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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Servant Song 2, Part 2: God Responds to Reassure

March 4, 2024 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Introduction | Song 1, Part 1 | Song 1, Part 2 | Song 2, Part 1

God responds to the Servant’s “complaint” in Isaiah 49.4 by laying out the cosmic scope of his mission and the certainty of God’s empowerment and his eventual success. These frustrations, he says, are but temporary and inconsequential.

He begins by saying that it is of no consequence that the Servant has not yet achieved his mission (Is 49.5); he has been designed from the womb to bring Jacob / Israel back into fellowship with God, and though that has not yet happened, It certainly will: the Servant will be glorious in God’s eyes, and God will be his strength; omnipotence guarantees his success.

So it will happen (Is 49.6); since God has been keeping Israel for himself, the nation is still around for the Servant to rescue. This use of the word preserved here is an example of a “divine passive”; God isn’t said to be the one who has preserved Israel, but it clearly isn’t the Servant who has done it, and no one other than God could be the one accomplishing it.

But God doesn’t stop with mere assurance; he explodes the horizon by taking the Servant’s success from the national to the cosmic. The Servant will bring light even to the Gentiles, and salvation “to the end of the earth.” He’s talking about the “coastlands” from the first Servant Song. The Servant’s work will enlighten the farthest peoples—in New Testament phrasing, “every kindred, tongue, people, and nation” (Re 5.9, 14.6). And this extensive work will not merely “enlighten”; it will save.

This level of success will of course reverse the current apparent misfortunes of the Servant. The God who has redeemed—purchased—Israel as has no other (he is Israel’s “Holy One”) will exalt this Servant, who is despised by nation and individual alike, to the point where kings and princes will bow down and worship (Is 49.7). This may mean simply that they will worship God for his deliverance of Israel and the Gentiles. But contextually it may be saying that the princes will worship the Servant.

Now this is a remarkable statement, given that God himself has said repeatedly that only he may be worshiped (Ex 20.3-5; 23.24; 34.14; Dt 5.9; 6.13). This same God will take a despised person to the point where earthly royalty will worship him.

Is this contradictory? I would rule out that possibly outright.

This Servant is clearly worthy of worship, though he doesn’t appear to be at the moment. He’s not Isaiah. He’s not the nation of Israel. He is God, distinct in some way from God the present speaker, and disguised in some way from human eyes.

For this Testament, a conundrum. But for those of us who benefit from New Testament revelation, a Second Person of the Godhead.

Yahweh, the uniquely faithful one, the uniquely unchanging one, will raise his Servant to that height, and why? Because “he shall choose thee.”

What a poignant statement, particularly in light of the Servant’s frustration as expressed in verse 4.

This section continues, I think, nearly to the end of the Song at verse 13. But there seems to be a bit of a turning point here, as God begins to point the Servant’s attention to the successful outcome of his mission, to the joyous future of those whom he is liberating.

We’ll look to that subsection in the next post.

Photo by Mick Haupt on Unsplash

Song 3 | Song 4, Part 1 | Song 4, Part 2 | Song 4, Part 3 | Song 4, Part 4 | Song 4, Part 5

Filed Under: Bible, Theology Tagged With: Christology, Isaiah, Old Testament, systematic theology

Servant Song 2, Part 1: The Servant Speaks

February 29, 2024 by Dan Olinger 2 Comments

Introduction | Song 1, Part 1 | Song 1, Part 2

The second Servant Song appears in Isaiah 49. Again, scholars disagree about its precise location; some would limit it to the first 6 verses, some to the first 7, while others take it all the way to verse 13. I’ll note that the Servant is addressed directly at the end of verse 7, and again in 8 and 9. Verses 10-13 appear to describe those that the Servant will deliver, “the prisoners” and “them that are in darkness” from verse 9. So I see the Song as extending through verse 13.

In this Song, for the first time, the Servant speaks. He describes his commission in verses 1-3, and he responds to it in verse 4. Then he relates how God responded to his words (Is 49.5-12). The Song ends with praise as the whole earth rejoices in what God has done through his Servant (Is 49.13).

In this post we’ll look at the Servant’s words. I will confess that as I was memorizing these verses, I was flabbergasted. We’ll get to the reason for that in a minute.

Before the Servant describes his call from God, he calls all the earth to hear his words. In this opening section, he’s not going to tell us why his call deserves the attention of the whole earth—that will come a few verses later, in God’s speech—but we already know from the First Song that the Servant’s mission will deliver the Gentiles as well as the people of the Covenant (Is 42.1, 4, 6), so this doesn’t surprise us. Since “the isles” (distant coastlands) will be affected (Is 42.4), he calls them now to hear what he has to say (Is 49.1).

And then he describes his divine call (Is 49.2-3).

