Q. Hello sir. I wish you are doing well. I have a question. I’m a Muslim and I want to understand Christianity and how the Bible works. How can I read the Bible? How do Christians believe in God? Can you suggest some books that can help me, please? Thank you sir in advance.
Thank you so much for your question and for your sincere interest. Let me begin with a simple suggestion.
Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch, a professor at the University of Cambridge, once taught a course entitled, “On Reading the Bible.” He began by saying, “My first advice ‘on reading the Bible’ is to do it.” I’ll write a follow-up post shortly to suggest some more resources for you, but I wanted to respond to your question right away and begin with basically the same advice.
I’d suggest that you just start reading about Jesus in a book in the Bible known as the Gospel of John.
Christianity is essentially a matter of following Jesus—coming to know Him as Savior, Lord, and Friend, and becoming part of a community that seeks to live by His teaching and example. There are four books in the Bible, known as “gospels” (which means “good news”), that tell the story of Jesus’ life and explore its meaning. There are four of them because Jesus’ life is so rich in meaning that we need to view it from multiple perspectives simply to begin to understand it.
The gospels are found, in the traditional order of the biblical books, at the beginning of the New Testament. This is the second part of the Bible and it makes up the last quarter of it. The books in it tell about Jesus and his earliest followers.
The first three-quarters of the Bible is known as the Old Testament. (Testament means “covenant,” an agreement between God and people.) This part of the Bible tells how God worked to save humanity through figures such as Abraham and Moses. But Christians believe that God’s saving purposes reached their culmination in Jesus.
The Gospel of John is a remarkable book that explains the meaning of Jesus’ life against the background of the events and figures of the Old Testament. But it does this in a way that’s accessible to people of every time and culture. So it’s a great way to be introduced to Jesus while at the same time appreciating the context of his life on this earth.
If you do have a Bible, or can get one, find where the New Testament begins. The Gospel of John will be the fourth book in the New Testament, in the traditional order of the biblical books.
If you can’t easily get a copy of the Gospel of John where you are, you can read it online starting here. At this link, you’ll see several brown icons just above the text of the book, at the upper right. The one on the far right is for audio—if you click on it, you’ll be able to listen to the book being read out loud. The icon in the center, which looks like a wheel with spokes, gives you page display options. For the best reading experience, I’d recommend unchecking the boxes that say “footnotes,” “verse numbers,” and “headings.” Those are resources you can find out how to use later.
I trust you will have a great experience finding out more about Jesus through this story of his life. As I said earlier, I’ll write a follow-up to this post shortly to recommend some more things for you. Thanks again for your interest.
Q. A lot of believers have “that moment” when they officially asked Christ into their heart. I never had a moment like that. I was blessed to grow up in a Christ-filled home, go to a Christian elementary school, be involved in the Church, etc. I did profession of faith as a teenager, went on a missions trip to Peru, and I was even baptized 4 years ago. Is it “wrong” that I never had a “moment” like so many believers have?
There are two main paradigms or models that Christians have used over the centuries to envision a person’s entrance into the life of faith.
The first is the conversion paradigm. It’s a binary model, expressed in terms of before vs. after, out vs. in. You’re lost in darkness, but then you have “that moment” when you ask Christ into your heart and afterwards you’re walking in the light. Saved. Everything is immediately different. “What a wonderful change in my life has been wrought since Jesus came into my heart,” as the old hymn puts it.
This may be the paradigm we’re most familiar with in our contemporary experience. However, it’s actually the one that has been used less commonly over the whole course of church history. The pilgrimage model could be called the “majority view” of Christians over the centuries. It’s progressive rather than binary. It envisions a person coming closer and closer to Christ through a series of steps over time. Within this model, it’s often hard to pinpoint an exact “moment” that determines precisely when a person comes “in.”
Probably the best-known expression of this model is the book Pilgrim’s Progress by John Bunyan. But many classic hymns express it as well, for example, “Draw Me Nearer” by Fanny Crosby:
I am Thine, O Lord, I have heard Thy voice,
And it told Thy love to me;
But I long to rise in the arms of faith
And be closer drawn to Thee.
