Forgiveness and the seventy weeks

In today's reading from Lent for Everyone: Matthew Year A, N.T. Wright connects Jesus' teaching on forgiveness (Matthew 18:21-35) with Daniel's prophetic vision of the seventy weeks.

In the book of Daniel (9.24) the prophet is told, after praying that Jerusalem will be forgiven, that it will take 'seventy weeks of years' - in other words, seventy times seven years - before transgression, sin and iniquity are finally dealt with. This takes us back even further, to the ancient law of the Jubilee (Leviticus 25), which lays down that every forty-nine years (seven times seven) all debts must be remitted, with land returning to its original owners. Daniel is speaking of a Great Jubilee, a cosmic version of the Jubilee law. There will come a time when God will deal, once and for all, with all debts of every kind.

And Jesus? Well, Jesus announced that the moment had come. He was the Great Jubilee in person. His entire mission was about implementing God's age-old plan to deal with the evil that had infected the whole world. Forgiveness wasn't an incidental feature of his kingdom-movement. It was the name of the game. Those of us who find ourselves drawn into that movement must learn how to play the game, all the time. It's what we're about. It's what God is about.

This connection should be easy to spot for anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of Old Testament prophecy. Allusions to Daniel abound throughout the Gospels, culminating with Jesus' ascension in Acts 1, a direct fulfillment of the vision of "one like a son of man" coming "with the clouds of heaven" into the presence of "the Ancient of Days" to be given everlasting dominion (Daniel 7:13-14). A lot of unnecessary confusion has been caused, however, by two centuries of aberrant teaching from the dispensationalist school of biblical (mis)interpretation. The infamous "gap theory," that God interrupted the seventy weeks at the end of the sixty-ninth and won't pick up the final week until after the "rapture," is a quintessential example of the havoc wreaked whenever Christianity is divorced from its very Jewish roots.

Millennium typology

Peter Leithart has come across an interesting take on the millennium from an obscure Patristic commentary.

In his commentary on Revelation (in Greek Commentaries on Revelation (Ancient Christian Texts), Oecumenius interprets the millennium as the period between Christ’s incarnation and His ascension. During “the time of the incarnation of the Lord, the devil was bound and was not able to resist the marks of the Savior’s deity” (87). He is probably the only commentator ever to offer such an interpretation.

On the other hand, the “little while” during which Satan is released is “the time between the incarnation of the Lord and the consummation of the present age.”

So a big number represents three years, and the phrase “a little while” stands for thousands? Oecumenius has what you call an uphill battle to make that one convincing.

One of the frustrations with reading the lesser known ancient Fathers is a lack of exegetical consistency. Leithart is correct, of course, in saying Oecumenius would be fighting an uphill battle to make his argument convincing. He might, however, have been on firmer ground, at least typologically, if he had seen the "little while" of Satan's release as beginning with Jesus' arrest in Gethsemane and ending, decisively, with the resurrection.

An even more consistent interpretation in this direction would see "the millennium" as encompassing not the whole period of Christ's incarnation, but the period beginning immediately after Jesus' temptation experience (Luke records at this point that the devil "departed from him until an opportune time," 4:13) when he declared, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand" (Matthew 4:17) and, thus, ending in Gethsemane. During that period, as the Gospels record, Satan was literally powerless to prevent Jesus from healing the sick, restoring sight to the blind, even raising the dead. It is no stretch to say Satan was, indeed, "bound" during this period, at least with regard to his ability to interfere with Jesus' ministry.

This is not to suggest that traditional arguments concerning the millennium are off the table. It is merely to suggest that the three years encompassing Jesus' earthly ministry may be seen as a type of what John would later envision in the Apocalypse as "the thousand years." I don't think I am going out on a limb in suggesting there are incidents during Jesus' first advent that were portents of his second advent. The acts which he performed, utterly uninhibited by Satanic interference, were signs of the age to come. What seemed extraordinary then, in the midst of a crooked and perverse generation, will be quite ordinary when the kingdom Jesus declared to be "at hand" comes in its fullness.

More from Leithart on the Apocalypse

Peter Leithart is spending a good deal of time with Revelation lately. As noted yesterday, he offers a few simple points to guide responsible interpretation. The first point is self-evident to any serious reader of the Scriptures.

1) Revelation is a book of the Bible. It is packed with Old Testament language and imagery, and cannot be understood without that Old Testament background. One scholar has suggested that Revelation uses the Old Testament “compositionally” rather than “expositionally” – there is no commentary on biblical texts (as in, say, Romans), but the Old Testament provides the palette from which Revelation is painted. Attempts to explain Revelation primarily by reference to Roman history or current events forget this principle.

Leithart's point that it cannot be understood without an Old Testament background is illustrated in the similarities between Isaiah 60 and Revelation 21-22.

The sun shall be no more
your light by day,
nor for brightness shall the moon
give you light;
but the LORD will be your everlasting light,
and your God will be your glory.
Your sun shall no more go down,
nor your moon withdraw itself;
for the LORD will be your everlasting light,
and your days of mourning shall be ended.
Your people shall all be righteous;
they shall possess the land forever,
the branch of my planting, the work of my hands,
that I might be glorified.
The least one shall become a clan,
and the smallest one a mighty nation;
I am the LORD;
in its time I will hasten it.

