Category Archives: The Bible

Reflections on Revelation: Who is 666?

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“Here is wisdom. Let him who has understanding calculate the number of the beast, for it is the number of a man: His number is 666.” (Revelation 13:18)

Revelation says that 666 is the number of a man. So who is that man? Is it Trump or Biden? Pope Frances or King Charles? Bill Gates or Elon Musk?

I have a different theory. The number 666 is not talking about a forthcoming man. Instead, 666 is a reference to King Solomon.

How can that be? To understand this theory, we need to look back at the history of the kings who reigned over Israel.

Pharaoh, King of Egypt

At the beginning of the book of Exodus, the Israelites have found themselves residing in Egypt after relocating there under the governorship of Joseph. Soon after, there arose a new king over Egypt who did not know Joseph. He was concerned that the Israelites might soon become a threat, so he decided he would “deal wisely [חָכַם – chakam] with them” (Exodus 1:10):

“Therefore they set taskmasters [שָׂרֵי מִסִּים – saray mesiym, lit. “rulers of slaves”] over them to afflict them with their burdens [סְבָלָה – subala]. And they built for Pharaoh supply cities [עָרֵי מִסְכְּנוֹת – aray miskunot], Pithom and Raamses.” (Exodus 1:11)

God, of course, did not take kindly to the enslavement of His people, so He brought plagues upon Egypt, resulting in the deliverance of the Israelites and the destruction of the Egyptians.

As the Israelites wandered through the desert towards the Promised Land, God commanded the Israelites that they were to be a nation unlike any of the other nations. They were to be a special treasure above all others, a kingdom of priests and a holy nation (Exodus 19:5-6).

Of course, God knew what lay ahead. One day, God foretold, they would come to Him and say, “Give us a king to judge us like all the other nations” (Deuteronomy 17:14, 1 Samuel 8:5). To ensure that the Israelites would have a good king, God gave three commandments specifically to these future kings. Upon their ascension to the throne, they were to write down these three commandments and read them every single day. And what were those three commandments?

  1. He shall not multiply horses for himself, nor cause the people to return to Egypt to multiply horses;
  2. Neither shall he multiply wives for himself, lest his heart turn away;
  3. Nor shall he greatly multiply silver and gold for himself. (Deuteronomy 17:16-20)

Even though the very first thing God said to mankind was that they were to “multiply” (Genesis 1:28), God demanded that the kings abstain from multiplying in these three areas: Egyptian horses, wives, and silver and gold.

Solomon, King of Israel

Fast forward four hundred and eighty years. Solomon the son of David has been crowned King of Israel, commissioned by his father to build God a temple. God has granted Solomon a wise [חָכָם – chakam] heart, to be used to “administer justice” (1 Kings 3:28). Thus Solomon begins the work of building God a house.

And how does it build this house?

“So the LORD gave Solomon wisdom, as He had promised him… Then King Solomon raised up a labor force [מַס – mas, singular of mesiym] out of all Israel; and the labor force [מַס – mas] was thirty thousand men.” (1 Kings 5:12, 13)

Solomon built the temple using the labor of 30,000 slaves—something the pagan king of Tyre called very “wise” [חָכָם – chakam] (1 Kings 5:7). Just as the Egyptians, in an attempt to be wise, enslaved the Israelites to build their temples, so too did King Solomon, in all his supposed wisdom, enslave the surrounding nations to build his temple (1 Kings 5:13, 9:15).

Following in Egypt’s footsteps, Solomon also ordered that storage cities [עָרֵי הַֽמִּסְכְּנוֹת – aray hamiskunot] be built (1 Kings 9:19); he appointed Israelite rulers [שָׂרֵי – saray] over the slaves (1 Kings 9:23); he even appointed Jeroboam (who would soon lead a rebellion against Solomon’s son) to oversee the burden [סֵבֶל – sabel, root of “subala”] of the labor force (1 Kings 11:28).

Rather than lead the people to be a holy nation, set apart from the rest of the nations, Solomon seemed set on emulating the other nations. He apparently took Exodus 1:11—a description of the persecution and enslavement of his people—and used it as a template to establish his own kingdom.

It should then come as no surprise what we read in the following chapters. Solomon begins making alliances with all of the pagan nations that surrounded Israel, intermarrying with idolatrous wives—wives who would soon turn his heart from the LORD. He winds up with an astonishing seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines, mostly from Egypt, Moab, Ammon, Edom, and Sidon; and sure enough, he was soon worshipping Ashtoreth and building temples for Chemosh and Molech (1 Kings 11).

He also began purchasing thousands of Egyptian horses to build up his army, trusting in chariots and horses for protection rather than in the name of the LORD (Psalm 20:7). To build his wealth and strengthen his alliances with the pagan nations, he exported some of these Egyptian horses to the kings of Syria and surrounding nations—the same nations that would soon attempt to conquer Israel (1 Kings 10:28, 29).

Between profiteering from the sale of Egyptian war horses to enemy nations and exploiting slave labor to build his kingdom, Solomon became one of the wealthiest men who ever lived, generating over a billion dollars in silver and gold every year. Far from multiplying justice and righteousness, Solomon was multiplying the precise things he was commanded to abstain from: foreign women, Egyptian war horses, and silver and gold.

And just how much did he make every year?

“The weight of gold that came to Solomon yearly was six hundred and sixty-six talents of gold.” (1 Kings 10:14)

That’s right. After building his kingdom—and God’s!—on the backs of slaves, after forsaking the three commandments that God had given him, after abandoning the call to use his wisdom to spread justice and righteousness to the surrounding nations, Solomon instead turned from God’s Word and exploited the gifts he had been given to make himself rich and famous.

And the number assigned to that betrayal was 666.