In my experience as a pastor, I’ve observed that people who become Christians under a conversion model often realize afterwards that God has been at work in their lives in many ways beforehand to lead them to the moment of conversion. There are specific experiences they point to as illustrations of this. They also take many steps of commitment later on that they sometimes feel are as significant as asking Christ into their hearts was in the first place. I’d say that these people are applying a pilgrimage model to their experience and finding it more meaningful and explanatory than the conversion model alone.
I’d encourage you to apply this same pilgrimage model to your own experience. It seems to me that God has been making what are sometimes called the “means of grace” available to you from an early age (Christian family, church, school, etc.) and that you have been using them fully to draw closer to God. If you really needed to nail down “that moment” in your life, you could point to either your profession of faith or your baptism as a time of definite commitment or conversion. But I think you’re actually already describing your entrance into the life of faith in terms of pilgrimage. I don’t think you really need to “translate” it into a conversion paradigm. You just need to recognize that the pilgrimage paradigm is a valid and time-honored understanding among Christians.
There’s a great danger in stressing conversion over against pilgrimage. I’ve heard preachers say, when “preaching for a verdict” (as it’s sometimes called—urging commitment to Christ), that if you can’t name the exact day and hour when you accepted Christ, then you’re not really a Christian and you need to get saved now. I think this can actually undermine the assurance of salvation that people would otherwise have if we encouraged them instead to think back over their lives and recognize the ways in which God had been “drawing them nearer.”
I think that profession of faith and baptism are excellent and appropriate ways for us to express a commitment that we’re growing into. But our assurance shouldn’t rest on having done those things, nor should it rest on having asked Jesus into our heart at a definite time. Instead, our assurance of salvation should rest on our recognition of God’s activity in drawing us to Himself, and our acknowledgment that we have been responding positively at each step along the way. We can be confident that “he who began a good work in us will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ,” as Paul writes to the Philippians. And in that sense we’re definitely “in,” with or without “that moment.”
Q. If there are intelligent beings on other planets, are they saved by Christ’s death, too?
Any response to this question has to be highly speculative, of course, but let me share some thoughts.
When I was in college, this same question would sometimes be asked of speakers who came to share the gospel on campus. (I guess it was an updated version of the question, “What about people who never get the chance to hear?”) The speaker would typically say, very confidently, “If there are intelligent beings on other planets, then God went to those planets, took on the form of those beings, and died for them, too.” This response certainly reflects the relentless love of God, who comes to seek and save the lost, wherever they might be found, and so this answer is satisfying in many ways.
But in more recent years, I’ve been wondering whether Jesus’ incarnation on earth instead represented a unique entrance of God into all of time and space, just as it certainly represented a unique entrance into our specific world. (Christ did not come to earth many times, to die separately for the people of different times and places.) If that’s the case, then if there are intelligent beings on other planets, and we discover their existence, then it’s our responsibility to tell them about how God’s saving love has been shown definitively through the life, teachings, death, and resurrection of Jesus, and invite them to follow him, too.
And here’s one other possibility. Since these intelligent beings on other planets, by definition, are not members of Adam’s race, perhaps they are not fallen. (The premise of C.S. Lewis’s book Perelandra is that there are intelligent beings on Venus who have not yet fallen; the mission of the book’s central character, Ransom, is to keep them from falling.) And if this extraterrestrial race is not fallen, then it is still enjoying unbroken fellowship with God. But that doesn’t mean that those beings wouldn’t benefit from Christ’s death; it would just mean something different for them. It would still be a revelation of God’s saving love, showing how far God would go to bring them back if they ever did fall away, and I’d like to think that as such, in some sense, it would have a “saving” effect by drawing their hearts even closer to God.
