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 the Big Story, Part 3: The Kingdom of God

October 16, 2025 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

Part 1: Introduction | Part 2: Israel and the Church  

How do Israel and the church fit together? And are there any other stages in the Big Story that God is telling? 

What should we make of all this? 

Oh, my friend, this is not dusty theology. This has everything to do with today’s news cycle, and more importantly how we live in and respond to it. 

The New Testament speaks often of “the kingdom of God.” John the Baptist introduces the term (Mt 3.2), and Jesus presents himself as the fulfillment of John’s prophecy (Mt 4.17; 12.28; 16.28). It’s a major theme of Jesus’ teaching (e.g. Mt 13), and it shows up in the writings of Paul, Peter, John, and James. 

So what is it? Well, a kingdom typically involves three elements: 

  • A king, or ruler 
  • A realm, or sphere of authority 
  • A people, or subjects 

The kingdom of God, then, might be defined this way: 

God reigns in heaven and on earth, over a people he has created and called, for the praise of his glory (Ps 103.19). 

That reign has manifested itself persistently through the history of the world and will continue forever: 

  • The cosmos (Gen 1-11): God created it from nothing, and he sovereignly directs it. We literally set our watches by this cosmic direction. 
  • Israel (Gen 12-Mal): This is the kingdom of God as manifested throughout the Old Testament. He originates it in Abram; he constitutes it at Sinai; he appoints its leadership, climaxing in David and Solomon; he sovereignly directs its location in Canaan, then Egypt, then Israel, and even Babylon and Persia. 
  • The church (Acts-Jude): This is the kingdom of God throughout the New Testament and up through today, all the way to the return of Christ. God originates it at Pentecost through the work of his Spirit; he empowers its spread as evidenced in Acts; He sets forth its moral code in the Epistles. 
  • The eschaton (Revelation): “Eschaton” is just a fancy term for the time after Jesus returns; it literally means “the last thing.” At that time God will invade the realm of earth and establish his kingdom (Rev 20). (Here I’m taking the position that the millennial kingdom is visible, earthly, and yet future. Many will disagree with me.) Then he will create a New Heaven and a New Earth (Rev 21-22). 

So how does all this affect the way you and I live today and tomorrow? 

To begin with, we recognize and take into account the fundamental, universal principle of all existence, which is that God is in charge. 

A lot of people don’t like that principle, particularly in the West, where democracy is ingrained into us, and we talk a lot about our “rights.” But I’ll observe that according to the USA’s founding document, we are endowed with those inalienable rights by our Creator; even our democratic republican system begins by recognizing that God is in charge. 

Now. How do we think and live under that dominating principle? How do we respond to the evidences of brokenness in our human social and political systems? We manifest God’s rule in multiple ways. Let me suggest just a few and leave you to see how far down that road your own thinking can take you: 

  • We seek to know Him personally.  
  • We obey His will as expressed in the Scripture. 
  • We submit to earthly authorities* because they are under His dominion (Rom 13).  
  • We live trustingly and confidently—optimistically—in a broken world, or at least we’re supposed to, because we know that the Sovereign is wise and good and will bring it all out in a good place.  
  • We seek an eternal kingdom, thereby relatively devaluing the present world. That means we live in grace, peace, and confidence instead of fear, frustration, and anger. 

As the people of God, we inhabit our phase of history, of God’s plan, with confidence in the one whom we know intimately, who has all power and exercises it wisely and beneficently. And I’ll observe that as God’s people, we can do the world a lot more good by living that way, in sharp contrast to the spirit of any age, than by acting as frustrated, angry, and afreid as everybody else. 

Vive la difference. 

* As I’ve noted before, there are exceptions to this rule at times when our authorities are not in fact respecting God’s dominion. 

Photo by Carlos Magno on Unsplash

Filed Under: Bible, Theology Tagged With: metanarrative

On the Big Story, Part 2: Israel and the Church 

October 13, 2025 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Introduction 

We all know that the Bible consists of two parts, the Old Testament and the New Testament. Within those two divisions, we find that the people of God are organized differently. In the Old Testament, after the primeval period in Genesis 1-11, God begins to establish his people as a family—specifically the family of Abraham, then Isaac, then Jacob, whom he later names Israel. As the family grows, Jacob’s twelve sons become tribes constituting the people of Israel. 

