Old Testament

On Turning a Page, Part 3: God Remains with His People

June 5, 2025 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

God has assured Joshua that he has promised Israel the Land and that his plans will be accomplished. But there is in all of us this thread of fear, of doubt. “There’s a plan, but …”

Mike Tyson, former world heavyweight boxing champion, famously said, “Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth.”

Yes, God has a plan, and he wants the best for us. But is he now just standing on the dock, smiling at and waving to Joshua as Israel sails off into unknown seas?

I speak as a fool.

The Lord has more to say before he sends Joshua and his men into combat:

No man shall be able to stand before you all the days of your life. Just as I was with Moses, so I will be with you. I will not leave you or forsake you (Jos 1.5).

God is not Pollyanna; there will be hard times. There will be those who “stand before” the people of Israel. And Joshua knows as well as anyone what they will be like; he surveyed the Land with eleven other men and saw, as they did, that

the people be strong that dwell in the land, and the cities are walled, and very great: and moreover we saw the children of Anak there. ²⁹The Amalekites dwell in the land of the south: and the Hittites, and the Jebusites, and the Amorites, dwell in the mountains: and the Canaanites dwell by the sea, and by the coast of Jordan (Nu 13.28-29).

These words come, of course, from the 10-spy majority, who counseled not even trying. But Joshua (and Caleb) had disagreed, because they believed God’s promises. And now God gives this believer added incentives to obey.

First, they’re going to win.

Nobody will be able to defeat them militarily.

And second—and this is key—God will be with them. He’ll be right there.

Now, I find that interesting. God obviously doesn’t need to “be right there” in order to see and know what’s going on. He doesn’t need to “be right there” to act on Israel’s behalf. He can do all his holy will from his holy hill, from the high and holy place (Is 57.15) where he dwells. Distance is no obstacle to him.

But the transcendent God is also immanent—“with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit” (Is 57.15 again)—because he can be, and because he wants to be. He loves us, and he’s not inclined to engage in bicoastal relationships. If I may say this reverently, he wants to be close; he wants to snuggle.

I think there’s another reason that God makes this promise to his people at this transition point: he knows that they are bolstered, strengthened, by the assurance that he is with them.

Have you ever seen a little child’s face light up when he sees his parents in the audience at the elementary school program? He smiles, and he may even wave. All the decorum flees; he’s just delighted that Mom and Dad are there.

We don’t stay children, but we all have that spirit within us. We feel better when our loved ones make their presence known. And we are similarly bolstered by knowing that God brings his omnipotence to our struggles.

God’s words to Joshua don’t stop there; he notes further that he has proved himself faithful in the past (“as I was with Moses”). We’re also bolstered by having experienced this sort of thing before. As Paul notes (my paraphrase), “Trials bring endurance, and endurance brings experience [of success], and experience brings confidence [in future trials]” (Ro 5.3-4).

He will not “leave” us. The Hebrew word speaks of loosening your grip and letting something fall—like what I do when I fall asleep on the couch while holding the remote.

God doesn’t do that, and he won’t. He’s awake, and he’s present, though he doesn’t really need to be in order to be effective.

We’re gonna be okay.

So what does he ask of us?

Next time.

Photo by Nathan McDine on Unsplash

On Turning a Page, Part 2: There’s a Plan

June 2, 2025 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Obedience

God has issued a command to Joshua—one that sounds dangerous. You don’t just wade into a flooding river with all your stuff, and hope for the best. But Joshua, who believed God’s promise to give his people the Land when 10 of the other 11 spies didn’t, believes him now, and he will obey. And, undoubtedly to everyone’s astonishment, the river will stop for them and, metaphorically speaking, motion them to cross.

But they don’t know that yet. God continues his speech to Joshua by telling him what lies ahead.

³Every place that the sole of your foot will tread upon I have given to you, just as I promised to Moses. ⁴From the wilderness and this Lebanon as far as the great river, the river Euphrates, all the land of the Hittites to the Great Sea toward the going down of the sun shall be your territory. 

Now, they do know this. God is simply repeating a past promise (Dt 11.24), the very one that Joshua (and Caleb) believed when the other spies didn’t.

