These are the devotionals that are taken from the book For the Love of God by D.A. Carson. It goes along with the church's bible reading plan
November 1 - 2 Kings 14
One of the attractive and disturbing things about the Bible is its realism. Simplistic idealism would very much like the “good” people to be more or less consistently rewarded, and to be fruitful and blessed in their work; similarly, it would like the “bad” people to turn out to be failures. Doubtless on the longest haul, before God’s tribunal, justice will be done and will be seen to be done. Doubtless, too, there are enough temporal rewards and blessings to remind us that God is in control. But in the mystery of providence, there are also enough anomalies to remind us that ultimate justice is not found in this world. And this, of course, is true to life, the ultimate realism.
The point is well illustrated in the two kings of 2 Kings 14. Amaziah, son of Joash, reaches the throne of Judah at the age of twenty-five. “He did what was right in the eyes of the LORD, but not as his father David had done” (2 Kings 14:3). Though he was not as consistent as David, he was on many fronts a good man. Even in the matter of capturing and executing the assassins of his father King Joash, Amaziah refrained from wiping out their families—a not uncommon practice at the time—for he was following the law of God (Deut. 24:16; 2 Kings 14:6). And then, after enjoying moderate military success (2 Kings 14:7), which apparently went to his head, he taunted the northern tribes for no good reason into a war he lost disastrously. The stupidity was gargantuan. Eventually Amaziah was himself assassinated after a twenty-nine-year reign.
By contrast, on gaining the throne of the northern kingdom Jeroboam II “did evil in the eyes of the LORD and did not turn away from any of the sins of Jeroboam son of Nebat, which he had caused Israel to commit” (2 Kings 14:24). Nevertheless he proved to be an able administrator and military leader. Because the Lord was sensitive to the cries of his people as they faced the crushing power of Syria to the north, he used Jeroboam II to restore the boundaries of Israel against Syrian encroachment, eventually recovering for Israel both Damascus and Hamath, which had belonged to Israel in the days of the united monarchy. Jeroboam II reigned for forty-one years and died in peace.
Observe: (1) A good king may do bad and stupid things. (2) A bad king may do good and important things. (3) It follows that one should never evaluate the morality of a leader simply on the basis of select good things or bad things they do. Even Hitler restored German confidence and created jobs. Presidents have been known to win wars and keep the economy going while living, sexually speaking, in the gutter.
November 2 - Titus 1
In some denominations, it is held that the Bible prescribes three church officers: bishops, who preside over several congregations; elders/pastors, who serve at the level of the local church, especially with respect to the ministry of the word and prayer (some would add “sacrament”), and deacons, who help in the administration of funds, especially with respect to caring for the physical needs of the flock (see the October 25 meditation).
It is widely recognized, however, that in reality the New Testament recognizes only two officers: the bishop/elder/pastor and the deacon. One of the most convincing treatments of the matter was written in the last century by J. B. Lightfoot, himself an Anglican. The breakdown into three divisions, he rightly contends, takes place after the New Testament documents have been written.
This means, of course, that one of the two offices enjoys three labels, partly because the work has many facets. The word pastor comes from a Latin root for “shepherd” (1 Peter 5:2). Shepherds feed, defend, guide, and discipline the flock. Elder terminology derives both from the rule of ancient villages and from synagogues: the leaders are to be mature and respected. Because bishop nowadays has so many ecclesiastical overtones, the NIV adopts the not uncommon practice of rendering the word “overseer” (e.g., 1 Tim. 3:1) to capture the elements of oversight, godly management, and spiritual accountability bound up with the task.
One of the reasons why so many have come to the conclusion that bishop, elder, and pastor are all words applicable to one office is that the lists of qualifications for these tasks are so similar. Thus, compare Titus 1:6–9 regarding an elder with 1 Timothy 3:1–7 regarding an overseer (bishop).
One point of apparent divergence in the NIV calls forth pangs of conscience among some pastors. First Timothy 3:4 stipulates that the overseer “must manage his own family well and see that his children obey him with proper respect.” By contrast, Titus 1:6 stipulates that the elder must be “a man whose children believe and are not open to the charge of being wild and disobedient.” This sounds like more stringent requirements for the elder. But in fact, the NIV rendering is both mistaken and unworkable. The Greek is justifiably rendered “whose children are faithful”—in the sense that they are not “wild and disobedient.” As long as the children are under their father’s roof, the bishop/elder must so order his household as to demonstrate he is capable of ordering the church. If Titus 1:6 were understood as in the NIV to stipulate that his children be believers, one might well ask, “From what age?” In short, the mistranslation is also unworkable. What the text actually says aligns it well with 1 Timothy 3.
