the place in trying to interpret that. The book of Job refers to the “sons of God” presenting themselves before the Lord, apparently in heaven (Jb 1.6; 2.1)—is Jesus some kind of angel? And again in Job, God himself refers to the “sons of God” in parallel with the “morning stars” (Jb 38.7), which seems to imply some sort of heavenly body or being.

But this is all pretty confusing. What does it mean that Jesus is “the son of God”?

I’d suggest that the mind of the first-century Jew would go immediately (!) to a far more significant passage.

In the second Psalm, Yahweh / Adonai laughs (Ps 2.4) at the assembled rebellious kings of the earth (Ps 2.2) and tells them, “I’m going to set my own king on the hill of Zion” (Ps 2.6). And who is that king, the one preferred over all the kings of the earth? He himself speaks in verses 7-9:

⁷I will declare the decree: the LORD hath said unto me, Thou art my Son; this day have I begotten thee. ⁸Ask of me, and I shall give thee the heathen for thine inheritance, and the uttermost parts of the earth for thy possession. ⁹Thou shalt break them with a rod of iron; thou shalt dash them in pieces like a potter’s vessel (Ps 2.7-9).

Yahweh has told the speaker, “You are my Son!”

This is a king, all right. But he’s not like any other king. He’s going to rule over the entire earth (Ps 2.8), and he’s going to be unopposed and unopposable (Ps 2.9).

And the Psalm continues,

Kiss the Son, lest he be angry, and ye perish from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little. Blessed are all they that put their trust in him (Ps 2.12).

This absolute sovereign is one in whom all humans are urged to put their trust.

This is no mere human king, or even an angel.

This is no ordinary servant.

There’s more. Next time.

Photo by Praveen Thirumurugan on Unsplash

No Ordinary Servant, Part 1: The Surprise

July 18, 2022 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John.

Everybody knows about the four Gospels.

And many commentators have, well, commentated on the fact that there are four of them.

Why four biographies of Jesus—especially when there’s so much overlap? Why the inefficiency? Why not just one Life of Christ, effectively a harmony of the Gospels?

You’ve probably heard at least one answer to that question.

Why would you read more than one biography of George Washington, or Steve Jobs, or Michael Jordan?

Because you get different perspectives from the various biographers.

Well, how many legitimate perspectives do you suppose there could be on the only person who has been—and is—both God and man?

I suppose we could ask, why only four Gospels?

Perhaps you’ve seen the Gospels distinguished by their perspective on Jesus:

Matthew presents him as Messiah, King of the Jews.
Mark presents him as the servant of God, diligently fulfilling his divine mission.
Luke presents him as the Son of Man.
John presents him as the Son of God.

While such classifications aren’t perfect—each of the Gospels is more complex than this—they do give us some help in noticing themes of the books; for example, Matthew is filled with citations of Messianic prophecy that is fulfilled in Christ.

One feature of Mark that speaks to Jesus’ role as servant is the frequent use of a little Greek word usually translated “immediately”; it occurs

19 times in Matthew;
11 times in Luke;
7 times in John;
and a whopping 43 times in Mark, which is by far the shortest of the Gospels.

In fact, it occurs more times in Mark’s first chapter than in all of Luke or in all of John.

Jesus comes immediately out of the water after his baptism (Mk 1.10);
then the Spirit immediately drives him into the wilderness (Mk 1.12);
then he immediately calls his disciples (Mk 1.20),
and immediately they follow him (Mk 1.18);
then he immediately begins teaching in the synagogue (Mk 1.21);
and immediately his fame begins to spread (Mk 1.28);
and he immediately goes to Simon’s house (Mk 1.29);
and they immediately tell him that Simon’s mother-in-law is sick (Mk 1.30);
and when he takes her hand, immediately the fever leaves (Mk 1.31);
and when he speaks to a leper, immediately the leprosy goes away (Mk 1.42),
and Jesus immediately sends him away (Mk 1.43).

And that’s just chapter 1. Whew.

Jesus is busy.

Later in the Gospel Jesus tells a story of a landowner who sends a series of servants to the tenant farmers to collect his rent. The tenant farmers kill each servant he sends. So he sends his son—and they kill him too (Mk 12.1-8).

