Helping ordinary people learn to study the Bible
Greg Lanier has a helpful piece on “Resurrected Saints and Matthew’s Weirdest Passage,” where he addresses some common questions on Matthew 27:52-53:
The tombs also were opened. And many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised, and coming out of the tombs after his resurrection they went into the holy city and appeared to many.
Lanier asks:
He looks closely at the text in its context to provide reasonable answers.
Perhaps you’ve heard Jesus’ cry of dereliction while hanging on the cross. “How great the pain of searing loss; the Father turns his face away” (Stuart Townend). Perhaps you knew that Jesus was alluding to David’s lament in Psalm 22. But what exactly was David’s concern, and why was it so devastating? And how did Jesus share that experience in his own crucifixion?
When we learn to read the Bible properly—not as an assortment of quotes and aphorisms—we find that some familiar phrases take on entirely new meanings.
In Psalm 22, David feels utterly abandoned by God (“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”). The reason is that, as he looks around, he sees no evidence of God’s presence or activity to save (“Why are you so far from saving me?”). David cries and cries, but receives no answer (Ps 22:1-2).
David understands how these things work, and he seeks to console himself with the perspective of history. In Israel’s covenant with her God, there is a direct connection between loyal trust and deliverance.
Those who trusted in God were rescued, and those who proved disloyal were put to open shame. This strengthens David to persevere in trust and believing loyalty (Ps 22:3).
“But I am a worm and not a man” (Ps 22:6). The problem is, it’s not working the way it ought. David has trusted and remained loyal, but he is still put to shame! He is mocked and scorned. His trust in Yahweh is now the very thing for which he is mocked (Ps 22:8).
What’s at stake here is that the connection between trust and deliverance appears to be broken. For generations, the Israelites had a pattern of abandoning God when things didn’t go their way. Will David do the same? Now that he has hard evidence that trust in God will not pay off? Will he change his mind and go back to Egypt? Will he grumble and complain? Will he turn to other gods?
In the rest of the psalm, we see David mature from a questioner (Ps 22:1-10) to a beggar (Ps:11-21), then to a preacher (Ps 22:22-26), and finally to a missionary (Ps 22:27-31). He withstands the test and survives the crisis of faith. With all outward appearances to the contrary, he proclaims that Yahweh remains worthy of fear (Ps 22:23), praise (Ps 22:25), and service (Ps 22:30).
Though David felt that God had abandoned him, we can confidently conclude that this was not truly the case (2 Sam 7:9, 12-15). Yet for Jesus, such abandonment by the Father was in fact a reality. He faced his darkest hour alone (Mark 15:33-34), accompanied only by the sin of the world that had now become his own (2 Cor 5:21).
Once again, we must ask the question of historical habits: Will Jesus survive the crisis of faith? Will he fall to pieces, just like generation upon generation of Jews had done before him? Since trust in the Father is not paying out in deliverance, is it worth it for him to continue trusting at all?
This tension is all the greater when we observe Mark’s attention to the question of perseverance. Those who deride him dare him to come down from the cross (Mark 15:29-30). They doubt his ability to attain salvation for himself (Mark 15:31). They claim they will believe what he has said, only if he will come down (Mark 15:32). If he can’t save himself, they wonder whether Elijah will come to take him down from the cross (Mark 15:36).
But Jesus perseveres. He stays on the cross until all is finished, and he can proclaim that “he has done it” (Ps 22:31; see John 19:30). He remains loyal, even when abandoned by his Father. Because the Father despised and abhorred the affliction of the afflicted, and hid his face from him (Ps 22:24), all the families of the nations can now worship before him (Ps 22:27).
And though the answer was delayed three days, we know that he who cried out to his Father was eventually heard (Ps 22:24, Rom 1:4, Heb 5:7-9).
“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” When you hear or recite the question, don’t allow it’s familiarity to dull your senses to the visceral conflict it betrays. Delight in this hero, who succeeded in every way where Old Covenant Israel failed. Behold the crisis of faith, the disillusionment, and the unbelievable temptation to come down from the cross to prove his worth. And rest assured that you will never have to experience such complete abandonment, because he already went through it once for all.
Tell the coming generations of his righteousness, and that he has done it.
Context matters.
For more examples of why context matters, click here.
I appreciate Charles Quarles’s reflection on Matthew’s gospel, and how the opening verses establish the theological themes that ought to shape our reading of the book. Quarles describes how even his PhD students often need to learn how to read the Bible the way the author intended. His observations and reflections are well worth considering.
