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 a New Year

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Another new year. My 70th. After a while they all sort of blend together, don’t they? 

Since I started this blog back in July 2017, this is my seventh New Year’s post. (I know the math doesn’t work; I didn’t post about New Year’s Day in 2018, because apparently I took a break between 12/18/17 and 1/8/18. I was young and relatively inexperienced in those days.) 

Seven being the number of completeness, maybe I should quit after this one. But I don’t expect to. 

It’s usually fun to reach a turning point like this—a new year, a new baby, a new job, a new house—and to anticipate the ways that it will change what lies ahead. I’m one of those optimists you hear about, and I tend to over-expect what good things might happen. That puts a spring in your step, but it also sets you up for disappointment. 

Others, perhaps less optimistic, or just under realistic threat of coming or continuing hardship, have expectations that are less sanguine. If the optimist’s weak spot is disappointment, the pessimist’s is fear. 

The Scripture speaks to both of those. 

To the disappointed it speaks of God’s sovereign goodness, the rightness and propriety of the expected thing’s not happening. The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord (Ps 37.23). Further, it speaks of the importance of not finding our ultimate satisfaction in what happens to us here (Ec 1.2-3). 

To the fearful it speaks abundantly; the expression “fear not” or something similar appears 75 times in the Scripture, and while many of those are referring to specific situations, the general application is clear. We fear God (Ec 12.13) but don’t fear anything else. 

But it has more to say to both groups than that. Three interrelated thoughts. 

First, this year, this life, this entire history of life on earth, are all temporary. Old coots are more sensitive to that than young ones (and yes, there can be young coots; look it up). The difficult things won’t last, and neither will the good things. While it’s impossible to be completely passive—stoic or Buddhist—about the trials and joys of life, we do find comfort in the knowledge that the trials will end, and we find warning in the knowledge that the earthly things we find joy in will not be permanent either. 

Second, as I’ve noted, life is providential; there is a wise and loving God directing our path through, and including, the trials and joys. They make sense—though not always to us at the time—and they serve a good and profitable purpose. Paul tells us that 

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 5.3-5). 

The hard things—as well as the enjoyable things, I would add—give us the opportunity to endure, which makes us stronger, which enables us to overcome, which gives us confidence the next time. In our joys and in our sorrows, we’re getting useful things done, and we’re becoming the improved version of ourselves that will live forever. Life is temporary, but it’s an important investment. 

And that leads to the third thought: there’s more and better coming, and it will not be broken, and it will not be temporary. And no, this is not pie in the sky (though, given that the tree of life bears fruit every month [Re 22.2]), maybe there will be pie; who knows?). This is the promise of God: 

3 And there shall be no more curse: but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it; and his servants shall serve him: 4 And they shall see his face; and his name shall be in their foreheads. 5 And there shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light of the sun; for the Lord God giveth them light: and they shall reign for ever and ever (Re 22.3-5). 

In this New Year, live with the end in mind. 

Happy New Year. 

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Immanuel, Part 5: Forever

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Part 1: Creation | Part 2: Covenant | Part 3: Marriage | Part 4: Turning the Page

As we’ve seen in this series, God has always wanted to dwell with his people. From the very beginning he made humans in his image and apparently walked with them in the Garden. Throughout the biblical narrative there are people who “walk with God,” and the storyline consists largely of God’s choosing a people for himself: first, a nation (Abraham, Moses, David) and then a spiritual kingdom, the church, which, following Jesus’ Great Commission, will take his story, and the opportunity for fellowship with him, to the ends of the earth.

We find ourselves in the process of fulfilling that Commission, waiting expectantly for his return. Though we don’t know when that will happen, we do know that it may happen at any time. We don’t know how far away the tape is in this race.

But one day he will come. Some Christians (amillennialists and postmillennialists) think that eternity will begin right then. Others, including me (premillennialists) think there will first be a thousand-year earthly reign of Christ, the Millennium, during which sin and death will still be operative, but righteousness and justice will prevail under the perfect King. And then, eternity.

The Bible doesn’t seem to have a lot to tell us about the eternal state—though it speaks much, in my opinion, about the Millennium. (My premill assumptions are showing here.) Most of what we can read about eternity is in the last two chapters of the Scripture, Revelation 21 and 22.

So I pose a question. Will this fellowship, this walking with God, his dwelling in the midst of his people—will that continue beyond time and into eternity? Is history just preparation for an eternal dwelling with God?