This biographer of Jesus presents him as God’s Servant-Son, sent to accomplish a critical mission under the direction of his Master-Father. He hastens to do his Father’s will.

But in carrying out his Father’s mission, this servant surprises us.

He doesn’t really act like a servant. He acts like someone who’s not only in charge, but very comfortable with being in charge.

You would expect this perspective from John, who begins his Gospel by saying, “And the Word was God” (Jn 1.1). You would expect it from Matthew, who begins by quoting Isaiah, “They shall call his name Emmanuel” (Mt 1.23)—and then immediately and helpfully informs us, “which being interpreted is, God with us.” You would expect it from Luke, who begins by reporting Gabriel’s words to Mary—”He shall be great, and shall be called the Son of the Highest: and the Lord God shall give unto him the throne of his father David: And he shall reign over the house of Jacob for ever; and of his kingdom there shall be no end” (Lk 1.32-33).

But Mark? Mark, who’s telling us about Jesus the servant, constantly hurrying to his Master’s next assignment?

Mark?

Yes, Mark.

You see, this is no ordinary servant.

We’ll look into the details in the next post.

Photo by Praveen Thirumurugan on Unsplash

Outside the Camp, Part 3: What It Means

July 14, 2022 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: The Background | Part 2: What It Meant

If the burning of the sin offering “outside the camp” meant that

Israel’s sin is so vile, so revolting, so contagious, so polluting, that its very offering cannot be burned where the other offerings—the peace offering, the thanksgiving offering—are. It’s as though the very smoke of the offering is contaminating;
Israel is called to reject its sin as it would reject its own sewage or its own murderers. Get rid of it. Get as far from it as you can;

then what does it mean that Jesus was executed similarly “outside the camp”?

We’ve noted that the author of Hebrews specifically ties the death of Christ outside the city of Jerusalem to the significance of the burning of the sin offering “outside the camp” (He 13.11-12). This is not a coincidental parallel; God wants us to regard the Crucifixion as a sin offering, with all the significance that an immolation outside the camp would bear in the Jewish mind.

So what can we conclude?

First, at Calvary Christ became unclean for us.

The Scripture directly states this truth:

The Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all (Is 53.6).
For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God (2Co 5.21).

We’ve all heard teaching about the physical suffering involved in Roman crucifixion, and I don’t want to minimize that for a moment. Crucifixion was designed to be the most painful way to die.

But I would suggest that Jesus’ physical pain throughout that experience, as extreme and agonizing as it was, was the least of his worries.

For that time, he was guilty of all the sin of all the people who had ever lived. What kind of pain did that cause to his utterly undefiled conscience?

“Every bitter thought, every evil deed,” indeed.

But there’s even more.

Second, at the cross Jesus the Eternal Son was rejected—

By his own people, for alleged uncleanness (Is 53.3-4; Lu 4.28-29; Jn 1.10-11; Mk 15.6-15)—

³He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not (Is 53.3).

¹⁰He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him. ¹¹He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him (Jn 1).

And by his own Father, for genuine uncleanness—as far from the Tabernacle, the visible manifestation of God’s presence with his beloved people, as he could possibly be.

Outside the camp.

Expelled. Rejected.

There could have been no greater pain, real or imagined.

“My God, my God! Why hast thou forsaken me?!”

I find it interesting that when Jesus cried these words, the bystanders thought he was calling for Elijah.

They didn’t recognize a line from their own hymnbook (Ps 22.1).

They didn’t recognize the name of their own God.

Yet he died for them.

We don’t hate our sin, or love our Savior, nearly enough.

The author of Hebrews makes a further application:

Therefore let us go to him outside the camp and bear the reproach he endured (He 13.13).

We are “in Christ” (Rom 8.1):

There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

The Father no longer rejects us, but the world does.

Let’s not be surprised by rejection for his sake.

Let’s bear his reproach (cf Heb 10.32-34).

When Satan tempts us, let’s respond, “I’m with him.”

When our culture takes his name in vain, when our coworkers and neighbors raise an eyebrow, when we face a choice between listening to our conscience or listening to our civil leaders, whatever the situation, whatever the sacrifice, let’s stand up, move swiftly and resolutely to his side, and say, “I’m with him.”

Christ, our sin offering, is sacrificed for us.