For the last ten years I have concentrated my studies on learning to read theologically the Gospels, particularly the Gospel of Matthew. By reading “theologically” I do not mean reading Matthew through the lens of a particular creed or confession (though I am strongly confessional). Nor do I mean asking how each narrative or paragraph might relate to the various categories of systematic theology like ecclesiology, pneumatology, demonology, etc. (though I highly value systematic theology and often employ this reading strategy). I mean rather reading Matthew like the apostle himself intended it to be read. Matthew has packed his Gospel with all the cues and prompts necessary to read his Gospel properly.
In the video below, John Piper offers some fascinating insight into how to think about Old Testament quotations in the New Testament. In Matthew 2, King Herod asks the chief priests and scribes where the Messiah is to be born. They respond by quoting Micah 5:2 … sort of.
Piper takes a close look at the text of Micah 5:2 and the quotation of it in Matthew 2:6. He carefully observes all the differences between the two passages, and he asks interpretive questions, such as “Why is this part different?” and “Why is that part different?”
He then proceeds to answer his interpretive questions from the literary context of the rest of Matthew’s gospel, and he comes up with a surprising answer. Piper himself acknowledges that you won’t find this answer in any commentary. But as you examine the Scripture for yourself, do you find his answer plausible?
Check it out!
Merry Christmas! As you reflect on the birth of our Lord Jesus, consider what lessons Jesse Johnson would have us take from Jesus’ genealogy in Matthew 1:
This then is the advent hope found in a genealogy: that the savior will be born in an unusual circumstances, that he will be the savior of sinners who respond to him in faith, and that this message will go to the world.
There are parts of the Bible I’ve read so many times that I’m prone to mistake familiarity with them for understanding of them. But once in a while, when I set my familiarity aside, I can take a look at what’s actually there. This happened to me recently in a study of Luke 5.
At the end of the chapter, the Pharisees get upset with Jesus and his disciples for not fasting like either John or the Pharisees themselves. Part of Jesus’ response is a straightforward parable:
He also told them a parable: “No one tears a piece from a new garment and puts it on an old garment. If he does, he will tear the new, and the piece from the new will not match the old. (Luke 5:36)
The issue (the problem with my familiarity) is that I’ve spent years of my life studying Mark’s version of this story. This is the first time I’ve taken a close enough look at Luke’s account to realize that Luke is saying something quite different from Mark. Check out Mark’s version:
No one sews a piece of unshrunk cloth on an old garment. If he does, the patch tears away from it, the new from the old, and a worse tear is made. (Mark 2:21)
And just for the sake of completeness, here is Matthew’s version:
No one puts a piece of unshrunk cloth on an old garment, for the patch tears away from the garment, and a worse tear is made. (Matt 9:16)
Matthew and Mark are very similar. They talk about cutting an “unshrunk” garment to make a patch for an old garment. The problem is that the new patch will subsequently shrink and tear away from the torn garment, making the original tear far worse.
But Luke is using the same cast of characters to tell a completely different story. He speaks of ripping up a new garment to fix an old one. The problem here is twofold: 1) You’ve ruined a perfectly good (and new) garment, and 2) the fix won’t even match the original.
Why does this matter? What really is the difference between them?
Matthew and Mark are concerned with the damage to the old garment, while Luke is more concerned with the damage to the new garment.
The epiphany for me was simply to realize I was assuming Luke was telling the same parable as Mark. I needed a jolt to actually look at the text and observe the bare facts of Luke’s presentation. It is so easy to assume I know what a story says. And the unfortunate result of that assumption is that I stop looking!
As for how this affects interpretation: I’m not exactly sure yet, but perhaps you have some ideas. It’s surely related to the extra line Luke adds, which is not found in any other gospel: “And no one after drinking old wine desires new, for he says, ‘The old is good.’ (Luke 5:39).” The problem here is that the new thing is damaged to the point of being perceived as undesirable in comparison to the old thing. And this is a little different from the way Matthew and Mark present the situation.
Perhaps you’re already more familiar with Luke’s version, and it’s difficult for you to see what Mark/Matthew has to say. Either way, it’s another example of the danger of hasty harmonization. Let’s make sure to grasp the particular point each author seeks to make, and not lump them together, presuming they’re communicating the same thing!
The latest issue of Tabletalk magazine has a helpful article by Tim Witmer on Matthew 7:1. Witmer tackles the popular usage of the phrase “Don’t judge” and shows it to be a misuse of the verse’s context. Of course this verse is not saying that we shouldn’t make moral judgments about people!