In Exodus, God turns this family, this people, into a nation, with defined leadership and explicit laws. And the rest of the Old Testament is the story of this nation—a turbulent story indeed. 

These are the people of God.  

How do you become part of the people of God? Usually, you’re born into it, but there are exceptions. When the Israelite slaves are delivered from Egypt, some Egyptians come with them; at Jericho, a Canaanite woman—a prostitute!—asks for asylum and is granted it. And the Mosaic Law provides for “strangers”—foreigners—who can be admitted to Israelite citizenship. 

But for the most part, the people of God in this stage are genetically determined. And that leads to some, well, imperfections. Throughout Israel’s history, some percentage of Israelites do not believe in Israel’s God. At times, hardly anybody in Israel really belongs to God. The prophets paint a dark. stark picture. But for now, the people of God are defined in terms of ethnicity, of nationality, and, after the Conquest, of geography. 

When we come to the New Testament, the whole picture changes. Now the people of God are defined by their belief in God. Ethnicity (Ga 3.28) and nationality (Ro 13) and geography (Mt 28.19-20) become irrelevant; the church begins in Jerusalem and expands throughout Judea, but soon it’s in Samaria, and then it explodes across the Mediterranean Basin. Within a generation or so it’s in India, and soon in China, and once the New World is discovered in the late 15th century* it immediately takes hold there as well. 

Now. How do these two manifestations of “the people of God” relate? 

So far in church history there have been two basic answers to that question. There may be other theories in the future, but for now this is what we have. 

One approach is that Israel has been replaced by the church. The promises that God made to Israel in that historical context have either been fulfilled already (e.g. the land promise [Gen 15.18] under Solomon) or are now given to the church. That means that modern Israel has no biblical or theological significance; it’s just another country, like Liechtenstein or Malawi. And that means that Christ’s kingdom is not an earthly, political kingdom; it’s either the influence of the church in the world (postmillennialism) or the reign of Christ in the hearts of his people today (amillennialism). 

For most of church history, this approach, and specifically amillennialism, has been by far the majority view. Today it’s called “Covenant Theology” and is held by Presbyterians and a few other groups. 

Another answer to the question is that Israel and the Church are distinct—perhaps eternally distinct—entities. God has not yet completely fulfilled his promises to Israel—most especially the Land Promise. That means that he will fulfill that promise at some future time, in a political kingdom here on earth. The Temple will be rebuilt; David’s greater son, Christ, will reign from Jerusalem, and that earthly reign will last for a thousand years. 

Elements of this view were held in early apostolic times; many of the Apostolic Fathers, for example, held to a literal earthly reign of Christ. But fairly soon a literal reading of prophecy fell out of favor, and the idea of spiritualizing the kingdom became dominant. But in recent centuries—the 19th and 20th—this second view, called Dispensationalism, has become popular and even dominant in evangelical Christian culture. 

I prefer one of these two views, but I don’t believe that this question should cause rancorous divisions in the body of Christ. I think it helps us to see that we all agree on The Big Story: 

  • God is creating a people for his glory. 
  • He began doing so with a physical illustration (Israel), including an ethnicity and a legal system. 
  • That people demonstrated a need for something beyond the physical arrangement. 
  • Having demonstrated his point, God graciously did what Israel could not. 
  • Incarnate, he kept their Law in their place. 
  • He offered himself as the perfect sacrifice for their sin. 
  • He promised to return as king. 
  • And then he extended this offer of grace to the entire world. 

Next time we tie these two entities, and more, into the Really Big Picture. 

* Sure, the Vikings. But they made no lasting settlement. And the Native Americans apparently had no history of contact with Christianity before they arrived in North America. 

Photo by Carlos Magno on Unsplash

Filed Under: Bible, Theology Tagged With: metanarrative

On the Big Story, Part 1: Introduction 

October 9, 2025 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

I think it’s time for something different here on the blog. I often write about theology—by my count 518 (65%) of the 800 (!) posts so far, with 266 (33%) focusing on systematic theology and 25 (3%) on biblical theology. (I’ll confess that my recordkeeping has been imperfect; there’s another project for my retirement.) While I’ve taught academically in a university environment, I’ve determined to keep this blog on a popular level, simple enough that even I can understand it. No theological nerditude here. 