And the people also know—or should know—that God keeps his promises. Back when he had appeared to Moses in the burning bush, he had introduced himself as “the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.” Why this description, and not another, such as “the Creator of heaven and earth,” or “the infinite, eternal, and unchanging God,” or “the God of wonders”?

I think the reason for his choice of words to Moses is clear. God had made promises to those patriarchs, promises that included a numerous people (already fulfilled in Egypt), a blessing on all peoples through a “seed” (a promise not then fulfilled), and most specifically in view here, a promise of the Land on which Abraham’s sandal had walked.

As Moses stands at the burning bush, that promise has not been fulfilled—but it’s next in line. God is effectively saying, “My people, Abraham’s descendants, are out of the Land, enslaved in Egypt. This must not stand. Go down there, and I will do what it takes for you to lead them Home.”

That’s promise number 2. And, as we all know from reading the rest of Scripture, promise number 3, the universal blessing through Abraham’s “seed,” will be fulfilled when David’s Greater Son, the incarnate God, pays the price for our sins at the cross and opens the gates of salvation to all who will come.

God remembers his promises—for centuries—and he keeps them without fail.

Decades after the burning bush God repeated that promise to Moses, with specifics:

²⁴Every place whereon the soles of your feet shall tread shall be yours: from the wilderness and Lebanon, from the river, the river Euphrates, even unto the uttermost sea shall your coast be (Dt 11.24).

And now God, remembering those specifics, repeats them to Joshua as this newly appointed leader gazes east across the Jordan.

So God assures Joshua that the plan is in place, and the Land will belong to Jacob’s people. In modern parlance, it’s in the bag.

So what of our transitions? We typically don’t have circumstantial specifics as Joshua did, but we do have specific assurances about God’s character—he is faithful, gracious, merciful, good—and about his relationship with us—he loves and cares for us, providing all that we need for spiritual success (which is the most important kind of success) and providing our needs for all the days he has planned for us. And when those days are over, we will be “absent from the body, and … present with the Lord” (2Co 5.8). Further, “we shall be like [Christ], for we shall see him as he is” (1J 3.2).

So. What lies ahead? In this life, the assurance that God is working his good plan and keeping his promises; and in the next, eternity with him.

Sounds like it’s all good.

Now, we know by just looking around that this “all good” includes hard things, things that we would consider “bad.” What about that?

God’s not finished talking to Joshua yet. We’ll look at his further words next time.

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On Turning a Page, Part 1: Begin with Obedience

May 29, 2025 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

I’ve already published a couple of posts on my retirement, one on the why and one on the how. Now I’d like to exegete a biblical passage that I think sheds some light on a major life transition. It has already informed my thinking, and I’m confident that it will inform others facing transitions—retirement, perhaps, or other significant events.

A significant pivot point in the biblical metastory is the move from Deuteronomy to Joshua. That crevasse is of course the end of the Torah, the five books of Moses, and the beginning of what the Jews call the Prophets, specifically the Former Prophets (which, in the main, we Christians call the books of History). It’s also the end of the leadership of Moses, whom we might call the first constitutional ruler of the nation of Israel, and the beginning of the leadership of Joshua, who to this point has been presented primarily as just a servant of, or aide to, Moses, and as one of just two believing spies of the Promised Land.

That means some uncertainties. We’re leaving the familiar, the proved, the era of competence (more or less), and stepping out into the Great Unknown, facing challenges not previously experienced and the hard work of stewarding a new bailiwick and lifestyle.

Sounds to me like retirement. :-)

To this point in the biblical story, God has brought Israel out of slavery in Egypt; preserved them through 40 years of wilderness wandering; led them northward through hostile territory (Edom, Moab) on the east side of the Jordan; and brought them to an encampment at Shittim* in modern Jordan, across the Jordan River from Jericho, poised to enter and conquer the Land. 

 But now Moses is leaving. How on earth can Israel go on without him?

Now, there’s a danger in trying to apply biblical narrative to a current situation. I’m facing a transition, but I’m not Israel, and God has not promised me a specific piece of real estate and the military might to expel the current owners.