However, Witmer also avoids excusing an attitude of judgmentalism among believers in Jesus Christ. Correlation with other Scripture passages clearly denounce any attitude of superiority or invulnerability.
Witmer’s point could be further strengthened by an analysis of the train of thought in Matthew 7:1-12. His article is a good example of why context matters.
Perhaps you’ve heard that not everyone who calls Jesus “Lord” will enter the kingdom of heaven (Matt 7:21). And that Jesus will blindside such folks on the last day when he claims not to have known them, and he commands them to depart from him (Matt 7:23). Have you ever feared finding yourself among that number of woefully deluded souls?
Context matters. When we learn to read the Bible properly—and not merely as a collection of isolated quotes or arbitrary threats—we’ll find that some of our most familiar sayings have more nuance or qualification than we typically assume.
The warning Jesus issues near the end of his Sermon on the Mount is, in fact, rather sobering. Anyone unmoved by it ought to be the first to fear:
“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. On that day many will say to me, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many mighty works in your name?’ And then will I declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness.’ ” (Matt 7:21-23)
It is clear that calling Jesus “Lord” is not enough, on its own, to gain a person entry into the kingdom of heaven. Neither is speaking prophesy, nor casting out demons, nor doing mighty works in the name of Jesus.
And these facts ought not surprise anyone who has read the Bible.
So the warning is real, and particular examples can be given. But what does the warning mean, and who exactly should tremble at it?
In the preceding paragraph, Jesus sets an expectation that his community, his kingdom on earth, will consist of a number of wolves dressed up like sheep. These are what he calls the “false prophets” (Matt 7:15).
Jesus says two times that “you will recognize them by their fruits” (Matt 7:16, 20). The nature of the fruit matches the nature of the tree. Good fruit comes from good trees. Grapes come from vines. Thorns come from thorn bushes. You can’t pick up a fig and conclude it came from a thistle.
And the trees that fail to bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire (Matt 7:19). This is exactly what John said when describing the coming judgment (Matt 3:10b).
So the argument goes like this: The new community of Jesus will have false prophets within it. You will recognize them by their fruits, which prove what sort of tree the person is. And the unfruitful tree will be burned.
This paragraph demands a “so what” question: So what kind of fruit signals that one presenting as a sheep is in fact a wolf? What exactly is the fruit of a false prophet?
Matt 7:21-23 begins to answer that question by explaining what we are not looking for. Jesus thereby flips the question around. Instead of defining the fruit of a false prophet, he first defines what is not the fruit of a true sheep:
Such fruit does not guarantee that the apparent sheep is an actual sheep. There could still be a wolf lurking underneath the wool dressing gown. They are called “false prophets” for a reason!
So we look to the next (and final) paragraph of the Sermon to get the answer we’ve been looking for.
“Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock… And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand.” (Matt 7:24, 26)
Here is now something observable. Does the person not only hear Jesus’ words, but do them? This is the mark of a true sheep. Does the person only hear his words but not do them? This is the mark of a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
And the “doing” he refers to cannot be the “doing” of theatrical rituals, such as naming Jesus’ name, speaking prophecy, or casting out demons. The “doing” almost certainly refers back to everything Jesus has covered in this Sermon.
Being poor in spirit, meek, peacemaking, etc. (Matt 5:2-16). Honoring God’s law from the heart and not merely outwardly (Matt 5:17-48). Avoiding ostentation in the practice of piety (Matt 6:1-18). Seeking the kingdom instead of money and possessions (Matt 6:19-34). Living generously and graciously in community (Matt 7:1-12).
These are the folks, the true sheep, who “enter by the narrow gate,” which is hard but leads to life (Matt 7:13-14).
And they know how to recognize the “many” who try entering through the wide gate that leads to destruction. The fruit of the false prophets is the outward exercise of religion divorced from the personal and private transformation of the heart to love God and love his people.
If this warning from Jesus doesn’t cause you to tremble, you are most likely in danger from it. Please re-examine whether your religion is any deeper than outward conformity to a set of public practices. If your life doesn’t change when you hear this word of Christ, yours will be a pitiable case on the day of judgment.
But if your heart quails at the thought of ever missing your Lord Jesus and his kingdom, you’re probably already well on your way down that narrow road toward eternal life (Matt 5:3-6).
Context matters.
Thanks to Bonnie S for the idea for this post.
For more examples of why context matters, click here.