Why should we want anything else?

Photo by Bakhrom Tursunov on Unsplash

Outside the Camp, Part 2: What It Meant

July 11, 2022 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: The Background

To understand the significance of Jesus’ death “outside the camp,” I’d like to probe a couple of questions, one in each of the next two posts:

What did it mean in the Mosaic economy to be “outside the camp”?
What, then, does it mean that Jesus was executed similarly “outside the camp”?

So first, what it meant originally.

The Old Testament uses the expression “outside the camp” 26 times in 25 verses (NASB95). Many of these occurrences refer to the disposition of the burnt and sin offerings, as noted in the previous post. But there are some other references as well—references that I think shed light on the meaning of the concept and thus help illuminate the significance of disposing of those two types of sacrifices in that way.

As you might expect, latrines were placed outside the camp (Dt 23.12-14). I speculated in the previous post whether there might be latrines in more central locations, appropriately distanced from nearby tents; but if the Israelites were following the Lord’s direction explicitly, they were walking half a mile or more every time they had to go to the bathroom.

Even today, when we set up a campsite, we designate an area for excretion that is away from the sleeping and eating areas. Why is that? For hygiene. There are substances in our excrement that can make us sick—coliforms most notoriously, but lots of other nasty stuff as well. You don’t want that junk in or near your living spaces.

There are other biblical instances of placing unclean things outside the camp. People with leprosy were forced to live away from their fellow citizens, because leprosy was communicable (Le 13.46; Nu 5.1-4). We read the specific instance of Moses’ sister Miriam being struck with leprosy and thus excluded (Nu 12.10-15), and centuries later King Uzziah suffered the same fate within the land of Israel (2Ch 26.21).

And it wasn’t just physical uncleanness; ceremonial uncleanness was isolated as well. In the wilderness, a group of Midianite prisoners of war were isolated (Nu 31.1-19), as was the family of the Canaanite believer Rahab during the conquest (Jos 6.23).

Being kept outside the camp might mean that you were unclean, a source of pollution.

But uncleanness doesn’t account for all the instances. An obviously different case is that the Tabernacle itself was moved outside the camp for a period of time after the golden-calf incident (Ex 32.30; 33.7). Surely the Tabernacle was not to be seen as unclean! So why the repositioning? I’d suggest that by worshiping the calf—which Aaron had identified as “the LORD,” Yahweh (Ex 32.5)—Israel had rejected the explicit commandments of Yahweh, even though not (in their minds) going after a different “god.” Moses reminded them of this fact by moving the Tabernacle outside the camp, as though they had expelled or rejected it.

This idea of rejection is confirmed, I think, by several instances of capital punishment being executed outside the camp. By Yahweh’s direct command, a man who had blasphemed The Name was executed outside the camp (Le 24.10-14). Similarly, again by direct divine command, a man who had violated the Sabbath was executed there as well. And in a much more familiar case, the deacon Stephen, the first Christian martyr, was driven outside the city by the Sanhedrin to be executed (Ac 6.15-7.1; 7.54-58).

This was an act of utter rejection.

I think we have a good foundation, then, for understanding what it meant for the sin offering to be slaughtered, then dragged outside the camp, and then consumed by fire.

Israel’s sin is so vile, so revolting, so contagious, so polluting, that its very offering cannot be burned where the other offerings—the peace offering, the thanksgiving offering—are. It’s as though the very smoke of the offering is contaminating.
Israel is called to reject its sin as it would reject its own sewage or its own murderers. Get rid of it. Get as far from it as you can.

Next time we’ll follow the application of the author of Hebrews to where it unavoidably leads us.

Photo by Bakhrom Tursunov on Unsplash

Outside the Camp, Part 1: The Background

July 7, 2022 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

¹¹For the bodies of those animals whose blood is brought into the holy places by the high priest as a sacrifice for sin are burned outside the camp. ¹²So Jesus also suffered outside the gate in order to sanctify the people through his own blood (He 13).

There’s a book in the Christian Scriptures that is written specifically to a Jewish audience; it’s even named “Hebrews.” We don’t know who wrote it (I’m pretty sure Paul didn’t), and we don’t know exactly when it was written (though it appears to have been while the Temple was still in operation [He 10.11], and thus before AD 70) or where (though it was apparently written either from Rome or to Rome [He 13.24]). Even the name “To the Hebrews” was perhaps not original.