Let’s survey those two chapters.

After the Millennium (Re 20) and the Great White Throne judgment (Re 20.11-15), which ends with the “second death,” when “death and hell [are] cast into the lake of fire” (Re 20.14-15), the eternal state begins. And it begins with the presentation of the new heaven and new earth. Note the matrimonial language here: the New Jerusalem is “prepared as a bride adorned for her husband” (Re 21.2), and eventually an angel calls the heavenly Jerusalem “the bride, the Lamb’s wife” (Re 21.9). It’s no stretch to see this as a continuation of the marital language God has used to describe first Israel and then the church. This is the realization, the consummation, of that intimate relationship.

And how is it described?

The tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God (Re 21.3).

After a description of the city, John says,

I saw no temple therein: for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it (Re 21.22).

And again,

The throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it; and his servants shall serve him: 4 And they shall see his face; and his name shall be in their foreheads (Re 22.3-4).

And finally,

The Spirit and the bride say, Come. And let him that heareth say, Come. And let him that is athirst come. And whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely (Re 22.17).

And there is our answer.

God dwells with his people not just for time, but for eternity.

That has always been the plan.

So the Bible is, in literary terminology, an inclusio: it begins and ends with the same theme of God’s desire to dwell with his people in the most intimate and eternal of relationships.

It will be done.

This Christmas season we’re reminded of the completeness of God’s commitment to this relationship, and the certainty that it will happen.

Immanuel.

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Immanuel, Part 4: Turning the Page 

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Part 1: Creation | Part 2: Covenant | Part 3: Marriage 

Has God given up on his people? Has he divorced them with no hope of reconciliation? 

In the account so far, we have reason to think otherwise. 

At the dedication of the Temple, Solomon had prayed, 

Now therefore arise, O Lord God, into thy resting place, thou, and the ark of thy strength: let thy priests, O Lord God, be clothed with salvation, and let thy saints rejoice in goodness (2Ch 6.41). 

Solomon, who will be worshiping idols in his old age (1K 11.4-8), invites God to reside in the house he has built in Israel’s capital city. Will God refuse the invitation because of how he knows Israel will behave? 

Perhaps surprisingly, no. 

Now when Solomon had made an end of praying, the fire came down from heaven, and consumed the burnt offering and the sacrifices; and the glory of the Lord filled the house. 2 And the priests could not enter into the house of the Lord, because the glory of the Lord had filled the Lord’s house. 3 And when all the children of Israel saw how the fire came down, and the glory of the Lord upon the house, they bowed themselves with their faces to the ground upon the pavement, and worshipped, and praised the Lord, saying, For he is good; for his mercy endureth for ever (2Ch 7.1-3). 

God wants to dwell in the midst of his people, in spite of everything. 

Four centuries later, when some of the Babylonian exiles return to Jerusalem and rebuild the Temple, God promises to make this Second Temple, admittedly an inferior one (Hag 2.3), even greater than Solomon’s (Hag 2.4-9). 

We’ll get to how he does that in a little bit. 

And a prophet, Micah, in the midst of lambasting Israel for their sin, writes, 

He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; 
And what doth the Lord require of thee, 
But to do justly, and to love mercy, 
And to walk humbly with thy God? (Mic 6.8). 

God wants, he really wants, to dwell with his people. 

By his providence, the Protestant canon of the Old Testament ends with the word curse (Mal 4.6)—and it is a threat. 

But as I noted last time, there’s a page to turn. 

Let’s turn it now. 

The book of the generation of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham (Mt 1.1). 

That first chapter of Matthew demonstrates that Jesus is indeed the son of David (Mt 1.6) and of Abraham (Mt 1.2), and then it demonstrates even more: that this Jesus is the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy (Is 7.14) of one to be born of a virgin (Mt 1.18), one who would be “Immanuel” (Mt 1.23)—and Matthew kindly assists his Greek- and English-speaking readers by translating that Hebrew word: “which being interpreted is, God with us.” 

God has been silent for 400 years, since Malachi’s “curse.” But now he speaks, and his words reverberate through the halls of history with an assurance: God still wants to dwell with his people. 

He is so committed to this intimacy that he himself, in the person of God the Son, takes on human flesh and becomes one of us. 

One of Jesus’ closest earthly disciples put it this way: 

The Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father) full of grace and truth (Jn 1.14). 

He walks among us. 

As a baby, he is presented to the Lord in the Temple—a renovated Temple, yes, but still the Temple that Haggai’s people had built. 