But there are similarities. I am one of God’s people, and he has made covenant promises to me as a member of his body, the church, and he is and will be as faithful to those promises as he has ever been, and I am at a point of transition, and Paul tells us that the Old Testament stories were indeed preserved in Scripture as examples for us (1Co 10.11).

So what did God say to Joshua in his time of transition? And what do those words tell us about God and about His plans for us?

God Is Great, and He Is in Charge

He begins by reminding Joshua of the Most Important Thing:

Moses my servant is dead. Now therefore arise, go over this Jordan, you and all this people, into the land that I am giving to them, to the people of Israel (Jos 1.2).

The past, with all its familiarity, was under God’s sovereign direction. But God has given his people the unknown future as well, and he will see that his good will is done. And by implication Joshua and the people of Israel, like Moses, are God’s servants too, and the sensible thing for them to do is to obey him.

So he gives them a command: “Go over this Jordan.”

Now, at this time of year the Jordan was at flood stage, raging with whitewater and overflowing its banks (Jos 3.15b). That’s not something you just amble into, especially when you’re carrying all your stuff in wagons or in your arms.

Retirement doesn’t mean you just quit showing up at work and begin every day by asking, “Hmmm; what do I think I want to do today?” There’s stuff you need to get done—logistical, financial, procedural stuff—and if you don’t, unpleasant things, some of them involving potentially hostile government officials, will happen.

Gotta learn the new stuff and execute it precisely. Or else.

But God had brought Israel through the Red Sea ahead of Pharaoh’s pursuing armies, and he had fed them and preserved their clothing—even their shoes! (Dt 29.5)—through forty years of wilderness wandering, and he was certainly able to get them across this crazy river.

So they obey. They step into the river, and in that instant the flow stops and a path opens for them to cross in safety.

God can do that. He’s in charge.

He’s in charge through our transitions too. Obeying him is safe.

Well, then; what about tomorrow?

We’ll get into that next time.

* Some people find this word embarrassing. I’ll note, first, that in Hebrew it is pronounced “shuh TEEM,” with the emphasis on the last syllable. I’ll also note that the word means “acacia trees”; the acacia is the tree you see on the African savannah all the time. It often leans to one side; I think of it as looking as though someone smacked it hard on the side of the head.

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How to Begin a Life of Praise, Part 2

February 20, 2025 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1

Psalm 1 begins Israel’s book of praise by setting forth the way to think and walk in wisdom (Ps 1.1-3). But there’s another choice, a second stanza, and David makes the choice and its consequences clear. Parallel to his first stanza (see Part 1), he describes the person who chooses badly—though his description is brief (Ps 1.4)—and then he identifies the outcome of the choice.

⁴The ungodly are not so: but are like the chaff which the wind driveth away. ⁵Therefore the ungodly shall not stand in the judgment, nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous (Ps 1.4-5).

Those who choose not to walk in wisdom, he says, are like chaff, or the worthless husk on grain. Chaff protects the grain during its development, but once you get to the eating stage, it’s just in the way. Every Israelite would be familiar with the process of harvesting grain: cutting, sheaving, threshing, winnowing. You cut the stalks and gather them into bundles for transport to the threshing floor, which is a flat stone surface. Using oxen, you pull a threshing sledge, constructed of heavy wooden beams in which perhaps bits of stone or metal are embedded, across the stalks until the straw is separated from the kernels.

But now you have the husk problem. How do you get rid of them? Using a shovel or fork, you toss the grains into the air, where the breeze blows away the lightweight husks, leaving the kernels to fall back to the ground.

Good riddance.

That’s how David describes the ungodly. His son Solomon will later use a similar metaphor, describing all of life under the sun as “vanity and vexation of spirit”—or perhaps “chasing the wind” (Ec 1.14).

There is, of course, a wrinkle here, one that David doesn’t state outright but that the rest of Scripture makes abundantly clear.

Metaphors typically have just a single point of likeness; the thing you’re talking about and thing you’re comparing it to aren’t alike in every respect.

And so, in the contrast between the wise and the ungodly, huskhood need not be permanent. The ungodly can turn and choose to walk in the way of wisdom. Later in Scripture we learn that that’s called “repentance,” which, accompanied by faith, turns the sinner into a saint, the runaway into a child of God.