(Isaiah 60:19-22 ESV)

And I saw no temple in the city, for its temple is the Lord God the Almighty and the Lamb. And the city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light, and its lamp is the Lamb. By its light will the nations walk, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory into it, and its gates will never be shut by day—and there will be no night there. They will bring into it the glory and the honor of the nations. But nothing unclean will ever enter it, nor anyone who does what is detestable or false, but only those who are written in the Lamb's book of life.

Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, bright as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb through the middle of the street of the city; also, on either side of the river, the tree of life with its twelve kinds of fruit, yielding its fruit each month. The leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. No longer will there be anything accursed, but the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and his servants will worship him. They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. And night will be no more. They will need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever.

(Revelation 21:22-22:5 ESV)

There is, after all, a very good reason Revelation is the last book in the Bible. What is written there has probably also been written somewhere else, earlier in the canon. The death and resurrection of Christ, however, brings new meaning to those old prophecies.

Today, Leithart draws from antiquity to solve the Apocalypse's most puzzling mystery.

Bede offers several explanations of the number 666 in his Bede: Commentary on Revelation. The number is the number of the Greek word “Titan,” a “giant,” because “it is thought that Antichrist will usurp this name, as if he excelled all in power, boasting that he is the one of whom it is written, ‘he rejoiced as a giant to run his course.’”

The name “Antemos,” which means “contrary to honor” is also a 666, and the verb “I deny” has the same numerical value. Both exhibit “the character of the person and the asperity of the work of Antichrist.”

Bede eventually offers a reading that is more firmly rooted in the Bible: “who is ignorant, that the number six, in accordance with which the world was created, signifies the perfection of work? And this, whether simple, or multiplied by ten, or a hundred, demonstrates the fruit of the same perfection to be sixty-fold, or a hundred-fold.” Plus, “The weight of gold also which was brought to Solomon every year was six hundred and sixty-six thousand talents. The seducer, therefore, will presume to exact for himself the offering which is rightfully due and paid to the true king.”

666 means “a counterfeit Adam” and “a false Solomon.”

Leithart on the Apocalypse: Four simple points

Peter Leithart's simple guide to reading the last book of the Bible:

Four simple points to guide any sane reading of Revelation.

1) Revelation is a book of the Bible. It is packed with Old Testament language and imagery, and cannot be understood without that Old Testament background. One scholar has suggested that Revelation uses the Old Testament “compositionally” rather than “expositionally” – there is no commentary on biblical texts (as in, say, Romans), but the Old Testament provides the palette from which Revelation is painted. Attempts to explain Revelation primarily by reference to Roman history or current events forget this principle.

2) Revelation is a book of the New Testament. It is not an alien oddity tacked on to the end of the Bible. It deals with the same issues and battles that the rest of the New Testament deals with. It should be read in the light of Paul’s letters, Acts, and, yes, the gospel of John.

3) Revelation is a pastoral letter (cf. the greeting in 1:4 and benediction in 22:21). It contains seven brief letters, and it is itself a letter. Like Paul’s letters, it is addressed to specific people at a specific time concerning specific threats and opportunities.

4) Revelation is a call to martyrdom. Martyrs cry out for vindication at the beginning, and when they are finally vindicated at the end, the world collapses and is reborn. Revelation shows that martyrs follow the path of Jesus, through suffering to glory.

Leithart on the two witnesses and a major deficiency in Protestantism

Peter Leithart's entry on his blog today is a punch in the gut to anti-sacramental Protestantism and an indictment against the American church in general, which has long been enslaved by such a limited, and limiting, ecclesiology.

James Jordan points out that the two witnesses correspond to two cities and to two forms of judgment (Revelation 11). One weapon of the witnesses is fire, and this corresponds to Sodom, destroyed by fire (vv. 5, 8). Another weapon is turning water to blood and bringing plagues, and this corresponds to Egypt (vv. 6, 8). The first is an Elijah judgment, the second a Moses judgment; the first is royal, the second priestly.

Sodom and Gomorrah are destroyed by fire, but the associated cities are spared, though given a dramatic warning. The blood judgment is more complete: Egypt is completely devastated by the plagues and the exodus.

These two clusters of ideas correspond to the larger sequence of Revelation. The trumpets generally bring fire judgments that are partial (8-15). The bowls of wrath-blood bring a final end to the city (chs. 16-18).

We can abstract from this a more general pattern. Trumpet and bowl correspond to Word and Sacrament. Proclaiming the word brings a partial judgment of fire; but it’s the chalice of blood consumed by the saints that brings down cities. Here is the Achilles heel of many forms of Protestantism: Its power to transform is limited insofar as it knows only the weapon of fire and not the weapon of blood, insofar as it has Word without Sacrament.

Change key and the pattern emerges elsewhere: Trumpet is witness in word, blood is witness in death. Witness in word is crucial. It is essential preparation for epochal transformations. But the fire-witness doesn’t shake the city of man to its roots. Only martyrdom, witness in blood, does that.

On a personal level, I am glad to see Leithart, and (presumably) Jordan, agreeing that the "two witnesses" in Revelation 11 are, in fact, Moses and Elijah, as opposed to Enoch and Elijah (as some traditions hold). Following after my old seminary professor M. Robert Mulholland, I have long believed the former to be the correct interpretation.