I realize that I’m getting into some murky theological waters here, specifically, the distinction between (1) the belief that the fall was inevitable because it was the means God had chosen to become the occasion of our salvation and (2) the belief that the fall was not necessary or inevitable; people could just as easily have used their freedom to choose obedience rather than disobedience. But I won’t go into this distinction any further here, as I’ve discussed it in another post.
But I will acknowledge here that anyone who believes that the fall of the human race was inevitable will also conclude that any intelligent beings (free moral agents) on other planets have also fallen, too, and thus need either for Christ to come and die for them on their planet, or else for us to share with them the good news of what Christ has done definitively for the whole creation through his death on a cross here on earth.
Q. Why did Jesus say, “Unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you”? Whatever he meant was so hard to understand that some of his own followers left when he said this. What’s this all about?
This statement by Jesus needs to be understood in light of two important distinctives of the gospel of John.
First, as I explain in my study guide to that book, “The festivals and locations that Jesus visits allow his identity to be disclosed against the symbolic background of Jewish religious life and history.” In this case, when Jesus journeys across the Sea of Galilee and back at the time of Passover, “The focus is on the event that Passover commemorates: the exodus of the people of Israel from Egypt under the leadership of Moses. . . . While Jesus is on the far shore of the lake, he miraculously feeds a large crowd. When the crowd returns to the opposite shore, they compare this feeding with the manna, the ‘bread from heaven,’ that Moses gave the Israelites in the wilderness.”
Next, as I also explain in my guide, in this gospel Jesus has “conversations . . . with many different people,” and these conversations “tend to follow a certain pattern. Jesus speaks of spiritual realities, but his listeners misunderstand him and think he’s speaking about material realities. They ask questions to try to clear up the confusion, and this gives Jesus (or John, speaking as the narrator) the opportunity to explain the spiritual realities further,” often in an extended discourse.
Jesus’ discourse after the miraculous feeding is designed to explain its meaning. “Jesus turns the crowd’s focus from the sign itself to what it reveals about who he is. He wants them to see him not as the one who gave the bread, but as the one who is the bread. His identification of himself with the manna, the ‘bread from heaven,’ points to his heavenly origins and the divine life he imparts.”
And so Jesus explains in his discourse, “Very truly I tell you, the one who believes has eternal life. I am the bread of life. Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, yet they died. But here is the bread that comes down from heaven, which anyone may eat and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will live forever. This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.”
In other words, when Jesus says “I am the bread of life” and then refers to “eating this bread” in order to have life, what he’s actually talking about is people “believing” in him. As he says in this same discourse, “Everyone who looks to the Son and believes in him shall have eternal life.”
Unfortunately, the crowds misunderstand Jesus and think he is talking about material realities (food and drink, or even his own flesh and blood). Some of them are so confused and scandalized that, as John reports, they “turned back and no longer followed him.” But when Jesus asked the Twelve who were closest to him whether they wanted to leave too, Peter, speaking for all of them, replied, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We have come to believe and to know that you are the Holy One of God.”
This is the response that John wants all readers of his gospel to make as well, by seeing through the material elements that are literally under discussion to the spiritual realities behind them.
A footnote to this discussion: As I also note in my study guide, “Many interpreters believe that Jesus’ words here about ‘eating his flesh’ and ‘drinking his blood’ are a reference to the Lord’s Supper or Eucharist. These interpreters point out that John doesn’t describe anywhere else in his gospel how Jesus instituted this sacrament. They suggest that John may therefore be doing that here. Eucharistic themes do run through the gospel. For example, the two things that Jesus provides miraculously are wine (at the wedding in Cana) and bread (on the far shore of the Sea of Galilee).” However, if Jesus’ statement is in some way a reference to the Eucharist, the intention is clearly not for people to see eating the material elements of bread and wine as the way to “have life.” Rather, this act is properly an expression of a person’s belief in Jesus. That is the spiritual reality behind this physical and sacramental act.
Q. Do you believe that God is the creator of time and hence outside of it, or that he is in time like the rest of us? If you believe God is outside time, and is its creator, why wouldn’t it be possible for God to simply view all of history, past and future, like a canvas or movie, without infringing on human free will?