For now, David’s not expounding on that. He lays out the two paths and thereby encourages us readers to choose wisely.

In verse 5 he describes the end of the persistently ungodly. Judgment is coming, and it will not be pleasant. Again his implied appeal is just under the surface: don’t be a fool; don’t choose the evil path; turn and walk with the godly, whose end is glorious.

David ends the psalm with a summarizing statement:

⁶For the LORD knoweth the way of the righteous: but the way of the ungodly shall perish (Ps 1.6).

There are two paths in life, with very different thinking and very different outcomes. One leads to life with our Creator; the other leads to destruction.

Choose life.

The next 149 psalms will develop this theme, as will Proverbs and the other Wisdom Books. Wisdom doesn’t require intelligence or good looks or money or a trophy wife.

All it requires is noticing something that should be obvious.

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How to Begin a Life of Praise, Part 1

February 17, 2025 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

In recent months I’ve been working on memorizing key Psalms, those that seem particularly to speak to me. So far I’ve memorized 11 of the first 30, and I’ve found it exhilarating.

We all know that the biblical book of Psalms is Israel’s hymnbook, consisting of 150 poems written by several authors, of whom David contributed the most. We also know that while we have the words, we don’t have the tunes; for some reason, ancient Israel didn’t see fit to record any of them, and I guess they didn’t have a music notation system—at not one that survived. And further, if you’ve memorized the words in English, it’s pretty certain that even if we knew the tunes, they wouldn’t match words that we could sing.

But the words, which are inspired, are enough.

The hymnbook begins, of course, with Psalm 1. Biblical scholars are all but certain that the Psalms were collected by later worship leaders, who organized them in ways they saw fit—they’re in 5 volumes—and many scholars think that Psalm 1 was placed first because it encapsulates or summarizes the following 149 pieces. It’s the place to start.

The Psalm is pretty clearly organized into 2 stanzas, so I think I’ll cover it in 2 posts.

The first 3 verses speak of the life of the godly person. Verses 1 and 2 describe him negatively, then positively, and then verse 3 identifies the consequences of his wise decisions.

Who is the wise person? What is he not like, and what is he like?

¹Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor standeth in the way of sinners, nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful. ²But his delight is in the law of the LORD; and in his law doth he meditate day and night (Ps 1.1-2).

Well, he’s not like the ungodly. He doesn’t take their advice, nor hang out with them as though a companion, nor plant himself square in the middle of their worldview. Many students of Scripture have seen a progression in verse 1, and I think they’re right. He begins by walking alongside them, then stays with them when they get where they’re going, and eventually just grabs a chair and gets comfortable.

We use the expression “He’s hanging out with the wrong crowd.” That’s this guy. And that’s not wisdom; it’s a foolish way to live. The wise man is not like that.

Well, then, what is he like?

He immerses himself in “the law of the Lord.” Now, to David that pretty clearly meant the Torah, the 5 books of Moses, which we call the Pentateuch. That’s nearly all the Scripture that David had in his day.

He wanted to hear what God had to say, and to know it well—obviously, so he could do what it said.

Now, I don’t think I’m abusing the text when I say that our wise thinking should include immersing ourselves in the Word that God has given us since David’s day. That’s why pastors urge us to be in the Word daily; that’s not a direct biblical command, but it certainly follows the mindset David sets forth here. Immersion, meditation, delight.

In my experience, the Scripture is self-motivating: it may seem uninteresting in places—or even pretty much entirely—at first, but the more you invest in it, the more delight you find, and the more you love it.

Most people don’t think that way. And that’s the point.

So what happens when we do that?

³And he shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his season; his leaf also shall not wither; and whatsoever he doeth shall prosper (Ps 1.3).

We are nourished; we are stable; we make a positive difference in this world, and that influence endures—it lasts longer than the typical fad.

What does “whatsoever he doeth shall prosper” mean? Well, it clearly doesn’t mean that every godly person will be rich; the Scripture presents plenty of poor godly people without any sense of awkwardness or embarrassment. It doesn’t mean that all our dreams will be fulfilled; David himself evidences that.