The Number of the Beast

I don’t think that Solomon was the Antichrist, or that he’s coming back to usher in the last days. Rather, my current reading is that the warnings we were given concerning the number of the beast were meant to prepare us against the spirit that turned Solomon away from the LORD.

Israel was called to be a holy nation, a kingdom of priests, a special treasure set apart from the rest of the world (Exodus 19:5, 6). But instead, Israel decided to fall in line with the sins of every other nation, leading to sexual immorality, greed, human rights abuses, and idolatry.

We too, the Church, are called to be a holy nation, a royal priesthood, His own special people, who will proclaim the praises of Him who called us out of the darkness of this wicked world and into the marvelous light of His kingdom (1 Peter 2:9). Will we walk in that light, or will we follow in the footsteps of Solomon—and Pharaoh before him? Will we give into lust and celebrate sexual perversion in order to fit in with this corrupt generation? Will we betray God’s Word if it will make us a few extra bucks? Will we exploit and dehumanize those made in God’s image to score cheap political points? Will we bow our knee to the gods of this generation? Or will we hold fast to the one true God, regardless of the cost?

Here is wisdom. Choose this day whom you will serve.

P.S.

Isn’t 666 a reference to [Nero/the pope/Nickelback/etc.]?

Sure, I see no reason why that can’t also be true. God, in His infinite wisdom, is able to give prophesies that could have multiple accurate meanings. It’s certainly possible that Revelation 13 could be warning Christians of the dangers of following in the footsteps of Solomon while also warning that various world leaders have already followed in Solomon’s footsteps and are an immediate threat.

It’s also possible that 666 has nothing to do with Solomon. It just seemed like too big a coincidence not to be intentional.

How Hebrew Poetry Accents Scripture: A Reflection on Lamentations during Tisha B’av

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Tomorrow night is the start of Tisha B’av—the observance of when the first and second temple were destroyed (586 BC by Babylon and 70 AD by Rome). Traditionally on Tisha B’av, the book of Lamentations is read, which consists of a five-chapter dirge over the destruction of Jerusalem. If you haven’t read it recently, I encourage you to check it out this weekend.

The first chapter of Lamentations consists of 22 triplets that follow a qinah meter. As the Hebrew alphabet has 22 verses, each triplet begins with the subsequent letter of the alphabet, making the first chapter an acrostic poem. The second chapter follows these patterns as well.

Well, almost.

If you look closely, there are a few cracks beneath the surface of these poetic flourishes. The acrostic is not quite right. The letter pe (17th letter) comes before the ayin (16th letter). Additionally, the qinah meter, while almost universal, is missing from a few verses. The poetry looks great to the untrained eye, but it’s slowly falling apart underneath.

The third chapter continues the (almost) pattern of acrostic and qinah meter, even leveling it up a bit. Not only does each triplet begin with the next Hebrew letter—each line of each triplet begins with the next Hebrew letter as well. It’s no surprise that, as the poetry seems to improve, the subject changes from merely lamenting the destruction of Jerusalem to calls for repentance and a renewed hope that God will deliver them from their troubles. But while they seem to be getting things in order, the flaws in the poetry remain.

The improved poetry is short-lived. In chapter 4, rather than acrostic triplets, there is a noticeable downgrade to couplets. The mismatched acrostic and missing qinah meters remain present. Just like Jerusalem, the poetry is falling apart fast.

We finally arrive at chapter 5. As you would expect, this chapter has 22 verses. But there isn’t even an attempt to form an acrostic. There are no couplets or triplets. There’s no qinah meter. All attempts at poetic flare are abandoned, just as Jerusalem had been abandoned. As Jeremiah laments, “The young men [have ceased] from their song” (Lamentations 5:14).

As we look back on the destruction of the City of God this weekend, let’s reflect on the state of our own “city upon a hill.” Are we living out God’s commission towards peace and justice? Or have we moved our souls far from peace and forgotten God’s goodness (Lamentations 3:17)?

It’s not too late to turn things around.

“Let us search out and examine our ways,

And turn back to the LORD.

Let us lift our hearts and hands

To God in heaven.” (Lamentations 3:40, 41)

Redemption in Ruth: Lot and Judah

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In the opening verses of Ruth, we are introduced to a tragic family. When a famine strikes the land, a Judahite named Elimelech takes his wife and two sons and moves to the pagan nation of Moab, where his sons are quickly married off to Moabite women. Over the next few years, Elimelech and his two sons die, leaving the three women all alone.

We’re only five verses into the chapter and we’ve got a dead parent and two dead sons living in the wrong place. The question is, have we read this story before?

Lot and the Moabites

By Genesis 13, God had exceedingly abundantly blessed Abram. In fact, Abram and his people had prospered so much that the land could hardly support Abram’s—and his nephew Lot’s— herds. As a result, Lot made the choice to leave his uncle and strike off on his own. His destination? The beautiful city of Sodom.

That’s right. Rather than give up a few of his earthly possessions and stick with one of the only godly men on the planet, Lot decided to relocate his family to a city so wicked that God would soon be forced to wipe it off the map in a few short years.

Those few short years pass and soon enough, Lot and his family are evacuated as fire rains down from heaven upon Sodom. During the evacuation, Lot’s wife, along with his two sons-in-law, foolishly choose to disobey God’s instructions and end up getting themselves killed. Widowed Lot takes his two widowed daughters and escapes to the mountains, essentially giving up on human civilization and the continuation of their family.

Lot’s daughters begin to worry about the legacy of their father. Without husbands, they would be unable to produce children and thus Lot’s family would end with them—a shameful thing in the ancient world. So the girls come up with a plan:

“Come, let us make our father drink wine, and we will lie with him, that we may preserve the lineage of our father.” (Genesis 19:32)

Their plan is to get their dad black-out drunk, rape him, and birth incestual children—all to protect Lot’s family legacy. The firstborn of these two children was named Moab, and he became the father of the Moabite people.