He will teach and heal in that Temple, in Solomon’s porch, and he will clear the neighboring plaza of moneychangers and profiteers. 

He experiences deprivation—hunger, thirst, sorrow, and physical, emotional, and spiritual pain. 

He is in all points tempted just as we are, but without sin. 

And one Friday afternoon, as he delivers his spirit to God from a cross, the veil of that Temple will be torn in two, from the top to the bottom, opening the way for all to see that the Holiest Place is empty of a physical Ark, but access to God is open as it had never been before. 

God with us. 

He lives here with us for 30 or 35 years, and then he ascends back to heaven and takes his seat at the Father’s right hand. 

Is that it? Less than 4 decades? Or will he dwell with us forever? 

Next time. 

Part 5: Forever

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Immanuel, Part 3: Marriage 

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Part 1: Creation | Part 2: Covenant 

After the wedding, as they say, comes the marriage. And we all know that in human marriages, there are ups and downs, times of bliss and rockier roads. 

God’s marriage to his people is half human; his people are sinful beings, and this marriage exhibits that kind of instability—due not to any instability in God, but rather to the deep brokenness of his wife, his people. 

The trouble begins before we even get out of Exodus. There are multiple instances of Israel’s unfaithfulness, most notoriously that of the golden calf, which the people worship even before Moses has returned from the mountaintop. Soon after, they refuse God’s wedding gift of the land of Canaan, fearing that their new husband is not powerful or faithful enough to defeat the land’s imposing inhabitants on their behalf. Forty years they wander in the wilderness, slow to learn of their husband’s goodness and strength. 

Eventually God returns them to their gift, and they take the land. But they refuse his command to destroy the inhabitants, setting up centuries of unfaithfulness in worshiping the various Canaanite gods. 

How stupid do you have to be to worship the gods of people you just defeated in battle? 

Once in the land, they stumble into a government of sorts, entrusting their fates to judges who they believe will protect them from the enemies that surround them. They have not learned, apparently, from God’s defeating of the Canaanites. But the judges, while sometimes temporarily successful, are generally disappointing—Samson the most—and by the end of the judges era their land is chaotic and dysfunctional. 

And so they look for a king. 

Now, God has always wanted them to have a king; Jacob had prophesied on his deathbed that “the scepter shall not depart from Judah … until the one to whom it belongs2 comes” (Ge 49.10). But the Israelites, once again, are focused on the strength of their enemies rather than the strength of their God, and they go for the tall guy. (Don’t get me started.) He has no heart for God and little to no personal character, and after a full 40-year career God rejects him—and his line, as represented in David’s friend Jonathan. 

This should not be a surprise; Saul, the people’s choice, is from the tribe of Benjamin, and Jacob’s prophecy has identified the royal tribe as Judah. 

So God chooses Judah’s David, a man after his own heart. And at the anointing of the young shepherd boy by Samuel, we’re told that “the Spirit of God came upon David from that day forward” (1S 16.13). There are a dozen or so people of whom the Old Testament says that the Spirit “came upon” them—warriors and prophets, mostly—but it is said of no one else that the Spirit came upon them “from that day forward.” I suspect that David was the only person before Jesus to experience the permanent indwelling of the Spirit. 

God dwelt with him. 

The rest of the Old Testament is largely a story of frustration. David and Solomon both fall into great sin; the kingdom is divided. Then every single king of Israel is evil, while most of the kings of Judah are evil as well. The prophets present countless examples of the Israelites’ unfaithfulness to God, their husband. Israel goes into exile in Assyria; Judah in Babylon. 

In Jerusalem as Nebuchadnezzar’s army approaches, Jeremiah writes God’s message: 

And I saw, when for all the causes whereby backsliding Israel committed adultery I had put her away, and given her a bill of divorce; yet her treacherous sister Judah feared not, but went and played the harlot also (Jer 3.8). 

Living in the exile community in Babylon, Ezekiel describes a vision in which the glory of God—the pillar of cloud and fire—departs from the Temple (Ezk 10.18). 

Divorce. Departure. 

But, my friends, the divorce is not final. 

God’s final prophetic word to his ex-wife is “Curse” (Mal 4.6). 

But there is a page yet to turn. 