November 3 - 2 Kings 16
The books of 1 and 2 Kings, though they follow the fortunes of both Judah and Israel (the southern and northern kingdoms, respectively, after the division that followed Solomon’s death), lay more emphasis on Israel, the northern ten tribes. More space is devoted to Israel’s kings than to Judah’s. Eventually, of course, the northern kingdom collapses (see tomorrow’s meditation), and then all the attention is focused on the south. By comparison, 1 and 2 Chronicles recount more or less the same history, but turn the spotlight primarily on the southern kingdom of Judah.
Even in 2 Kings, however, substantial attention is sometimes focused on one of the kings of Judah. So it is in 2 Kings 16. By and large, the northern kings degenerated more quickly than in the south. In the south, many kings are described as following the Lord, but not as David had done; in the north, many are described as following in the footsteps of Jeroboam the son of Nebat, who caused Israel to sin. But every once in a while a really evil or stupid king arises in the south. And such is Ahaz.
Religiously and theologically, Ahaz was a disaster. “Unlike David his father, he did not do what was right in the eyes of the LORD his God. He walked in the ways of the kings of Israel and even sacrificed his son in the fire, following the detestable ways of the nations the LORD had driven out before the Israelites” (2 Kings 16:2–3). Politically he fared no better. Harried by Israel and Syria to his north, King Ahaz of Judah decided to strip the temple of its wealth and send it to King Tiglath-Pileser of Assyria. Assyria was the rising superpower. Sending money to him as a kind of tribute, with a plea to get him to lean on Syria and Israel so as to reduce pressure on Judah, was a bit like throwing a hunk of meat to a crocodile: you could be sure that this crocodile would want more. Worse, King Ahaz became so enamored of Assyria that he introduced some of its pagan ways into the temple service. Fear turned Ahaz toward pagan power, and “deference to the king of Assyria” (2 Kings 16:18) fostered fresh compromises.
Contrast Hezekiah, two chapters later, who, while facing a far more serious threat from the Assyrians, brought on in no small part because of the stupidity and faithlessness of Ahaz, brooks no compromise but diligently seeks the face of God. There he discovers, in line with the experience of Moses and the fathers of Israel, that God is able to defend his people against few or many—it is all the same with him.
November 4 - 2 Kings 17
Second Kings 17 is a defining moment in Old Testament history. The northern kingdom of Israel comes to an end as a political entity. The trigger for this last step in the destruction of the nation is a piece of deceit perpetrated by her last king, Hoshea. While nominally maintaining her allegiance to Assyria (the regional superpower), Hoshea opened negotiations with Egypt, still an impressive political and military power, in the hope that Israel could come under her umbrella under better terms. Shalmaneser, king of Assyria, could only interpret this as treason and destroyed Samaria, the capital of Israel (2 Kings 17:1–6). He transported the leading Israelites to Assyria and then, as the end of the chapter makes clear, imported pagans from elsewhere in the empire, who intermingled with the poor Israelites left behind.
The rest of the chapter provides us with two explicit explanations, and a subtler, implicit one.
First, the ultimate reason for the destruction of the nation was not political or military, but religious and theological (2 Kings 17:7–17). The nation of Israel succumbed to idolatry. While maintaining superficial allegiance to the living God, they “secretly” built up pagan high places—as if the all-seeing God could be deceived! Asherah poles and Baal worship multiplied. The people ignored the prophets God sent them. “They followed worthless idols and themselves became worthless” (2 Kings 17:15; cf. Jer. 2:5). Rejecting the temple in Jerusalem, they constructed two calf idols. They worshiped astrological deities, messed around in the occult, and finally sank into the abominable practice of child sacrifice to Molech. “So the LORD was very angry with Israel and removed them from his presence” (2 Kings 17:18).
Second, this chapter explains the origins of the syncretistic religion of Samaria (2 Kings 17:24–41). The immigrant pagans mingled with the remaining Jews of the land. Racially and theologically, the results were mixed. Despite warnings from God (in the form of rampaging lions—no longer found in that part of the world, but at one time plentiful), the best this breed can muster is pathetic: they “worshiped the LORD, but they also served their own gods” (2 Kings 17:33). This is the background to the “Samaritans” we come across in Jesus’ day.
The third explanation is only implicit. It is obvious only when this chapter is read in the flow of canonical development. Fallen humanity is judged at the Flood; only a few survive. The patriarchs of the nascent Jewish nation end up in slavery. When God delivers them, their unbelief delays their entry into the Promised Land. The period of the judges ends in debauchery, corruption, decay. And now the period of the monarchy is winding up in similar shame.
God help us: we need a more radical answer than these.
November 5 - Philemon
In the first century, a slave who ran away could legally be executed. A master might not enforce that punishment, but at the very least the runaway slave who was caught would face very brutal treatment.
Onesimus is a slave who has run away from Philemon. Somewhere along the line, Onesimus has been converted. Whether he sought out Paul before his conversion or after, Onesimus is now with Paul, probably in Rome. The apostle is in prison awaiting trial, and Onesimus, now a believer, is running errands for him and otherwise helping him out.
