Friday, September 24, 2021

Why were you not afraid?

Numbers 12:1–16 is one of those stories that doesn't seem like very significant until you think about it. We have Aaron and Miriam bad-mouthing Moses because of the woman he married, and the Lord disciplines them for it.

There are a lot of questions I have about this story. Is Moses' Ethiopian wife Zipporah (Numbers 12:1)? Or is it someone else? When the Lord comes and stands at the entrance to the tent of meeting (Numbers 12:5), what did Miriam, Moses, and Aaron see? Was God literally standing there, like He did in Exodus 24:9–11?

Of course the real question about Numbers 12 is the question God asks, "Why then were ye not afraid to speak against my servant, against Moses?" (Numbers 12:8). And when I contemplate that question, I find myself under some conviction.

I am convinced that we soft-peddle the fear of the Lord. And by "we" I mean all Christians, but I think some of the most egregious offenders are people like me: people who believe in "free grace" and  God's unconditional love. (We can discuss "free grace theology" another time. It gets uncomfortably close to being an "-ism", and I'm not really excited about that. And of course there are some places I'm pretty sure the "free grace" crowd goes off the rails. But for the most part, I think "free grace" correct.) We've gotten pretty comfortable with saying things like "fear of God means fear of displeasing God" or "fear of God means reverential awe." The more I read about the fear of the Lord in Scripture, the less I think those statements measure up.

It seems to me that Numbers 12:8 is almost a type of Philippians 2:10–11. There is coming a day when God will point to His Son and ask, "why were you not afraid to speak against my Son?" 

John 5:19ff mentions again and again that our Judge in the Last Day will be Christ. It's a sobering thought that people who went around using His name as a curse word will find out that He's their Judge.

But the question isn't merely for unbelievers. We who know the Lord frequently live like we don't. And maybe the question we ought to be asking ourselves is, why we're not afraid to do that.


Saturday, September 18, 2021

Chronology

When I was younger, I was a dogmatic Young Earth Creationist. I was convinced that if you weren't a Young Earth Creationist, then you really weren't believing what God had said. Indeed, I thought you were probably compromising with the world, trying to claim to be a Christian while at the same time denying the biblical account of creation.

These days I'd describe myself as a literal six-day Creationist who thinks it probably happened a lot more than 10,000 years ago. So an Old Earth Creationist, as opposed to a Theistic Evolutionist.

There is this idea that someday we'll get to Heaven, and we'll ask God all sorts of questions. I don't think that's really how it works (or how it's going to work). But if it works that way, if someday I get a chance to ask God all sorts of questions, mine will almost certainly focus on the first twelve chapters of Genesis. Was there a pre-Edenic creation in the gap between Genesis 1:1 and Genesis 1:2? Were the Nephilim the children of fallen angels who intermarried with humans (Genesis 6:1–4, Jude 1:6)? How big was Nimrod's kingdom (Genesis 10:8-12)? When was Job? I'm not saying I understand the rest of Scripture, but I am most intrigued by the first twelve chapters.

(I confess I really want Ezekiel 28:12–15 to be a glimpse into the Edenic and pre-Edenic earth. But there are pretty strong arguments in the other direction too. Apparently Kelly makes a strong case in In the Beginning – it's in my queue, but I haven't started it yet.)

What I find fascinating about the question of Young Earth vs. Old Earth is that both positions seem abundantly obvious to their adherents. If you hold an Old Earth view, there is no shortage of Young Earth proponents to patiently explain to you that you really must not have paid attention to Genesis. If you hold to a Young Earth view, there are equally convinced (but not, in my experience, as vocal) people who think you probably haven't paid attention to Genesis either.

So I'd like to look at those two arguments and see if we can see some larger principles hiding in there.