What is biblical “prospering,” anyway? It’s fulfilling God’s purpose for us as individuals—finding our providentially ordained place in this world and filling it well. With divine empowerment, we can do that.

Next time: what if we choose the other path?

Part 2

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Immanuel, Part 2: Covenant

December 9, 2024 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

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

December 5, 2024 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

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 Danger, Fear, and God’s Care

November 14, 2024 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

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

Ruth—Emptiness Filled, Part 10: Eternally Filled

May 6, 2024 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

With the way cleared for Boaz to serve as Ruth’s—and Naomi’s—redeemer, “the elders call down blessings upon him and his bride, and pray that the gracious Ruth will be a mother in Israel such as Rachel and Leah were [Ru 4.11]. This is indeed an optimistic expectation, since these two women as wives of Jacob built up the whole house of Israel, with the assistance of their maids Bilhah and Zilpah” (ECB).

But they go further. They mention “the house of Perez” (Ru 4.12). Why Perez? Well, Perez ”was an ancestor of Boaz (18), and one of only three ancestors of the whole tribe of Judah. Probably most of the local population had descended from him” (NBC).

The comparison is rife with ironic contrast.

First, Perez’s birth to Tamar, via Judah, was “a situation in which the levirate responsibility was not honored (Gen. 38)” (TCBC). Judah had failed to care for his daughter-in-law after her husband Er had died. Boaz is a more distant relative to Naomi and Ruth, yet he is fully committed to meeting all their needs.

Second, “Tamar achieved her ends through trickery, but Ruth received her son through righteous obedience. … Ironically, the righteousness of a Moabitess, a foreigner to Israel’s covenant, brought salvation to Judah’s family” (HCBC). “Considering the rabbinic hermeneutical principle of ‘from greater to lesser,’ the reader cannot help but think that if Yahweh had given immoral Judah a double blessing in the birth of twins and if Judah flourished through Perez, how much brighter are the prospects for Boaz and Ruth” (NAC).

“This conclusion of the narrative contrasts beautifully with its introduction (1:1–5). Deep sorrow turned to radiant joy; emptiness gave way to fullness” (BKC).

The marriage is followed quickly by fruitfulness in the birth of a son (Ru 4.13). The redeemer who had filled Ruth’s apron with seed for daily bread multiple times now fills her with the sort of seed that will have an eternal impact.* Ruth had had no children during her 10-year marriage to Mahlon; this time will be different. The filling includes not only provision—wealthy provision—but also offspring, and thus a future.

As we might expect, the women of this little village find the birth of this baby a matter for comment (Ru 4.14-15)—and they address their comments not to Ruth, the mother, but to Naomi. They recognize this birth, undistinguished to the earthly eye, as momentous. The baby, not Boaz, is the real redeemer. Mara, the bitter, empty woman, is Naomi again, redeemed, rescued, confident in her secure future.

And the narrative ends with the infant not in Ruth’s lap, but in Naomi’s. She is truly filled. Perhaps the book should be called “Naomi.”

And then the final twist. We learn why this story of poor, apparently insignificant women from a small village is occupying a place in the literature of eternity.

This child of Boaz, and of Perez, is a link in a long chain extending from Abram (Gen 12.1-3)—indeed from God’s “first gospel” in Ge 3.15—to the redemption of a great throng, from every kingdom, tribe, tongue, and nation, who will worship and serve God for all eternity.

We’re not told all that here. But we are told that this infant is to be the grandfather of David, the king, the sweet singer of Israel, whose Greater Son, we know, is the infinite kinsman redeemer, who was made in the likeness of men so that we might be made the righteousness of God in him.

Ruth is a small study of God’s work for us. “The Book of Ruth shows God as concerned not only for the welfare of one family—Naomi and Ruth—but for the welfare of all God’s people who would be blessed by David and by David’s Son, Jesus Christ. The participation of Ruth, the Moabitess, in the fufillment of God’s promises indicates that God’s salvation is for people of all nationalities” (HCBC).

“Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the LORD!”

* For this insight into the thematic development of Ruth I am indebted to the late Dr. Ron Horton, longtime professor of literature at Bob Jones University.