2 The KJV famously renders this as “Shiloh.” That’s the underlying Hebrew word, and it may be a proper name. But if it is, the Bible gives us no further information about the person, and it never refers to Jesus with that name. Several other translations parse the Hebrew word as a contraction of sorts, consisting of “sh,” a possible contraction of asher, meaning “which,” and “l,” a preposition meaning “to,” and “h,” which as an ending in Hebrew often means “him.” Thus “which to him,” or “which is his.”

Part 4: Turning the Page | Part 5: Forever

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Immanuel, Part 2: Covenant 

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Part 1: Creation 

God begins our story by emphasizing that he wants to fellowship intimately with us. The book of Genesis contains many indications of that idea not mentioned in the previous post—his fellowship with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob most notably, a story punctuated with the building of altars and the offering of sacrifices that speak of such fellowship, and indeed of love. 

As we move into Exodus, the theme continues. 

God has promised Abraham that he will give his descendants a certain land—the land God has directed him to, and on which Abraham has already walked—the land of Canaan. As Exodus opens, Jacob (Israel) and his handful of descendants have left the land of promise—because they were in danger of starving in the famine—and have relocated to Egypt, at the clear providential direction of God through Jacob’s son Joseph. And under Joseph’s protection, they flourish there. 

But dark times come. A new Pharoah arises, who knows nothing of the centuries-old stories of Joseph, the savior of Egypt, and who sees Jacob’s descendants as simply a supply of free manual labor. 

So the Israelites become slaves—toiling under merciless taskmasters, and for free. 

But God sees, and he hears their cries, and he raises up Moses, providentially raised in Pharaoh’s very courts, to take a message to Pharaoh: 

Let my people go. 

Did you hear that? 

My people. Mine. 

Family. Intimacy. Love. 

And through a series of plagues, which are clearly direct attacks on and defeats of Egypt’s many gods, the LORD brings his beloved people out of Egypt, through the Red Sea to Sinai, where he meets with their leaders—face to face with Moses—and enters into a covenant with them. That covenant is rich and multifaceted; he is their Lord, their King. But he is also their Husband. 

He marries them. 

And during an extended period with Moses on the mountain, he gives extensive instructions for a Tabernacle, a tent where he will dwell among them. When Moses returns down the mountain, his face shines with the intensity of his fellowship with God. 

And with the energetic cooperation of the people, skilled and gifted craftsmen build the tent to the exact specifications God has given. They call it “the Tent of Meeting,” because in that simple edifice both Moses and the high priest can meet with God. The Tabernacle is set up in the very middle of the camp. 

And as the crowning element of this marriage ceremony, the visible light of God’s presence, the pillar of cloud and fire1, descends and hovers over the tent, directly over the Holiest Place, the section of the tent where the Ark of the Covenant is placed. 

This Ark is a gold-plated box containing the Ten Commandments—the marriage license, if you will—and Aaron’s rod, the symbol of priestly authority. Its solid-gold lid, the Covering or Mercy Seat, features images of two cherubim facing each other, and God says that he dwells there on the Mercy Seat, between the cherubim. It is there that the high priest, once a year on the Day of Atonement, sprinkles the sacrificial blood that will cover the sins of the people for another year. 

God dwells among them. 

He has married them, and now they move in together and set up house. 

Next time: the theme continues. 

1 In my loosely held opinion, there were not two pillars, one of “cloud” during the day and another of “fire” during the night, with daily transitions from one to the other. Rather there was a single bright white pillar, which looked like a bright cloud during daylight hours and then, with darkness, appeared more luminescent, like fire. The cloud is referred to as a “pillar [singular] of cloud and of fire” in Ex 14.24. This seems consistent with Solomon’s statement that the Lord “would dwell in thick darkness” (1K 8.12 // 2Ch 6.1; cf. Ex 20.21; Dt 4.11; 5.22). 

Part 3: Marriage | Part 4: Turning the Page | Part 5: Forever

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Immanuel, Part 1: Creation

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One of the key pursuits in Biblical Studies is discerning the central theme of the Bible. In Biblical Theology, which is essentially the study of the Bible as literature, this question is the end of the entire discipline, the goal toward which all the other work is pointing. In German scholarship it’s called the Mitte, or center. 

Over the years several candidates have been suggested. A popular one is “kingdom”: Thurman Wisdom and Thomas Schreiner have both recently favored this idea in one form or another. Another popular suggestion is “covenant,” suggested influentially a century ago by Walther Eichrodt. And recently Peter Gentry and Stephen Wellum have combined the two ideas. 