In my early twenties, I spent a lot of time on a Macintosh Performa building a spreadsheet to work out a chronology based on biblical genealogies. So I had a column for the person's name, one of his father's age when he was born, one for how long he lived, one for the Bible reference, etc. It went something like this: 

  1. Adam was 130 when Seth was born (Genesis 5:3) 
  2. Seth was 105 when Enosh was born (Genesis 5:6)
  3. Enosh was 90 when Cainan was born (Genesis 5:9)
And it kept going well past the Flood (in Noah's 600th year (Genesis 9:28–29) or 1,656), all the way to Jacob. Things get tough in Jacob's life, the chronology just sort of trails off. But from Joseph you can cheat a little, knowing the Captivity was 430 years (Genesis 15:13; Exodus 12:40; Galatians 3:17). I can't recall working through the numbers past Moses, though.

If you go through that exercise, there are some surprising results. For one thing, Abram is actually an adult before Shem dies. So it's possible Abraham and Shem could have known each other.

Another interesting result is that lifespans drop off drastically in the first couple generations after the Flood. It's quite dramatic if you graph them.

If you had asked me at that time, I would have been excited to share all my findings with you, perhaps boring you with charts and graphs. Young Earth Me (YEM) was pretty excited by all this.

But over time, I began to wonder if YEM was barking up the wrong tree. I wouldn't describe myself as Old Earth Me (OEM) quite yet, but several things happened to move me in that direction.

Possibly the first was a conversation I had with an older brother who was going on about William Kelly's defense of the Gap Theory, I think it's in In the Beginning. When I was in school and first ran across the Gap Theory, it was presented as a kookie conspiracy theory developed by Victorians with over-active imaginations who were making concessions to Darwin. But when it turned out William Kelly was one of those "crazy Victorians," I had to give it some more thought. Because William Kelly might well be a kook, but also he's possibly the greatest expositor of Scripture in the last several centuries.

Something else happened, which is really the whole point of my story. Eventually I began to realize that the verses that didn't contain ages and "begats" contained a whole lot of relevant information as well. There are explicit verses, there are implicit verses too.

Here's an example from Exodus 6:16–20: Levi's son is Kohath, Kohath's son is Amram, Amram's sons are Aaron and Moses. So Levi is Moses' grandfather, Jacob is his great-grandfather. In other words, Moses is only the third generation after Levi, the fourth after Jacob. 

But when Moses numbers the Levites at Sinai, there are 22,000 (Numbers 3:14–39). If we recall that Moses is 80 years old at the time, we might reasonably say that the "current" generation is the fourth or fifth generation from Levi. Is it reasonable to think that Levi's three sons produce 22,000 [male] Levites in five generations? That seems... excessive. Levi had three sons, Kohath had four, Amram had two, and Moses had two. It takes far more than four generations to get to 22,000 if those are typical numbers.

That's not even taking into account the difficulty of having only three generations span 430 years of captivity in Egypt. Levi lived to be 137 (Exodus 6:16), Kohath lived to be 133 (Exodus 6:18), Amram lived to be 137 (Exodus 6:20). Moses was 80 when he stood before Pharaoh (Exodus 7:7). If we add up those numbers, we get 137 + 130 + 137 + 80 = 484 years. That's longer than the 430 years we need, but only if we don't think too hard. 

We don't think that Kohath was born right as Levi was dying, or that Amram was born right as Kohath was dying. If we assume their children were born when they were 60 years old, then there are only 60 + 60 + 60 + 80 = 260 years accounted for. That's 170 years less than the 430 we need. And 60 seems a little old to me. I'd expect it to be closer to 30. (I chose 60 so the numbers would work out for Amram to die before the Exodus.)

So it seems to me that there are probably more generations there than the four that are explicitly named. It seems entirely likely there are gaps in the genealogy.

I realize that biblical chronology is complex, and there are people for whom this sort of thing is a life work. I'm not attempting to make myself sound like some sort of expert. My point is that I've read through the Pentatuech many times, and I'm struck every time by the notion that the genealogies don't account for all the time the narrative arc suggests.

So in the end, I've come to realize that if I allow the genealogies to act as a sort of a chronology of the Pentatuech, I end up at a Young Earth position. But if I pay attention to the rest of the text, I end up at an Old Earth position. And that's my whole point: there are two equally obvious, but completely opposite positions the are both based on Scripture.

