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The Genre of Luke’s Gospel

August 2, 2019 By Peter Krol

I’ve been studying Luke these days, to prepare for a new sermon series at our church. And this Sunday, I’ll kick off the series with a book overview.

To help me grasp background matters, I’ve been working my way through a course with Logos Bible Software on Luke’s gospel, taught by Dr. Andrew Pitts. The course has been outstanding, and Pitts’s comments on the genre of Luke have been particularly stimulating.

Overall Genre

Certainly, Luke belongs to the genre of historical narrative. However, there are many sub-categories of genre that fall under the umbrella of historical narrative. On a large scale, there are epics, histories, and biographies. On a small scale, there are miracle stories, confrontation stories, healings, teaching, parables, and origin stories.

Regarding Luke, Pitts argues that there is a difference between ancient biography and ancient history. Biographies focus on one individual, the subject, who is praised or lifted up in some way, and readers are called to imitate or follow that figure. Histories, however, focus more on events than on any particular person, and they are concerned with explaining why something is the way it is, or with making a political or social point in light of the relevant history.

jean louis mazieres (2018), Creative Commons

Comparing the Four Gospels

I have always presumed Luke to be the same genre as the other gospels. Of course, it’s closer to Matthew and Mark, which is why those three are often referred to as the “synoptic” (similar perspective) gospels. John is unique, with a completely different style and method of narration.

However, Pitts argues that, at least with respect to genre, the oddball among the four gospels is really Luke. He suggests that Matthew, Mark, and John are biographies, but Luke is a history.

Why does he conclude this?

Ancient biographies tend to introduce their subject in the first sentence (or very close to the first sentence). Matthew 1:1, Mark 1:1, and John 1:1 all reference Jesus as the book’s subject. But Luke doesn’t even mention Jesus until Luke 1:31, and then only in predictive speech. Jesus doesn’t become a character or subject until Luke 2:7, or even Luke 2:11. This late mention of the chief subject would be very unusual for a biography. But such late mention of a major protagonist fits right with the expectations for a narrative history.
Compared to ancient histories, ancient biographies have a much higher density of citation of authoritative sources to support the portrait of the biography’s subject. Matthew, Mark, and John all fit the parameters of citation density (quoting the Old Testament, in their case) expected from biography. Luke’s density of OT citation is much lower, fitting more closely the parameters of ancient history. (Though Luke cites the OT more times than Mark does, Luke is much longer than Mark, thus making his density of citation significantly lower than Mark’s.)
When Luke does introduce his subject matter in the first verse, he terms it “the things that have been accomplished among us” (Luke 1:1). He doesn’t speak of a person, but of a series of events. This is what we’d expect from a history, not a biography.
Luke is the only gospel with a sequel (the book of Acts), so we need to read Luke and Acts as a single work in two parts. And Acts clearly moves well beyond the life of Jesus of Nazareth, telling the tales of a number of Jesus’ followers. It might be possible to say that Luke-Acts is a collection of biographies, with Jesus’ life being the first subject. But compendiums of biographies were also known in the ancient world, and there is no other example of such a collection following a single narrative thread (from the first subject, to the second, to the third, etc., instead of treating each biography as a completely separate narrative). If Luke-Acts were a collection of biographies, it would be the only ancient document to take this meta-narrative approach. However, Luke-Acts does follow the standard expectations of an ancient history, moving from one event, to another, to another, in a seamless overarching narrative.

What Difference Does It Make?

What difference does it make whether Luke is biography or history?

Simply that we’ll better observe Luke’s focus, which enables us to focus there with him. Since Matthew, Mark, and John are biographies of Jesus, we read them rightly when we focus on the person of Jesus. Of course, we can’t ignore what Jesus did or what resulted from his work. But with the emphasis on who he was, the other things fall into place as implications of the main idea (Jesus himself).

But if Pitts is right that Luke-Acts presents itself as history, then we’ll better understand Luke-Acts if we focus on what that two-volume work says about the Christian movement. Of course, we can’t ignore who Jesus is when we read Luke-Acts; the movement’s founder is, well, the movement’s foundation. But the identity and character of Jesus, in Luke’s case, are more the implications than the main idea.

Another way to state the hypothesis is that the biographies of Matthew, Mark, and John are meant to tell us, first and foremost, about Jesus. And the history of Luke (along with Acts) is meant to tell us, first and foremost, about Christianity.

This understanding of Luke’s genre is one piece of the puzzle that is Luke’s purpose in writing, along with his main point. In future posts, I may revisit Luke with yet more pieces of that puzzle.

How Plot Structure Helps with John 4

July 12, 2019 By Peter Krol

I led a Bible study this week on John 4. Not only the woman at the well (John 4:1-42), but the entire chapter. And I once dared to call plot structure the most import tool for observing the structure of a narrative. So I decided to put my money where my mouth was, and invest my limited mental energy in exploring the plot structure of this chapter.

The results got me farther down the road than any other tool I tried. Not only was this tool the most important one for observing the structure. It ended up also being the most important tool for helping me to interpret the narrative and determine the author’s main point.

Let me show you how it worked.

Stuck in the Details

Without handrails, John 4 is the sort of narrative that makes Bible students feel like they’re swimming in details. And great is the temptation for premature application. There is much in this chapter to provoke, stimulate, and inspire. All you have to do is pick your favorite from among the proffered topics and you’re free to camp there as long as you like.

We could focus on the satisfaction Jesus promises with living water (John 4:13-14). We could focus on sexual morality (John 4:17-18) or Jesus’ omniscience (John 4:16, 19). We could focus on true worship (John 4:21-24). We could focus on evangelism (John 4:28-29, 39-40). We could focus on spiritual dullness or failure to evangelize (John 4:35-38). We could focus on Jesus’ obedience to his Father (John 4:34). We could focus on Jesus’ experience of rejection (John 4:44-45) or his power to heal at a distance (John 4:50-53). We could focus on the nature of belief (John 4:39-42, 48, 50, 53) or the authority of Messiah (John 4:25-26).

