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 Sources for the Bible, Part 2: Specifics

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Part 1: Summary

In the previous post I observed that the biblical writers often used other works as they composed their writings—and that they didn’t confine themselves to other biblical works.

Here are the specifics.

I like to organize these references into 2 categories:

  • Consultation, by which I mean that the author says, “This is also recorded in such-and-such a document.”
  • Allusion or quotation, where the author quotes, loosely or directly, from another source, whether he specifies it or not.

First the consultations.

Jewish Sources

  • Book of Genealogies (Gen 5.1)
  • Book of Jasher (Josh 10.13; 2Sam 1.18)
  • Book of Nathan the Prophet (1Ch 29.29; 2Ch 9.29)
  • Prophecy of Ahijah the Shilonite (2Ch 9.29)
  • Visions of Iddo the Seer (2Ch 9.29; 12.15; 13.22)
  • Book of Shemaiah the Prophet (2Ch 12.15)
  • Book of the Acts of Solomon (1K 11.41)
  • Book of Gad the Seer (1Ch 29.29)
  • Sayings of the Seers (2Ch 33.19)

Note that two passages, 1Ch 29.29 and 2Ch 9.29, are particularly rich in these consultations.

I also note that these sources cannot be divinely inspired, since they have not been preserved, as God promised that his Word would be.

A Persian Source

  • The author of Esther (perhaps Mordecai?) consulted “The book of the chronicles of the kings of Media and Persia” (Es 10.2)—perhaps in the same warehouse where the unnamed servant grabbed a clay tablet at random to read to Xerxes so he could sleep (Es 6.1).

And now the allusions and quotations. Where possible I’ve included links to the sources on the internet so you can check ‘em for yourself.

Jewish Sources

Pagan Sources

  • Aeschylus, Agamemnon l. 1915 / 1624 (Acts 9.5)
    • This is included in Jesus’ words to Paul from heaven. Jesus’ sentence is clearly the same as the line from “Agamemnon,” but we can’t be certain that Jesus is quoting that poem. It’s possible that Aeschylus’s line became common in the ancient culture—similar to, say, “Early to bed and early to rise”—and Jesus is simply referring to the popular expression.
  • Epimenides, Cretica (Acts 17.28a; Titus 1.12-13)
  • Aratus, Phaenomena l. 5 (Acts 17.28b)
  • Menander, Thais 218 (1Cor 15.33)

So What?

What does all this mean?

  • The Spirit-driven biblical writers used sources, including pagan sources, with no apparent discomfort.
  • They did so using the standard practices of their day; for example, Paul uses a couple of lines about Zeus and applies them to the Lord. The hearers would be expected to understand what he was doing, and there was no intent to deceive.

Here’s what it doesn’t mean. It doesn’t mean that the source is inspired. We do not “live, and move, and have our being” in Zeus.

One closing note.

Jude cites 1 Enoch in his epistle. Now, we know that the biblical Enoch is not the author of everything in 1 Enoch—but there’s no reason that the traditions on which 1 Enoch is based couldn’t have included some authentic statements of the ancient saint. If Jude had simply cited 1 Enoch without any comment, it wouldn’t matter whether or not what he quoted was actually spoken by Enoch. But he puts it this way:

And Enoch also, the seventh from Adam, prophesied of these, saying … (Jude 14).

In my opinion, Jude is stating that the historical Enoch, seven generations from Adam (and long before “1 Enoch” was written), said these words. And since Jude is inspired, I believe that the verse he quotes from 1 Enoch is in fact an authentic saying of the ancient prophet.

Have fun with all this.

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On Sources for the Bible, Part 1: Summary

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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.

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Part 2: Specifics

On Congregational Singing As a Team Sport

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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.

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

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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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On Providence, Part 5: And Esther

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

No one tells the story of God’s providence better than the author of the Book of Esther. I did a fairly lengthy series of posts on that story a year or so back. You can read that series here.

Part 6: And the Seed of the Woman

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On Providence, Part 4: And Naomi

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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

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On Providence, Part 3: Joseph, for Example

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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

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On Providence, Part 2: How?

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Part 1: Where?

The Scripture describes God as working providentially in specific ways. These ways seem to reflect his orderliness, in contrast to the mythological gods, who generally act impulsively, selfishly, and even without regard to the consequences of their actions.

Preserving Creation

God is committed to maintaining what he has created, in an orderly state, even in its brokenness. When we create systems, we aim for simplicity; the more complicated something is, the more critical points of failure there are, and the more likely they are to grind to a halt. God has created the most complex physical thing imaginable—the universe—and even though we have broken it, it continues to run with remarkable smoothness.