This call comes while he is still in the womb, “the bowels of [his] mother” (Is 49.1). As a Christian, I’m inclined to see the Servant as the Messiah—though for the sake of careful study, I’ve avoided actively advocating for that in the previous posts. But of course it’s hard to avoid seeing here a reference to the Virgin Birth of Jesus, and the extensive material in Matthew and Luke that presents Jesus’ divine calling from before he was born—indeed, before he was even conceived. This calling is revealed to Joseph once he becomes aware that his fiancée is pregnant (Mt 1.18-23), before that, of course, to Mary (Lk 1.26-38), as well as to Zacharias (Lk 1.5-17, esp v 17), and to Elizabeth (Lk 1.39-45, esp v 43), the parents of John the Baptist.

And what, exactly, is the Servant’s call?

God has equipped him for special service; he is like a sharpened weapon, a sword or an arrow, to be sent forth and accomplish his mission effectively (Is 49.2). He is God’s Servant, and he will be successful in making God’s glory obvious (Is 49.3).

I note that here the Servant is called “Israel.” This seems to favor the standard Jewish interpretation, that Israel is the means by which God will bless the world and demonstrate his glory. Yet just 2 verses later, God will say that this Servant “will bring Jacob again to him” (Is 49.5). Readers of the Bible know that “Israel” is just another name for the biblical Jacob, which became the national name of Jacob’s descendants. Since the two names describe the same person / nation, how can the Servant, Israel, bring Israel back to God? It seems that even the context of verse 3 implies an individual, not national, deliverer.

Verse 4 is shocking. The Servant says,

Then I said, I have laboured in vain,
I have spent my strength for nought, and in vain:
Yet surely my judgment is with the Lord,
And my work with my God.

I’m flabbergasted. The Servant is expressing frustration, recognizing his own failure and depending on God to justify him and his work. This raises all kinds of questions, especially if the Servant is the Christ.

Let me put it bluntly: did Jesus have bad days? Did he confess thoughts like this to the Father in those long nights of solitary prayer? We know that Jesus did not exercise his divine omniscience during his earthly ministry (Mk 13.32), but relied on his Father to supply the knowledge that he needed (Jn 5.19, 30; 2.25). Did this dependency sometimes frustrate him?

Or is he simply saying that in his eventual death, he will apparently fail, as far as the world’s perspective is concerned? But he says that he said these words.

We are delving into matters that are far beyond us.

In response to this apparent cry of anguish, the Father responds. We’ll deal with that next time.

Photo by Mick Haupt on Unsplash

Song 2, Part 3 | Song 3 | Song 4, Part 1 | Song 4, Part 2 | Song 4, Part 3 | Song 4, Part 4 | Song 4, Part 5

Filed Under: Bible, Theology Tagged With: Christology, Isaiah, Old Testament, systematic theology

Servant Song 1, Part 2: Confident Hope

February 26, 2024 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

Introduction | Song 1, Part 1

I noted in the previous post that some analysts end the first Servant Song with verse 4. I agree with those who posit a second stanza, which extends through verse 9. My reason for that is simple; verse 6 continues the singular form with which the chapter began (though it switches from 3rd person to 2nd). You can tell that “you” in verse 6 is singular if you’ll check the KJV; that version uses the archaic forms “thou” and “thee,” which consistently are singular in form and thus translate singular forms in the underlying Hebrew.

Verse 7 continues addressing the singular object and speaks of his mission in ways that the later Servant Songs will as well. So I’d say this first Song has a second stanza, verses 5-9.

There’s a second question: who is the Servant? Traditionally Jewish scholars have identified Israel as the Servant, while Christians have seen him as the Christ. A few interpreters think he’s simply the prophet Isaiah. This early in our survey I’m not ready to give my position, since we have little data to work with in just the 4 verses of the first stanza. I will note that Isaiah seems to be an unlikely prospect, since the first stanza speaks of him establishing justice around the world (Is 42.4), and Isaiah himself clearly did not do that. This second stanza seems to rule out Israel, since the Servant is said to be given “for a covenant of the people” (Is 42.6), and it seems unlikely that Israel would be given to Israel. But for now we’ll withhold judgment and keep looking for evidence in the text.

This second stanza begins with a proclamation about God, the one speaking: He’s the Creator and maintainer of heaven and earth and all it contains (Is 42.5). The stanza later repeats this idea (Is 42.8), in what literary analysts would call an “inclusio”: this Creator God is greater than all other gods, and he calls himself YHWH. Most English translations render this personal name, I think unfortunately, as “the LORD” (note the small caps). So the Master of this Servant is infinitely great, yet one who seeks a relationship with his people and remains ever-present with them. Evidence of this greatness extends into the next verse (Is 42.9): God has kept all his promises to this point, and he makes further promises about the future, because he sees and knows it perfectly.

Between these two bookend statements God reveals something of his relationship with the Servant as well as the Servant’s mission. Yahweh has called the Servant and will be present with him to make him successful in the accomplishment of his mission (Is 42.6), which will involve not only the covenant people Israel, but the Gentiles as well.