So many goodies. So much raw material for theological exploration. And all of it would be true, biblical, practical, and engaging.

But why did John include all these things? What was his main idea?

Getting Unstuck

The best way to see how all these goodies fit together is to analyze the text according to its plot structure.

The first conflict is introduced in John 4:7-9. It must have been important to John that his readers understand the conflict, because he chooses to pop us on the nose with two parenthetical statements (the disciples were gone, and Jews don’t deal with Samaritans). Perhaps without the explanation, the nature of the conflict would have been subtle enough that his audience might have missed it. In short, the conflict, as John introduces it, is Jesus vs. cultural expectations of identity. Jesus does what nobody would have expected him to do: Speak to this woman, alone.
If that is the conflict, this suggests that John 4:1-6 is simply the setting to paint the picture for us. Jesus wishes to escape the Pharisees, who might compel a competition between him and John. And he “had to” pass through Samaria to get away.
So where is the reversal? Where are the cultural expectations of identity flipped around? John 4:26: “I who speak to you am he.” Here is the first climax.
Therefore, we can consider the intervening verses (John 4:10-25) as part of the rising action intended to heighten the tension and build toward climax.
- These verses are not unimportant. There is deep and significant teaching here. But, according to the way John has chosen to tell his story, this material is subordinate to the climax of verse 26.
- In John 4:10-15, Jesus has asked her for a drink, but he clarifies that, really, she should have asked him for a drink.
- In John 4:16, the conflict expands. Now Jesus is taking on not only the cultural expectations of his identity but also this woman’s worship. He shines light to expose her evil deeds (John 3:20-21), likely to see whether she’ll come out or withdraw further into cover of darkness.
- In John 4:17-25, the action rises as they now discuss true and false worship. Again, this material is valuable; I don’t think it’s unimportant. But for John, it’s part of a narrative device intended to heighten the tension and build to climax. We must keep in mind what he’s building toward: Who is Jesus, with respect to what his culture expects of him?
After the climax in John 4:26, the situation resolves into a new setting (John 4:27-30), a new state of affairs: One where Jesus’ own disciples marvel at his behavior (again, completely in conflict with their cultural expectations), and the woman testifies to Jesus’ new-found (to her) identity.

So John 4:1-30 gives us one full cycle of plot structure, with a sense of resolution and a new state of affairs. I’ll abbreviate my commentary on the remaining two cycles.

Second plot arc (John 4:27-42):

John 4:27-30: setting, described above.
John 4:31-32: next conflict introduced. Jesus vs. disciples’ perception of the world.
John 4:33-37: rising action. Q&A. Jesus takes their eyes off physical food to the spiritual reality of harvest.
John 4:38: climax. Disciples’ mistaken perception reversed as they enter into another’s labor (as they now reap that for which they did not labor).
John 4:39-42: new setting. Samaritans believe that Jesus is savior of the world; they ask him to stay.

Third plot arc (John 4:39-54):

John 4:39-42: setting, described above.
John 4:43-46: more setting. John raises the question of response. We ought to expect, with Jesus, a poor response to him from his own people (cf. John 1:11, 4:44).
John 4:47-48: next conflict introduced. On the surface, we might think the conflict is Jesus vs. illness. But with Jesus’ first response (John 4:48) John highlights a different conflict instead: Jesus vs. unbelief (defined as trusting more in signs than in the savior). The surface conflict with illness is merely the literary mechanism for presenting the true conflict with unbelief.
John 4:49-50a: rising action, where the Roman official requests Jesus’ presence but receives his word of promise instead.
John 4:50b: climax. The official believes Jesus’ word, even without a visible sign. He goes on his way without Jesus’ company.
John 4:51-53a: resolution. The official gets proof of his son’s healing, to confirm the word of promise from Jesus.
John 4:53b-54: new setting. Belief spreads in Roman official’s household.

Implications

Let me close with a few principles for mapping plot structure:

Because the categories and lines can seem fuzzy in any given story, I find it most helpful to identify first the conflict and climax. The conflict is the point at which the narrative introduces tension. The climax is the point at which that tension is fixed or reversed. Those two points are typically the clearest elements of the plot.
Then the material in between the introduction of the conflict and the climax falls into place as rising action, serving to expand on or intensify the tension produced by the conflict.
Almost everything that comes before the conflict is simply setting. The details matter for the sake of the story, but they will likely not be as crucial to the text’s theology or application.
And the payout for interpretation comes when we focus our attention on the climax and resolution to determine the author’s main point.

In John 4, we see three arcs with climaxes:

The first arc climaxes (John 4:26) with the immoral Samaritan woman hearing and, in the resolution, trusting in Jesus’ identity as Messiah.
The second arc climaxes (John 4:38) with the disciples entering into Jesus’ labor, to reap the harvest with him.
The third arc climaxes (John 4:50b) with the powerful Roman official trusting Jesus’ word of promise, without any visible sign.

How does this help with discovering John’s main point? The religious insiders need help to perceive God’s salvation extending to religious outsiders. This Jesus is not only King of the Jews. He is the Savior of the world (John 4:42), rejected by his own but believed on in the world. Not even Nicodemus the Pharisee is described as believing just yet (John 3); but any outsider of any race or status who trusts Jesus’ identity and word of promise can become his child. This chapter illustrates, with flamboyant color, the truth that God so loved the world (John 3:16-17).

This main point fits perfectly with the flow of thought in this section of the gospel:

In John 2, the messianic kingdom has arrived!
In John 3, we see how to enter the kingdom.
In John 4, we see who enters the kingdom.

I find it is well worth my time to simply draw a plot arc and use it to help me grasp biblical narratives. Perhaps it can be useful to you as well.