For a time I toyed with the idea of “Messiah” as the central theme. I noted that the Hebrew Canon has three parts—the Law, the Prophets, and the Writings—each of which introduces us to offices (priest, prophet, and king, respectively) that were filled by disappointing people, all anticipating the perfect Prophet, Priest, and King who would lead without disappointment. He was, of course, the Messiah, the Anointed One—and all of these offices typically involved anointing. 

I think that’s a defensible suggestion for a central, governing theme; it seems comprehensive, with good explanatory power for all the biblical contents. 

But lately I’ve been meditating on another possibility, a theme that has been observed and commented on by a number of other students of the Word. 

It’s the idea of God dwelling with, among, his people. 

I’d like to spend a few posts tracing that idea through the Scripture. 

__________ 

We begin, of course, in Genesis, in the primeval history. The first thing we learn is that God is the author of creation; he made all things (Ge 1.1). Later in that first chapter we see him creating the first humans and distinguishing them from the other living creatures: they are in the image of God (Ge 1.26-27). In fact, rather than just speaking them into existence, as he had other living things (Ge 1.11-12, 20-21, 24-25), he intervenes personally, seemingly physically, to form Adam from the dust of the ground (Ge 2.7) and then to form Eve from one of Adam’s ribs (Ge 2.21-22). This seems much more intimate, much more personal, than the way he created the animals. Along the way we hear God give Adam and Eve dominion over all the earth (Ge 1.28), intending them to use plant life for their sustenance. 

Now, I need to deal with a misconception. I suppose this misconception was most artfully rendered in James Weldon Johnson’s God’s Trombones: 

 And God stepped out on space, 
 And he looked around and said: 
 I’m lonely — 
 I’ll make me a world. 

Johnson’s work is worthwhile reading by every American for its cultural and historical significance, its lyricism, its artistry. It is a remarkable piece of literature. 

But God was not lonely. 

God is, and always has been, completely satisfied in himself. There is no lack, no need, no shortcoming in him. 

And thus he did not need to make us. 

And yet, he wanted to. 

Why? If he didn’t need us, why did he make us at all? 

We get a tiny, possible hint shortly later in the narrative. Adam and Eve have sinned (Ge 3.6) and then tried to cover their newfound shame (Ge 3.7), and 

they heard the voice of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day (Ge 3.8). 

Now, we’re not told that this had been a daily practice. Perhaps God, knowing that his creatures have sinned, is coming to announce their judgment (Ge 3.16-19)—and their eventual glorious deliverance (Ge 3.15). 

But this does speak of God desiring to be in company with Adam and Eve—perhaps even to walk with them in the beauty of the Garden, to point out its delights, to savor the wonder and joy in their faces as they realize what he has given them. 

Of course, sin has changed all that. 

But even so the fellowship continues. Just two scant chapters later, we find Enoch “walk[ing] with God” (Ge 5.22), and in the next chapter, Noah doing the same thing (Ge 6.9). 

God wants to fellowship with his people, to interact with them in loving and friendly and intimate ways. 

From the beginning it has always been so. 

And as the story continues, the evidence will continue to accumulate. 

Next time, from a family to a nation.

Part 2: Covenant | Part 3: Marriage | Part 4: Turning the Page | Part 5: Forever

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On Winning the War, Part 3: The Flesh 

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Part 1: Identifying the Enemy | Part 2: The World 

The second front in our three-front war, according to the common saying, is “the flesh.” The Bible uses this word in a couple of ways, one positive and the other negative. Sometimes the word refers to the sensitive part of us, the tender part, the living part—similarly to the way we use the expression “it cut to the quick.” Twice through the prophet Ezekiel God says, “I will take the stony heart out of their flesh, and will give them an heart of flesh” (Ezk 11.19; cf Ezk 36.26). That’s a good thing. 

But the Bible, particularly in Paul, also speaks of the flesh as the evil that lives within us (Ro 7.18)—what Paul also calls the “old man” (Ro 6.6), and what theologians refer to as the “sinful nature.” And as I’ve noted in an earlier series, John names “the lust of the flesh” as part of what characterizes the lifestyle of “the world.” 

I noted in that same earlier post that “the flesh” involves more than just sexual lust; it includes any physical desire that is inappropriate: gluttony, for example, or laziness. It’s interesting to me that all of these physical desires were given to us by God: we need food and sleep every day, and we need to reproduce for the survival of the species. They’re good things, all of them—but they make lousy gods, and they can destroy us if uncontrolled. Like fire, a useful servant but a fearful master. 