And what is that mission? To bring light to the blind and freedom to the imprisoned (Is 42.7). We’re not given the details at this point: are these people literally or spiritually blind? Are they literally or spiritually in prison? Perhaps we’ll learn more in later Songs.

But what have we learned so far?

Someone, a “Servant,” is coming. He has a special relationship with the all-powerful and all-knowing God. He may appear less than impressive, but we must not underestimate him, for he is empowered by God and will certainly be successful in bringing justice to the whole earth.

This is a unique God, and a unique Servant. This is an earth-shaking change, and best of all, a change for the better. This is a message of hope to all who suffer injustice, who wonder if there is deliverance. The God who has done marvelous things for centuries will repair the brokenness of what we see, thereby putting in place a good and gracious future world.

We don’t know—yet, here in Song 1—when or how all this will come to pass. But we have our confidence boosted by the power and the record of success evidenced by the covenant-keeping and eternally consistent God.

Next time, a Second Song—and a longer one.

Photo by Mick Haupt on Unsplash

Song 2, Part 1 | Song 2, Part 2 | Song 2, Part 3 | Song 3 | Song 4, Part 1 | Song 4, Part 2 | Song 4, Part 3 | Song 4, Part 4 | Song 4, Part 5

Filed Under: Bible, Theology Tagged With: Christology, Isaiah, Old Testament, systematic theology

Servant Song 1, Part 1: First Look

February 22, 2024 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

Introduction

Isaiah’s first Servant Song appears at the beginning of chapter 42. There’s some disagreement among scholars as to where precisely it ends; in fact, the precise references of all the Servant Songs are somewhat fuzzy. For the first song, many would limit it to the first 4 verses, while others would take it through verse 9—in which case the song has a second stanza. I decided to memorize the longer passage, so we’ll take two posts for this song, one for each stanza.

This first stanza is in the voice of God, addressing Isaiah’s audience (note the plural “you” in Is 42.9) and referring to the Servant in the third person: “Behold my servant” (Is 42.1). God begins describing with affection, in relational terms:

  • God’s soul delights in him (Is 42.1).
  • God has put his “spirit” upon him (Is 42.1).

I find it interesting that God speaks of both his own soul and his own spirit. Now, since God is not a human, the question of trichotomy—is he body, soul and spirit, or just body and soul?—does not apply to him. I’d suggest, then, that his use of both terms together may suggest that he is “all in” in his relationship with the Servant.

Would it be reading the New Testament back into the Old to find a trinitarian implication here?—that the soul is that of the Father, and the spirit is the distinct person of the Holy Spirit? That would lead us to conclude that the Servant is the “missing” third person of the Trinity, the Son.

My background in biblical theology inclines me to be cautious about seeing too much later revelation here, centuries before the incarnation, so I’ll leave that question open.

The rest of the stanza speaks of the Servant’s task—his calling, if you will—and the manner in which he carries it out. Note the repeated theme of justice:

  • “He shall bring forth justice to the Gentiles” (Is 42.1);
  • “He shall bring forth justice unto truth” (Is 42.3);
  • He shall “set justice in the earth” (Is 42.4).

The Servant’s primary task, apparently, is to overturn the injustice of the world system and make it a place where justice is done. We’re not told yet how he will do this, but those of us who’ve read the rest of the story can see easily where this is going.

The stanza ends with several descriptors of the Servant’s manner. We find that manner surprising, for a couple of reasons. First, he’s presented as mild-mannered; and frankly, mild-mannered approaches don’t typically overturn injustice, especially given the commitment of world rulers to maintaining their own power structures. But this one

  • will “not cry, nor lift up, nor cause his voice to be heard in the street” (Is 42.2);
  • “A bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking flax shall he not quench” (Is 42.3).

A second surprise comes when we read the third description of his manner:

  • “He shall not fail nor be discouraged” (Is 42.4).

This seems to come right out of the blue. Here is someone who has God’s spirit upon him, who is called and empowered to overturn unjust earthly power structures and establish justice all across the earth, reorganizing even Gentile states (Is 42.1), the “isles” (distant coastlands) over which “his law” shall reign (Is 42.4)—so why would we be concerned that he might fail or be discouraged? Where did that come from?

In this first stanza of this first Servant Song, then, we find that the Servant is empowered by God, and in a special relationship with him, and therefore able to do world-shaking things in the cause of justice. Yet, in some way, we’re supposed to be surprised by that. This is a theme we’ll see again in the Songs.

I can’t fail to mention that this stanza shows up in the New Testament, in reference to Christ’s earthly ministry, and specifically in connection to what scholars call the “messianic secret.” Jesus sometimes tells his followers, and the recipients of his miracles, not to tell anyone what he has done. Matthew tells us that he did that in order to fulfill the prophecy of this stanza (Mt 12.15-21); part of his mission, apparently, is to appear not as a conquering king, but as someone who seems not to have any likelihood to be who he really is.