More on Walking Through Walls

July 5, 2019 By Peter Krol

When we repeat a particular idea often enough that it becomes part of the air we breathe for years, or even generations on end, it accumulates a gravitas, an authority, that soon goes unexamined. It’s easy for us to see other cultures or communities doing this; it’s difficult to see ourselves doing it. That’s why I’ve sought to expose numerous unquestioned mantras (such as: Jesus’ ministry lasted 3 years, judge not, your body is a temple of the Holy Spirit, forgetting what lies behind, and Jesus never broke a bruised reed) that have become unassailably axiomatic in evangelical Protestant circles. I am deeply grateful when others show me that what I’ve always heard and assumed isn’t actually supported by the text of Scripture.

So with all due respect to commentator D.A. Carson and the countless others who have always believed Jesus walked through walls, I raised the question last week: Do John 20:19 and John 20:26 truly claim that Jesus walked through walls? Is the matter as obvious as we typically assert?

The Testimony of the Ancients

John Calvin would disagree, and with flair:

And while the doors were shut. … We ought, therefore, to believe that Christ did not enter without a miracle, in order to give a demonstration of his Divinity, by which he might stimulate the attention of his disciples; and yet I am far from admitting the truth of what the Papists assert, that the body of Christ passed through the shut doors. Their reason for maintaining this is, for the purpose of proving not only that the glorious body of Christ resembled a spirit, but that it was infinite, and could not be confined to any one place. But the words convey no such meaning; for the Evangelist does not say that he entered through the shut doors, but that he suddenly stood in the midst of his disciples, though the doors had been shut, and had not been opened to him by the hand of man. We know that Peter (Acts 10:10) [sic Acts 12:10] went out of a prison which was locked; and must we, therefore, say that he passed through the midst of the iron and of the planks? Away, then, with that childish trifling, which contains nothing solid, and brings along with it many absurdities! Let us be satisfied with knowing that Christ intended, by a remarkable miracle, to confirm his disciples in their belief of his resurrection.
Calvin, J., & Pringle, W. (2010). Commentary on the Gospel according to John (Vol. 2, p. 264). Bellingham, WA: Logos Bible Software.

Augustine read the text to say that Christ “appeared” within the room, without speculating on how exactly he got there:

When he appeared with all the members of his body and used their functions, he also displayed the places of his wounds. I have always taken these as scars, not as actual wounds, and saw them as the result of his power, not of some necessity. He revealed the ease of this power, especially when he either showed himself in another form or appeared as his real self to the disciples gathered in the house when the doors were closed.
Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture, Vol. IVb, Elowsky, J. C. (Ed.). (2007). John 11–21 (p. 356). Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press.

Gregory of Nyssa reads the text similarly:

After his resurrection he showed himself whenever he wanted to his disciples. When he wished to be present with them, he was in their midst without being seen, needing no entrance through open doors.… All of these occurrences, and whatever other similar facts we know about his life, require no further argument to show that they are signs of deity and of a sublime and supreme power.
Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture, Vol. IVb, Elowsky, J. C. (Ed.). (2007). John 11–21 (p. 357). Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press.

Regarding the grave-clothes left in the empty tomb (John 20:6-8), Chrysostom seems to think they were simply stripped off and laid aside:

They see the linen clothes lying there, which was a sign of the resurrection. For if they had removed the body, they would not have stripped it first, nor, if any had stolen it, would they have taken the trouble to remove the napkin and roll it up and lay it in a place by itself apart from the linens. They would have taken the body as it was.
Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture, Vol. IVb, Elowsky, J. C. (Ed.). (2007). John 11–21 (pp. 340–341). Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press.

Eusebius of Caesarea hears the text saying the grave-clothes were simply left lying:

The cloths lying within seem to me at once to furnish also a proof that the body had not been taken away by people, as Mary supposed. For no one taking away the body would leave the linens, nor would the thief ever have stayed until he had undone the linens and so be caught.
Ancient Christian Commentary on Scripture, Vol. IVb, Elowsky, J. C. (Ed.). (2007). John 11–21 (p. 341). Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press.

Now my point is not to say we must agree with whatever the commentators write. That would go against a fundamental principle of this blog.

Rather, my point is that the notion of Jesus’ resurrected body passing through solid objects is by no means required of the text. Many Bible readers, in cultures and times different than ours, saw nothing of the sort. Or at least, if they did, not many saw reason to say so.

Eyes Back On the Text

On the evening of that day, the first day of the week, the doors being locked where the disciples were for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said to them, “Peace be with you.”
John 20:19

What is plain is that the disciples were in a room with the doors locked. And John’s explicit reason for mentioning the locked doors is to highlight not Jesus’ miraculous entry but the disciples’ great fear of the Jews. And then at some point, Jesus came and stood among them. He may have entered the room in a miraculous way (which would be consistent with the views of the older commentators quoted above), but again, John doesn’t say so outright.

John doesn’t want us to focus on how exactly Jesus got into the room, though it may have been miraculous. And there is no reason to believe John wants us to think Jesus could pass through solid objects (but as I stated last week: It’s possible he could have!).

John wants us simply to see the risen Christ, in the flesh, offering peace to his fearful followers and sending them to bear witness to these things (John 20:20-23). Those are the facts of which we can be certain, and they ought to be the focus of our attention as we strive to understand and teach John’s message in this text.

Did Jesus Walk Through Walls?

June 28, 2019 By Peter Krol

Jesus accused the Pharisees of holding to traditions which had been added to the Word of God. We may accuse those outside our tribe of doing the same today. But could there be extra-biblical traditions to which we hold steadfastly within our own circles? Oral traditions repeated often enough to now appear nearly self-evident?

I propose one such tradition is the notion that Jesus walked through a wall. If we can suspend our familiarity with the tradition and observe the text carefully, we’ll find the tradition far from evident.