Pied Piper tries to read Christ out of hell

John Piper, who famously tweeted, "Farewell, Rob Bell," in response to Love Wins, Bell's much hyped but substantively vacuous critique of the doctrine of hell, may now have some explaining of his own to do with regard to the nether world. In a post at his Desiring God blog, Piper advocates omitting a clause from the Apostles Creed which apparently does not line up with his understanding of Scripture.

The Apostles’ Creed says, “[He] was crucified, died, and was buried. He descended into hell. The third day He arose again from the dead.” There are many meanings given to this phrase. I simply want to ponder the traditional interpretation that Christ went to the place of the dead to preach the gospel to Old Testament saints that he might set them free for the full experience of heaven. This is the view of the Catholic Catechism and many Protestants as well. I don’t think this is what the New Testament teaches.

Exactly what, then, does the New Testament teach? Piper considers two specific passages from 1 Peter:

Christ also suffered once for sins, the righteous for the unrighteous, that he might bring us to God, being put to death in the flesh but made alive in the spirit, (19) in which he went and proclaimed to the spirits in prison, (20) because they formerly did not obey, when God’s patience waited in the days of Noah, while the ark was being prepared, in which a few, that is, eight persons, were brought safely through water. (1 Peter 3:18-20)

They are surprised when you do not join them in the same flood of debauchery, and they malign you; (5) but they will give account to him who is ready to judge the living and the dead. (6) For this is why the gospel was preached even to those who are dead, that though judged in the flesh the way people are, they might live in the spirit the way God does.” (1 Peter 4:4-6)

In tackling the first passage, Piper basically paraphrases a portion of the study notes from the ESV Study Bible, claiming Peter is merely saying "that Christ, through the voice of Noah, went and preached to that generation, whose spirits are now 'in prison,' that is, in hell. In other words, Peter does not say that Christ preached to them while they were in prison. He says he preached to them once, during the days of Noah, and now they are in prison." This is a particularly narrow understanding of the passage which reflects an ignorance of its historical and literary context. Piper is an outspoken critic of N.T. Wright but, in this particular instance, he could learn something from him. In his commentary on 1 Peter, Wright notes that the Apostle draws together four elements:

First, after his death Jesus made a 'proclamation' to 'the spirits in prison'. Second, these spirits had been disobedient in the days of Noah. Third, Noah's building of an ark to rescue his family points forward to baptism. Fourth, baptism is less about washing clean and more about 'the appeal to God of a good conscience'.

Piper, of course, is only concerned with one of these four elements, namely, the proclamation to "the spirits in prison." However, as Wright points out, Peter has a much wider purpose in bringing all four together.

We should remind ourselves of what the passage is basically all about. It is an encouragement to people who are likely to suffer unjust treatment from the human authorities -- not just, in other words, from a random act of mob violence or casual brutality, but an official, legal, persecution. And the point that Peter is making is not only that this brings them into line with the Messiah himself, who suffered in the same way. The point is that after his suffering he announced God's victory over all 'authorities', particularly the ones in the heavenly places. In other words, the point of these four elements is to add further dimensions to what he's already said about the new authorities. The human authorities embody 'spiritual' authorities which stand behind them in the shadowy, unseen realm. And Peter's point is that these complex authorities have received notice that Jesus has overthrown their power. He is now sovereign over the whole world, all other authorities included. That is why the passage ends with the emphatic claim that Jesus, through his ascension into heaven, now has 'angels, authorities and powers subject to him' (verse 22).

So how do these four apparently peculiar elements add up to this conclusion? Here there is a bit of local colour which will help. One of the better-known books in first-century Judaism, much treasured by many who were hoping for God to do some great act of liberation, was the one we know as 1 Enoch. It wasn't actually written by the Enoch we find in Genesis 5.18-24, but it was written to look as though it was. This book traces the woes and problems of the world right back, in particular, to the wicked angels of Genesis 6, spiritual beings who, in the time of Noah, rebelled against God their creator. The book 1 Enoch celebrates, in particular, the victory God has won, or will win, over these spiritual beings. What Peter is saying here is that the victory over these dark forces of evil has in fact been won -- through the Messiah; and that, after his resurrection (after he had been 'made alive by the spirit', as in verse 18), he, the Messiah, made his definitive announcement to the 'spirits'; they had indeed been judged. Their power, such as it was, had been broken. This ought then to function as a considerable encouragement to the little groups of Christians who face persecution from their own local authorities, and from the shadowy spiritual 'forces' that seemed to give them their power. Ever since their original rebellion these 'forces' had been wielding usurped power. Now the Messiah has triumphed over them, and deep down they know it.

Piper's second passage is curiously chosen, since it is not at all controversial. He correctly interprets it "to refer to those who, after being preached to, have since died. He is not referring to preaching to them after they have died." On this point, Wright agrees:

Peter, as ever, is encouraging those who have to face downright hostility because of their following of the Messiah, and because they refuse to go along with the wild and dehumanizing behaviour of those around (verses 3-4). But this will all be sorted out at the judgment. When that time comes, the wicked will have to give account of themselves. The pagan world can look on when a Christian dies and say, 'There you are! Now what's happened to your splendid "hope"? It may even look, to the pagan, as though the Christians have lost the struggle. But these Christians, now dead, had already received the powerful word of the gospel which was preached to them during their lifetime (1.23-25). Thus, even though bodily death has come to them as a form of 'judgment' (compare Romans 8.10), their believing in the gospel during their lifetime means that now, by God's spirit, they are alive in God's presence, awaiting the resurrection which is yet to come.