Notice the elements of this Moabite origin story:

  1. A disobedient family in the wrong place at the wrong time
  2. A dead parent and two dead sons
  3. A concern about the continued lineage of the patriarch
  4. Sexual sin as a means to fix the problem

All of this might sound familiar. But before returning to Ruth, can you think of any other stories that follow this pattern?

Judah and Tamar

After reading about the early life and betrayal of Joseph, the narrative pauses to tell us a story about Judah. After selling his brother into slavery, we are told that “Judah departed from his brothers” and from the land God had given his family to dwell with the Canaanites (Genesis 38:1). Judah marries a local woman and has three sons—Er, Onan, and Shelah.

Er marries a woman named Tamar, but before they have any children Er’s wicked lifestyle catches up with him and he dies childless. As was the custom of the day, another male from the deceased’s family—usually a brother—would marry the widow and produce children to preserve the lineage of the deceased. Judah follows this custom and has his second son Onan marry Tamar. However, Onan follows in his brother’s wickedness and soon dies, again without any children. Finally, we are told that Judah’s wife died as well.

According to the law, Judah should have then arranged a marriage between his son Shelah and Tamar. However, fearing that Shelah will stray into wickedness and die as well, Judah refuses.

So just as Lot’s daughters before her, Tamar takes matters into her own hands. She takes off her mourning clothes and puts on—well, she puts on a lot less. She dresses herself like a prostitute and stands on the corner outside Judah’s place, hoping to lure him into bed.

And as you would expect of a sinful and lonely man, the plan works perfectly. Soon enough, Tamar is pregnant with twin babies—all to protect Judah’s family legacy. The firstborn of these two children was named Perez, and he became the primary line of the Judahite people.

Take note of the parallels between this story and that of the Moabites:

  1. A disobedient family in the wrong place at the wrong time
  2. A dead parent and two dead sons
  3. A concern about the continued lineage of the patriarch
  4. Sexual sin as a means to fix the problem

Now with all this context in mind, let’s return to the story of Ruth.

Ruth and Boaz

The narrative begins with the first two elements we saw in the stories of Lot and Judah: (1) a disobedient family who moved to the wrong place; and (2) a dead parent and two dead sons. Following the pattern, we should expect a woman to tempt a man into sexual sin in order to continue the patriarch’s lineage. But instead, something happens that changes the trajectory of the whole story.

Ruth chooses to return to Judah.

But Ruth said:

“Entreat me not to leave you,

Or to turn back from following after you;

For wherever you go, I will go;

And wherever you lodge, I will lodge;

Your people shall be my people,

And your God, my God.” (Ruth 1:16)

Rather than remain in a pagan country, marry a pagan man, and serve pagan gods, Ruth goes back to the place where Yahweh was visiting His people (Ruth 1:6). She embraces a new people, a new land, and a new God.

Once in the land of Judah, Ruth ends up working the fields of Boaz, a close relative of her father-in-law Elimelech. From Passover to Pentecost, she returns daily to Boaz’s land, hoping to win his affection—along with a marriage proposal. However, after fifty days he still hasn’t made his move.

So Ruth takes matters into her own hands.

She takes a steamy bath and shaves her legs. She puts on makeup and perfume. She throws on her hottest dress. And in the middle of the night, she heads over to Boaz’s place.

Based on the pattern of Lot and Judah, this is where we’d expect Ruth to entice Boaz into some sort of sexual sin to close the deal. But instead, Ruth finds Boaz (passed out drunk, no less)—and sits quietly at the foot of his bed. After a few hours he wakes up and sees a shadowy figure by his bed. She immediately tells him, “Take me under your wing, for you are my family redeemer” (Ruth 3:9).

She calls him to action, but she wants things done by the books.

The next morning, Boaz heads into town and completes all the paperwork. Soon after he and Ruth are married.

Family Redemption

Hundreds of years earlier, two families committed terrible sins that created problems for generations. The Moabites were born out of rape and incest; the Judahites were born from prostitution. And in the story of Ruth, everything was in place for those same sins to be repeated.

But instead, a Moabite woman decided to turn from her family’s sins and follow the true God. A Judahite man decided to turn from his family’s sins and obey God’s commandments. In the union of Ruth and Boaz, both Jew and Gentile redeemed their ancestor’s shame.

It’s no wonder God chose these two redeemers to be the patriarch and matriarch of a new family—the family of King David, which would culminate 32 generations later in Jesus the Messiah.

The Perfect Woman

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In Mark 12, shortly after teaching on marriage and the importance of loving God with your whole life, Jesus observes a poor widow giving an offering to the treasury. He comments, “This poor widow has put in more than all those who have given to the treasury; for they all put in out of their abundance, but she out of her poverty put in all that she had, *her whole livelihood*” (vv. 43, 44).

That phrase “her whole livelihood” is lifted from two passages in the Hebrew Scriptures—both authored by Solomon, the wealthiest Israelite.

“The heart of her husband trusts in her… for she employs *all her living* for her husband’s good” (Proverbs 31:11, 12).

“Many waters cannot quench love, nor can the floods drown it. If a man would give for love *all the substance* of his house, it would be utterly despised” (Song of Solomon 8:7).

Solomon had all the money in the world; but his heart was in the wrong place, so ultimately he had nothing. The poor widow had nothing; but her heart was in the right place, so ultimately she had everything. She was effectively Solomon’s (and Jesus’) perfect woman: someone who, out of overwhelming love, gives everything she has to the bridegroom.

“The LORD our God, the LORD is one.
And you shall love the LORD your God
With all your heart,
With all your soul,
With all your mind,
And with all your strength.” (Mark 12:29, 30)

Why Did Peter Attack?