So how do we fight the flesh? Particularly since these desires are things that we ought to exercise responsibly? Are we doomed to be like the alcoholic who has one drink a day and hopes—forlornly—that he can control it? 

Not at all. The key to controlling the flesh, like the key to controlling physical addiction, is health—physical health for the addict, and spiritual health for the worshiper of the flesh. A helpful passage, I think, is Galatians 5.16-26: 

16 But I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not carry out the desire of the flesh. 17 For the flesh sets its desire against the Spirit, and the Spirit against the flesh; for these are in opposition to one another, so that you may not do the things that you please. 18 But if you are led by the Spirit, you are not under the Law. 19 Now the deeds of the flesh are evident, which are: immorality, impurity, sensuality, 20 idolatry, sorcery, enmities, strife, jealousy, outbursts of anger, disputes, dissensions, factions, 21 envying, drunkenness, carousing, and things like these, of which I forewarn you just as I have forewarned you that those who practice such things shall not inherit the kingdom of God. 22 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, 23 gentleness, self-control; against such things there is no law. 24 Now those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires. 25 If we live by the Spirit, let us also walk by the Spirit. 26 Let us not become boastful, challenging one another, envying one another. 

Here’s how that works: 

  • Recognize the fact of victory (Ga 5.16). We do not need to lose this battle; indeed, it has already been won (Ro 7.24-8.1). Many are discouraged that their struggle with the flesh is ongoing; but on the contrary, that struggle is a good sign. It indicates that the Spirit is doing his convicting work and conforming you, bit by bit, to the image of Christ (2Co 3.18). It indicates a tender heart, a “heart of flesh,” rather than a hardened one. 
  • Be led by the Spirit (Ga 5.18). This is simply sanctification, or growth in grace. It’s the result of spiritual exercise through absorbing the Scripture, wrestling in prayer, and actively fellowshipping with other believers. Filling one’s mind with God’s thoughts will help drive out one’s own—or rather, transform them (Ro 12.2) from self-focused to outward- and upward-focused. 

It’s a long haul, and it requires faithfulness. But victory is certain, in God’s good time. 

Next time: dealing with the devil. 

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On Winning the War, Part 2: The World

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Part 1: Identifying the Enemy 

So we’re fighting a three-front war—something no one’s likely to win without divine power. Let’s take a look at the first enemy, the world. 

I wrote some on this just a few posts ago, focusing primarily on definitional matters. Here I’d like to focus on how to fight so as to win. I think a key biblical source on this question is John’s first epistle. 

The Right Family 

I’d suggest that the essential requirement for this fight is being in the right family (or to continue the military metaphor, the right army); without this identity and the power it conveys, all is lost. John writes, 

For whatever is born of God overcomes the world; and this is the victory that has overcome the world—our faith (1J 5.4). 

To be effective in battle, a soldier has to be alive. In the spiritual battle against the combined forces of the world as organized in opposition to God, the spiritually dead have no hope. 

But to be spiritually alive, a member of God’s family—now that equips and mobilizes a person for spiritual warfare. And John identifies the impetus for spiritual life: faith. 

The biblical authors are agreed on this. Paul writes, “By grace are you saved, through faith—and that not of yourselves” (Ep 2.8). Peter writes of “the end of your faith, even the salvation of your souls” (1P 1.9). The author to the Hebrews states, “Without faith it is impossible to please [God]” (He 11.6). 

Faith is simply trusting God to forgive your sins on the basis of Christ’s death on your behalf (Ro 3.21.28). 

How do you know if you’re in? 

Well, there are actually several signs of that, but let me focus on just one: your attitude toward sin will change. Whereas you once loved your sin, you now see it accurately as your enemy, the destroyer of your soul. And you turn from it. The Bible calls that “repentance.” You won’t completely stop sinning—in my opinion that’s impossible this side of the grave—but your attitude toward sin will change, and you’ll fight against it. As time goes on and you gain fighting experience, you’ll get better at the fight, but you’ll be attitudinally on board from the very beginning (1J 3.9). 

The Right Focus 

Any combat veteran will tell you that to succeed in battle, you have to pay attention. Focus is absolute. 

Just after identifying faith as the key in the verse quoted above (1J 5.4), John writes, 

And who is the one who overcomes the world, but he who believes that Jesus is the Son of God? (1J 5.5). 