It would appear that Piper is barking up the wrong tree. In attempting to provide theological and exegetical cover for Protestant churches which omit or, at best, [bracket] the phrase, "he descended into hell," he has built his argument around two passages which have nothing to do with the subject. Moreover, particularly with the first passage, he has committed hermeneutical hari kari by failing to consider the wider context. All this, in order to reach this dubious conclusion:

I would say, therefore, that there is no textual basis in the New Testament for claiming that between Good Friday and Easter Christ was preaching to souls imprisoned in hell or Hades. There is textual basis for saying that he would be with the repentant thief in Paradise “today” (Luke 23:43), and one does not get the impression that he means a defective place from which the thief must then be delivered by more preaching.

For these and other reasons, it seems best to me to omit from the Apostles Creed the clause, “he descended into hell,” rather than giving it other meanings that are more defensible, the way Calvin does.

This, based on Piper's selective reading of Scripture, is a straw man. The clause in question makes no specific mention of Christ "preaching to souls imprisoned in hell or Hades." It merely says, "he descended into hell." It does not logically follow, then, that since "there is no textual basis in the New Testament for claiming that between Good Friday and Easter Christ was preaching to souls imprisoned in hell or Hades," the clause, "he descended into hell," should then be omitted from the Apostles Creed. Neither are Jesus' words to the thief on the cross sufficient reason to justify the omission. David acknowledges with awe that God's presence fills the whole created order (Psalm 139:7-12).

Where shall I go from your Spirit?
Or where shall I flee from your presence?
If I ascend to heaven, you are there!
If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!
If I take the wings of the morning
and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,
even there your hand shall lead me,
and your right hand shall hold me.
If I say, "Surely the darkness shall cover me,
and the light about me be night,"
even the darkness is not dark to you;
the night is bright as the day,
for darkness is as light with you.

Similarly, Paul acknowledges in Ephesians 4:9-10 (a passage Piper conveniently avoids) that the presence of Christ, God Incarnate, fills the whole creation.

In saying, "He ascended," what does it mean but that he had also descended into the lower regions of the earth? He who descended is the one who also ascended far above all the heavens, that he might fill all things.

The thought of Christ in hell understandably makes some believers squeamish. However, if we omit this element from his work of redemption, we make that work incomplete. How could Jesus destroy death without descending to the very realm of death? How could he take captivity captive unless he engaged captivity on its home turf?

The historic creeds are, after all, nothing more or less than elaborations and commentaries on the basic confession, "Jesus is Lord." We need to be mindful of the full implications of that statement. The Lordship of Christ holds sway "in heaven and on earth and under the earth" (Philippians 2:10). To omit any realm from his Lordship is to confess an incomplete faith in an incomplete Lord.

Atheistic (or is it agnostic?) angst meets Anglican fudge

In a much publicized debate at Oxford University, Richard Dawkins admitted to the Archbishop of Canterbury that he could not be sure God does not exist. I don't think the outspoken atheist (who, in the course of the discussion, said he preferred to be called an agnostic) was persuaded by the eloquent arguments of the Most Reverend and Right Honourable Dr Rowan Williams. It is more likely that Dawkins was contaminated by exposure to Anglican fudge. Here's a video of the debate from the Archbishop's website.

Of Dawkins, it can only be said that when it comes to a belief as pivotal as the existence of God, the slightest degree of doubt can be perilous. If you cannot be absolutely certain God does not exist, you are best advised to err on the side of caution. It should be noted that uncertainty on the part of Dawkins is nothing new. His infamous bus campaign a few years ago didn't exactly inspire people to embrace unbelief with gusto. Beneath the surface, the good professor is far more angst-ridden than he will ever let on.

Now, as far as ++Rowan is concerned, much of what he said was, predictably, incoherent and irrelevant. You cannot say, on the one hand, that human beings evolved from non-human ancestors but, on the other hand, are still "in the image of God." That is directly counter to the creation narrative, however "literally" one takes it (more about that shortly). The basic doctrine that human beings fell because of sin from a state of perfection to a state of corruption simply cannot be reconciled with the idea that human beings evolved from a lower form of life.

It must also be noted, sadly, that ++Rowan is not a particularly able defender of biblical authority. He said the Genesis account of creation was not to be taken literally. How many times do we have to go down this road? Let's go over the basics one more time.

The Bible is a (divinely inspired) work of literature. Even ++Rowan accepts the divine inspiration part. How else is a work of literature to be "taken" (that is, "read") if not "literally," that is, as a work of literature?

To say that one does not "take the Bible literally" is to say that one does not "take" the Bible as literature. If the Bible is not "taken" as literature, how is it to be "taken" at all? How seriously can a work of literature be "taken" if it is not "taken" as a work of literature?