Perhaps you’ve heard that Jesus will heal all your sickness and disease, if you would only have faith that he will do so. Since Jesus healed every sick person who came to him while he was on earth, surely he will do the same for sick people who come to him while he is in heaven. Jesus still bears the wounds that now heal us.
In this post, I’m not able to tackle the full ideology of faith healing, nor do I intend to discuss whether we ought to expect miraculous healings to continue taking place today. These are complex issues that warrant complex treatment. But in this post I will deal one small part: the common appeal to Isaiah 53:5 to support expectations of physical health and healing.
Context matters. When we learn to read the Bible properly—and not as a collection of unqualified personal promises to which we turn in our moments of need—we’ll find that some of our most famous mantras take us in a different direction.
I’d like to address Isaiah 53:5 from three angles. The first is the larger train of thought of Isaiah 40-55.
Isaiah 40 presents such a sharp change of subject matter and implied audience that many scholars believe the second half of the book could not have been written by Isaiah son of Amoz in the 8th century B.C. While condemnation of Judah’s sin is not absent (e.g. chapter 48), the focus lands far more heavily on proclamation of comfort (Is 40:1-2). And the audience appears to be no longer in the land of Judah (Is 7:1), but in captivity in Babylon (Is 48:20-21). The chief enemy is no longer Assyria but Babylon (Is 46:1-47:15). And the chief hero is not Hezekiah (Is 36-39), but Cyrus, King of Persia (Is 44:24-45:7), along with the representative “servant” of Israel.
Isaiah 56-66 presents yet another perspective, that of those who have returned from exile, now rebuilding the nation and city. So let’s limit our attention for now to chapters 40-55.
Isaiah 40:2 sets up two main announcements for the languishing exiles. “Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her:
These two points are then expanded as: “that she has received from Yahweh’s hand double for all her sins.” The following chapters expand on these two announcements.
First, in chapters 40-44, Isaiah shows that Yahweh, and Yahweh alone, is both willing and able to do these things. No idols can end the warfare with Babylon to return the exiles. And no idol can do a thing to pardon the people’s great iniquity toward God.
Second, Is 44:24-48:22 describes how Yahweh will go about bringing the first announcement to pass. He will anoint Cyrus for the job, he will bring the people home, and he will wipe out Babylon once and for all.
Third, Is 49:1-55:13 describes how Yahweh will go about bringing the second announcement to pass. He will raise up his unnamed servant to bear iniquity, he will put his words into the people’s mouths, and he will reconstitute them to bear his name.
As we follow Isaiah’s train of thought, we see that the suffering servant in chapter 53 is not raised up (or crushed or wounded) for the people’s physical well-being. Cyrus was the appointed savior for that sphere. The suffering servant is dealing instead with the sin problem. Though Isaiah makes use of the terminology of sickness (affliction, grief, affliction, etc.), these terms serve primarily as metaphors for the main issue: “Yahweh has laid on him the iniquity of us all” (Is 53:6).
There’s no avoiding the fact that Jesus physically heals people during his earthly ministry. And we are right to draw implications for ministry today: that the proclamation of the kingdom ought to be accompanied by improvements to societies and their quality of life.
It’s striking, however, that Jesus didn’t heal everyone who came to him. His message about the kingdom was more important than any physical healing he could offer (Mark 1:36-39).
Perhaps this is why Matthew explicitly states the purpose of Jesus’ healing miracles (Matt 8:16-17):
That evening they brought to him many who were oppressed by demons, and he cast out the spirits with a word and healed all who were sick. This was to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet Isaiah: ‘He took our illnesses and bore our diseases.’
Jesus healed in order to fulfill what Isaiah had spoken about. In other words, Jesus healed people both to illustrate and to authenticate his mission to pardon iniquity (Matt 1:21). It is no accident that Jesus conducts one such healing simply to prove he has the authority to forgive sins (Matt 9:1-8).
Peter makes the connection even more explicit. He alludes to Isaiah 53:5 (“by his wounds you have been healed”) to support his point that Jesus died so “we might die to sin and live to righteousness” (1 Pet 2:24-25). In context, this assertion should motivate servants to submit to their masters, even when their masters treat them unjustly (1 Pet 2:18-25).
In context, Isaiah’s poetic statement—”with his wounds we are healed”—is not an absolute promise of physical well-being, if we would only believe. It is a declaration of the forgiveness of Israel’s sin, which had led to her exile in Babylon. The New Testament then uses Isaiah’s shadow to explain the reality of Jesus’ dying for our sin to make us righteous before God, if we would only believe.
Context matters.