Why? Well, we’re not told. But it occurs to me that God delights in those who come to him by faith, and it doesn’t take much faith to trust in a conquering king on a white stallion. But a Jewish carpenter? from Nazareth (Jn 1.46)? Now, that’s another story.

Photo by Mick Haupt on Unsplash

Song 1, Part 2 | Song 2, Part 1 | Song 2, Part 2 | Song 2, Part 3 | Song 3 | Song 4, Part 1 | Song 4, Part 2 | Song 4, Part 3 | Song 4, Part 4 | Song 4, Part 5

Filed Under: Bible, Theology Tagged With: Christology, Isaiah, Old Testament, systematic theology

Servant Songs, Part 1: Introduction

February 19, 2024 by Dan Olinger 1 Comment

For several weeks now I’ve been working on memorizing Isaiah’s “Servant Songs.” I’ve found them difficult to memorize, for a couple of reasons. First, I’m aging, and everything is getting more difficult to memorize. I’ve heard that the brain is more like a muscle than a bucket, and that the more you use it, the stronger it gets. I hope that’s true; if it is, then the difficulty I’m having would be even worse if I weren’t actively exercising my memory muscles.

The second reason this has been difficult is specific to the passages. They’re a set of four, by the same author, in the same prophetic book, and there’s a lot of parallel phrasing in there. (Compare, for example, Isaiah 42.6 and 49.8, and 42.7 and 49.9.) It’s taken some time to get the passages into my head so that my brain knows which specific phrasing goes with which context.

But there are benefits to all that recitation and repetition.

First, as with any memorization, you notice details you didn’t notice before—where the “wills” are as opposed to where the “shalls” are, for example, but often more significant things* such as parallel phrasings that give insight into the structure of the text and thus the mind of the author at the moment he was writing.

Further, the repetition gives you time to “think on these things.” The text makes a greater impression on your mind, and the process forces you to think more deeply about what the author is saying. You notice connections between verses (take a look, for example, at Isaiah 53, which is a chain of thoughts, one link connected to the next phrasally; I first noticed this phenomenon when I was memorizing Psalm 27). My ADHD mind is not good at meditating on things abstractly, but the process of memorization overcomes that disability quite nicely, since I have to think about the thoughts and their connections over a period of time.

A particular benefit of memorizing the Servant Songs is that, in a very real sense, they’re not written to me; they’re written to the Servant of Yahweh, God the Son, the Messiah. As a result, they give us insight into the mind of Christ that we don’t get anywhere else.

In Biblical Studies there’s a concept called “the messianic consciousness”: the idea that the man Jesus didn’t fully understand his divine identity from infancy, but that it developed in his mind as he matured. The Bible does teach that “Jesus increased in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man” (Lk 2.52). Exactly what that looked like is of course a mystery to us—how can the omniscient God increase in wisdom? how can God the Son increase in favor with God? But it says he did. And we presume that he didn’t speak fluent Hebrew when he was a week old or dissertate on the hypostatic union when he was three—though he did astonish the rabbis when he was twelve, and at that age he clearly knew that God was his Father in a way that Joseph wasn’t (Lk 2.46-49).

This concept has raised in my mind visual images of the boy Jesus listening to the Scripture in the synagogue. (His family almost certainly did not have Tanakh scrolls that he could read at home.) At some point along the way, when he heard the Servant Songs read, he realized, “That’s me! That’s talking about me!” Did this realization hit him suddenly, like the proverbial Mack truck, or did the light of understanding rise slowly in his mind, like dawn on the eastern horizon?

I don’t know. But at some point these songs became his. Did he memorize them? Did he pray them to his Father over those long nights alone on a hillside? Did he contemplate them during walks near Nazareth, among lilies and sparrows and brilliantly ornamented wildflowers? Did he come to find meaning in the idea that “this is my Father’s world” that goes well beyond anything that we can say of ourselves?

I’d like to take a few posts, maybe more than usual, to meditate on these songs as a vehicle to seeing Christ the Servant in a richer and rounder light.

* My apologies to our British cousins, who think the difference between “will” and “shall” is meaningful, and who make a practice of using the two words correctly. I can never remember the difference.

Photo by Mick Haupt on Unsplash

Song 1, Part 1 | Song 1, Part 2 | Song 2, Part 1 | Song 2, Part 2 | Song 2, Part 3 | Song 3 | Song 4, Part 1 | Song 4, Part 2 | Song 4, Part 3 | Song 4, Part 4 | Song 4, Part 5

Filed Under: Bible, Theology Tagged With: Christology, Isaiah, Old Testament, systematic theology

On Sources for the Bible, Part 1: Summary

February 5, 2024 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Where did the Bible come from?