I don’t think that “inside” and “outside” are quite the right terms to use when thinking about God’s relationship with time. Let me explain what I mean by analogy to God’s relationship with space (the physical creation), the other part of the space-time continuum.
God is immanent in creation, that is, God is present in every single part of it. But that doesn’t mean that God is “inside” creation, in the sense of being contained within it. That would be pantheism.
Because we know that God is not contained within creation, we also confess that God is transcendent beyond creation. But that does not mean God is separated or excluded from creation. That would be gnosticism, with its radical spirit-matter distinction.
To avoid both of these errors, Christians have historically confessed that God is both immanent in creation and transcendent beyond creation, and I think we should understand God’s relationship to time in the same way. God is immanent in time in the sense of being present at every single moment of time, but God is also transcendent beyond time (as its creator, as you say), not bound or limited by it the way we are.
So does this mean that God can simultaneously view all moments in time and know what is going to happen in the future without infringing on human free will?
Let me answer that question with another question, based again on an analogy to space: Can God be present in a place that doesn’t exist? No, that’s not what we understand God’s immanence to mean. It means that God is present in all places that really do exist within the creation that God made.
Similarly, God cannot be present in a time that does not exist. And the future does not exist yet. The existence of the creation that God made unfolds in “real time” (so to speak)—that’s simply its character—so there’s nowhere to be (actually, “nowhen” to be) until time moves forward.
It is possible to view all of a canvas (painting) at the same time. But it’s not possible to view every single moment in a movie all at the same time. If a movie has been recorded and we have the capacity to rewind or fast forward, we can view any particular moment in it that we wish. In that sense we have the same relationship to the characters and events in the movie that God, being transcendent, has in relationship to time.
But we can’t do this with a movie that hasn’t been made yet. And so it is no limitation on God’s transcendence in relationship to time (one aspect of God’s omnipresence) that God can’t do this with the future that does not yet exist, either. This is really the same point that I’ve made in several previous posts when discussing God’s omniscience: it is no defect in omniscience not to know what cannot be known (the “last digit” of pi, for example).
God knows His own plans for the future, how He wants to bring human history to its culmination, and that’s what’s described for us in the Bible in places like the book of Revelation. But God will actually fulfill His own plans in creative response to the millions and billions of free choices that people will make between now and then. God can’t jump ahead into a future that does not yet exist in order to know in advance how everything will turn out. But God can know, and tell us, how everything will turn out in the end because He will shape the destiny of history by His own sovereign power and authority.
Q. Today in my Quiet Time I read in Genesis about God wrestling with Jacob. I was really puzzled where it says, “When the man saw that he could not overpower him . . .” I don’t understand how God could not overpower a human being. God took on human form, but didn’t He still have the strength God would have? What do you think it means?
Also, I know God and Jesus have taken human form before, and I was wondering, has the Holy Spirit ever done so? I don’t remember any passages where He does, but are there any?
The so-called “man” in this episode who wrestles with Jacob is just like the “angel of the LORD” who appears in other Old Testament passages, though he’s not specifically called that here. He is a “theophany” or manifestation of God on earth. Jacob recognizes this and says, “I have seen God face to face” (in human form, at least).
It’s clear that this “man” has supernatural powers available to him, because to bring the wrestling match to an end, he’s able to wrench Jacob’s hip out of its socket simply by touching it. But he has apparently chosen not to use these powers over the course of the match, in order to demonstrate something. (This is analogous to the way that Jesus, to provide an example and model for us, “emptied himself” of his divine powers such as omnipotence, omniscience and omnipresence in order to live a perfect human life through obedience to the Father in the power of the Holy Spirit.)