But it’s pretty obvious to any reader that it’s a thoroughly Jewish book. By one count there are 229 citations of or allusions to the Hebrew Scriptures in the book’s 13 chapters (that’s an average of 17 per chapter, if you’re counting), beginning in the book’s second verse, which alludes to Ps 2.8, and ending in the final paragraph (specifically He 13.20), which alludes to the eternal covenant mentioned in Ezk 37.26.

It’s a very Jewish book.

We shouldn’t be surprised, then, that if we want to understand the book, we need to understand the Hebrew Scriptures—what Christians call the Old Testament. The passage cited above is a clear example.

Jesus, the author tells us, “suffered outside the gate” in order to set us apart to God through his blood.

What does that mean?

Well, in the previous sentence the writer notes that in the Old Testament sacrificial system, the bodies of animals were “burned outside the camp”—and that Jesus’ death was a designed parallel to that practice.

There are important lessons for us in that parallel. We need to probe this passage by considering the OT practice.

The Hebrew sacrificial system is laid out for us in the book of Leviticus, the third book of the Law of Moses. We find there that the system included several types of sacrifices, which can be categorized in various ways. I like the following structure, which follows the organization of Leviticus itself:

Voluntary Sacrifices
- Burnt offerings (Le 1)
- Grain / drink offerings (Le 2)
- Peace offerings (Le 3)
Mandatory Sacrifices
- Sin offerings (Le 4-5.13)
- Trespass offerings (Le 5.14-7.38)

Each type of offering had different requirements—a different “recipe,” if you will. Two of these types are relevant to our passage in Hebrews:

The burnt offering, which the priests offered twice every day (Ex 29.38-43), was burned completely on the altar; every part of the animal was completely consumed (Le 1.9, 13, 17). Then the ashes were dumped “outside the camp” (Le 6.11).
The sin offering, which our passage specifically mentions (He 13.11), was handled differently; just the fat and the kidneys were burned on the altar (Le 4.8-10), while the rest of the carcass was burned “outside the camp” (Le 4.11-12).

Occasionally these two types of offerings were executed together; for example, at the priests’ consecration ceremony (Ex 29.10-14; Le 8-9) and on the annual Day of Atonement (Le 16).

Now, this is a lot of work. While Israel was in the wilderness, every single day for 40 years the priests had to cart the ashes of these sacrifices “outside the camp” and dump them—and, for sin offerings, burn them and ensure that they were completely consumed.

How far did they have to drag those carcasses?

Well, if there were 600,000 men in the army at both the beginning (Nu 1.46) and the end (Nu 26.51) of the 40 years in the wilderness, then it seems reasonable that the total number of people was around 2 million. How much area would tents for 2 million people cover? It’s hard to say; how far apart were the tents? Were there latrine facilities throughout the camp, and if so, how far from the tents did they need to be? Lots of variables. But it seems to me that such a group would need at least an area a mile in diameter—which means that from the center of the camp, where the Tabernacle was (Nu 2.2), it would be half a mile or more to the periphery, plus, undoubtedly, further distance to separate the “dump” from the residential tents.

Various animals could be sacrificed, including “herd” animals (Le 1.3, 4.3)—and a bull would weigh hundreds of pounds.

Half a mile. Twice a day.

This action must have considerable significance.

We’ll look at that next time.

Photo by Bakhrom Tursunov on Unsplash

On Korah … and His Sons, Part 2: Grace

July 4, 2022 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Judgment

Our story so far is riddled with judgment; it seems like fodder for the old allegation that the God of the Old Testament is a God of impatience, fury, judgment, and violence.

But there’s a reason that allegation has been long and thoroughly discredited.

Even in the telling of this story, there is grace.

To begin with, the fact that there can even be a rebellion is evidence of grace. God has pronounced judgment on this generation of Israelites because of their unbelief at Kadesh-barnea, but he hasn’t withdrawn from them either his presence or the promises he has made. They are still a nation, with laws and order and stable leadership. If they had gotten what they deserved, there would have been nothing to rebel against.