So, when discussing the Genesis account of creation, it is utterly foolish to say, "This should not be taken literally." Yes, there is a deeper truth being conveyed through this divinely inspired literary work which may require an interpretive method that goes beyond wooden literalism, but to appreciate that truth, one must first appreciate the Genesis account precisely as a divinely inspired literary work. In other words, we must first "take" that account "literally."

Historical vs. Apocalyptic: A false dichotomy

I'm not really sure what to make of this. Tom Gilson at Evangel calls attention to a theological dispute between Michael Licona, author of The Resurrection of Jesus: A New Historiographical Approach, and  two leading "inerrantists," Norman Geisler and Albert Mohler. I have a great deal of respect for Mohler and his concerns about Licona's interpretation of Matthew 27:52-53 are well taken and expressed in a charitable manner. Geisler, on the other hand, has a penchant for making mountains out of molehills and his objections appear more calculated to discourage, rather than encourage, debate.

The passage in question is a pretty straightforward account of events concurrent with the death and resurrection of Jesus. Licona, however, argues that Matthew's account of the raising of "many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep" might be interpreted "figuratively" as a form of apocalyptic literature. It is a "tentative" view which Licona may want to revise upon further reflection. However, the controversy exposes a problem which needs to be addressed by advocates of biblical inerrancy. There appears to have emerged a false dichotomy between "historical" and "apocalyptic" literature.

Is Matthew's account of the resurrection of the saints any less "historical" because he uses "apocalyptic" language to describe it? I would say precisely the opposite is true. The historical (not to mention, eschatological) significance of the bodies of the saints coming out of their tombs is only enhanced by Matthew's use of apocalyptic language. It is the same language employed by, among others, Ezekiel and Daniel to describe God's ultimate act of restoration. In using it to describe events concurrent with the cross, Matthew is driving home the point that, in Jesus Christ crucified and risen, that which had up to now been veiled has now been unveiled.

"The curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. And the earth shook and the rocks were split" (Matthew 27:51).

What happened when Jesus died and rose again was so literally earth-shaking that Matthew could use nothing but earth-shaking language to describe it.

Cranmer's Curate: The consequences of sidelining Paul

The writings of Paul are every bit as important for the church as the words of Jesus recorded in the Gospels. This may come as a shock to the so-called "Red letter Christians," but the Word of God is the Word of God, inspired by the Holy Spirit and authoritative in all matters of faith and practice. This morning, from across the pond, Cranmer's Curate warns against the disturbing trend of "sidelining Paul."

So what is likely to happen when a professing Christian makes a deliberate decision to dismiss Paul’s commands as purely culturally conditioned and not authoritative for the Church in every century? The Protestant Churches in the West have already done that in relation to Paul’s teaching on male headship and are increasingly doing so on sexual ethics.

When a professing Christian deliberately sidelines Paul to the 1st century he or she becomes vulnerable to the very activities Paul warns against in Romans 13v13 and the list does not make pretty reading. That vulnerability is exacerbated when these activities become commonplace in a particular culture.

It surely will not be long before a prominent church leader in one of the liberal denominations finds compromising photographs of him or herself in a tabloid newspaper. Furthermore, churches in which Paul is being sidelined are likely to be places where there are serious abuses of power because the human tendency to quarrelling and jealousy is not being resisted in the power of the Holy Spirit.

There are lurid and shameful consequences of refusing to listen to Paul.

On the biblical illiteracy of "Red Letter" Christians

Gary DeMar makes the important point that much of the so-called "red letter" passages in the New Testament (words spoken by Jesus himself) are, in fact, stated first in the "black letter" Old Testament.

Some years ago I was invited to speak to a political science class at Emory University located in Decatur, Georgia. The Christian Right was in the news at that time, and Jerry Falwell’s Moral Majority was getting a lot of negative press. I was asked to shed some light on the controversy. The students were genuinely interested in the subject and asked some good questions. I remember one student in particular telling me that she believed in following the law of Christ over against laws found in the Old Testament. She was a “Red-Letter Christian” before the method had a name. Her view was not and is not unusual. I suspect that many Christians hold a similar position, believing that Jesus came to establish a new system of morality.

In the time that I had, I made two quick points. First, I asked her the source of the following verse: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Her response was immediate: “Jesus.” I asked her if she knew what Jesus used as a source for the “love your neighbor” comment. She was puzzled, thinking it was unique to Jesus since He was the new law giver. She was surprised when I told her that Jesus was quoting part of Leviticus 19:18: “You shall not take vengeance, nor bear any grudge against the sons of your people, but you shall love your neighbor as yourself.” I can’t say that she was shocked when I pointed out that the moral precept had a long history found in the Old Testament, but she certainly looked perplexed. Many Christians would be stunned to learn that what is ostensibly viewed as a New Testament moral standard (Matt 19:19; Mark 12:31; Luke 10:27; Rom 13:9; Gal 5:14; James 2:8) is an Old Testament moral standard, and that from the book of Leviticus where the prohibition of homosexuality is found (Lev. 18:22; 20:13).

Maybe it's a stretch to say these so-called "Red Letter" Christians are biblically illiterate. But they do seem to (mis)understand the Bible as little more than a book of laws, teachings, and moral aphorisms (some more important than others). The prologue to John's Gospel ought to set the record straight once and for all. Jesus is, from the beginning, the very Word of God. He embodies and brings to fulfillment every word and letter of Scripture -- red, black, or otherwise.