The answer to that question depends on what you mean.

Most simply, and most importantly, the Bible comes from God. Paul tells Timothy that the words of the Scripture (and in this context, he pretty clearly means the Hebrew Scripture, or what we Christians call the Old Testament) were breathed out by God (2Ti 3.16), and Peter says that the human authors were “moved” by the Holy Spirit (2P 1.21). That word “moved” is used in Acts of the storm (Ac 27.15, 17) that nearly blew Paul’s ship all the way to Africa (Ac 27.17). Since the Greek word for “wind” is the same as the word for “spirit,” it’s pretty clear that Peter is engaged in wordplay.

But the Bible also came from human authors, people like us. The fact that they were blown along by the Holy Wind doesn’t mean that they had no control over what they were writing. When the prophet Jeremiah accuses the Lord of deceiving him (Je 20.7), he’s clearly expressing his own opinion, not God’s. And when Paul writes that he baptized only two people in Corinth (1Co 1.14), you can see his thought process as he corrects himself in the succeeding verses: “Oh, yeah, I baptized that one family—and, uh, I don’t remember whether I baptized anybody else” (1Co 1.16). (That’s clearly my informal paraphrase.) Paul’s words clearly indicate that he isn’t just quoting the Holy Spirit, who most certainly does remember whether Paul baptized anybody else.

In the famous “needle’s eye” passage, Matthew (Mt 19.24) and Mark (Mk 10.25) use the common Greek word for “needle,” the kind of needle any first-century Jew could find in his house. But many manuscripts have Luke (Lk 18.25) using a different word for “needle,” a technical term for a surgical needle. Luke, the doctor, uses the first Greek word that comes to mind for “needle”; he speaks from his own experience.*

So the authors, though completely under the direction of the Spirit, played a role in the composition of the biblical text.

Let’s take this a step further. The authors themselves used other sources as they composed their works. I’m not speaking here of the common critical assumption that the Genesis creation story came from the Enuma Elish, or that the flood story came from the Epic of Gilgamesh. I think it’s much more likely that those pagan myths came from the cultural memory of an actual ancient creation and an actual ancient global flood, the one Moses describes in Genesis.

Rather, I’m saying that the authors borrowed freely from other ancient works, often saying so at the time—in effect, inserting a footnote.

Now, we all know that the New Testament often quotes from the Old. The simplest way to see this clearly and quickly is to flip through the Christian Standard Version (available online for free at biblegateway.com). The editors of that version have opted to set all NT quotations of the OT in bold-faced type, making them visually jump right off the page. And if you start in Matthew, who quotes the OT frequently, you’ll see a lot of bold-faced type.

But the biblical writers don’t limit themselves to quoting just other writers of Scripture. They quote from all over the place—including Persian historical archives and classical Greek poets waxing eloquent about Zeus. It’s possible, though not certain, that Jesus himself, resurrected, glorified, and at the right hand of the Father, quotes a classical Greek poet.

And these writers do so without seeming to sense any need to explain themselves or to offer some sort of disclaimer.

Next time we’ll look at what’s there in the biblical text.

* A note for those of you thinking as you read: which Greek word did Jesus actually use? And which Gospel author reported that word inaccurately? Freak out thou not, my friend; Jesus almost certainly was speaking Aramaic, and he used the common word for “needle” in that language. Matthew, Mark, and Luke were translating Jesus’ words into Greek as they wrote, and so each writer would choose the first Greek word for “needle” that popped into his head, based on his experience.

Photo by madeleine ragsdale on Unsplash

Part 2: Specifics

Filed Under: Bible, Theology Tagged With: bibliology, intertextuality, systematic theology

On Congregational Singing As a Team Sport

January 8, 2024 by Dan Olinger 2 Comments

There’s been a lot of writing—and arguing—about worship, especially over how it ought to be done. I’m not going to rehash the existing hash, which is now solidly stuck to the bottom of the pan. But I did have a thought recently about the specific area of congregational singing.

As a prefatory note, I’ll observe that many these days seem to think “worship” and “congregational singing” are exact synonyms. I would suggest that worship is much broader than congregational singing; I think the whole Sunday gathering is worship—if it’s done with the right attitude—and that in fact our whole regenerate lifetimes should be worship. The word means, after all, ascribing value, “worthship” (what the Hebrews called chabod [“glory”], or “weight”), to God.

But that’s another post. Here I’d like to address just a part of that, the congregational singing.

To begin with, it’s worth noting that if the singing is part of worship, then it is an offering to God. While worship is a joyous thing, bringing delight to those offering it, the worshipers are not the audience; they are the worshipers. As such, they should be focused primarily on bring delight to God; their delight will certainly follow, but it is a side effect, not a goal.