And that leadership, who have been directly attacked, do not lash out against the threat; they leave the decision to God (Nu 16.5)—even though they’re furious (Nu 16.15). Even the Lord, to whom belongs judgment, doesn’t lash out; his glory appears, giving all who see time to avert the judgment (Nu 16.19). And with judgment impending, Moses—of all people—intercedes for the lives of those in peril (Nu 16.22), and then tells everyone the way of escape (Nu 16.26).

After the outbreak of judgment against the rebels, God orders memorial in the altar plates, so that the people will be reminded of the danger that lurks down the road of rebellion (Nu 16.38).

And when the rebellion continues in spite of everything, Moses and Aaron intercede to stop the plague that is now raging.

Grace at every turn.

But still there’s more.

There’s a little line later in the book, one that seems like a throwaway—

“Notwithstanding the children of Korah died not” (Nu 26.11).

God allowed Korah’s line to continue.

And 500 years later, we hear from them again.

When Solomon instituted the Temple ceremonies, he retained the Levite orders; the descendants of Korah who had not died served in the temple. And what a service they had.

(I should say here that some scholars believe that these Temple workers were descended from a different Levite named Korah, based on 1Ch 9.19. I’m inclined to disagree, because 1) 1Ch 9.19 doesn’t require that this be a different Korah—in fact, “both” Korahs have a son named Ebiasaph [1Ch 6.37-38]); 2) The rebel Korah’s people were in fact Levites engaged to serve in the Tabernacle complex; and 3) There seems to be no reason for the Spirit to inspire the “throwaway line” about Korah’s children not dying if they’re just going to disappear from history at that point.)

The Korahites served as porters, bakers, and musicians—and the musicians wrote eleven of the Psalms: 42-49, 84-85, and 87-88.

And if you’ll look through these Psalms, you’ll find that they contain some of the most lyrical lines in the whole hymnbook—

Psalm 42:

1 As the hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O God. 2 My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God: when shall I come and appear before God? … 11 Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted within me? hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him, who is the health of my countenance, and my God.

Psalm 45:

6 Thy throne, O God, is for ever and ever: the sceptre of thy kingdom is a right sceptre. 7 Thou lovest righteousness, and hatest wickedness: therefore God, thy God, hath anointed thee with the oil of gladness above thy fellows. 8 All thy garments smell of myrrh, and aloes, and cassia, out of the ivory palaces, whereby they have made thee glad.

Psalm 46:

1 God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. 2 Therefore will not we fear, though the earth be removed, and though the mountains be carried into the midst of the sea; 3 Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. 4 There is a river, the streams whereof shall make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacles of the most High. 5 God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved: God shall help her, and that right early.

Psalm 48:

1 Great is the LORD, and greatly to be praised in the city of our God, in the mountain of his holiness. 2 Beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth, is mount Zion, on the sides of the north, the city of the great King.

Psalm 84:

1 How amiable are thy tabernacles, O LORD of hosts! 2 My soul longeth, yea, even fainteth for the courts of the LORD: my heart and my flesh crieth out for the living God. 3 Yea, the sparrow hath found an house, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, even thine altars, O LORD of hosts, my King, and my God.

Psalm 85:

10 Mercy and truth are met together; righteousness and peace have kissed each other.

Psalm 87:

3 Glorious things are spoken of thee, O city of God.

The rebels learned. And a gracious God restored to them a heritage.

We’re all rebels. But rebels can repent, and repentant rebels can thrive.

Photo credit: publishers of the 1890 Holman Bible, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

On Korah … and His Sons, Part 1: Judgment

June 30, 2022 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

The Old Testament book of Numbers is the story of the 40 years that the Israelites wandered in the Wilderness of Sinai. (I’ve written on the book’s larger significance here.) This whole period is of course a judgment for the nation’s unbelief at Kadesh-barnea; because Israel did not believe that God would give them the land he had promised to Abraham and his descendants, that unbelieving generation would die in the Wilderness, and their children, for whose lives they had feared, would take the land instead (Nu 13.26-14.35).

It’s no surprise, then, that we find individual acts of judgment popping up throughout the book. One of the most remarkable of those is what we call Korah’s rebellion; it’s notable for both the starkness of the judgment and the extravagance of the mercy that God extended.