American Patriot's Bible: Sanctified Patriotism, Secularized Faith

I have refrained, up until now, from commenting on the recently published American Patriot's Bible, in part because I have had questions about whether such an exercise in juvenile exegesis even deserves mention. But this review by Richard Gamble at The American Conservative addresses the larger issue which needs to be raised in light of the long-standing American Protestant tendency to sanctify patriotism and secularize the faith.

The logic of The American Patriot’s Bible relies on more than a selective memory. It also depends on a particular kind of exegesis and application of Scripture. To make this story work, somehow we have to get from ancient Israel to modern America. The New Testament writers began the practice of applying biblical Israel’s calling to the church. Peter, for example, in his first epistle calls the church God’s “chosen people” and “holy nation.” It has been common, therefore, for the church throughout its history to read Old Testament passages about God’s “people” in light of its own identity as the realization of God’s true Israel. This appropriation of Old Testament language still offends devout Jews, who object to what they see as the wholesale theft of their identity by Christians. That offense is unavoidable, but the proponents of Christian America take the next step and apply God’s covenant promises to the United States, a leap that offends more Christians than one might expect.

Why this confusion of the church and America matters becomes clear in how The Patriot’s Bible uses promises like the one found in II Chronicles 7:14: “if My people who are called by My name will humble themselves, and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land.” The Patriot’s Bible reads these words as addressed to America as a once Christian but now backslidden nation. Applying “My people” loosely to America means that God’s people can claim the promises made to Israel just as surely as if they were made to the United States. Repentance will bring healing to the nation. The Patriot’s Bible claims that the book of Second Chronicles offers nothing less than “a model of national spiritual renewal.”

Publication of The American Patriot’s Bible ought to provoke a much needed debate in the United States about the church’s right relationship to civil society. This Bible may become a landmark in that debate, clarifying the issues as never before, forcing people to recognize the degree to which Americanism has penetrated Christianity. An Augustinian perspective may help frame that conversation. In Book XIX of The City of God, the Bishop of Hippo explained in which areas there can be peace and in which there must be conflict between the earthly and the heavenly cities. Christian and non-Christian have a common interest in earthly peace, good order, and the “necessaries of life.” But in matters of worship, Augustine wrote, the Christian was forced to “dissent” from the earthly city. The limits of the common life had been reached. The Christian was forced “to become obnoxious to those who think differently, and to stand the brunt of their anger and hatred and persecutions…” Praising piety and faith in general alongside remnants of the historic Christian faith, The American Patriot’s Bible combines the things of God and the things of Caesar at the very point where they most vigilantly need to be kept apart. When the City of Man sets up Americanism as its faith, the Christian is forced to dissent.

There is another problem here. Why nationalize the Bible? A nationalized Bible would seem in effect to reverse the story of redemption. At the core of Christianity is a message that the gospel of salvation is flung wide open to all peoples regardless of nationality, race, or language. The day of Pentacost made that truth clear. While Christianity has inevitably taken on national accents as it has encountered culture after culture over the past 2,000 years, it is a universal faith. Why, then, take that transnational faith and fuse it with an earthly Caesar and empire by setting it side by side in pages of Holy Writ with a particular nation’s history and identity, as if Christianity belonged to Americans in a special and intimate way not true of other people? This Bible by its very existence distorts the gospel. As Augustine says in The City of God, the “heavenly city, while it sojourns on earth, calls citizens out of all nations, and gathers together a society of pilgrims of all languages…”

Beyond what the editor and the publisher intended, The American Patriot’s Bible is deeply American. It takes to a new level the remaking of Scripture into a marketable consumer good, a trend underway in the United States since at least the invention of the modern steam press in the early 19th century. (See R. Lawrence Moore’s Selling God.) It also exemplifies the irony of American Protestants, who adhere to the sufficiency of Scripture for faith and life yet find the unadorned text of that Word not so sufficient after all. And finally, it provides further evidence of how theologically ill-equipped one dominant strand of American Christianity has been over the past few hundred years to know how to sojourn in America, how to conceive of the United States as part of the City of Man and of the church as a stranger in a strange land.

There is a particular irony in the publication of this Bible. Thomas Jefferson, lauded by the editors for praising the "purity" of Jesus' "moral precepts," was no paragon of Christian orthodoxy. He published his own version of the Gospels, stripping from them all references to Jesus' miracles and, most notably, deleting the resurrection. But, whereas Jefferson subtracted from, The American Patriot's Bible adds to the words of Scripture. After 200 plus years, we should have learned the danger inherent in doing both.

The Friday Funnies: Oh, my Gog, Indeed!

The re-emergence of Russia as an international bully state will undoubtedly be a boon for the end times scaremongers who have had to make do with a smattering of rogue states and Islamic terrorists to fill in the gaps of their "prophetic timelines" and "rapture indexes" since the collapse of the Evil Empire. Hal Lindsey, who needs no introduction, has wasted little time, dusting off his old "Gog and Magog" scenario based on an imaginative (although hardly original) interpretation of Ezekiel 38-39 which first appeared in his most famous (or infamous) book.