That principle has a good many ramifications, of course. Most obviously, we should offer God what he wants, not necessarily what we want. That’s the thinking behind the Presbyterians’ “regulative principle”—the idea that we should offer in worship only what the Bible specifically commands. Even those who don’t follow the practice should be able to agree that its underlying principle—offering God what he wants—is indisputable.

Of course, the “worship wars” were all about arguing over how we can know what kind of music God likes, and that degenerated into pretty much everybody taking his toys and going home.

But to my point. When we sing as a congregation, we are offering a sacrifice of praise to God. We need to make it the very best offering we can. And I would suggest that we need everybody on board for that to happen. That means that even those who can’t sing well need to contribute. The offering is from everyone.

I’ve never been much of a singer; I was in my high school’s chorale, since I could hit the notes, but I never had any tonal quality. It’s a mystery to me where vibrato comes from, and my abuse of my speaking voice is the stuff of vocal coaches’ nightmares. As I’ve grown older, the tonal quality has stayed flat, the likelihood of my hitting the correct note has decreased, and the breath support is pretty much nonexistent.

So should I just mouth the words and let the singers make the offering?

I don’t think so. (Though if enough of my fellow church members say otherwise, I’ll respect their judgment.) I’m not singing for my own enjoyment, or to impress my fellow pewsitters.

I’m singing to God. He knows what my voice is capable of, and he wants to hear from me.

So I sing.

Anybody who’s been on an athletic team knows what’s going on here. We all—together—do the best we can, and we are brought together by our joint participation.

And God is praised.

Our own enjoyment, as I’ve said, is a side effect, not a goal, but by God’s grace we do reap enjoyment from our team effort. We are delighted as individuals, and we are drawn together as teammates.

Every Sunday, when we gather, we thrive by singing our praise to God—together—and by uniting our hearts in worship. It’s no surprise, then, that one day, in a perfect world, we will gather, from every kingdom, tribe, tongue, and nation, and sing our praise to the Lamb with one voice.

Until then, let us praise him. Together.

Photo by David Beale on Unsplash

Filed Under: Theology, Worship Tagged With: church, congregational singing, systematic theology

On Providence, Part 6: And the Seed of the Woman

August 10, 2023 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Where? | Part 2: How? | Part 3: Joseph, For Example  | Part 4: And Naomi | Part 5: And Esther

I’d like to present one more example of providence, one I think is the crowning example.

God raises up kings and sets them down again. One of those kings, Nebuchadnezzar, comes to recognize that fact when God turns him into the crazy uncle down the street, eating grass in front of the county courthouse, and then restores him again to his throne—and nobody objects (Da 4.28-37).

Just before this episode, God has revealed his plan to Nebuchadnezzar in a dream (Da 2.26-45). The prophet Daniel interprets the dream to predict that after Nebuchadnezzar’s Babylonian Empire will come the kingdom of the Medes and Persians, and then Greece, and then Rome.

And it all happens, just as God predicted.

Six centuries later Persia and Greece have come and gone, and Rome has conquered the Mediterranean Basin, including the little province of Judaea, the southern tip of the old land of Canaan, waaaay down at the end of the Sea.

It’s on the list of provinces, and it has a governor appointed by Rome, but it is of little if any concern back in the capital.

What is of concern, though, is the stupendous amount of money needed to run an empire, particularly one with an army large enough to keep the conquered peoples in check. Along about 750 AU (on the Roman calendar), the emperor, Caesar Augustus, decides he needs more money. He orders a census to organize the tax rolls. The order means that all the inhabitants of Roman provinces need to report to their family’s town of origin and sign up.

In the backwater village of Nazareth, in what used to be the tribal allotment of Zebulun back in the Israelite days, lives a construction worker named Joseph. We don’t know his age at this time, but we do know that he’s engaged to be married to a young woman—perhaps a teen—named Miriam. He has a lot on his mind; he’s learned that his fiancée is pregnant–without his help–and soon after, he’s learned that the child is the supernaturally conceived, promised Messiah of Israel. Miriam is now approaching full term.

Both he and Miriam are descendants of David, the great king of Israel from a millennium earlier. Everyone in Israel knows that David was from Bethlehem, in the territory of Judah. So Joseph and Miriam now have to travel overland to Judea to register for the census.

I’m sure Joseph thinks, “Look, I really don’t need this right now.” A full-term pregnant woman has no business traveling close to a hundred miles by any conveyance, let alone donkey.

But Rome.

So they go, at great inconvenience and almost certainly against their will.

When they arrive in Bethlehem, she goes into labor.

And she has a Son.

As expected.

Now, we already know that this is no ordinary son. An angelic messenger has told Joseph, “He shall save his people from their sins” (Mt 1.21). He is the promised Messiah.

Promised, indeed. There has been a flotilla of promises made over the centuries about this child, beginning in the Garden of Eden (Ge 3.15).

And one of those promises (Mic 5.2) is that he would be born in Bethlehem.