Photo by Paz Arando on Unsplash

Ruth—Emptiness Filled, Part 9: Contract

May 2, 2024 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

True to his word—and to Naomi’s prediction—the next day Boaz sets out to clear up the ambiguity of the situation. “The town gate [Ru 4.1] was the center for social and economic life in ancient Israel. This was where news was first heard, where local and traveling merchants sold their wares in the cool shade of the town walls, where soldiers were stationed, and where legal disputes were handled” (WBH). Essentially, Boaz drops by City Hall to get the business taken care of.

“The word … ‘Behold,’ which begins the second sentence of v. 1 …, serves two functions: expressing Boaz’s surprise at [the nearer relative’s] appearance and turning the reader’s attention to a new character in the drama” (NAC). As Boaz is waiting to conduct his business, here comes the very man who is more nearly related to Naomi. What are the odds?

About the same, I guess, as the odds that Ruth’s “chance chanced” on the field that Boaz owned (Ru 2.3).

Boaz calls to him. Our modern versions give his address term as “friend,” but the word in the Hebrew (peloni ‘almoni, for you Hebrew nerds) is much richer than that. The KJV renders it “such an one,” which hints at this deeper significance; you don’t call somebody “such an one,” even in 1611. The author has edited Boaz’s words so as to protect the identity of this man. “Rabbinic writings used the designation for an unknown ‘John Doe’ ” (BKC). “The rendering ‘Mr. So-and-so,’ found in the NJPS, certainly captures the sense better than the NIV’s ‘my friend,’ but our ‘Hey you’ also works in the present context” (NAC).

Why would the author of the narrative want to disguise his identity? We’ll see in a moment.

Focused on his purpose, Boaz calls a meeting of the city council—“ten men of the elders of the city” (Ru 4.2).

“Private ownership of land was a jealously guarded privilege in ancient Israel, a right which was proudly handed down within the family. Women were normally excluded from inheritance rights, however, and in no known circumstances were women allowed to inherit their husband’s estates. Naomi may have received income from the sale of Elimelech’s estate, but she probably was not allowed to retain title to the land. The nearest surviving male member of the family would inherit the first option of purchase (Num. 27:7–11)” (TBC).

The unnamed man is initially open to redeeming Elimelech’s land. But then Boaz tells him “the rest of the story” (Ru 4.5). Did he initially withhold this part intentionally? We’re not told, but we do know that Boaz is pretty sharp as a businessman.

“Boaz argued that the nearest kinsman had a moral obligation to keep Elimelech’s line alive. This would involve marrying Ruth and raising a family under his name. In such a case title to the land would eventually revert to Ruth’s children. Under such circumstances, the kinsman hastily renounced his rights as next of kin” (TBC).

“Redeeming the land by itself would have been a good investment because the land would be inherited by the redeemer’s own children. But redeeming Ruth with the land would result in its being left to Ruth’s offspring (for the line of Elimelech). Any resources spent on redeeming the land and raising the offspring would damage his own children’s inheritance since it would benefit the line of Elimelech” (FSB).

“Mr. So-and-so” steps back from his legal obligation. Hence the absence of his name. And now “the generosity of Boaz in accepting these financial losses becomes the more apparent” (NBC).

They conduct a legal ceremony involving an exchange of So-and-so’s sandal (Ru 4.8). “Footwear often symbolized ownership in Bible times. Note … God’s directive to Abraham, Moses, and Joshua to claim ownership of Canaan by walking on it (Gen. 13:17; Deut. 11:24; Josh. 1:3)” (WBH).

Boaz calls the bystanders to bear record (Ru 4.9). (And here we learn that Mahlon was the brother who had been married to Ruth [Ru 4.10].)

Why was Boaz so persistent in showing covenant loyalty to this Moabite woman? He might have had a family reason. “According to Matthew 1:5, Boaz’s mother was Rahab, the Canaanite harlot from Jericho. However, Rahab lived in Joshua’s time, about 250–300 years earlier. Probably, then, Rahab was Boaz’s ‘mother’ in the sense that she was his ancestress (cf. ‘our father Abraham,’ Rom. 4:12)” (BKC).

Next time, the end of the story—and the beginning.

Photo by Paz Arando on Unsplash