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The night Jesus was betrayed, Judas led a band of men to the Mount of Olives to arrest Jesus. As the Son of Man was surrounded by soldiers, priests, and Pharisees, Peter charged the captors and struck the high priest’s servant in the head with his sword.

But why?

Despite what you’ve seen in movies, Jesus and His disciples weren’t surrounded by a small group of religious men. John’s gospel tells us Judas brought “a detachment of troops.” A detachment, for those not familiar with the Roman military, was one-tenth of a legion—a legion being five thousand men. In other words, Jesus was waylaid by about 500 trained Roman soldiers—as well as a group of priests and Pharisees.

So… you have 500 armed soldiers from the world’s most power army on one side… and eleven day laborers with two swords who just woke up from a nap. What was Peter thinking?

To make sense of this, you need to understand the prophecies of Zechariah. In the final chapter of his book, Zechariah foretold of a day when God’s people would be surrounded by enemy nations bent on destroying the Jews (Zechariah 14:2). On that day, the LORD Himself would go forth against the nations to fight on behalf of His people. And His attack would start when the Messiah stood on the Mount of Olives (v. 4).

As the Messiah stood upon the Mount of Olives, surrounded by enemy nations, a great earthquake (seismos)—greater than the earthquake in the days of Uzziah—would strike, splitting (schizo) the mountain in two. Uzziah’s earthquake, of course, had occurred when the priests tried to stop the king from making a sacrifice in the temple, causing the roof of the temple to split in two (2 Chronicles 26, Antiquities IX, 10.4). Then the LORD would enter Jerusalem with the saints (hagios) (v. 5).

Next, the lights would be diminished in the middle of the day and living water (hydor) would flow from Jerusalem. Then the faces of God’s enemies would melt (think Raiders of the Lost Ark), and the LORD would be declared King over all the earth (v. 9, 12).

This prophecy may seem obscure to you, but to a persecuted first-century Jew living under Roman occupation, this would have been well-known and oft-discussed. Now consider what the disciples would have thought. They have been traveling with the Messiah, the true King of the Jews, for over three years. Jesus has been constantly talking about finishing His work, and then they head to Jerusalem during the Passover. No wonder His disciples offered to call down fire on those pagan Samaritans a few days earlier (Luke 9:54). This was the end! The time for all of their enemies to be destroyed.

Every night that week they retired to the Mount of Olives. And every night the disciples waited for Jesus to begin His holy war on God’s enemies. And finally, after days and weeks and years and centuries of waiting, five hundred Roman soldiers and a pod of imposter priests launched their attack. On the Mount of Olives, of all places. And Jesus stood to His feet.

Now was the time.

Peter charged, expecting Jesus to begin shooting lasers out of His eyes and melting all these evil men in their armor.

But Jesus’ attack never came. Instead, He reprimanded Peter and surrendered to the troops, to be taken away, tortured, and murdered on a cross.

Where was the victory of the Messiah? Where was the earthquake? The splitting of the mountain? The darkness and the flowing water and the saints? Where was the King over all the earth?

Maybe the disciples were wrong about Jesus. Maybe He wasn’t their Messiah.

But as He hung on the cross, darkness swept across the land. At noon. In the middle of the day (Matthew 27:45). Then as He took His last breath, the earth quaked (seismos), splitting the rocks apart (schizo) and tearing (schizo) the veil of the temple from top to bottom (Matthew 27:50-51).

After He died, Jesus was pierced by a soldier, and living water (hydor) flowed from His side (John 19:34). Then the graves were opened, and many bodies of the saints (hagios) were raised and entered the holy city (Matthew 27:52-53).

Peter and the disciples were expecting the Messiah to attack their enemies as He stood upon the Mount of Olives. And they were right. They just expected it to happen the wrong way. They expected Jesus to wipe out all the Romans. But the Romans weren’t their true enemy. The real enemy is death (1 Corinthians 15:26).

Just as Zechariah had prophesied, the rocks were split in two. The priests tried to stop the King, but instead the veil was torn apart. The lights were diminished. The living water flowed. The saints entered Jerusalem. Death was defeated. And Jesus became the King over all the earth.

“O Death, where is your sting?
O Hades, where is your victory?
…Thanks be to God, who gives us
the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.” (1 Corinthians 15:55, 57)

Donkeys, Waterless Pits, and Joseph’s Long-Awaited Peace from Exile

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As Jesus prepared to enter Jerusalem the week before His death, He told His disciples to bring Him a donkey and a colt to ride upon. And as He entered the Holy City, the people cried out “Hosanna!” and called Jesus “the Son of David.” What was it about those donkeys that caused the crowds to identify Jesus as the long-awaited Messiah who had come to deliver them from their Roman occupiers?

Matthew tells us that Jesus made this request “that it might be fulfilled which was spoken by the prophet, saying, …’Behold, your King is coming to you, lowly, and sitting on a donkey, a colt, the foal of a donkey.’” (Matthew 21:4, 5)

That seems pretty straightforward. Some prophet said something about a colt and a donkey, so Jesus rode those animals to satisfy this prophecy. But there’s more to the story.

The prophet in question is Zechariah, who proclaimed these words in the winter of 518 BC, two years and two months before the second temple was completed. This donkey prophecy comes shortly after God rebukes the nations of Tyre and Sidon, and soon after Zechariah adds that “He shall speak peace to the nations,” “set your prisoners free from the waterless pit,” and “restore double to you” (vv. 11-12).

To fully understand what these prophecies meant—and how they were understood by first-century Jews—we need to consider if these phrases appear anywhere else in scripture. And it turns out, they all show up in only two places in scripture.

Joseph in Egypt

All the way back in Genesis, we are introduced to Joseph, the eleventh and favored son of Jacob. Joseph has received prophetic dreams that he will reign and have dominion over his brothers. His brothers’ response?