But I’d like to get a little more academic in this brief series—still simple and clear, Lord willing, but sounding more like a teacher than an opiner—because I think this topic is worth addressing in this venue. 

I’d like to talk about the theology behind The Big Story. It’s often been observed that the Bible, while a book of commandments and morals as well as a collection of stories, most of which we like to tell our children, is at its most basic a Big Story, and a story not so much about Adam and Noah and Abraham and David and Peter and Paul as about God: who he is, what he’s like, and what he’s doing here on earth and beyond for his own purposes. In light of that, it’s worth taking a look at the big picture so we can accurately place all the little ones. 

What God is doing in this Big Story is gathering a people for himself—a people to be his sons and daughters (or whatever we’ll call people in eternity, where there is apparently no sexual identity; Mt 22.30), to know him, to love him, to serve him perfectly and successfully, and to glorify him forever. How he’s been doing this is a lesson in wisdom, power, and grace. 

He began by including everyone; both of the two original humans were in his image, after his likeness (Ge 1.26-27), and they have multiplied and filled the earth (Ge 1.28). But as we know, those first humans opted out of God’s family, rejecting his plan and going their own way (Ge 3.1-24). Maybe God drew them back to himself later; though there are rare hints, we’re not told whether or when. 

Now, God knew this would happen; this is just the beginning of his plan, and one way he is showing his wisdom and goodness in that plan. 

Over the next few centuries there are individual people who walk with God. The Scripture mentions Abel, and Enoch, and Noah, and a line of “sons of God” (Gen 6.2; and no, I don’t think those were angels; don’t even get me started on the current fascination with the Nephilim). 

But God’s plan goes well beyond just a few individuals. He has in mind an eternal nation, a people for himself. 

His first step toward that great goal is to designate an earthly nation, Israel, as his own people. As we know, they proved to be highly erratic and unfaithful, though they were also an avenue for God’s Word and for the Coming King, in whom God permanently embodied himself as a man. And even in this early stage, God makes it clear that Gentiles—proselytes, converts—are welcome in this nation, if they will follow him. 

But when the King comes—the first time—God expands the vision. He begins at Jerusalem and Judea, but then expands to Samaria, and to a Roman centurion and his family, and by commission to the ends of the earth. The family is now not one nation, but representatives from every nation—all who will come. And Jesus uses a word the Jews already know well—ekklesia, assembly—to describe this new “nation,” the church. 

The Scripture uses a third term for the people of God, one that envelops both Israel and the Church and looks ahead to the eternal state. All of this is “the kingdom of God.” 

There’s a lively discussion about these entities and how they relate to one another. I don’t intend to answer all the questions and solve all the problems, because that’s well beyond my ability. But I would like to take a few posts to lay out the land, so to speak, and to identify the questions. I have a position on the questions, but I hope to be reasonably objective. 

Next time: Israel and the church. Wish me fair winds and following seas. 

Photo by Carlos Magno on Unsplash

Filed Under: Bible, Theology Tagged With: metanarrative

On Frustration, Part 2

October 18, 2018 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

Part 1

In my previous post I noted that the Bible says, to the surprise of many, that life is frustrating—and it means it.

And that raises a question: why is it frustrating? And what’s the answer—how do we handle the frustration?

As I noted last time, a good many Christians are surprised that Ecclesiastes means what it says—that all is vanity (emptiness) and vexation of spirit, or chasing the wind (frustrating).

But if you’ll think about it, my surprised Christian friend, you’ll realize that there was no reason to be surprised at all.

The Bible tells a story—one story, a true story, that explains everything we know and a lot of things we don’t.

It begins with God, all-powerful, all-wise, relational (“let us …”) and loving, creating a perfect universe, with little to no apparent effort but with great care and attention to detail, and placing in that world two humans, who we are told are in his image. And he offers them a relationship with himself.

But they reject that priceless offer and go their own way, bringing ruin not only to their souls but to their bodies, and indeed to all the created order.

So here we are, in the image of God, and in a world that we broke. What would someone in the image of God think about that?