We find the account in Numbers 16, a longer-than-usual chapter. We meet two relatively small groups of Israelites who believe that Moses and Aaron have taken more authority on themselves than they should have. The leader of one group is Korah, a Levite, and in fact a first cousin of Moses and Aaron (Ex 6.18, 20; Nu 16.1). The two leaders of the other group are Dathan and Abiram, members of the tribe of Reuben (Nu 16.1)—who, incidentally, was Jacob’s firstborn and rightful heir, but who lost the primogeniture for sleeping with his father’s concubine (Gn 35.22; 49.3-4). It’s easy to see how all three of those men would have been jealous of Moses’ authority— “why him and not us?”

Their charge is that Moses and Aaron haven taken this authority upon themselves illegitimately (Nu 16.3, 13). Evidently, they see as evidence of that the fact that Israel has not entered the Promised Land (Nu 16.14)—which seems weak evidence, given that the people themselves had refused to go in.

Moses’ response to the challenge is straightforward. Do Korah and his followers want to be priests alongside his cousin Aaron? Well, then, they should bring censers before the Lord alongside Aaron, and we’ll see what the Lord has to say about that (Nu 16.16-19).

And so they do. There are 250 men, each with a smoking censer, standing next to Moses and Aaron.

The glory of the Lord appears (Nu 16.19), and, remarkably, Moses begins to intercede for those facing judgment (Nu 16.22). And at the Lord’s command, Moses warns the whole congregation to get away from the rebels to avoid their fate (Nu 16.24-26).

As always, some believe the prophet, and others don’t. They act—or don’t act—in accordance with their belief, and unbelief brings consequences. In this case, the earth opens and swallows the rebels (Nu 16.31-33).

God orders the survivors to make metal plates from the rebels’ censers and to cover the altar with them (Nu 16.38). There will be a permanent reminder of the sin that brings judgment (Nu 16.40).

But this is not the end of the story.

Incredibly, rebellion continues. “All the congregation” accuses Moses of having killed good people (Nu 16.41).

Isn’t this ludicrous?! The earth opened up, for crying out loud. Shouldn’t that be an indication that Moses had supernatural backing? And “all the congregation” is unable to see what’s plainly before their eyes?!

Yikes.

And here comes the glory of the Lord, for the second time (Nu 16.42). A plague begins to spread among the people (Nu 16.46), and Moses sends Aaron out through the camp with a burning censer—a legitimate one (Nu 16.47).

“And he stood between the dead and the living, and the plague was stopped” (Nu 16.48).

This is not a pleasant episode in Israel’s history. I’m confident that none of us would want to have been there to see it.

But, as always, there is grace throughout this account, and even more grace to follow. We’ll consider that aspect of the story next time.

Photo credit: publishers of the 1890 Holman Bible, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons

On Lions—and The Lion

May 19, 2022 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

I’ve been thinking about lions. The Bible mentions lions 150 times; the poets and the prophets particularly like to use leonine imagery, and we shouldn’t be surprised by that, since Asiatic lions indisputably lived in Palestine in biblical times. (Nowadays they’re pretty much limited to India.)

Several biblical characters interacted with lions—most famously David the shepherd boy, as he related to King Saul just before dispensing with Goliath (1S 17.34-37). But there were others, including Samson (Jg 14.5-18), Benaiah (2S 23.20; 1Ch 11.22), an unnamed prophet from Bethel (1K 13.24-28), the neighbor of another unnamed prophet (1K 20.36), and the ancestors of the Samaritans (2K 17.25-26).

Lions are the kind of animal that would tend to make an impression. It’s no surprise, then, that they show up as decorative motifs in important places—specifically in Solomon’s Temple (1K 7.29, 36) and in his palace (1K 10.19-20; 2Ch 9.18-19), next to his throne. That’s the image you might use if you want to make an impression on foreign visitors—or, for that matter, on your own people.

It also makes sense that significant people would be compared to lions. Three of the tribes of Israel are—Judah (Gn 49.9), Gad (Dt 33.20), and Dan (Dt 33.22)—as is the whole nation of Israel (Nu 23.24; 24.9). David, mourning over King Saul and Prince Jonathan, compares them to lions (2S 1.23), and some of David’s famed “mighty men” are compared to lions as well (1Ch 12.8). Interestingly, those men are from the tribe of Gad, which has already been mentioned.