The Text

We find the tradition’s source in John 20:19 and John 20:26:

On the evening of that day, the first day of the week, the doors being locked where the disciples were for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said to them, ‘Peace be with you.’
Eight days later, his disciples were inside again, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’

Francis Mariani (2008), Creative Commons

Examples of the Tradition

D.A. Carson’s commentary on John’s gospel is a masterpiece, which I am happy to recommend. But no-one is perfect, and in his comments on these verses, Carson reflects the tradition:

But the function of the locked doors in John’s narrative, both here [v.19] and in v.26, is to stress the miraculous nature of Jesus’ appearance amongst his followers. As his resurrection body passed through the grave-clothes (v.6-8), so it passed through the locked doors and simply ‘materialized.’
Carson, The Gospel According to John, Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1991, p.646.

Carson simply asserts that Jesus’ body “passed through locked doors and simply ‘materialized'” as he did with the grave-clothes. So I turn to his comments on the grave-clothes for further textual evidence of the phenomenon:

The cloth was folded up by itself, separate from the linen. Clearly John perceives these details to be important, but their exact meaning is disputed. Some have thought that the burial cloth still retained the shape of Jesus’ head, and was separated from the strips of linen by a distance equivalent to the length of Jesus’ neck. Others have suggested that, owing to the mix of spices separating the layers, even the strips of linen retained the shape they had when Jesus’ body filled them out. Both of these suggestions say more than the text requires. What seems clearest is the contrast with the resurrection of Lazarus (11:44). Lazarus came from the tomb wearing his grave-clothes, the additional burial cloth still wrapped around his head. Jesus’ resurrection body apparently passed through his grave-clothes, spices and all, in much the same way that he later appeared in a locked room (vv. 19, 26). The description of the burial cloth that had been around Jesus’ head does not suggest that it still retained the shape of the corpse, but that it had been neatly rolled up and set to one side by the one who no longer had any use for it.
Carson, p.637

So we see Carson first exposing a few baseless traditions (that the grave cloths were shaped liked a hollow mummy) because they “say more than the text requires.” This standard for evaluating traditions is eminently reasonable. However, Carson goes on to link the grave-clothes with the entering of the locked room. And he says more himself than the text requires by suggesting that Jesus’ body must have “passed through” solid objects.

C.S. Lewis offers another way one can grasp the tradition of Jesus walking through walls. In his novel Perelandra, as well as in The Great Divorce, he grapples with the idea that heaven is in fact more real than earth. The heavenly grass pokes at the sensitive feet of spiritual tourists, and heavenly rain drops threaten to crush those who lack substance. Lewis challenges the standard tradition in that he wants us not to see Jesus’ resurrection body as less “real,” or more “ghostly” than ours. He wants us to see Jesus’ body as more real and ourselves as the ghosts.

Both Carson and Lewis have important points to make on this topic, but both require us to look more closely at the text: Did Jesus walk through those walls? Did his body pass through the grave-cloths?

Observe the Text

I’ll start with the grave-cloths:

[Simon Peter] saw the linen cloths lying there, and the face cloth, which had been on Jesus’ head, not lying with the linen cloths but folded up in a place by itself.
John 20:6b-7

John tells us that Peter saw the grave-cloths “lying there.” He does not say they were shaped like a hollow mummy. And he does not say they looked as though the body had Disapparated and the cloths had fallen flat without being unwrapped. He says they were “lying there,” but he says nothing about the condition in which they were lying (except for the face cloth being folded).

They could have been ripped off like one of The Incredible Hulk’s shredded garments. They could have been removed and tossed aside like dirty laundry. They could have been rolled or folded neatly. John says the face cloth was “folded up in a place by itself,” so with confidence we can declare that piece of cloth as folded. But the rest? John simply doesn’t tell us. He doesn’t say nearly enough to require us to conclude the body must have passed through the garments.

Now look again at the locked room:

On the evening of that day, the first day of the week, the doors being locked where the disciples were for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said to them, ‘Peace be with you.’
Eight days later, his disciples were inside again, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, ‘Peace be with you.’
john 20:19, 26

We know the doors were locked, with the disciples inside. We know the disciples were afraid of the Jews. We know that Jesus then stood among them within the room and spoke to them. But John doesn’t tell us how Jesus got from outside the room to inside the room.

Perhaps he walked through the walls. Perhaps. Or perhaps he knocked on the locked door until they heard his voice, opened up, and let him in. Or perhaps he spoke by the word of his power and made a section of the wall collapse. Or perhaps he found some others to open a hole in the roof and let him down on a pallet. Or perhaps he teleported from one location to another. I intend no irreverence whatsoever; I only wish to highlight that which we simply don’t know.

Please note: I am not saying that Jesus could not have walked through the walls or passed through the grave-cloths. He certainly could have. He is the Lord.

I am saying only that it is not self-evident, from John’s narrative, that he must have walked through walls. John is not nearly as clear about metaphysical post-resurrection ontology as we might wish him to be.

Conclusion

Why does it matter whether Jesus walked through a wall or not? What is at stake here?

Simply the fact that traditions snowball over time, with the end result of making void the Word of God (Mark 7:13). In this case, the tradition has led many to speculate on the physical properties of either the resurrection body or the new heavens and the new earth. This can lead many to make too sharp a division between the “natural” and the “spiritual”—and then we use those adjectives more like Plato than like Paul, which promotes unbiblical asceticism (Col 2:20-23), among other things.

May our thinking and our doctrine be increasingly rooted in vigilant observation of the God-inspired text, that we might be complete, equipped for every good work.

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Did Jesus’ Ministry Last 3 Years?

June 21, 2019 By Peter Krol

Protestants sometimes accuse Roman Catholics of holding to traditions not found in the Bible (e.g. Mary’s immaculate conception and perpetual virginity, etc.). But even Protestants must be careful with their judgment, as they will certainly be measured by the same measure with which they measure others (Matt 7:1-2). Certainly they don’t irrationally hold on to traditions unsupported by Scripture, do they?