The first thing we’re told about God is that he is a creator. He can envision things that don’t yet exist, and he can bring them into being. And we find that we can do the same thing—oh, not ex nihilo, of course, but artists envision products and bring them into existence all the time. And all of us—even the non-artists—can envision the way things ought to be, and we can recognize all the ways they’re broken. Nothing works as it should. Not relationships, families, communities, nations. Not even the DMV.

Now what do you think would be the expected response of someone in the image of God to all that brokenness?

So why are we surprised that life is frustrating—or that the Scripture, revealed to us by the God of truth, would come right out and say so?

Of course it’s frustrating.

But the Scripture doesn’t end with Genesis 3. The story of Scripture is the story of God graciously, patiently, and sovereignly fixing what we broke, including us ourselves. He’s taking a long time to do that—not because he needs a lot of time to fix the colossal mess we’ve created (he made the whole universe in six days, you know), but because sovereign people never have to be in hurry. If you see someone who’s in a hurry, you’re seeing someone whose life is out of control at that moment. God never experiences that. So he’s not in a hurry.

And in time, his time, his good and perfect time, he will make all things new, and that new heaven and earth will last forever, infinitely longer than this little bubble we call our earthly lives.

Let me illustrate.

Suppose someone with more money than brains decides that the school where I teach really needs a fleet of Ferraris for its Public Safety Department. So he buys us half a dozen.

Do you know what the speed limit is on our campus?

20 mph.

In front of the Child Development Center, 10 mph.

Now, how do you suppose the Ferraris feel about the prospect of going 20 mph for the next hundred thousand miles?

Ferraris weren’t made to go 20 mph. They were made to go 220 mph. They’re going to be really frustrated at good old BJU.

And here’s the point.

You’re a Ferrari. Not because you’re all that—this isn’t at all about your self-esteem—but because you’re in the image of God, who is all that.

Right now you’re in a 20-mph world. And it’s frustrating. It’s supposed to be.

You’re not made for this world. You’re made for the next.

And one day, in time, his time, his good and perfect time, your Creator is going to take you out onto a highway that was made for speed, and he’s going to give you the throttle and “see what this baby can do.”

And in that day you’ll go really, really fast, and you’ll bring a delighted smile to his face.

So how do you handle frustration?

You take it as a gift from a gracious God, a reminder that you are made not for this world, but for an unbroken one—one that will last for all time and beyond.

That’s going to be just awesome.

Photo by mwangi gatheca on Unsplash

Filed Under: Bible, Theology Tagged With: Ecclesiastes, frustration, image of God, metanarrative, Old Testament

Hard Evidence for a Supernatural Book, Part 3: Too Many Cooks

August 14, 2017 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

Part 1     Part 2

And so we come to the evidence: objective evidence that the Bible is, um, unnatural, extraordinary, not like any other books. I’d suggest two lines of such evidence; we’ll look at the first one today, and a related topic later in the week. Next week, we’ll get to Door Number 2.

Door Number 1. Writing a book is hard. Just getting the facts right is hard enough (more about that next time); but doing it artfully, in a way that pleases the attentive reader, is really, really hard. Literary critics delight themselves in finding such artful devices in serious literature—for example, in noting how Willa Cather uses the imagery of wilting flowers to foreshadow the crumbling of the protagonist in the short story “Paul’s Case,” or how Dickens contrasts polar extremes in A Tale of Two Cities, or how an episode of Seinfeld weaves together a seemingly impossible number of storylines so they all come to resolution at the last moment: in one episode George, pretending to be a marine biologist to impress his girlfriend, pulls Kramer’s golf ball from the blowhole of a beached whale. (OK, that last one was ridiculous, and involves stretching the definition of literature almost to the breaking point. But give me some slack; I’m making a point here.)

The Bible does that: it tells a story—or rather, narrates and evaluates a history—in an artful way, bringing it to a resolution that leaves us amazed and deeply satisfied. (How is that evidence of the supernatural? If Dickens can do it, why do we have to bring God into the picture? Fair question. I’ll get to that in a minute.)