In the New Testament, the devil is compared to a lion (1P 5.8)—which might give us pause when we read later that “the Lion of the tribe of Judah” is none other than Jesus Christ (Re 5.5).

Seeing lions up close certainly enriches one’s appreciation of the metaphor. I’ve been privileged to take 7 different trips into the Serengeti, both as a treat for BJU students on my mission teams and as an opportunity for Tanzanian orphans to see their country’s rich resource. We have seen lions up close on all but one of those safaris. One of the groups had the extraordinary opportunity to see a lioness take down a wildebeest literally right in front of our vehicles, not 20 feet away. As she choked it to death, she looked unflinchingly right at us, as if to say, “You really don’t want to mess with me …”

Which brings me to the characteristic of lions that has most impressed itself on me.

They’re absolutely fearless.

They have no predators. Top of the food chain. They’re not called “the king of the jungle” for nothing.

(And, by the way, the Serengeti, like virtually all of the rest of Africa, is not jungle. It’s savannah, much like the grassland prairies of the American West.)

You drive the safari vehicle up to a pride of lions, and they just ignore you. They look away as if bored. Occasionally one will get up and sidle around the vehicle, rubbing against it as though marking its territory. But as long as you remain quiet, you’ll be ignored.

They know you can’t hurt them.

But they are not to be disrespected. On one trip, as a male lion and one of his mates were ambling around our vehicle, the well-experienced guide, Vincent, whispered, “If you want to die, get out of the car.”

We didn’t.

On another trip we saw 17 lions lounging under the shade of an acacia tree—the second-most our guide had ever seen together. They, too, ignored us.

Confidence. Pride. Seeming disinterest.

But awesome power and speed and potential for violence and destruction.

Respect the lion.

Jesus, our Savior, is not just a lion, but the lion of the royal tribe of Judah. He has no enemies that can cause him concern; he has no predators; he has no equals. He can be calm and peaceable, just as he went to his death with no resistance (Is 53.7). He is the Lamb of God (Re 5.6).

But do not take his gentleness, his mercy, for weakness. Even as a Lamb, he displays wrath that brings desperate fear to his enemies (Re 6.16).

The Lion will deliver his people.

What Church Is For, Part 3: Maturity in Christ

March 17, 2022 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Grow Up | Part 2: No Longer Children

We can’t stop our problems by just gritting our teeth and trying harder not to be bad. We need what Thomas Chalmers called “the expulsive power of a new affection,” a love for something good that drives out our earlier affection for what was destroying us.

In Ephesians 4.14, Paul has focused on the negative behaviors, but he doesn’t leave us there. In verse 15 he moves on to the new affection.

“But speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in all aspects into Him who is the head, even Christ” (Ep 4.15).

The verb here is interesting. Our translation, like most in English, says “speaking the truth.” But the word “speaking” is not technically in the text. The word is a participle, all right, but it’s just the verb form of the noun “truth.” We might woodenly render it “truthing.”

Now, I’m not criticizing the translations. We don’t say “truthing” in English; we say “speaking the truth.” That’s the way the verb ought to be rendered.

But I would suggest that what Paul is commanding here is not just the surface-level, outward conformity that “speaking” might imply. It’s not just saying things that are technically true but (intentionally?) misleading.

It’s truthfulness. A deep, lasting commitment to being genuine all the way down.

If Jesus is the truth (Jn 14.6), then being committed to the truth is the only sensible way to be. Anything short of that is treason.

Note that the contrast in the context is being deceived, the way simple-minded children can be. We’re not supposed to be like that. We’re supposed to be controlled by the truth—to recognize, believe, accept, practice, and, yes, speak it.

How?

Paul gives two simple descriptors—

“in love.” That may mean “with love as our motivation,” and certainly our love for Christ, which issues in love for one another, can help us determine how we live out genuineness and authenticity. But it may also mean “by means of love” (what theorists call “the instrumental use”)—which means that we demonstrate our genuineness outwardly, by actions on behalf of others that serve as evidence of our inward love and compassion.
“into Christ.” Christ is to be our target, our goal. That means, of course, that we measure ourselves by him, that we love as he loves. But I suspect that it goes far beyond simple imitation. Christ is our focus, our aim, our goal; he is the reason we do what we do, so much so that we transcend thinking about our own interests and act sacrificially, as Christ himself “gave himself a ransom for many.” Now, we’re not going to be paying for anybody’s sins, but we can follow his example in thinking of others rather than ourselves.