We could explore a number of such traditions that Protestants ought to be willing to reconsider in light of the biblical data. In this post, I’ll tackle the typically unexamined maxim that Jesus’ ministry lasted for 3 years. A related assertion is that Jesus was 33 years old when he was crucified. Careful observation of the scriptural data will show us that these assertions could be true, but they are far from certain.

Reasons for the Tradition

If you research an article or book that examines the question, and doesn’t merely assert the 3-year timeframe, you’ll find the answer typically hinges on a few pieces of biblical evidence:

Luke says Jesus began his ministry at “about 30 years of age” (Luke 3:23).
John records three Passover events during Jesus’ ministry (John 2:13, 6:4, 11:55). That third Passover is drawn out also in John 12:1, 13:1, and John 19:14.

From this evidence, the conclusion is drawn: He began at age 30, he ministered for 3 years (through 3 annual Passover feasts), and therefore he died at age 33.

St. Paul’s Timeline, Heidi Blanton (2010), Creative Commons

Familiarity vs. Observation

But please don’t allow your familiarity with the tradition to blind you from careful observation of the text!

Luke clearly says that Jesus was “about” 30, not “exactly” 30. Perhaps Luke wants us to think of the beginning of Jesus’ ministry as analogous to the “coming of age” of priests (Num 4:1-3) and rulers (Gen 41:46, 2 Sam 5:4) at age 30. Or perhaps he has other reasons for rounding the number.
Though John records three Passover events, we have no proof that he intends his narrative to be literally chronological. Some scholars argue that the first Passover (chapter 2) was the same Passover as the one during which he was crucified, and that John bumps it early in his narrative to make a theological point. Others argue that the Passover of John 6:4 refers to same Passover of the year Jesus was crucified (and therefore, that John 6:4 and John 11:55 are referring to the same event).
But regardless of whether John tells us about three Passovers, two Passovers, or even one—he never says that these were the only Passovers Jesus attended during his ministry. To assert or assume these 3 Passover references mean Jesus’ ministry lasted 3 years is to argue from silence.

Conclusion

Now I hope this analysis doesn’t generate seismic repercussions in anyone’s faith. My guess is that most people reading this explanation are not shaken to their core by it. If your reaction is along the lines of, “Who cares whether Jesus’ ministry was 3 years, or 2 years, or even 6 years long?”—I would like to buy you a drink and bless you in the name of Christ.

So why do I care enough to point it out?

Because these things snowball across generations. It’s not difficult for an angel’s legitimate blessing of Mary (Luke 1:28) to evolve over time into sacred legends about her moral perfection, perpetual chastity, or extraordinary origin. In the same way, who knows when or how the mistakenly assumed “three-year ministry of Jesus” might evolve into a three-year master plan for discipleship, or a three-year sacred tradition for church planting, or a set of uncompromisable three-year expectations for how God must work to build his kingdom?

Most spurious traditions have their origin in something true and good. But we cannot add to that truth without, in the end, compromising the very truth we sought to uphold. For example, it is a good and right thing to love God more than your parents (Luke 14:26). But it’s an altogether wicked thing to add traditions to that truth which end up undermining the obligation to care for your aging forebears (Mark 7:9-13).

The Bible doesn’t tell us exactly how many years Jesus spent with his disciples, going about doing good and healing. So we ought not to casually assert a three-year timeline as though it were self-evident.

What I Learned By Reading a Passage 25 Times

June 10, 2019 By Ryan Higginbottom

Sharon McCutcheon (2018), public domain

In my last article, I described my latest experiment. In preparing to lead my small group through Luke 16, I read the chapter as many times as possible.

In this article I’ll provide the results.

An Overview

There are three sections to Luke 16.

The Dishonest Manager (verses 1–13)

Jesus begins the chapter with a story of a rich man and a dishonest manager. The manager squandered the man’s possessions and was fired. On the way out, he had to give an account of his business transactions (Luke 16:2).

The manager called the man’s debtors and cut their bills. He aimed to gain favor with these debtors in hopes of securing his next employment.

The rich man praised the manager “because he had acted shrewdly” (Luke 16:8). Jesus extracted principles about money from this story (Luke 16:8–13).

The Pharisees (verses 13–18)

Pharisees were listening and scoffed at Jesus (Luke 16:13). Jesus rebuked the Pharisees as those who justified themselves and sought only what is praised by men (Luke 16:15).

Jesus then spoke about the relationship between the Law and the Prophets and the preaching of the gospel (Luke 16:16–18).

The Rich Man and Lazarus (verses 19–31)

The chapter concludes with the story of the rich man and Lazarus. The rich man lived lavishly while Lazarus suffered severely just outside the rich man’s gate. After death, the rich man cried out from Hades to Lazarus and Abraham in heaven for relief.

The rich man asked Abraham to send Lazarus to his family to warn them (Luke 16:28). Abraham told him that Moses and the Prophets were warning enough.

Themes in Luke 16

The major themes in Luke 16 become obvious when we pay attention to repetition: money and the law and the prophets.

The “rich man” is a character in two stories in this chapter. In between, after Jesus says “You cannot serve God and wealth,” the Pharisees are introduced as “lovers of money.” There is also instruction on wealth in Luke 16:8–12.

Earlier portions of Luke (Luke 6:1–11, Luke 11:37–54, Luke 14:1–6) show the Pharisees’ devotion to and distortion of the law and the prophets, so the Pharisees’ self-justification is likely related to the law. Jesus then talks about the preaching of the law and the preaching of the gospel, concluding that not even one stroke of a letter of the Law will fail (Luke 16:17). Abraham tells the rich man that the law (Moses) and the prophets should be enough to bring his family to repentance.

How Rereading Brought Clarity

It didn’t take long for me to identify the most confusing verse in this chapter.