Not just any Bethlehem, either. There’s a village named Bethlehem just 6 miles northwest of Nazareth (Jos 19.15). Joseph might well have taken care of the census business there with a day trip. But the prophecy says “Bethlehem Ephrata,” which is the one down in Judah, where David was from.

So in far-off Rome, the most powerful man in the world, who doesn’t care about Judea or Jews or Messiahs or construction workers or prophecies, operating from the least religious motive imaginable, decides that the Empire will be upended and millions of people inconvenienced for his own convenience, and thus forces a full-term pregnant woman to travel a hundred miles on the back of a donkey.

And the rest is History.

God rules.

He does.

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Filed Under: Theology Tagged With: providence, systematic theology, theology proper

On Providence, Part 4: And Naomi

August 3, 2023 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Where? | Part 2: How? | Part 3: Joseph, For Example

How about another example?

Another famine. Another family that leaves Canaan (now Israel) to seek sustenance elsewhere.

This time the head of the family is Elimelech. He takes his wife, Naomi, and his two sons, and they cross the Jordan into Moab (Ru 1.1-2).

And then he dies (Ru 1.3).

The boys marry Moabite wives, named Orpah and Ruth (Ru 1.4). And then they die (Ru 1.5).

This is a disaster. A woman with no living sons is effectively unsupported. Such women often end up as beggars or prostitutes. The situation is worse for Naomi than for Orpah and Ruth, for two reasons. First, she’s an expat, a foreigner, a “stranger,” “not from around here.” And second, she’s not young enough to attract another husband. She’s bereft, horizonless, hopeless.

One of those problems she can fix. She can go home again. Which she decides to do (Ru 1.6).

Orpah opts to stay with her people (Ru 1.14). That’s clearly the wise choice. Young enough to have children, she can find a nice Moabite man and marry again.

But Ruth shocks us. She opts to go with Naomi, thereby leaving her people and all the life she has ever known (Ru 1.16-17).

There’s no rational explanation for this. She has seen no reason to follow Israel’s God, and as we shall see, Naomi doesn’t seem to either.

And so they arrive in Naomi’s hometown of Bethlehem. Naomi is clearly not pleased with God. She accuses God of emptying her of all that she had (Ru 1.19-21).

And, frankly, she’s right.

Well, these unsupported women have to eat.

Israel’s law says that they can glean grain from the corners of any fields; in fact, farmers are under legal obligation not to harvest the corners (Le 19.9).

So Ruth, the young strong one, goes out looking for a field (Ru 2.2). She goes to the community field in the little town, and she starts gleaning the corners of one section of it. She doesn’t know who it belongs to, and she doesn’t care; it’s all grain to her.

A few hours later the owner shows up (Ru 2.4). He notices the foreigner and inquires of his foreman (Ru 2.5), who says she’s been working hard (Ru 2.6-7). He speaks with her and encourages her to keep gleaning in his section of the field (Ru 2.8-13) and even to eat with his workers (Ru 2.14). He tells his workers to drop grain on purpose for her to pick up (Ru 2.15-16).

Two good people.

By the end of the day she has plenty of grain (Ru 2.17).

Naomi, the empty one, is delighted by what Ruth has gathered (Ru 2.18). And she is astonished when she finds out who the man is. Of all the men in the village, he is the second closest relative, next in line under a legal obligation to restore Elimelech’s property to Naomi (Ru 2.20). She also reads the tea leaves, so to speak: sounds like the man has his eye on the young woman.

So she hatches a plot (Ru 3.1-5), and it works just as she had hoped. Ruth tells the man (whose name, by the way, is Boaz) that he has a legal obligation (Ru 3.6-9), and he demonstrates immediately that he’s willing to do it (Ru 3.10-13); he even fills her apron with seed as a sign of good faith (Ru 3.15). He lays a legal claim to redeem Naomi (Ru 4.1-4) and clears the way to marry Ruth (Ru 4.5-12).

And then, if you’ll pardon my bluntness, he fills her apron with seed a second time, and she has a son (Ru 4.13). Now there is a future for these formerly bereft women.

And what a future it is! Ruth’s son is the grandfather of a boy named David (Ru 4.21-22), Israel’s greatest king and recipient of God’s Messianic covenant (2S 7.8-16). David’s greater Son will redeem Naomi and Ruth and Boaz and you and me and anyone who believes (Ga 4.5; Ti 2.14).

And by the end of the story the baby is not in Ruth’s arms; he’s in Naomi’s (Ru 4.16). God has not emptied her after all; her temporary emptying was simply a step toward a fulfillment far beyond what she could ever have imagined. She becomes a significant part of God’s promise to crush the serpent’s head through the seed of the woman (Ge 3.15)—and an illustration of the process of redemption by which the Seed would accomplish that.

In our pain, let us not dream small dreams. Let us anticipate the kind of good that only God can do.