The Torah

The Bible consists of two parts: the Old and New Testaments. The Old Testament began its life as the Hebrew Scriptures. The Jews call it the “Tanakh,” which is not really a Hebrew word; it’s an acronym, like NASA or YOLO. The “T” stands for Torah, or “teaching,” which is the first 5 books of the OT. In the Torah we read about the origin of the earth, then that of the nation of Israel, then of the covenant that God made with Israel at Sinai, including its stipulations. There’s a lot of talk (especially in Leviticus) of the priesthood, its clothing, its sacrifices, its calendar. Details.

The priests had to do everything a certain way. The amount of detail is overwhelming. Each sacrifice had its own purpose, timing, and procedure. And to the reader’s surprise—it doesn’t work. Oh, God forgives the sins of the sacrificer, and of the nation, but the sacrifices don’t really work. Every morning there’s a sacrifice, and by mid-afternoon the priests have to do it again. The next morning, the cycle starts anew. Every year there’s a Passover, and the next year they have to do another one. The sacrifices don’t last, and that means they don’t really work.

We finish the Torah with a nagging sense of disappointment. We want a priest who can make a sacrifice that works—one sacrifice that gets the job done. We want a priest who knows how to priest.

The Prophets

The “N” in Tanakh stands for nebi’im, or “prophets.” In the prophets we meet men who bring messages from God. But frankly, they’re disappointing too. Many of the messages are obscure. Nathan the prophet tells David that God will build him a house through his son, whom he names as Solomon (2Sam 7). But then he says the son will reign forever. How’s that going to work? And some of the messages are downright bizarre—what’s with Ezekiel’s vision of the wheel in wheel in a wheel (Ezk 1)?

Why are the prophecies so—hard?! Why can’t a prophet tell us—better yet, show us—clearly what God is like, what he wants, how we can know him? We want a prophet who knows how to prophet.

The Writings

The “Kh” in Tanakh stands for khethubim, or “writings.” In the writings we meet the kings—their story in Chronicles, their writing in Psalms, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, and Song of Solomon. We want them to succeed. Saul the Tall is (not surprisingly ????) a failure, and God himself selects David, a man after his own heart, and we think he’ll succeed. But he fails suddenly and spectacularly, and his family disintegrates. His son Solomon begins well; God gives him practically infinite wisdom. But by the end he’s worshiping idols. Solomon’s son splits the kingdom, and after that the kings in David’s line are successful only rarely and incompletely.

We finish the Writings, and the Tanakh, disappointed in the kings, wishing for a king who knows how to king. It’s all disappointing, all unfulfilled potential, all promise and no really satisfying fulfillment.

And then we turn the page.

The New Testament

We meet “Jesus Christ, the son of David, the Son of Abraham” (Mat 1.1)—perfect prophet, priest, king, who reveals God to us perfectly (Jn 1.1-18), who offers—himself!—as the perfect and final offering (Heb 10.1-13), who reigns now and forever in perfect righteousness and justice (Lk 1.33; Rev 11:15). The Gospels tell us what he said and did; Acts tells us about his successors; the epistles tell us what it all means; and Revelation tells us how it all ends.

A perfect story. Plot, character, storyline. Rising action, climax, denouement. Coherence, bookended by a perfect world destroyed (Gen 1-11) and a better world restored (Rev 21-22).

So how does that evidence a divine source? If Homer and Shakespeare and Dickens and Faulkner could do it, why couldn’t an ancient writer?

Here’s the thing. There was no “ancient writer.” There were about 40 of them, living across about 1500 years. (Yes, critical scholars would say more like 1000 years, but even if they’re right—and they’re not—the point still stands.) None of the writers ever met most of the other writers.

So how did they do it? How did they write a coherent, cohesive, artful narrative? It wasn’t some talented editor who came along at the end and pieced it all together from earlier sources; the OT was in place and ordered before any of the NT was written. The OT writers couldn’t possibly have known the end, and the NT writers couldn’t possibly have influenced or edited the OT writers.

Only an editor could do that. An editor who oversaw the entire process, beginning to end.

An Editor.

PS To be fair, if a book contradicts itself, it’s not really coherent. There are lots of accusations of contradiction in the Bible. In the next post, we’ll talk about that.

Part 4     Part 5     Part 6     Part 7      Part 8

Filed Under: Bible Tagged With: apologetics, Bible, biblical theology, evidentialism, inspiration, literary analysis, metanarrative