After the most violent upheaval in history—the Flood—God says to Noah,

While the earth remains, Seedtime and harvest, And cold and heat, And summer and winter, And day  and night Shall not cease (Ge 8.22).

For all its brokenness, it runs like a clock, and the sun will indeed come up tomorrow. He has kept that promise.

Providing for Creation

The Psalmist describes the sea’s creatures as waiting on the Lord for their food:

25 There is the sea, great and broad, In which are swarms without number, Animals both small and great. 26 There the ships move along, And Leviathan, which You have formed to sport in it. 27 They all wait for You To give them their food in due season. 28 You give to them, they gather it up; You open Your hand, they are satisfied with good (Ps 104.25-28).

Now, we know that animals think constantly about what they’re going to eat next. I suspect that the Psalmist is describing not so much the psychological processes of fish as the simple fact that God provides what they will eat. All earth’s creatures, in all its varied biomes, are provided for, often in remarkable ways. (Check out the anglerfish sometime.) And again, this despite that fact that we have broken what he has created.

Directing Natural Events

God most famously sent a three-year drought at the request of the prophet Elijah (1K 17.1-2; Jam 5.17-18), and there are references to other actions as well (2K 8.1; Is 50.2-3). One prophet describes God as having his “way in the whirlwind and in the storm” (Na 1.3), and Jesus demonstrates that fact for his disciples directly (Mk 4.35-41).

Directing Historical Events

Paul tells the Athenians that God has determined where peoples shall live as well as when they shall come into existence and when they shall disappear (Ac 17.26-27). I grew up in Washington State, where the state’s political and social culture is directed by its topography: the Cascade Mountains cause lots of rainfall in the west, and the resulting rainshadow makes the east a desert. Today western Washington is reliably liberal Democrat, and the irrigating dirt farmers in the east are reliably conservative Republican. And never the twain shall meet. :-)

Of course, God also directs in more, um, direct ways. He sets up kings and takes them down again (Da 2.21), and he works in innumerable other ways to direct the outcomes of history.

Directing Personal Events

David tells us that “the steps of a good man are ordered by the LORD” (Ps 37.23), and his wiser son notes that “a man’s heart devises his way, but the LORD directs his steps” (Pr 16.9). We see God’s providential direction of human choices and outcomes throughout the Scripture, and we see it in our own lives as well. I’ve recounted one personal example here.

There’s much to learn from all this. We learn that God is involved; in theological terms, he’s immanent as well as transcendent. And that means that he cares—something that opens up the possibility of personal relationship, and a positive one at that. It also begets confidence that God will direct our own lives in love and grace, and also in power—his will in fact will be done in us. That’s a liberating thought.

I think we’d benefit from some specific examples of God’s providential working. The next few posts will dip into that.

Part 3: Joseph, For Example  | Part 4: And Naomi | Part 5: And Esther | Part 6: And the Seed of the Woman

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Unchanging God, Part 3: So What?

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Part 1: Stated | Part 2: Why?

The fact that God doesn’t change makes a difference to his people, and to everyone else. Let’s talk about that.

Trustworthiness

God keeps his promises. Sometimes we make promises with the best of intentions, but changing circumstances prevent our keeping them. I’ve done that multiple times, once with a big promise, to my daughter.

That doesn’t happen to God. As I noted at the beginning of this series, God told Moses at the burning bush that he is the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob—and the point of that observation is that now, in Moses’ day, he’s going to keep the promises he made to those patriarchs centuries earlier.

As he states in the Law of Moses,

God is not a man, that he should lie; neither the son of man, that he should repent: hath he said, and shall he not do it? or hath he spoken, and shall he not make it good? (Nu 23.19).

And again in the Prophets,

The LORD of hosts hath sworn, saying, Surely as I have thought, so shall it come to pass; and as I have purposed, so shall it stand (Is 14.24).

That means that he’s not like anybody else you know. He’s not like an unfaithful spouse or a deserting parent. Horrific experiences like those can change the way we think about every aspect of life; but we cannot conclude that God will act similarly.

Mercy

One consequence of keeping promises is mercy. When my wife and I got married, we made promises to one another. And because we intend to keep those promises, she has repeatedly shown me mercy, forgiving my transgressions.

God does the same thing. If you are his child, he shows you mercy.

Many of us, knowing our ongoing sinfulness, feel as though we can’t run to our heavenly Father. That’s exactly the wrong feeling. Because he keeps his promises—even when we don’t—he will show us mercy. He is exactly the person to whom we should run.

After all of Israel’s failings, God told them,

I am the LORD, I change not; therefore ye sons of Jacob are not consumed (Mal 3.6).