“They hated him and could not speak peaceably to him.” (Genesis 37:4)

Some time later, Joseph’s brothers find him out in the desert and decide to throw him into a waterless pit (Genesis 37:24)—a phrase that only appears in scripture here, in Zechariah 9, and one other place. Shortly thereafter, Joseph is taken as a slave to Egypt.

After spending years in slavery and prison, Joseph is eventually freed, becomes a leader in Egypt, and is given the Egyptian title, “Savior of the World” (Genesis 41). His brothers eventually travel to Egypt in search of food and, when framed for stealing, attempt to restore double to Joseph (Genesis 43:12).

Jeremiah in Egypt

Other than Joseph, Jeremiah is in the only other person in scripture who spends time in a waterless pit:

“They took Jeremiah and cast him into the dungeon (Hebrew bor, same word translated “pit” in Genesis 37 and Zechariah 9) of Malchiah the king’s son, which was in the court of the prison, and they let Jeremiah down with ropes. And in the dungeon (bor) there was no water, but mire.” (Jeremiah 38:6)

After being thrown in the pit by his countrymen, Jeremiah is forced into exile in Egypt, where he lives out the rest of his life.

And Jeremiah also used the other two phrases as well. In Jeremiah 16, God declares that He “will repay double for their iniquity and sin” (v. 18); and in Jeremiah 23, God criticizes the false prophets who have falsely claimed that the LORD has spoken peace (v. 17). Once again, all three phrases that appeared in Zechariah 9 and the story of Joseph also appear in Jeremiah.

But maybe you’re not as impressed with the supposed pattern of Jeremiah. His book is 52 chapters long, after all. Is it really a pattern to find three sentences in chapters 16, 23, and 38 of a book? Is there anything else that ties them together?

And as it turns out, there is. Chapters 16 and 23 both contain a matching prophecy, a prophecy not found anywhere else in Jeremiah:

“‘Behold, the days are coming,’ says the LORD, ‘that they shall no longer say, “As the LORD lives who brought up the children of Israel from the land of Egypt,” but, “As the LORD lives who brought up and led the seed of the house of Israel from the north country and from all the countries where I had driven them.”’” (Jeremiah 16:14-15, 23:7-8)

Just as these prophetic utterances in the story of Joseph all revolved around exile and delivery from Egypt, so too do these prophetic utterances in the story of Jeremiah all revolve around exile and delivery in Egypt. To the average Jewish reader, the words of Zechariah 9 would call them back to the story of Joseph in Egypt, and to the astute Jewish reader they would call to mind Jeremiah’s words concerning Egypt.

But what did those words mean, and how were they fulfilled as Jesus entered Jerusalem on a donkey?

You and Me in Egypt

Joseph and Jeremiah weren’t the only ones who ended up exiled in Egypt. Joseph was sold into slavery by his own brothers—jealous that Joseph was their prophesied ruler—and a few years later his brothers had relocated to Egypt as well, where they ended up spending 400 years in slavery. Jeremiah was also forcefully taken to Egypt by his countrymen—led by a military rebel angry with Jeremiah’s prophecy—and soon after his Jewish captors were exiled in Egypt as well. The captors of Joseph and Jeremiah ended up suffering the same fate.

And just over 500 years after Zechariah’s prophecy, the true King of the Jews was also forced into exile in Egypt by His own people—an imposter king and his Jewish advisers who were troubled by the prophetic fulfillment of the long-awaited Messiah.

But this wasn’t the only exile Jesus faced. Before heading for Jerusalem (in a chapter filled with references to the Book of Exodus), Moses and Elijah (two prophets associated with Mount Sinai) visited Jesus and “spoke of his ἔξοδον which He was about to accomplish at Jerusalem” (Luke 9:31). They spoke of His exodus. They spoke of His exile. They spoke of His prison sentence in a waterless pit.

And who were His brethren who sold Him out? Who were the ones responsible for His spiritual exile into Egypt?

You and me.

We are the ones who threw him in the pit. We are the ones who despised the prophesied King and Messiah. We are the ones who wouldn’t speak peace to the Prince of Peace.

And yet, just as Joseph rose out of the pit and became the savior of the world, so too did Jesus rise from the pit and become the Savior of the World. On the anniversary of the deliverance of God’s people from geographical Egypt, Jesus the Messiah delivered us from spiritual Egypt—in a magnificent way that overshadowed the deliverance through the Red Sea, just as Jeremiah predicted.

When the crowds saw Jesus riding upon that donkey, they didn’t just see a fulfillment of Zechariah 9; they saw freedom from slavery. They saw a return from exile. The saw the crossing of a bigger Red Sea. It’s no wonder they cried out “Hosanna”: “Save now, I pray, O LORD!” (Psalm 118:25).

And rather than having our sins repaid to us double what we had committed, instead we are restored double (Zechariah 9:12). Instead of being unable to speak peace and fearing revenge, He Himself has become our peace, He who came and preached peace to His own kin and to the nations (Ephesians 2:14-17).

So this week, as we prepare to celebrate the Passover of our Lamb…

“Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion!
Shout, O daughter of Jerusalem!
Behold, your King is coming to you;
He is just and having salvation,
Lowly and riding a donkey,
A colt, the foal of a donkey.” (Zechariah 9:9)

The Parable of the Brother Everyone Forgot

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In Luke 15, Jesus tells a series of “lost” parables to an audience consisting of sinners/tax collectors and Pharisees/scribes. First comes the parable of the lost sheep, where a man loses a sheep out in the wilderness and rejoices when it is found. Next comes the parable of the lost coin, where a woman loses a coin in her home and rejoices when it is found.