So what was God trying to demonstrate in this wrestling match by limiting himself to human powers? When he blesses and renames Jacob he says, “You have struggled with God and with humans and have overcome.” So he had probably been giving Jacob an opportunity to demonstrate, in a dramatic way on a single occasion, the tenacity and endurance God had seen him develop throughout 20 difficult years in exile. Those years had transformed Jacob from a conniving and grasping young man to the mature leader of a large clan who was now willing to face the brother he’d cheated and make things right with him. (In my Genesis study guide, I show how Jacob was not only reconciled with his brother Esau shortly after this, he also made restitution for much of what he’d stolen from him.)
In his reflections on “The End for Which God Created the World,” the early American theologian Jonathan Edwards observes that since God’s perfections are “in themselves excellent,” it was also “an excellent thing” for them to become known. It seems to me that in the same way, God considers it “an excellent thing” for the character qualities Jacob has developed to become known, and so he arranges (personally!) for a demonstration of them, in the form of this wrestling match. (We might similarly see some of our struggles in life as an opportunity that God is giving us to demonstrate the character we have been developing.)
We can only speculate about how the match ever got started. Perhaps the man blocked the route that Jacob wanted to take and Jacob had to try to wrestle him out of the way. Or perhaps Jacob sensed who he was from the start and grappled with him in order to obtain a blessing (just as he says at the end, “I won’t let you go until you bless me”).
But however the match began, it’s probably more significant to ask exactly what the man means when he tells Jacob, “You have struggled with God and with humans and have overcome.” How can a person “overcome” God? I don’t think it just means, “You wrestled God to a draw when God decided to use only human powers.”
Rather, I think it means that Jacob, in a desire to get back home from exile (something only God could make possible), determinedly worked through everything in his life that would have kept God from letting him to go back. When he was finally heading home, he testified to Laban about the honesty and integrity he had developed: “I bore the loss myself,” he said, if any of Laban’s flocks were torn by wild beasts or stolen. So we might say that Jacob was “wrestling” with God all those 20 years in exile, striving to become the kind of person God could safely send back to Canaan to continue the line of covenant promise. The wrestling match just before he got back home was a dramatic demonstration of what had been going on all along. God took on human form and limited powers in order to make that demonstration.
I’ll answer the second part of your question, about whether the Holy Spirit ever took on human form, in my next post.
Q. How would you answer the “Euthyphro Dilemma,” that is, the question that asks, “Does God command particular actions because they are morally right, or are they morally right because God commands them?” If you accept the first option, it would seem that God is not the basis of morality, but is simply a “recognizer” of morally right things. On the other hand, if an action is morally right because God says so, it means that it could be potentially morally right and obligatory to inflict pain and suffering on others. There is more to the discussion than just that, obviously, but I was just wondering which (if either) path you tend to favor and how you answer this “dilemma”?
The “Euthyphro Dilemma” (so called because it is first raised in Western literature and philosophy in Plato’s dialogue Euthyphro) is a truly vast question that has received much consideration over the whole history of Christian moral theological reflection. I won’t be able to do much justice in a short blog post, but let me say briefly that I’m among those who consider this actually to be a false dilemma. I believe that the inherent moral structure of the universe reflects the character of the God who created it, and that God’s own assessment of actions (whether they should be commanded or forbidden) similarly reflects His own character, so we don’t have to choose between where we think the rightness or wrongness of an action should be grounded.
From this perspective of mine, there’s no problem of God being subject to a moral authority outside himself. There’s also no problem of anything morally questionable that God might command (such as lying, killing, etc.) being “good,” because we have things like conscience and natural law, built into the moral fabric of the universe, to help us recognize that when God does tell people to do such troubling things, this must be under exceptional circumstances and for exceptional reasons that are somehow justifiable.
However, there still are a couple aspects of the question that remain something of a “dilemma” for me. First, exactly what is going on in those “exceptional” circumstances? How could a good God command lying or killing at all? I’ve discussed this in some other posts on this blog; for example, for lying or deception, see the series of posts that begins here; for killing or “holy war,” see this post. I say in these posts that these “exceptional” cases are among the most difficult and troubling passages in the entire Bible for thoughtful readers, and so in saying that I consider the Euthyphro Dilemma to be a false dilemma, I don’t want to minimize that at all.