As a believer, you keep your focus on Jesus, the Christ, the Son of God, because he is the one we follow, we serve. He is the battlefield commander, and following his orders certainly eventuates in victory. Why is that? Because Jesus, as God, is all-powerful and cannot be defeated. 

You are from God, little children, and have overcome them; because greater is He who is in you than he who is in the world (1J 4.4). 

In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world (Jn 16.33). 

To win this fight, every soldier needs to concentrate on Christ, study him, learn him. Everything else is a distraction. 

Focusing on Christ will also enable you to focus on the long-term rather than the short-term. The English poet William Wordsworth wrote, “The world is too much with us.” It fills our peripheral vision with distractions, like the mobile over a baby’s crib, and we’re tempted to fritter away our limited lifetime on passing, temporary things: stuff, applause, pop culture, and a host of other trivia. 

When your mind is focused on the eternal—most especially, likeness to the image of Christ (2Co 3.18)—the flashing neon roadside signs seem dim and worthless. Like an experienced driver, you focus down the road, taking in the whole scene and driving responsibly, safely, effectively, arriving at your destination, which was the whole point of being on the road in the first place. 

Focus. It will enable you to defeat your enemy the world. 

Photo by Henry Hustava on Unsplash

On Winning the War, Part 1: Identifying the Enemy

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The Scripture often uses military language for the Christian life. Most famously, I suppose, Paul describes the “armor” (lit. “panoply”) of the Christian warrior, supplied by God for both defense and offense (Ep 6.13-17). Christians who take a more pacifist approach to life (e.g. Quakers, Mennonites, and others) are sometimes troubled by other Christians who emphasize this language; I had a high school teacher who mocked the hymn “Onward, Christian Soldiers,” particularly the line “marching off to war.” (Incidentally, the music typically used for that hymn was composed by Arthur Sullivan, of “Gilbert and Sullivan” fame.) My high school years were during the Vietnam era, with its accompanying protests, and my teacher was on the antiwar side. I note that the decades since have muddied the war/antiwar lines, with both the political left and the political right divided over US interventionism, as currently embodied in the Russia-Ukraine conflict. 

But that’s off the point; sorry. 

There’s certainly no question that the Bible uses military language, and not just in reporting conflicts in Israelite history, but also in noting the Lord’s active direction in those military exploits (e.g. Jos 8.1-29) and in applying the military metaphor to the Christian’s experience in the world (e.g. 1Ti 6.12). 

God expects us to fight. 

Against whom? 

I note that while God indeed instructed the armies of Israel to fight against—and destroy—the Canaanite tribes (he gives the reason for that in his words to Abraham in Ge 15.16), and while he strengthened various kings of Israel in their military conquests against Israel’s neighbors, after the theocracy the Scripture seems uninterested in fighting political opponents. Jesus, for example, repeatedly refused to take on the Zealots’ cause against Rome (Jn 6.15), even though he allowed his followers to call him king (e.g. Jn 1.49; Lk 19.38) and willingly died under the charge that he was “King of the Jews” (Jn 19.3, 14, 19). There’s a theological reason for that, of course: Jesus’ purpose in his first coming was not to overthrow earthly kingdoms—physically—but to die for sin and to rise again, defeating death. But I also note that after Christ’s ascension, Paul commands submission to earthly powers (Ro 13.1-7), even when the emperor at the time was Nero. He does not hint at attacking, let alone overthrowing, even corrupt and unjust governments. 

I conclude, then, that when the Bible uses military language about the Christian life, those passages are not talking about political fights. (Obvious disclaimer: of course we ought to use our God-given rights to oppose evil in society, among other ways, by engaging in political activity.) 

So what enemy or enemies are these passages talking about? Paul’s “armor” passage names the devil specifically (Ep 6.11), and John focuses in his first epistle on “the world” (1J 2.15-17), right after he has referred to “the wicked one” (1J 2.14). And in his characterization of the world, he speaks specifically of “the lust of the flesh” (1J 2.16). 

It’s no surprise, then, that our battle is routinely described as one against “the world, the flesh, and the devil.” Some people are surprised to learn that that phrase doesn’t actually appear in the Bible, though as we’ve demonstrated, the concept is solidly biblically based. 

We’re not sure where the particular wording came from; the earliest use of it I can find is by Peter Abelard (AD 1079-1142), a French philosopher and theologian. He wrote extensively, including a series of “Expositions,” including “An Exposition on the Lord’s Prayer.” (I haven’t been able to find the text of this in English online, so no link; sorry.) 