Without taking up too much time, "Gog" refers to modern Russia, from Moscow (Meshech) to Siberia. (Tubal). "Magog" refers to the states along the Black Sea, and in particular, the Republic of Georgia.

I outlined Ezekiel's prophecy in 1969 in my book "The Late, Great, Planet Earth" at a time most of this territory was a well-entrenched part of the Soviet Union.

"After many days you shall be visited: in the latter years you shall come into the land that is brought back from the sword, and is gathered out of many people, against the mountains of Israel, which have been always waste: but it is brought forth out of the nations, and they shall dwell safely all of them." (Ezekiel 38:8)

According to the prophet Ezekiel, this Russian-led alliance of nations would sweep suddenly down upon Israel in a surprise invasion that evokes only a weak diplomatic response from the West.

"Sheba, and Dedan, and the merchants of Tarshish, with all the young lions thereof, shall say to you, Are you come to take a spoil? have you gathered your company to take a prey? to carry away silver and gold, to take away cattle and goods, to take a great spoil?" (Ezekiel 38:13)

When the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991, most of these republics broke with Russia to form new alliances with NATO and the West – an event for which I was widely ridiculed at the time.

How could most of Magog, like Ukraine, Georgia and Turkey, all firmly allied with the West, also be part of Russia's Gog alliance?

I didn't know. But I didn't pen Ezekiel's prophecy. I only reported it.

Now, Gog has evidently decided to reclaim its former Soviet empire, starting with Magog. Despite weeks of promising to withdraw almost any minute, the Russian military continues to dig in and consolidate its forces in and near the Georgian port of Poti on the Black Sea.

The Russians introduced tight restrictions of movement on Georgian citizens, refusing to accept anything except Russian documents. Despite agreements to the contrary, the Kremlin now says that "Russian forces will leave in their own time."

When Poland was contemplating an agreement that would allow the U.S. to deploy missile interceptor batteries in its territory, Russia warned them that by entering the treaty agreement they ran the risk of a Russian nuclear attack. When the Poles signed the treaty in defiance of the Kremlin, Russia promised its response would "rise above the level of diplomacy," a reference to the principle that "war is the result of failed diplomacy."

The Russian invasion and apparent occupation of Georgia is feared by many analysts, particularly those from former Soviet republics, that Vladimir Putin plans to re-conquer and restore the former empire.

Russia has broken off all ties with NATO, and the NATO alliance is beginning to show signs of strain as analysts warn of "a new Cold War – or worse."

Then, as now, the proxy battleground for the Cold War between East and West is in the Middle. So it was no surprise to read that Russia has targeted Israel for retaliation after Israel refused to honor a military embargo against Georgia.

While Lindsey would have unsuspecting readers accept without question his assertion that "Gog" is Russia and "Magog" is the states along the Black Sea, he is engaging, at best, in irresponsible eisegesis and, at worst, in sheer fantasy. Ezekiel's prophecy has nothing to do with Russia, and the battle he foresees is, from all that can be surmised from within the text itself, one which took place centuries ago. But, as Gary DeMar points out, Lindsey is not the first self-appointed prophecy "expert" to attempt to force it into a contemporary context, despite the obvious textual difficulties.

Ezekiel 38 and 39 has been interpreted in various ways over the centuries. The most popular view is to see the prophecy as a depiction of a future battle that includes an alliance of nations led by modern-day Russia in an attack on Israel. Chuck Missler writes in his book Prophecy 20/20 that “the apparent use of nuclear weapons has made this passage [Ezekiel 38 and 39] appear remarkably timely, and some suspect that it may be on our horizon.” Prophecy writers for nearly 2000 years have made similar claims, of course without the reference to “nuclear weapons.” In the fourth and fifth centuries, Gog was thought to refer to the Goths and Moors. In the seventh century, it was the Huns. By the eighth century, the Islamic empire was making a name for itself, so it was a logical candidate. By the tenth century, the Hungarians briefly replaced Islam. But by the sixteenth century, the Turks and Saracens seemed to fit the Gog and Magog profile with the Papacy thrown in for added prophetic juice. In the seventeenth century, Spain and Rome were the end-time bad guys. In the nineteenth century, Napoleon was Gog leading the forces of Magog-France.8 For most of the twentieth century, Communist Russia was the logical pick with its military aspirations, its atheistic founding, and its designation of being “far north” of Israel. In a word, identifying Gog and Magog with a specific nation or group of nations in the past is legion.

As the above brief study shows, when the headlines change, the interpretation of the Bible changes. The failed interpretive history of Ezekiel 38 and 39 is prime evidence that modern-day prophecy writers are not “profiling the future through the lens of Scripture” but through the ever-changing headlines of the evening news.
A lot has to be read into the Bible in order to make Ezekiel 38 and 39 fit modern-day military realities that include jet planes, “missiles,” and “atomic and explosive” weaponry. Those who claim to interpret the Bible literally have a problem on their hands.