Then we come to a parable about a man with two sons. The younger son wants his inheritance, so the father divides up his assets, giving one-third to the younger son and two-thirds to the older son. The younger son takes off and squanders his inheritance with riotous living. When an unexpected famine strikes, the younger son becomes destitute and shamefully returns home, offering to become his father’s servant because he is not worthy of his father’s love. However, in a completely unexpected turn of events, the father runs out to meet him, falls on his neck, and kisses him. The father then throws a party for his returned son, for “he was lost and now is found.”

We all know this story. A man with a lost son out in the wilderness, who rejoices when he is found. What we often overlook is the end of the story, which focuses on the other lost son—the lost son who never left home.

The older brother is working in the field when his younger brother returns home. Instead of rejoicing with his father at the return of his brother, he throws a giant fit. He refuses to celebrate. He refuses to even call him his brother. And he thinks the worst of his brother, exclaiming without evidence that his brother had wasted the money on whores.

With all this in mind, let’s consider what a first century Jew would’ve thought when hearing this parable. Consider a few elements from the tale: a father with two sons, brothers squabbling over an inheritance, the younger brother leaving town with his blessing, the older brother working out in the field.

In the mind of a Jewish listener, this story would immediately call to mind the story of Esau and Jacob. The younger Jacob stole his older brother Esau’s inheritance while Esau was out working in the field, and then left town. In fact, there are many parallels throughout these two stories:

Isaac has two sonsFather has two sons
Jacob steals Esau’s inheritanceYounger brother receives his inheritance
Jacob goes to Padan AramYounger brother goes to a far country
There is a famine after Jacob tricks EsauThere is a famine after younger brother leaves
Jacob meets Esau and offers to be his servantYounger brother offers to be his father’s servant
Jacob tells God “I’m not worthy of your mercies”Younger brother tells father “I am no longer worthy to be called your son”
Esau runs, falls on neck, and kisses JacobFather runs, falls on neck, and kisses younger brother
Jacob had stolen inheritance while Esau was in the fieldYounger brother returns home while older brother is in the field

Any person familiar with the biblical text would notice the similarities between the two narratives. But they also would notice a few key differences:

For one, the younger brother in the parable didn’t steal his brother’s inheritance; rather he prematurely requested his own inheritance. Notice that when the younger brother received his one-third inheritance, the older brother also received his two-thirds inheritance (Luke 15:12). The younger brother didn’t actually steal anything from his older brother.

Also, notice that in the Esau-Jacob narrative, it is Esau who lovingly welcomes home his brother. He is no longer bitter; instead he is happy to receive his brother home, and doesn’t require any of the gifts Jacob had sent to appease him. Compare that to the lost older brother, who—despite having twice as much as his sibling—refuses to welcome him home.

The message to Jesus’ first century audience was clear: Those who behave like the older brother are worse than Esau. Those lost coins who have remained in their master’s home but are still nevertheless lost, those Pharisees/scribes who rejected the lost sheep rather than welcomed them—they are like those who despised their birthright, who rejected their inheritance, who turned their backs on their God and Father.

In fact, the behavior of the older brother might call to mind another older brother: Cain, who led his younger sibling out into a field where he murdered him, then disinherited him (“Am I my brother’s keeper?”).

At the time Jesus spoke these words, a man named Herod was reigning as the King of the Jews. And yet, he wasn’t Jewish. He was Idumean—an Edomite, a descendant of Esau—appointed by the oppressive Roman Empire to rule over the Jews. To the Jews, Herod was Esau-Incarnate—an imposter king who had despised the inheritance of the Jews and yet wanted to wield it over the Jews. And according to Jesus, the religious elite were just as bad as he was. And by the end of the gospels, those same religious leaders would be working with this imposter king to rid their nation of the true King of the Jews, the Heir of Jacob and the Finder of Sheep and Coins and Sons.

The resounding message, to those who heard this in the first century and those of us who read it in the twenty-first century, is clear. Those of us in the LORD’s house should partner with our Father to find the lost sheep without and the lost coins within. We should rejoice when the lost sheep are found. We should rejoice when the lost coins are found. And if our hearts want to throw a fit while the angels are throwing a party, we may not be as found as we think.

“It was right that we should make merry and be glad, for your brother was dead and is alive again, and was lost and is found.” (Luke 15:32)

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Special thanks to the lectures of Peter J. Williams, whose series “The Genius of Jesus’ Teachings” brought to light many of these parallels. If you appreciated this article, you should definitely watch his teachings on this parable.

The Selfish King who was Accidentally Right

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Our family started reading the Book of Esther today. The story begins with the King of Persia ordering his wife to come entertain his drunk buddies and her refusing. The king’s wisest counselors fear that other wives will disobey their husbands’ demands if the queen isn’t dealt with, so she is banished. The chapter ends with the king issuing a royal decree: “Each man shall be head in his own house.” 

Here’s the thing: The king was right… sort of. Every man should be the head of his household. Wives should honor and follow their husbands. The king and his counselors were right. But they wanted to wield this role selfishly, rather than selflessly. 

The man isn’t called to lead so he can have whatever he wants. He’s called to lead so he can serve and protect his household. The man leads by discipling his family, as Moses said (Deut. 6). The man leads by loving and sacrificing, as Paul said (Eph. 5). The man leads by serving, as Jesus said (Matt. 20). 

The king and his counselors wanted the benefits of their position, but they didn’t want the responsibilities. They wanted to be leaders, but they didn’t want to lead. 

It’s noteworthy that in the second chapter of Esther, we are introduced to a man—Mordecai—who spends the entire book serving and protecting others. And by the end of the book, the king’s wise counselors are replaced by this Mordecai, as the book concludes: 

“Mordecai the Jew was second to the king… seeking the good of his people and speaking peace to all his countrymen.” 

If you want to be “head of your own house,” follow Mordecai’s example. “Seek the good of your people.” 