On the prayer’s sixth petition (“deliver us from evil”), he writes, “There are three things that tempt us: the flesh, the world, and the devil.” 

And we’ve liked that summary ever since. The Catholic Church included it in the Canons of the Council of Trent (Sixth Session, Chapter 13), and the Litany of the Anglican Book of Common Prayer includes it as well (“From fornicacion, and all other deadlye synne, and from al the deceytes of the worlde, the fleshe, and the devil”). (That’s the 1549 edition.) 

It’s a good formulation that has stood the test of time. I’d like to spend a few posts meditating on it. 

Photo by Henry Hustava on Unsplash

On Danger, Fear, and God’s Care

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We all face challenges. Some people face genuine dangers from genuine enemies. And most of them face fear. 

God doesn’t experience any of these things. He faces nothing that could be described as a challenge to his omnipotence, and though he has powerful enemies, he is greater than them all, and their defeat is sure. And consequently, he is never afraid. 

So how does someone like that respond to someone like us? Does he understand challenge, and enemies, and fear? Does he care? 

King David, who had plenty of challenges and enemies and fears, had some thoughts on that in many of his writings. Today I choose to consider Psalm 6. 

David is facing a fearsome trial. He mentions physical issues (Ps 6.2), but I’m inclined to think his real concern is “enemies” (Ps 6.7). He clearly thinks his life is in danger (Ps. 6.5). 

And so he meditates and writes out his thoughts. 

The Psalm has three sections. He begins by presenting his appeal to God (Ps 6.1-5); then he lays out the anguish that his situation is causing (Ps 6.6-7); and then he finishes by describing the assurance he has in God’s care and deliverance (Ps 6.8-10). 

Appeal (Ps 6.1-5) 

David begins by admitting—implicitly—that God has reason to be angry with him (Ps 6.1). He doesn’t go into detail. Here we see someone who is in the same situation we are: we need deliverance by God’s hand, but we know we don’t come to him from a position of strength. We need grace; we need mercy (Ps 6.2). 

David’s situation is desperate; he expresses himself in broken phrases, in grunts (Ps 6.3). Interestingly, Jesus appears to use David’s words as he prays in the Garden of Gethsemane (Jn 12.27) before his arrest, trial, and crucifixion. 

David asks God to “turn” to him, as if he had turned away for some reason (Ps 6.4). The Hebrew word is shub, a word commonly used for turning from sin in repentance (e.g. Is 30.15; 44.22; 55.7). David asks God to change his mind. 

He cites two motivations for God to deliver him: God’s “mercies” (Ps 6.4), or hesed, and his glory (Ps 6.5)—that is, the thanksgiving he will receive for acting to deliver. 

Is that an appeal to some selfish motive in God? I don’t think so. First, God’s glory, unlike ours, is something actually deserved and appropriate; God is not like his limited creatures. And second, is there anything wrong with enjoying being thanked? Don’t we like to be thanked when we do something for someone we love? Is it selfish to revel in someone else’s joy? 

Anguish (Ps 6.6-7) 

David lays out the evidences of his anguish, which in turn is evidence of the seriousness of the danger he faces. 

  • He is exhausted by the constant pressure of the situation (Ps 6.6a). 
  • He weeps through the night (Ps 6.6b) 
  • His perspective is colored—poisoned—by the stress of the situation (Ps 6.7). 

Assurance (Ps 6.8-10)  

During his prayer, David receives assurance that the Lord has heard him and will answer (Ps 6.8-9). We don’t know exactly how this worked; it may be as simple as his believing God’s earlier promises to hear the prayers of his people (Ex 22.27), or knowing God’s character well enough to anticipate similar future promises (Is 65.24; Zec 13.9). 

For whatever reason, David knows. And so he begins to address his enemies directly, and he flips the situation against them. At the beginning of his prayer, he is the one who is deeply troubled (Ps 6.2); but now, his enemies find themselves in that situation (Ps 6.10). Earlier, he has asked God to turn, to change (Ps. 6.4); but now, he calls on his enemies to turn and change (Ps 6.10), with the same verb he used of God earlier. 

So what do we see here? 

  • God’s people call on him when they are afraid. 
  • He hears, even when they don’t “deserve” it. 
  • And he answers by reversing the situation, judging his enemies, and protecting his people. 

Timely advice whenever we’re afraid. 

Photo by Alexandra Gorn on Unsplash