The second aspect of the question that remains a dilemma is that there is no outside standard by which to determine whether what God has generally commanded and built into the moral fabric of the universe as an expression of His own character is objectively good on any other basis. We are, in effect, “trapped” within the creation of this God, and as His creatures we can only flourish within it by conforming ourselves more and more to His character. Now personally I have no problem with this! But for those who might want to be able to hold God accountable to some objective standard, that actually isn’t possible. (This is one of the main issues raised and debated in the book of Job, as I show in my study guide to that book.)
Nietzsche argued that the Christian ethic of love, compassion, humility, and forgiveness bred “weaklings” who failed to assert themselves, as they should, in acts of power against other creatures. Nietzsche didn’t believe in God, but if he did, he would no doubt have said that the wrong kind of God had made our world and given us the wrong kind of guidance in our tender consciences and innate sense of fair play.
There’s no way to answer such a perspective, which is really an expression of faith in a way of life opposite to the one the Christian faith teaches, except by faith itself. We can’t prove that we love and serve the best possible God from within a beautifully ordered moral universe of His creation. We can only say that as we are getting to know Him and serve Him better and better, this certainly seems to be the case. We have to take all the rest on faith.
Q. . . . Which elements of dispensationalism do you most find fault with? Perhaps you could touch on your understanding of Daniel’s seventy weeks, the “great” tribulation, and the status of the nation of Israel in regards to the promises God had made specifically to it in the Old Testament.
I answered the first part of this question more generally in my last post. Let me address here some of the specifics you’ve asked about.
Daniel’s “seventy weeks” are literally “seventy sevens.” Dispensational interpreters take this to mean seventy periods of seven years each, and they understand the “great tribulation” described in Revelation to be the last of these periods. The events that will take place over this whole period of time are described at the end of Daniel’s third vision. There the angel Gabriel explains:
“Seventy ‘sevens’ are decreed for your people and your holy city to finish transgression, to put an end to sin, to atone for wickedness, to bring in everlasting righteousness, to seal up vision and prophecy and to anoint the Most Holy Place. Know and understand this: From the time the word goes out to restore and rebuild Jerusalem until the Anointed One, the ruler, comes, there will be seven ‘sevens,’ and sixty-two ‘sevens.’ It will be rebuilt with streets and a trench, but in times of trouble. After the sixty-two ‘sevens,’ the Anointed One will be put to death and will have nothing. The people of the ruler who will come will destroy the city and the sanctuary. The end will come like a flood: War will continue until the end, and desolations have been decreed. He will confirm a covenant with many for one ‘seven.’ In the middle of the ‘seven’ he will put an end to sacrifice and offering. And at the temple he will set up an abomination that causes desolation, until the end that is decreed is poured out on him.”
As I explained last time, John Nelson Darby, who developed dispensationalism as we know it today, believed that the Jewish nation would replace the multinational community of Jesus’ followers as the people of God on earth at the end of history. And so he was inclined to apply these words to the Jews and to believe that they would be fulfilled in the “end times,” as world history reached its culmination.
But expecting a future fulfillment of biblical words like these inevitably involves much speculation, and continual revision as world events overtake whatever scenario is originally conceived. That is why you are probably familiar with numerous timetables for how these “seventy sevens” play out and various versions of the “great tribulation” or last “seven” at the end.