Study Christ; learn Him; focus on Him; make Him the top priority (that’s what love is). As you then grow up into Him, you’ll be a person of truth rather than a victim of trickery.

If we do this kind of thinking, one person at a time, what kind of churches would we have? What kind of spiritual, mental, and emotional health would we have there?

Interestingly, Paul goes on to describe something almost like critical mass. The church fits together, with each part doing what it’s designed to do, until the body begins to construct itself. It doesn’t have to think about growing, or try harder to grow, or obsess about why it’s not growing. It just grows, because that’s what bodies do when they’re healthy.

And eventually, one great day, the church will be the kind of body that reflects gloriously on its Head.

May that day come soon.

Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Unsplash

What Church Is For, Part 2: No Longer Children

March 14, 2022 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Grow Up

We have some growing to do.

We’re not there yet. Even Paul says that he’s not where he needs to be (Php 3.12), and that he knows “in part” (1Co 13.12).

Paul now gives us our response—the medicine we’re supposed to take. In verse 14, he begins with the negative—“Stop this practice”; and then, in verse 15, he gives us the positive—“Here’s what you can do about it.” Today’s post focuses on verse 14.

^“As a result, we are no longer to be children, tossed here and there by waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by the trickery of men, by craftiness in deceitful scheming” (Ep 4.14).

God’s people are supposed to stop being children.

Now, I should note that there’s nothing defective about a child’s being a child. We all start out as children, and for a time that’s the right and natural place to be. We love children’s simplicity, and joy, and insight. Social media is filled with videos of children’s delightfulness.

Jesus even said that we grownups need to become like children, in some sense, before we can enter the kingdom of heaven (Mt 18.3-4; 19.14). The simple trust of a child for his parent is a powerful thing.

But children aren’t supposed to stay children. They’re supposed to grow up.

Specifically, they’re supposed to outgrow

Inconsistency

Paul describes a boat, “tossed here and there by waves,” at the mercy of its circumstances. Children can be like that. We all know that if one child in the church nursery starts to cry, we need to get him out of there fast, or else before long every child will be crying, and the more part will know not wherefore they are come together.

We’re supposed to get over our childlike tendency to be governed by what’s going on around us.

I think of that when I see my friends on social media given over to the Outrage of the Day. Somebody somewhere decides what we’re all going to be upset about this time, and we follow like sheep, sharing posts on issues about which we know nothing but immediately have an opinion. I saw a meme the other day that said something to the effect of, “And just like that everybody went from being expert epidemiologists to being experts in international relations.”

Yeah.

Paul’s context is more specific than just general inconsistency; he’s speaking specifically about “every wind of doctrine,” or teaching, specifically teaching about the faith. I have known people—and still do—who take up every half-witted heresy that comes down the pike. It’s like distortions of Scripture get all knotted up in their brains and just hang out together like they’re the last great hope of mankind.

We need to do better. We need to develop adult judgment—wisdom—that prevents us from being tossed around like that.

Naivete

Paul changes his image in the middle of the verse. He moves from natural forces—waves and winds—to moral ones—“by the trickery of men, by craftiness in deceitful scheming.”

The fact is that in a morally influenced world, the things calling for our attention are not always neutral distractions. Often they’re the schemes of people with evil intent. The distractors are up to something.

I’ve mentioned the delightfulness of a child’s naivete. Decades ago Johnny Carson was interviewing a boy, and the child pretty much took over the interview. He asked Johnny to do a magic trick for him, and Johnny obliged. The look of wonder on the boy’s face was pure innocence, just delightful. He really thought that quarter had come out of his own ear.

But again, children should grow up. Naivete is not a virtue in adults. We shouldn’t be buying what the ne’er-do-wells are selling. We should know the Scripture—and the world—better than that.

This post has been pretty negative, because this verse is negative. Next time we’ll look at the positive side.

Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Unsplash