Korah Got What He Said

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Korah’s rebellion is an interesting story buried away in a single chapter in the middle of Numbers. If you don’t recall, a man named Korah questions Moses’ leadership, declaring that since the entire “congregation is holy” and “the LORD is among [all of us],” Moses shouldn’t be exalted above the rest of Israel (Numbers 16:3). Instead, others—like, say, maybe Korah—should be lifted up as holy leaders of the people. God told Moses that He would reveal who was right, and the next day the earth opened up and swallowed Korah and his followers whole.

This may seem like an obscure story, but it has much to teach us about the nature of God and, more specifically, how God ultimately gives us what we ask for. To make sense of this story, we first need to understand who Korah was and what God had commanded him to do.

Korah was the cousin of Moses and Aaron. Thus, he was a Levite, but not a priest (kohen). To be specific, he was a Kohathite, and the Kohathites had very specific duties regarding the service of the tabernacle. As explained in Numbers 4, the Kohathites were tasked with carrying the holy things of the tabernacle from one location to another. There were a number of regulations regarding how this was to be done:

  • First, the priests/kohen would cover all the holy things (qodesh) of the tabernacle (mishkan). Six times the Hebrew word kasa is used to describe this act of covering (vv. 5, 8, 9, 11, 12, 15), but the word used once everything has been covered is bala, which is generally translated as “swallowed” (v. 20).
  • Once the priests had completed (kala) the covering process, the Kohathites would lift up (nasa) and carry the holy things to the next location (v. 15).
  • The Kohathites had to make sure not to directly touch (naga) any of the holy things, lest they die.

Now with this in mind, we can consider the events of Korah’s rebellion in context.

We know that Korah and his supporters rebelled because they were angry that the Israelites had to wander in the wilderness for forty years (Numbers 16:13, 14)—which ironically was the result of the rebellion they had waged a few weeks earlier (Numbers 13, 14)—but that’s not the reason that Korah gives to Moses.

Instead, Korah declares that everyone in the congregation is holy (qadesh) and should be treated as such. What’s more, he accuses Moses of lifting himself up (nasa), effectively usurping the work of the Kohathites. Since Moses thinks himself so holy and lifts himself up in the midst of our tabernacle, thinks Korah, we who are equally holy should be lifted up as well.

So what does God do? He gives Korah exactly what he asked for.

Korah declared that he was holy and wanted to be lifted up. And as we just read in Numbers 4, what happens to the holy things before they can be lifted up? They need to be covered. And that’s exactly what God does during the course of this chapter.

God declares that Korah and his fellow rebels had essentially formed a new tabernacle (mishkan, Numbers 16:24, 27). And just as God had warned the Kohathites not to touch anything before the priest’s work was completed, so too God warns the Israelites not to touch (naga, Numbers 16:26) anything belonging to these supposedly holy people of the new tabernacle until God completes (kala, Numbers 16:21) His work.

Then, as the tabernacle of Korah’s “holy” rebels gathers together, God opens up the ground beneath them and swallows them up (bala, Numbers 16:30, 32, 34). Finally, once the “holy” rebels had been swallowed up, God closed up the earth to cover up (kasa, Numbers 16:33) their new tabernacle.

Hebrew WordEnglish meaningDuties of KohathitesKorah’s Rebellion
MishkanTabernacleNumbers 4:16Numbers 16:24, 27
Qodesh/QadoshHolyNumbers 4:4, 12, 15, 19, 20Numbers 16:3, 5, 7
KasaCoverNumbers 4:5, 8, 9, 11, 12, 15Numbers 16:33
BalaSwallowNumbers 4:20Numbers 16:30, 32, 34
KalaComplete/consumeNumbers 4:15Numbers 16:21
NagaTouchNumbers 4:15 Numbers 16:26
NasaLift upNumbers 4:15Numbers 16:3

When you consider the events of Korah’s rebellion in light of who Korah was and what Korah had requested, everything that happened is exactly what we would expect. Korah declared that he was inherently holy and wanted to be lifted up. And he got exactly what he asked for, even if it wasn’t what he was expecting.

These events echo the story of the faithless spies, which occurred only a few weeks before. Ten of the spies (and the entire congregation of Israel) had declared that there was absolutely no way they could take the Promised Land, and that they’d be doomed to wander the desert until they died. Two spies (Caleb the Judahite and Joshua the Ephraimite) disagreed, stating that—with God on their side—they were well equipped to take what had been promised. In response to both declarations, God said,

“Just as you have spoken in My hearing, so I will do to you.” (Numbers 14:28)

And every person in that story got exactly what they said. All of Israel but two died in the wilderness. And Caleb and Joshua—though well into their eighties—had God on their side, and received their inheritance.

That same promise—you will have whatsoever you speak—continues throughout the biblical narrative, from Korah to Ahaz to Hezekiah to the disciples of Jesus. And it continues for us today.

So what are you believing for? What are you declaring? Your words have power, and your faith will bring it to pass. God will honor the choices we make, even if they are the wrong choices. Will you rebel like Korah and his tabernacle, like the ten spies and the rest of the nation? Or will you submit to the promises of God, and receive the blessings He has for you?

Be careful what you say. Because one way or another, you’ll get what you want.

The Kinsman Avenger

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If you’ve ever heard a sermon on the book of Ruth, you’ve probably heard about the “kinsman-redeemer.” As described in Leviticus 25, if a married man dies without children, his brother is told to marry the widow and bear children with her on behalf of the deceased brother, continuing his brother’s name and ensuring he essentially has life after death through his children.

The brother who performs this noble deed is called the “redeemer” (ga’al in Hebrew), and the most famous redeemer of this sort is Boaz. Boaz—described as a “man of great valor” (Ruth 2:1)—faithfully fulfills this role, revering, romancing, and redeeming the widow Ruth. Through their subsequent marriage, both Ruth and Boaz were faithful to God’s Word and Ruth’s first husband, and they ended up becoming the great-grandparents of King David and the ancestors of the ultimate Redeemer, Jesus.