And I tell you, make friends for yourselves by means of unrighteous wealth, so that when it fails they may receive you into the eternal dwellings. (Luke 16:9)

By reading this chapter multiple times, I began to see the structure of the passage, and this helped me grasp the main point. (Most commentaries on Luke were not helpful, because they took the text in too-small portions. Despite good analysis of the trees, there was no analysis of the forest.)

When we consider the context of a passage, we usually look backward: an earlier passage sheds light on a later one. In this chapter the opposite is true.

In the parable of the rich man and Lazarus, Jesus shines a spotlight on the rich man’s money (Luke 16:19). The rich man ignored Lazarus, who needed just a bit of the rich man’s abundance. Further, since wealth often runs in families, the rich man’s concern for his brothers (Luke 16:28) was a concern for other rich men. The rich man’s wealth produced a numbness in him toward his neighbor (Lazarus). Wealth is dangerous, as it can also lead to an ignorance of Moses and the Prophets (Luke 16:29–31).

We need this story to understand verse 9. The dishonest manager was shrewd with his master’s wealth, hoping to be welcomed into the homes of others, and Jesus praises this shrewdness. But, lest we think too highly of this manager, Jesus criticizes him in verses 10–12.

In contrast to the dishonest manager, the “sons of light” (verse 8) are to do better things with their wealth. He used wealth for worldly gains; followers of Jesus are to use wealth for heavenly gains.

Here’s the key. Money kept the rich man (at the end of the chapter) out of the eternal dwellings (verse 9). Christians are to use money in such a way that we make friends who can receive us into the eternal dwellings. This points to generosity.

The middle section of the chapter brings all of this together. You cannot serve God and wealth. In particular, you cannot serve God if you are a lover of money. However, you can (in fact, you must) serve God with your wealth.¹

Main Point and Conclusion

The main point of this chapter can be stated succinctly.

You cannot serve God and wealth, but you can (and must) serve God with your wealth.

I don’t claim a perfect understanding of this passage, but I owe the understanding I have to reading this passage multiple times. This practice unlocked the chapter’s structure for me, giving me insight into a confusing verse. I commend this discipline to you.

This interpretation depends on the phrase “unrighteous wealth” referring to wealth on earth as opposed to treasures in heaven, not wealth gained in an evil way. This interpretation depends on Luke 16:11. ↩

What Does “Meaningless / Vanity / Futility” Mean in Ecclesiastes?

June 6, 2019 By Peter Krol

Last week I summarized three remarkably divergent interpretive approaches to the book of Ecclesiastes. A few readers helpfully pointed out that the translation of the Hebrew word hebel in Eccl 1:2 (and throughout the book) can play a role in nudging readers toward one interpretive approach or another. This keen insight warrants further exploration.

Study the Word

Canvassing English translations produces three main options for translating hebel into English:

Vanity—ESV, LEB, NASB, NKJV, NRSV, KJV
Futility—CSB, NET
Meaningless—NIV, NLT

The Hebrew lexicon BDB suggests a primary translation of “vapour, breath,” with a figurative use of “vanity.”

And by looking up all uses of hebel in the Old Testament, we drum up the following variety of translations from the ESV alone (listed in order of frequency):

vanity
breath
idols
vain
worthless
false
nothing
empty
gained hastily
vapor

This is all well and good. But we quickly confront the limitations of a word study. These lists don’t help us to understand what the word means in Ecclesiastes. We won’t get at the message of the book by simply choosing our favorite option from the menu and running with it. We need more help.

Consider the Context

So we must look to the context for the clues we need. And there is good news! Ecclesiastes is written almost like a research paper, where the introduction introduces the problem and states the thesis.

Thesis (Eccl 1:2): “Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher, vanity of vanities! All is vanity.”
Problem (Eccl 1:3): “What does man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun?

So the problem under consideration is: What do we have to gain from our toil under the sun? In other words, what do we get out of life? What will we have to show for it at the end? What reward will there be to make all the pain worth it?

And the answer to the problem is: All that we have to gain is vanity. This much is clear, but it still begs the question: What does “vanity” (hebel) mean?

So the Preacher unpacks his concept of hebel for us with a brilliant panoply of illustration (Eccl 1:3-18).

The universe consists of endless repetition – Eccl 1:4-7
That repetition is deeply unsatisfying – Eccl 1:8
Nothing you do is novel; all new things are merely discoveries of old things that have always been there – Eccl 1:9-10
Nothing will be remembered – Eccl 1:11
Nothing is permanent; there will be nothing at the end to show for the effort – Eccl 1:14 (also suggested in Eccl 1:4)
Nothing you do can fix it – Eccl 1:15

Point #5 gets expanded later in the book as “I must leave it” (Eccl 2:18), or “All go to one place” (Eccl 3:20), or “Just as he came, so shall he go” (Eccl 5:16), or more directly, “The living know that they will die” (Eccl 9:5).

So we can construct a definition for hebel (“vanity”), according to its use in Ecclesiastes, as follows: “Unsatisfying, endless repetition of old things that nobody will remember; nothing you do will last, and at the end you die. And you can’t fix it.”* This is hebel. This is what you have to gain from all the toil at which you toil under the sun.

Return to the Word

So what does this mean for the best translation of the Hebrew word hebel? I’m not qualified to render a judgment on whether “vanity” or “futility” or “meaningless” is the best option. I frankly don’t care which of those English words we use when discussing the book (which is why I used a few of them interchangeably in my summary post).

But I can say that any interpretation of the book that doesn’t frontline the “unsatisfying, endless repetition of old things…” is not using hebel the way the Preacher used hebel. For him, hebel is not really about nihilism, cynicism, or purposelessness. It’s about the tedium, transience, impermanence, and dissatisfaction God built into the universe.

*Though I heard this eloquent definition of Ecclesiastic hebel in a sermon by my dear friend Warren Wright, I am certain even this is not new (Eccl 1:10).