Part 5: And Esther | Part 6: And the Seed of the Woman

Photo by Katie Moum on Unsplash

Filed Under: Theology Tagged With: providence, systematic theology, theology proper

On Providence, Part 3: Joseph, for Example

July 31, 2023 by Dan Olinger Leave a Comment

Part 1: Where? | Part 2: How?

So far we’ve been considering God’s providential workings more or less in the abstract. I find that it helps me to look at specific, concrete examples of his working to get a better feel for their characteristics; that way I’m more likely to be able to think broadly, positively, and optimistically about what God might be doing in my life, particularly in those times when I’m tempted to think that he’s not paying attention to how hard it is.

I’d like to start with Joseph.

Joseph’s life starts out pretty well. He is the first son of Rachel (Ge 30.22-24), the patriarch Jacob’s great love, the woman for whom he worked seven years (Ge 29.15-18). (Yes, it was actually more complicated than that, but those were the terms he agreed to.) No doubt because of the identity of his mother, Joseph was Jacob’s favorite son (Ge 37.3)—and at the time he had 11 of them. Jacob makes this favoritism obvious in ways that Joseph would have noticed; his brothers certainly did (Ge 37.4).

Joseph has interesting dreams (Ge 37.5, 9). He may not have known that they were divine revelations and thus prophetic, but they certainly showed him in a favorable light. And the fact that he told them to his family (Ge 37.6-11) indicates to me that he was confident around them, perhaps naively so, not suspecting trouble.

In Joseph’s experience, life is very, very good.

And then.

As the Brits would say, it all goes in the loo.

His brothers, unsurprisingly jealous, turn on him, initially planning to kill him (Ge 37.20), then to leave him to die in a pit (probably a cistern) (Ge 37.22-24), but then “improving” the outcome by selling him to slave traders (Ge 37.25-28). He likely walks, hands tied, all the way through the Negeb and the Sinai to Egypt, where he is sold to a government official named Potiphar (Ge 37.36).

We don’t know anything about the early days of his slavery, but it appears that he works hard and well and distinguished himself from day one, to the point where he becomes Potiphar’s house steward (Ge 39.1-4)—better living conditions than a menial slave, certainly, but still slavery. (I once spent an evening in jail. The conditions were reasonably comfortable, but when you’re not free, you’re definitely not having a good time.)

And then.

Potiphar’s wife takes a shine to the young man, and he refuses her advances (Ge 39.7-12). She accuses him of sexual assault (Ge 39.13-18), and Joseph goes to prison (Ge 39.19-20).

I’m told ancient prisons were even unpleasanter than house slavery. (See under “solecism.”)

He has a couple of cellmates who are former slaves from Pharaoh’s court (Ge 40.1-4), and they have dreams (Ge 40.5). Joseph now knows that these dreams are prophetic revelations—maybe he did when he was a kid, but it doesn’t say—and he informs one of the men that he’s going to be released and returned to Pharaoh’s court (Ge 40.9-13).

Which he is. Joseph asks him to put in a good word for him (Ge 40.14-15). He doesn’t (Ge 40.23).

Two years later Pharaoh has a dream himself (Ge 41.1). His slave—finally—remembers the dream interpreter he met in prison (Ge 41.9-13). Pharaoh sends for Joseph (Ge 41.14).

Joseph interprets his dream (Ge 41.15-36), and—here it gets interesting—Pharaoh believes him (Ge 41.37). (Must have been the shave and change of clothes.) Even without any confirmation—there’s no time for that—Pharaoh appoints Joseph to oversee preparation for the famine that his dream predicted (Ge 41.39-45).

And just like that, Joseph is vice-Pharaoh in the most powerful empire of his day—which is worth a lot more than a bucket of warm spit.

Now, here’s what I haven’t mentioned. Four times during this account, the Bible says simply, “Yahweh was with Joseph” (Ge 39.2, 3, 21, 23). The man might well have been tempted to say, “Where is God in my life? Doesn’t he see? Doesn’t he care?”

God was with him. And even though God loved him, and cared about him, Joseph experienced these brutally hard things.

I said, “Even though,” but there’s no contradiction between God’s love for Joseph and the things he endured.

If his brothers hadn’t sold him into slavery, they all would have died in the famine.

If Potiphar hadn’t believed his wife’s lie, Joseph would have lived out his years as a house slave, and his family back in Canaan would still have died in the famine.

If he hadn’t gone to prison, he never would have interacted with a member of Pharaoh’s court.

Could God have accomplished the deliverance of Jacob’s family some other way? Of course he could have. He could have made their jars of oil not run out (1K 17.8-16), or done a thousand other things.

But he didn’t.

His ways are best, even when they’re hard.

Part 4: And Naomi | Part 5: And Esther | Part 6: And the Seed of the Woman

Photo by Katie Moum on Unsplash

Filed Under: Theology Tagged With: providence, systematic theology, theology proper

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