Now let's try and get some sort of useful application.

When the Lord Jesus was confronted by the Sadducees about the resurrection (Matthew 22:23–32), He rebuked them for not seeing a statement about the resurrection in Exodus 3:6. When He was confronted by the Pharisees, He questioned why they hadn't thought about the odd relationship between Messiah and David, that Messiah is both David's son and David's Lord (Matthew 22:41–46, quoting Psalm 110:1).

The Lord Jesus took the Jewish leaders to task for not understanding nuances of Scripture that most of us wouldn't ever notice on our own. He took them to task for not understanding the implicit teaching in Scripture.

I grew up in a Christian home. There has never been a time in my life when the Bible wasn't very much part of it. And sometimes it seems to me that I have a pretty good handle on what it says. Sometimes, I confess, I think and act and talk like there's not much in there I don't already know about. But there are times when I'm brought face-to-face with my own ignorance of what it says.

I didn't just wake up one day and decide to try out Old Earth Creationism: there came a day when I realized there were more clues in the text than those in the genealogies. When I was adding up the ages next to the "begats" in those genealogies, I thought I was being thorough; but when I really read what the text was saying, I realized I had missed a whole lot.

The Young Earth position was so obvious to me, that I didn't even think about the statements that didn't seem to add up. I was so caught up with the explicit statements, I missed the implicit ones. Now I look through the Pentatuech and the Old Earth position seems just as obvious.

And I suppose that's my point: we can get some strange ideas when we're not careful with everything God has said. Yes, it's possible to read things into the text that just aren't there. But it's equally dangerous to ignore what's staring us right in the face, because we think we already have the answers.



 

Friday, September 10, 2021

Christ the center

Ephesians 1:9–10 reveals one of the mysteries in the New Testament: God's will is to head up "all things" in Christ. That goes far beyond what I understand, but it's worth spending some time thinking about it.

Scripture tells us that Christ is "the last Adam" (1 Corinthians 15:45) and "the second Man" (1 Corinthians 15:47). In those two titles we see God's view of human history: He brought the human race to an end in the crucifixion, and He began something entirely new in the resurrection.

1 Corinthians 15:42–44 teaches us that resurrection changes things fundamentally. Resurrection makes us something different than we were. At the same time, it's not a replacement, but a transformation. This is a difficult concept for us to grasp: resurrection changes what we are, but it doesn't change who we are. I'm afraid it's easy to fall into error on both sides of that one: it's not that God replaces us, but He does transform us.

Christ, of course, is neither replaced nor transformed. He is eternally God, and that can't be improved. But at the same time, He is the end of what was before, and the beginning of something entirely new. There is now a New Creation, and Christ is the Man at the center of it.

In a Bible reading a few years ago, one brother said that in the first creation, God made the whole creation, then put a man at the center of it. But in the new creation, He started with a Man in the center, and built the creation around Him. Almost like He took the opposite approach.

We are part of this New Creation built around Christ as its Center.

It seems like what we really want, though, is a Christianity with Christ as a sort of a foundation, but not as the Center. We have all sorts of things we like to put at the center: morality, doctrine, even family. What we don't seem to realize is, whatever we put at the center is what we're worshiping.

1 Corinthians 1:30–31 tells us that God has made Christ our wisdom, our righteousness, our holiness, and our redemption. Christ is our life (Colossians 3:4). The Christian life is supposed to be all about one Person. It's supposed to be like the New Creation, built around the Lord Jesus Christ at the center.

But we have no shortage of other things we try and put at the center. We put morality, wisdom, knowledge – even relationships with one another – at the center. 1 Corinthians 1:17 reminds us it should be "Jesus Christ, and Him crucified" that's at the center of everything to us.

Imagine what that kind of life would look like! What would it look like if everything in our lives were centered around "Jesus Christ, and Him crucified"? What would it look like if we asked constantly how all the things we encountered were related to "Jesus Christ, and Him crucified"?