Three Approaches to Ecclesiastes

May 31, 2019 By Peter Krol

In my observation, Ecclesiastes is second only to Revelation in the number of competing interpretive approaches available to readers of the book. It offers a great case study in how perception can drastically affect both interpretation and application. This fact ought to motivate us to be as meticulous as possible in observing the text within its context.

I’ve found interpreters of Ecclesiastes to fall into three general categories, though there are subtle distinctions of flavor even within each category.

Approach #1: The Cynic

This first approach seems to be most common in the academy, where scholars conclude that the text of Ecclesiastes, by and large, is neither orthodox nor commendable.

A conservative proponent of this approach is Tremper Longman, who sees Ecclesiastes as having two voices. The most air time is given to the Cynic, as most of the book is an extended quote of his cynicism (Eccl 1:12-12:9). The outer frame (Eccl 1:1-11, 12:9-14), however, refers to “the Preacher” in third person; therefore it was composed by someone else, who is evaluating the Preacher’s message. This outer frame is the only place in the book where we find an orthodox, praiseworthy message.

Other flavors of this approach suggest that the frame narrator is just as cynical as the Preacher is, and therefore the message of the “frame” is just as suspect as the rest of the book.

In short, this approach typically sees the book as entirely (or almost entirely) negative and not to be commended as godly. It is in the Bible primarily to help us understand the worldview of a thoughtful unbeliever. And the best way to apply the book is to reject the counsel found within the book.

Approach #2: The Hedonist

The second approach, which in my observation is most common among pastors, says the book of Ecclesiastes is to be commended and held up as a model for the wise life. Some proponents of this approach are Zack Eswine and Douglas Wilson.

Now the first approach often sees in Ecclesiastes a hedonism, albeit an ungodly hedonism: “Life is meaningless, so let’s just live it up while we can.” The hedonism of the second approach is a commendable, godly hedonism: “Life is meaningless in itself, but God miraculously blesses us with the ability to enjoy it anyway.”

In other words, Ecclesiastes presents both a dark side and a light side to life. The dark side is the vanity of life “under the sun” (which is all human existence); the light side is the supernatural gift of joy from God, despite the ubiquitous vanity. God has created a world with no meaning inherent within it; yet he also blesses his people with an irrational joy in the midst of that vanity.

In short, this approach typically sees the book as entirely (or almost entirely) positive and to be commended for imitation. It is in the Bible to help God’s people learn how to derive joy from the Lord even when the vanity of life may war against such joy. And the best way to apply the book is to recognize both the vanity of life on earth and the gift of joy from God.

Approach #3: The Apologist

The third approach, which in my observation is most common among evangelists and engagers of culture, says the book of Ecclesiastes is to be commended as a model of how to expose a false worldview and replace it with the truth. Some proponents of this approach are Sinclair Ferguson and Leland Ryken.

Some, such as Ryken, see in Ecclesiastes two competing voices, which alternate, almost in dialogue. There is the voice of the unbeliever, for whom life under the sun is meaningless and hopeless. And there is the voice of the believer, who expresses the joy of seeing the God who superintends everything from beyond the sun.

In this approach, the phrase “under the sun” tends to refer not to human existence universally (as in the Hedonist approach), but to the human existence of the unbeliever. Believers, therefore, can be freed from an “under the sun” perspective and have it replaced with an “eternal” perspective.

In short, this approach typically sees the book as roughly half true and half false. It is in the Bible to help God’s people relate to those whose only perception is “under the sun,” and to win such folks to a more truthful and satisfying outlook on life. The best way to apply the book is to help people grapple with the despair of materialism and naturalism, and to win them to a God’s-eye view of the heavens and the earth.

Conclusion

You can see that these three approaches produce markedly different results when it comes time to interpret a particular text within the book of Ecclesiastes. And with such divergent interpretation, application is bound to be light years apart.

For example, consider Eccl 10:19: “Bread is made for laughter, and wine gladdens life, and money answers everything.”

The Cynic might tell you that the only way to cope with reality is through food, pleasure, and financial gain. But God wants you to reject this outlook.
The Hedonist might tell you that bread, wine, and money may come and go, but, whether they come or go, only God’s children can receive the gift of enjoying such created commodities. So use them while you can, to the glory and enjoyment of God, and remain aware of how the world works.
The Apologist might tell you that the laughter, gladness, and success of food, alcohol, or money is fleeting. So let go of those things to find life in the unceasing satisfaction of trusting and obeying the only wise God.

Just picture the dramatic small group meeting, where all three approaches are represented in the discussion!

Charge

Now I charge you, as those approved by God to handle his word rightly: Don’t choose your approach according to which one feels best to you. And don’t simply stick with the approach you’ve traditionally heard in your circles.

Please allow this analysis to jolt you from your inertia, to expose the fault lines in your presumption, and to blast your familiarity—and thus free you to dive back into the text to observe it meticulously. Which approach (whether one of these three, or something else) does it seem the original author most likely intended when he wrote the book?

Disclaimer: While the Cynic may believe disclaimers to be a waste of time, the Hedonist is asking God for joy through the vanity, and the Apologist wishes to persuade me to drop the meager pleasure of affiliate relationships: I remain under obligation to tell you that Amazon links in this post will provide a fleeting satisfaction to this blog under the sun, if you have the courage to click them and make a purchase.

And thanks to my delightful colleague Andy Cimbala for the idea for this meaningless post.

Context Matters: He Who Began a Good Work in You

May 24, 2019 By Peter Krol

Perhaps you’ve heard that the one who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ (Phil 1:6). Perhaps this promise has encouraged you to press on in the Christian life, maturing and becoming more like Jesus day by day. And while this could certainly be part of Paul’s intended meaning in this verse, perhaps there is something more in the context we tend to miss.

Context matters. When we learn to read the Bible properly—and not merely as a collection of quotable quotes or personal promises—we’ll find that some of our most familiar sayings have more to say than we typically assume.