I think it is more responsible, and more in keeping with the way we interpret the rest of the Bible, to ask first whether Gabriel’s words in Daniel’s third vision might not already have had their specific historical fulfillment, so that anything we can anticipate in the future will be something analogous, not something directly predicted. Here’s what I say about this in my study guide to Daniel and Revelation:
– – – – –
Biblical scholars have discussed and debated Gabriel’s words extensively, but they haven’t reached any consensus about how to interpret them. It’s not obvious how they line up with events in later history, and attempts to explain them can quickly become speculative and fanciful. One observation we can make, however, is that many of the details Gabriel provides seem to correspond with events in the reign of Antiochus IV Epiphanes:
– “The anointed one will be put to death” may describe the murder of the Jewish high priest Onias by his rival Jason in 171 B.C.;
– “He will make a covenant with many” may refer to the agreement Antiochus made with the Jewish nation once Jason seized power;
– “In the middle of the ‘seven’ he will put an end to sacrifice and offering” may describe how Antiochus suppressed Jewish worship three and a half years after making this agreement;
– “He will set up an abomination that causes desolation” may indicate how Antiochus desecrated the temple;
– “The end that is decreed is poured out on him” could describe Antiochus’s sudden death from disease in 164 B.C.
The explanation of what Daniel found “beyond understanding” in the previous vision, therefore, is that the temple, desolate in his day, will be rebuilt, but then desolated again by an evil ruler who will ultimately be judged by God. This is a further warning to God’s people that they need to be faithful, even to death, and refuse any compromise. It’s still not evident, however, how the “seventy sevens” get the reader down to the time of Antiochus from Daniel’s day. So, much remains to be understood in this fascinating but cryptic prophecy.
– – – – –
You can see that I take quite a different view from the one that characterizes dispensationalism. But it’s because my interpretive presuppositions are so different. In the same study guide I explain the four ways that the book of Revelation is interpreted, and the same approaches can be taken to the book of Daniel:
– – – – –
The book of Revelation is interpreted in four major ways. The futurist approach understands it to be a description of the events of the “end times,” at the end of human history. (Works like the novels and movies in the Left Behind series follow this approach.) The historicist view sees the book as a prediction of the whole course of history, from Jesus and the apostles down through the present to the end of the world. The idealist interpretation is that Revelation depicts the struggles and triumphs that followers of Jesus will experience everywhere, but it doesn’t have any particular place or time in view. The preterist approach is to try to understand the book by reference to the time and place it was written in–western Asia Minor towards the close of the first century.
– – – – –
After this review of approaches I explain, “This study guide will consistently pursue a preterist interpretation. If this is new for you, and you’re much more used to hearing the book treated differently, just try to keep an open mind and look for the potential benefits of this approach as you and your group do the following sessions together.” I should say the same thing about the posts on this blog!
One last item you asked about was “the status of the nation of Israel in regards to the promises God had made specifically to it in the Old Testament.” Let me refer you to this post for my thoughts on that. And yes, that post, too, is written from a preterist perspective.
Q. Jesus says near the end of the Sermon on the Mount, “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.’”
The point of the passage seems to be that those who are rejected were trusting in their works since the justifications they bring to Jesus are the things they did in His name—they weren’t trusting in what He did for them. If that is truly the point, is it enough to simply understand intellectually what Jesus did and believe that we are saved by grace as an unearned gift ? It seems that the Bible kind of says that one is saved solely on an intellectual basis, but at the same time that one isn’t truly saved unless one demonstrates works as well. How do you read that?
That passage from the Sermon on the Mount might not be the best one to use in order to address your question, because at least as I see it, the issue there isn’t believing vs. works. The issue is trying to use Jesus’ name in exorcisms or prophecies as if it were some kind of magic word, without being a committed follower of Jesus personally–like the sons of Sceva we read about in Acts who were trying to cast out demons by saying, “In the name of the Jesus whom Paul preaches, I command you to come out.” (Note that the statement you quote comes in the section of the Sermon on the Mount that begins with Jesus saying, “Watch out for false prophets.”)
I think a better way to address your concern would be to compare and contrast the biblical perspectives you summarized at the end of your question: either that salvation comes by grace through faith, apart from works, or else that some kind of works are needed. For example, Paul writes in Ephesians, “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast.” But James writes, seemingly contradictorily, that “a person is justified by works and not by faith alone.”
However, we can tell that Paul and James really aren’t contradicting one another by the way they both appeal to the biblical statement that says, “Abraham believed God, and it was credited to him as righteousness.”