For more examples of why context matters, click here.
Thanks to Bob and Daniel for the idea for this post.
Perhaps you’ve heard that Jesus is specially present when two or three people gather in his name (Matt 18:20). And perhaps you’ve wondered how that jives with the fact that he is present with all of his disciples when they make disciples by going, baptizing, and teaching (Matt 28:19-20). Or how it’s any different from the fact that the Father sees and hears when you pray to him alone and in secret (Matt 6:6). Couldn’t Matthew get it straight? What is our quorum for ensuring the blessing of Jesus’ presence?
Context matters. When we learn to read the Bible properly—and not merely as a collection of one-liners and sound bites—we’ll find that some of the most famous passages take on different and deeper meanings than we’ve thought.
Jesus’ speech in Matt 18 addresses what the new covenant community of Christ-followers should look like. It speaks to such things as humility, compassion, initiative, conflict, restoration, and forgiveness. This speech particularly highlights how to handle the sin that will inevitably infect the community.
After telling his disciples that we must not despise any straying sinner, for God seeks to win every one of them back (Matt 18:10-14), Jesus moves into practical instruction regarding what to do when someone sins against you (Matt 18:15-20). In other words, it’s one thing to feel compassion for people whose sin hurts only themselves; it’s far more challenging to lovingly pursue those whose sin has hurt you personally.
Yet that is the very situation Jesus speaks to: “If your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault” (Matt 18:15). When you’re directly affected by another person’s sin, to the point where you’re tempted to despise that person (Matt 18:10), your first recourse is to speak to that brother or sister privately.
If that doesn’t work, bring one or two others along for another set of conversations, to provide witnesses for the interaction (Matt 18:16).
If that still doesn’t work, then tell it to the church (presumably, begin with the church leadership). If that still doesn’t work, then treat him as a Gentile or tax collector (Matt 18:17)—that is, as someone you love and pursue, with whom you share the gospel (Matt 9:11-13).
This leads Jesus to explain the nature of church authority. What you bind on earth is bound in heaven; what you loose on earth is loose in heaven (Matt 18:18). This cryptic statement should not be too confusing, as it simply alludes back to what Jesus said to Peter two chapters earlier (Matt 16:18-20). Peter’s confession in chapter 16 highlighted a great privilege he would have to wield the keys of the kingdom of heaven. We see Peter later wielding this authority to bind and loose as leader of the fledgling Jerusalem church (e.g. Acts 5:1-11). This in no way meant he was infallible or above criticism (see Gal 2:11-14); it just meant that Jesus delegated real authority to him as a leader.
And that authority was not unique to Peter. In Matt 18:18, it describes the assessment of “the church” toward an unrepentant sinner. And the next verse restates the situation more practically as one where “two of you agree on earth about anything they ask” (Matt 18:19). Here he’s not talking about any old two people agreeing about any old topic. He’s talking about the church wielding the keys of the kingdom, binding and loosing, deciding to treat an otherwise professing believer as an unbeliever. He’s talking about the leadership of the church exercising its responsibility to discipline members of the community who continue unrepentantly in sin.
And now we arrive at the verse in question: “For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I among them” (Matt 18:20). Notice the “for,” which is a connector word identifying this sentence as a reason or explanation for the previous verse.
So the “two or three” he’s talking about are not the faithful few who showed up at this week’s prayer meeting. They are the authorized leadership of the church, who have witnessed a sinner cause offense to another member of the community and fail to turn from it. Just as their decision to bind or loose (to either retain or remove membership in the community) will be recognized in heaven, so Jesus’ authoritative presence is with them to enact said decision.
This leads Peter to be deeply concerned about how many times he’ll have to let someone “off the hook” (Matt 18:21). If all they have to do is turn away from their sin, and he can no longer give them what he thinks they deserve—how long does he have to put up with such behavior? Of course, they’re lost sheep and all, but surely there’s got to be a limit to such disrespectful behavior, right? Wrong (Matt 18:22-35).
We should note that Matt 18:15-20 is not intended to be a catch-all process for dealing with any and all sin. It is about what to do when someone sins against you, and you are not able to overlook it or live with it. It’s not about public sin, or sin that doesn’t personally impact you, or secondhand rumors about sin in a community. And it’s not about what to do whenever someone offends you; you must be able to prove that they have sinned. We must look to other passages of Scripture for guidance in each of these other areas.
Context matters.
For more examples of why context matters, click here.
Thanks to Tommy, George, Nat, and Daniel for the idea for this post.