Personal Sanctification

The popular usage of this verse—to refer to an individual’s sanctification between now and the day of judgment—can certainly be supported from the context.

Paul follows up the promise in verse 6 with a defense of how he feels toward the Philippians (Phil 1:7). He then prays for their love to abound, with knowledge and all discernment (Phil 1:9). He wants them to approve what is excellent (Phil 1:10a). And he wants them to be pure and blameless for the day of Christ (Phil 1:10b), filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ (Phil 1:11).

So with the repetition of “day of (Jesus) Christ,” the explanation of his affection, and the clarification of each person’s purity and righteousness—the popular use of this verse to refer to individual sanctification fits. So much, so good.

Communal Partnership

But look at what else we find in the surrounding context.

“I thank my God in all my remembrance of you…because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now.”
Phil 1:3-5

The sentence immediately preceding the promise of verse 6 is Paul’s expression of prayerful thanks for the Philippians’ financial partnership in his gospel ministry. Paul will return to this thanksgiving in chapter 4. In fact, he likely asks them to stop giving, since he knows they can’t really afford it (“Not that I seek the gift itself…” Phil 4:17).

In short, we see that the letter of Philippians is, at its heart, a thank-you letter from a missionary to members of his support team. And in that light, it is altogether possible that when Paul wrote of the “good work,” begun “in you,” and “brought to completion at the day of Christ,” he was speaking of this gospel partnership. God’s good work among you, Philippians, includes this outrageous generosity, which has borne much fruit in Paul’s labors around the world.

And it will be brought to completion when the final harvest is reaped on the last day, when Jesus returns to judge. The gospel will go forth, and the good work of God will be completed when the redeemed have been gathered in.

We Don’t Have to Pick One

I don’t think we can or should nail down exactly one thing that Paul meant by the “good work.” He certainly has their financial partnership in mind. But then he also immediately moves into their personal sanctification (of which their financial partnership is but one expression).

So I’m not arguing that Phil 1:6 is not about personal sanctification. I only want to add that, when we see how their communal partnership is also in view, we see personal sanctification tangibly demonstrated in the community. In this way, Phil 1:6 is similar to 3 John 8, which describes financial support of missionaries in partnership language, and as an expression of walking in the truth (3 John 4).

Context matters.

Thanks to my colleague Dave Royes for the idea for this post.

For more examples of why context matters, click here.

How to Understand the Context of the Proverbs

May 17, 2019 By Peter Krol

Context really matters. But it matters in different ways for different genres of literature. I showed last week how the poetry of the psalms sits within the context of the public and private worship of Israel. This week, I’d like to show how the poetry of the proverbs sits within the context of Israel’s wisdom tradition.

Try Memorizing Proverbs

I once tried to memorize portions of the book of Proverbs. It was smooth sailing, as long as I was working within the first 9 chapters. But it was agonizing to try memorizing sizable passages from chapters 10 or 11 (and following). The agony mainly derived from the lack of coherent thought from verse to verse!

Chapters 30 and 31 aren’t so bad, but chapters 10 to 29 of Proverbs contain such a jumble of topics that it can be difficult to study them or even read them. They were simply meant for slow, meditative digestion. Sometimes, there may be a coherent subject matter for a few successive verses (for example, laziness in Prov 26:13-16 or gossip in Prov 26:20-28). But most of the time, you never know what will come next. Ecclesiastes 9:17-11:6 works the same way, presenting an assortment of proverbs for reflection.

Now we can only conjecture why God decided to deliver this wisdom to humanity in this way. We can’t know for sure why this is, but I respect the theory I heard from a seminary professor: that real life works this way (constantly jumping from topic to topic, and task to task); therefore, the wisdom of Proverbs mirrors our experience of daily life.

Potential Misuse of the Proverbs

This lack of coherent argumentation creates a potential pitfall, into which hordes of aspiring gurus delight to hurl themselves: exploiting Proverbs for practical purposes. There are many books out there on how Proverbs can help you to run a business, optimize your life, or thrive as a family. Here is just one example. (To be clear: I’m not recommending this book. I just put an affiliate link there in case I can plunder someone’s drive for success, wealth, and happiness to help support this blog).

The problem is that we can then use the Proverbs to support our personal dreams or preferred lifestyle. So Prov 18:13 becomes a habit of a highly effective person. And Prov 29:18, KJV provides a strategic planning process.

The Context of the Proverbs

So what is the context for the proverbs? In what light ought we to interpret these sound bites and wise sayings?

Proverbs 9:1 tells us that “wisdom has built her house; she has hewn her seven pillars.” In light of the structure of the book as a whole, I believe this “house” refers to the first 9 chapters. I’ll simply assert the point now, as I’ve already dedicated more space elsewhere to defend it.

Solomon labors to lay a foundation in those first 9 chapters. He defines wisdom, he explains how to become wise, and he clears out the obstacles that will hinder wisdom. He spreads the feast of wisdom clearly and repeatedly within the dining hall of “the fear of the Lord.” He illustrates why there can be no wisdom apart from both a humble reception of God’s truth and a passionate imitation of God’s character.

So he builds that house. He constructs the pillars and the framework. Then he invites us to tuck into the feast laid out in the book’s remaining chapters.

Conclusion

The point is this: The context of every proverb (the sayings found in chapters 10-31) is the worldview constructed in Proverbs 1-9. If we attempt to apply a particular proverb to any part of life, and we don’t begin with the fear of the Lord and overcome the obstacles of easy money and easy sex, we are misusing that proverb. We are disregarding the context and working in opposition to the intentions of the Holy Spirit who inspired the proverb.

So we typically won’t access the context of a proverb by looking at the verses right before and after it. Instead, we must become familiar with the worldview constructed in the first 9 chapters of the book. Check out my series on Proverbs 1-9 for an analysis of this worldview.

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