Confidence

And that means that we can expect him to keep his promises. That is not presumption; it’s faith. It’s exactly what he wants us to do. The Psalmist writes,

The counsel of the LORD standeth forever, the thoughts of his heart to all generations (Ps 33.11).

Governments and economies fail. Relationships sour. Joys disappear. But God does not change.

Fear

This one is obviously a shift in tone, but it needs to be said.

God cannot fail, and thus he cannot be overthrown. Those who defy his will, who reject his character, who denounce his ways, will not prevail—and that places them in an infinitely precarious situation, like that of Jonathan Edwards’s famous spider. Apart from repentance, they will be crushed. And yes, they should be afraid. The wisest man who ever lived wrote,

I know that, whatsoever God doeth, it shall be forever: nothing can be put to it, nor any thing taken from it: and God doeth it, that men should fear before him (Ec 3.14).

Victory

But for his people, God’s certain victory is a source of great joy and anticipation. God will never be defeated; his plans will be accomplished; and his people will be delivered.

The Scripture ends with a dazzling presentation of the glory of God the Son, who says to his closest friend on earth,

I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the ending, … which is, and which was, and which is to come, the Almighty (Re 1.8).

That friend, John the Apostle, writes,

And when I saw him, I fell at his feet as dead (Re 1.17).

And then John says,

And he laid his right hand upon me, saying unto me, Fear not; I am the first and the last: 18  I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death (Re 1.17-18).

We can rest in this almighty, unchangeable God.

Photo by Martin Adams on Unsplash

Unchanging God, Part 2: Why?

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Part 1: Stated

So why do things change? Why do people change? There are many reasons, but I think we can summarize them in a few basic causes.

Maturation

As I noted in the previous post, all of us have experienced change as part of growing up. As we mature, we gain knowledge by observation and education, and we gain skills because our bodies and our brains increase their capacity for work. We get better by practice. And one of the great joys in life is to see that improvement happen—to realize that we can do things that we couldn’t do before, that we understand things that were a complete mystery to us.

Growth is a delight, because it means improvement.

But God isn’t like that. He knows all things; he can do all things; he’s already perfect, so he doesn’t need to improve—in fact, it’s impossible for him to improve. If you’re on the mountaintop, any movement is downhill. For God, any change would be a decline—which would be unthinkable.

Does his perfection deprive him of “one of the great joys in life,” the joy of learning and improving? Au contraire, mon ami. His perfection—or I should say his perfections—are greater joy to him, and to us, than mere improvement could ever be. His attributes—love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faithfulness, meekness, self-control, and all the rest—bring him utter satisfaction. And part of that satisfaction, I suppose, comes from our satisfaction in those same attributes as we experience them from him, perfect, unfailing, always sufficient.

No need to grow or learn or improve. Perfect.

Changeless.

Decay

Everything in this world—and every physical thing everywhere else in the universe—is on a determined course to the landfill. Your shiny new car will one day take a trip through a crusher, to either rust away as a nondescript hunk of metal or be recycled into something else. Your house, after some undetermined number of renovations, will fall to pieces and be demolished so the lot can be used for something else—even if along the way it achieves temporary status as a historical landmark.

And don’t even think about that swing set in the back yard; it’ll be nonfunctional far sooner than you can imagine.

Your body, and your mind, will fall into disrepair, if the Lord tarries, and “you” will be placed in a box and laid to rest.

All things must pass.

Except.

God is not like that. He does not decay; he does not even tire or sleep. He is the very definition of life and strength and vitality.

Changeless.

Irresistible Outside Influences

Sometimes change is forced upon us.

Years ago I was on a business trip to Puerto Rico. My task—a delightful one, I might add—was to drive around the island, visit the Christian schools I knew about, and look for any others along the way. (What a great gig!)

As it happened, a hurricane—Georges by name—had been through several weeks earlier. Recovery had been long, slow, and painful. Everywhere I drove I saw evidences of its destructive force. Roofs torn off. Powerlines—and poles—down. Fruit trees heavily damaged.

And this wasn’t “the big one.” Twenty years later Hurricane Maria came through, causing 15 times as much damage, damage that has still not been completely repaired.

People who think they want to ride out a hurricane are just not, um, right in the head. These are forces well beyond our ability to control or resist.

There are other such forces. House fire. Financial setback. Dissolution of relationships. We know how it goes. Sometimes it’s all just too much.

God is never in that situation. There are no forces greater than he is. He has no enemies who can frustrate, stymie, or even delay his plans. Even the greatest evil act of his greatest enemy—the assassination of Messiah—not only didn’t frustrate his plan, but was actually a key part of its accomplishment.

God is that great.

Changeless.

Next time: so what?

Photo by Martin Adams on Unsplash