In Romans Paul appeals to the fact that this was said of Abraham before he was circumcised. Thus he didn’t have to do any kind of works (such as being circumcised or anything else) in order to earn righteousness. His salvation was a gift that came by faith.
But James appeals to the very same statement to argue that we would never know that Abraham had genuinely saving faith unless he did something to demonstrate it. That’s why James says that “Abraham was justified by works when he offered his son Isaac on the altar”–not justified in the sense of being made righteous, but in the sense of being shown to be righteous. Only a person who was truly trusting God in faith would have obeyed such a difficult command.
And so if we claim to have been saved by trusting and believing in what Jesus did for us, we should reasonably expect that salvation to manifest itself in “works,” not things we do to earn or secure our salvation, but things that flow naturally from it: deeds of obedience, consecration, sacrifice, and service. These, both Paul and James would agree, are the signs of true faith.
Q. In the gospel of John, when Jesus is speaking with Nicodemus, why does he liken Himself to the serpent that was lifted up in the desert in the Old Testament, considering that serpents are usually associated with Satan? Why was a serpent chosen as a type/foreshadowing of what Jesus would do on the cross, especially in light of the Bible always emphasizing the “lamb” that was slain? I’ve thought that perhaps in a sense sin/evil was on the cross since Jesus “became sin” to put an end to it, but other than that it just seems weird to me.
Jesus refers to the way Moses made a bronze serpent and put it up on a pole in order to make one specific point to Nicodemus. Jesus has just told him that he needs to be “born again” in order to enter the kingdom of God. Nicodemus has misunderstood this and thinks that Jesus is describing something physical rather than something spiritual. (This happens often in Jesus’ conversations with people in this gospel, as I explain in my study guide to John.) “How can someone be born when they are old?” Nicodemus asks.
Jesus tries to explain that he’s talking about being “born of the Spirit,” but Nicodemus still asks, “How can this be?” So Jesus uses the episode of the bronze serpent to explain more precisely what he means by being “born again.”
This episode is related in the book of Numbers. The Israelites are traveling through the wilderness and they start complaining about the very manna that God has been providing miraculously to feed them in the desert. (They say, “We detest this miserable food!”) As a punishment for their ingratitude, God sends poisonous snakes among them and many of the Israelites start dying from snake bites. So they come to Moses and admit, “We sinned when we spoke against the Lord and against you.” They ask him to “pray that the Lord will take the snakes away from us.” God forgives the people and tells Moses to make a bronze snake and put it up on a pole.” God promises, “Anyone who is bitten can look at it and live.”
In other words, an admission of sin and a response of hopeful faith, looking to the means God provided for deliverance, was how the Israelites could be rescued from physical death in this instance. Jesus is telling Nicodemus that the same thing will be true, on a much grander scale in the spiritual realm, when he is “lifted up” onto the cross. Anyone who is sincerely sorry for the way they’ve disobeyed and offended God, and who looks in hopeful faith to Jesus’ death on the cross for their sake, will be rescued spiritually and given the chance to live anew. This is what it means to be “born again.”
So that is the single point of comparison: just as the Israelites needed to look in hopeful faith to God’s provision for their physical deliverance in the wilderness, so Nicodemus (and anyone else, ever since, who hears about Jesus’ conversation with him) needs to look in hopeful faith to God’s provision for their spiritual deliverance in the form of Jesus’ death on the cross.
We should not make any further points of comparison, such as “Jesus must be like a serpent in some way, rather than a lamb, because he said he had to be lifted up just as the serpent was lifted up.”
However, we should keep in mind that in the gospel of John, there are always multiple levels of meaning at work. Behind physical references there is often spiritual significance. We’ve already seen that this is true when Jesus speaks about being “born,” and it’s also true when he speaks of himself being “lifted up.” This can mean simply being raised onto the cross, but as a footnote in the NIV explains each time this phrase occurs in John, “The Greek for lifted up also means exalted.” We need to recognize that this spiritual meaning is also in view when Jesus says things like, “When I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself.”