But the ga’al has several other obligations that don’t get nearly as much attention. For instance, another responsibility of a redeemer is to buy family members out of slavery (Leviticus 25). But the one I’d like to focus on is described three times in the Law—the role of the avenger of blood.

If a man is killed by another, a relative of the deceased is tasked to become the avenger of blood—he is commanded to track the manslayer down and ensure that justice is served. The avenger brings the charges before the elders of a city of refuge, who in turn judge whether the manslayer is “deserving of death” (Deuteronomy 19:6). If the manslayer is found guilty, the avenger executes judgment on the criminal; if the manslayer is found responsible but nonetheless not guilty of murder, the avenger makes sure that justice is still served by forcing the manslayer into exile until the High Priest dies. (A more detailed description of this law is found in Numbers 35, Deuteronomy 19, and Joshua 20).

Now all of these jobs—the redeemer who guarantees his brother has some sort of life after death; the relative who liberates his kinsman out of slavery; the avenger who carries out justice—are one in the same. They are all the responsibilities of the ga’al. And throughout the Hebrew Scriptures, this title is almost exclusively used of God—especially in the prophets, where God promises that He will become the Redeemer of His people.

For those of us in need of liberation from sin and in need of resurrection from spiritual death, the idea of God as our ga’al—our Redeemer—is fantastic news. But the Redeemer doesn’t just bring freedom and life after death—He also executes judgment on those deserving of death. He is not only a Redeemer—He is an Avenger as well.

This isn’t great news for us, for—in the words of Paul—we have all sinned (Romans 3:23), and the wages of our sin is death (Romans 6:23). We are guilty. We are deserving of death, and not even a life in exile or the death of the High Priest will change that.

So what happens when the person who needs redemption and liberation is also guilty of sin and deserving of death? How does the Kinsman-Redeemer, the Blood-Avenger, fulfill both sides of the law?

Surprisingly, this exact question is asked and answered in 2 Samuel 14, midway through the reign of King David. A wise widow from Tekoa comes to the king with a problem: she had two sons, but they got into a fight and one brother killed the other. If they execute the murderous brother, no one will remain to redeem the family name and guarantee the deceased brother (or his father) has a life and legacy after death. But if they allow the murderer to live, they have failed to carry out justice.

In this parable (and it is a parable, as you find out later in the chapter), the murderous brother is a stand-in for every one of us. It ushers us back to the second sin ever committed, when Cain killed his brother Abel (Genesis 4); it reminds us of the sin Esau tried to carry out against his brother Jacob (Genesis 28); it calls to mind the attempted murder of Joseph by his jealous brothers (Genesis 37); and it represents you and me, who are guilty of sin and deserving of death, but nonetheless desperately need of salvation from our Redeemer.

So what was the king’s decree?

David declared that the guilty son would live—“not one hair of your son shall fall to the ground” (v. 10)—and if anyone disagreed, he would personally take care of it—“if anyone says anything to you, bring him to me” (v. 11). The wise widow prophetically responds, “God does not take away a life; but He devises means, so that His banished ones are not expelled from Him” (v. 14). She adds that in all this, “the king and his throne [will] be guiltless” (v. 9), and that the king is like the Messenger of Yahweh in that he brings comfort by “discerning good and evil” (v. 17) and “knows everything that is in the earth” (v. 20).

In short, the king promises that God will personally find a way for the murderous son (and his entire family) to be redeemed, without neglecting the just requirement of the Law. The guilty ones need not be expelled from Him.

And while this is an interesting story about David and a wise widow… what does this have to do with us? Well, there’s another interesting thing about this chapter. From the time David is introduced in 1 Samuel 16 until his death in 1 Kings 2, David is mentioned by name in every single chapter—41 chapters in all—except for a single outlier. 2 Samuel 14. For some reason, David is never mentioned by name in 2 Samuel 14. Instead, he is referred to as Adonai (meaning “Lord”) thirteen times and King an astounding forty times.

In a chapter that compares David to the Messenger of Yahweh (a title typically associated with the Messiah), where the King is said to be “guiltless” and to “know everything,” where the subject is the redemption of those “deserving of death,” and where we are told that God will devise a plan so that all of us sinful mortals are not expelled from His presence, we are told that every decree and judgment is coming from the throne of “Adonai the King.”

So… what is the LORD’s plan? How is justice executed if the guilty ones are redeemed and escape death?

Judgment is supposed to come upon those “deserving of death” (Deuteronomy 19:6). That phrase (mishpat mavet, “judged worthy of death”) is incredibly rare in the Hebrew Scriptures, but it surprisingly appears just a few chapters later, in Deuteronomy 21:

“If a man has committed a sin deserving of death, and he is put to death, and you hang him from a tree… he who is hanged is accursed of God.” (Deut. 21:22-23)

Over a thousand years later, this verse was quoted by the Apostle Paul, in reference to Jesus Christ:

“Christ has redeemed us from the curse of the law, having become a curse for us—for it is written, ‘Cursed is everyone who hangs on a tree.’” (Galatians 3:13)

For us to be redeemed, someone had to be cursed. For all of us deserving of death to be made free, someone had to pay the price for our sin. And so Jesus our Adonai, the Messenger of Yahweh who knows all things, the King who sits upon the guiltless throne, devised a plan. Our Lord and King personally saw to it that we would outlive death. The Son of David guaranteed that we’d never be banished from His kingdom. Even if it meant taking our curse upon Himself, being hung from a tree and executed in our place.

Jesus Christ. Our Redeemer. Our Liberator. Our Avenger.

I will ransom them from the power of the grave;
I will redeem them from death (mavet). (Hosea 13:14)

O Adonai, You have pleaded the case for my soul;
You have redeemed my life. (Lamentations 3:58)