The battle in Ezekiel 38 and 39 is clearly an ancient one or at least one fought with ancient weapons. All the soldiers are riding horses (38:4, 15; 39:20). These horse soldiers are “wielding swords” (38:4), carrying “bows and arrows, war clubs and spears” (39:3, 9). The weapons are made of wood (39:10), and it is these abandoned weapons that serve as fuel for “seven years” (39:9). Tim LaHaye describes a highly technological future when the antichrist rises to power to rule the world. “A wave of technological innovation is sweeping the planet. . . . The future wave has already begun. We cannot stop it. . . . [T]he Antichrist will use some of this technology to control the world.” How does this assessment of the near prophetic future square with a supposed tribulation period when Israelites “take wood from the field” and “gather firewood from the forests”? (39:10). There is nothing in the context that would lead the reader to conclude that horses, war clubs, swords, bows and arrows, and spears mean anything other than horses, war clubs, swords, bows and arrows, and spears. And what is the Russian air force after? Gold, silver, cattle, and goods (38:12­–13). In what modern war can anyone remember armies going after cattle? How much cattle does Israel have? Certainly not enough to feed the Russians! The latest claim is that Israel will discover oil, and this is what will attract the nations to Israel. Where in the Bible do we find this claim?

The first rule of biblical interpretation is always to let the text speak for itself. But this is a rule by which Lindsey and other prophecy "experts" have never felt obliged to abide.

Schenck's Intuitions

Ken Schenck has posted a thought-provoking article on "the default paradigm Christians have with regard to Scripture." He lays out four "intuitions" concerning this paradigm.

1. Some people often link their faith to the version they grew up with.
So a 60 year old who has based his or her faith on the KJV finds it hard not to see modern translations as "cutting things out" of the Bible and thus angrily resisting them. Of course I don't have a problem with them continuing to use the "church's text," which the KJV reflects better than the other modern translations. But a minister should "add on" an understanding of how we got our Bible.

2. Some people have a "what you see is what you get" sense of the Bible. They don't like the suggestion that the "packaging" of the books might originally have been different than what it is. 2 Corinthians looks like a single book to me as it is packaged in my Bible. People get irritated at the suggestion that chapters 10-13 might come from a different letter.

Of course theories like this one are no priority to know whatsoever, even for a minister. But they're nothing to be afraid of either. I think I can preach 2 Corinthians better because I know a pretty good explanation for the sudden and surprising change of tone that takes place at chapter 10.

3. Some people see any approach to the Bible that views the books within a historical process as detracting from its "divinity," its inspiration. So to talk about situations that have affected the perspective, or talk of how Matthew might have edited Mark, or talk of the possibility that John or Revelation underwent stages of development makes it seem too human.

Does a person need to have a sense of historical process to hear God speak through the text? No, but I guarantee you that a good deal of the wild diversity of biblical interpretation comes from the countless ways that people try to create a singular meaning to these diverse texts by ignoring the likely historical processes underlying this text.

4. The Scripture paradigm which ultimately underlies what I'm trying to get out here is the default reading of the Bible as God's word to me--with little or no sense of what these texts originally meant.

So the authors are not authors but God's scribes. He told them what to write to me.

It comes as a cold shock to many faithful Christians to hear that the Bible was not written to them (note the comment from Schenck's colleague, Keith Drury), but to people who lived thousands of years ago. However, having time to digest the thought, it makes perfect sense. Whenever I teach Revelation, for instance, one of the first points I make (after explaining the nature of apocalyptic literature) is that the book begins by declaring, "Blessed is the one who reads aloud the words of this prophecy, and blessed are those who hear, and who keep what is written in it, for the time is near" (Revelation 1:3).

A book that is meant to be read aloud is a book that is meant to be read, primarily, in community. Revelation was written to a particular community (the seven churches in Asia) at a particular time (during or just prior to a period of intense persecution) for a particular purpose (to encourage the faithful to persevere to the end). Does it still have application for us today? Of course, it does. But are we free to use it to create our own world in which computer chips and bar codes are "the mark of the beast," cobra helicopters are locusts with men's faces, and the Roman Catholic Church is the Great Whore? Such "interpretations" are properly considered beyond the pale because they are not in continuity with the community's historic understanding of the Scriptures. They are, instead, the imaginative concoctions of individuals who have carried the "He told them what to write to me" notion to its logical extreme.

A Day is a Day, Literally

In the course of an ongoing semi-theological discussion on the question of six-day creation, one of our more active participants made the statement, "Genesis 1 and 2 were not meant to be taken literally." It is a statement which someone will inevitably make whenever this particular subject is discussed. But it really contributes little to the conversation. The Bible is, after all, a (divinely inspired) work of literature. How else is a work of literature to be "taken" (that is, "read") if not "literally," that is, as a work of literature?

To say that one does not "take the Bible literally" is to say that one does not "take" the Bible as literature. But if the Bible is not "taken" as literature, how is it to be "taken" at all? Precisely what does it mean to "take the Bible seriously, but not literally" as some claim to do? How "seriously" can a work of literature be "taken" if it is not "taken" as a work of literature?

So, when discussing the Genesis account of creation, it is pointless to ask, "Did God create the world in six literal days?" In the Genesis account, a day is a day, literally. In this particular biblical context, a "literal" day may or may not be 24 hours in length, but that is beside the point. The question of the chronological length of the "days" probably never occurred to Moses or any of the original readers of the creation story. There is a deeper truth being conveyed through this divinely inspired literary work, but to appreciate that truth, one must first appreciate it precisely as a divinely inspired literary work. In other words, we must first "take" the Bible "literally."