But Paul knows this cannot continue. The apostle himself could be charged with aiding and abetting a fugitive. Legally, even morally, Onesimus must go back to Philemon and square things. But where is the morality in Roman slavery itself?
So Paul writes to Philemon and Apphia, knowing they are Christians, presumably well-to-do, with a home big enough to house the church where they live. The letter is a masterpiece of firm, godly diplomacy.
Paul commends Philemon for his love and encouragement (Philemon 7). He mentions that he could simply order him to take certain actions (Philemon 8), yet he prefers to appeal to him “as Paul—an old man and now also a prisoner of Christ Jesus” (Philemon 9) so that Philemon will act out of love. Only then does he mention Onesimus, and state what the appeal consists in. Paul wants Philemon to take back Onesimus, whom Paul characterizes as his “son,” now a “useful” person (which is what the name Onesimus means), and so loved by the apostle that he is Paul’s “very heart” (Philemon 10–12). Paul would have been happy to keep him, but would not do anything without Philemon’s “consent” (Philemon 14). Of course, Onesimus had run away, but regardless of how reprehensible that act had been, in the larger scheme of things “perhaps the reason he was separated from you for a little while [a convenient passive!] was that you might have him back for good—no longer as a slave, but better than a slave, as a dear brother” (Philemon 15–16). Surely he will therefore be dear to Philemon, “both as a man and as a brother in the Lord” (Philemon 16).
So Philemon is to welcome back Onesimus as he would welcome the apostle himself (Philemon 17), who hopes to come soon on a visit that will check up on things (Philemon 22). Apparently Onesimus stole from Philemon when he left: Paul says he will gladly repay the full amount—though Paul gently reminds Philemon of the supreme debt he owes to the man who brought him the Gospel.
Nothing can destroy brutal relationships faster than the Gospel rightly applied.
November 6 - Hebrews 1
The contrasts in the opening verses of Hebrews 1 all tend in the same direction.
“In the past” contrasts with “in these last days.” God spoke “to our forefathers” stands over against the fact that in these last days he has spoken “to us.” In the past God spoke to the forefathers “through the prophets at many times and in various ways.” But in these last days God has spoken to us “by his Son” (Heb. 1:1–2).
Indeed, the form of that expression, “by his Son,” in the original, suggests pretty strongly that the author of Hebrews does not think of the Son as one more prophet, or even as the supreme prophet. The idea is not that while in the past the word of God was mediated by prophets, in these last days the word has been mediated by the Son, who thus becomes the last of the prophets. Something more fundamental is at issue. The Greek expression, over-translated, means “in Son.” The absence of the article “the” is significant. Moreover, “in Son” contrasts not only with “through the prophets” but with “through the prophets at many times and in various ways.”
The point is that in these last days God has disclosed himself in the Son revelation. In the past, when God used the prophets he sometimes gave them words directly (in oracles or visions), sometimes providentially led them through experiences they recorded, sometimes “spoke” through extraordinary events such as the burning bush: there were “many times” and “various ways” (Heb. 1:1). But now, God has spoken “in Son”—we might paraphrase, “in the Son revelation.” It is not that Jesus simply mediates the revelation; he is the revelation. It is not that Jesus simply brings the word; he is himself, so to speak, the Word of God, the climactic Word. The idea is very similar to what one reads in the Prologue of John’s Gospel. The Son is capable of this because he is “the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being” (Heb. 1:3).
Strictly speaking, then, Christians are not to think of the New Testament books as just like the Old Testament books, bringing the next phase of God’s redemptive plan to us. Mormons argue that that is all they are—and then say that Joseph Smith brought a still later revelation to us, since he was yet another accredited prophet. But the author of Hebrews sees that the climax of all the Old Testament revelation, mediated through prophets and stored in books, is not, strictly speaking, more books—but Christ Jesus himself. The New Testament books congregate around Jesus and bear witness to him who is the climax of revelation. Later books that cannot bear witness to this climactic revelation are automatically disqualified.
November 7 - 2 Kings 20
2 Kings 20 is one of the sadder chapters of Scripture. It pictures a man who has been faithful in the past, now withering away in the complacency of selfishness.
King Hezekiah ruled over Judah, the southern kingdom, in the waning days of the northern kingdom of Israel. Once the Assyrians had defeated Israel and transported its leading citizens, leaving behind only a shattered wreck of a nation, there was plenty of reason for discouragement in the south. But in truly heroic fashion, Hezekiah, guided in part by the prophet Isaiah, withstands the withering siege of King Sennacherib of Assyria, simply relying on the mercy of the Lord God. Sent by God himself, plague sweeps through the Assyrian camp, killing almost two hundred thousand people. Jerusalem and Judah are spared (2 Kings 18–19; Isa. 36–37). Moreover, Hezekiah’s commitment to God in the early years of his reign was not characterized by the typical compromise, which maintained some sort of allegiance to Yahweh while not touching the high places and other sites of pagan worship. Far from it: he cleaned things up, earning the judgment, “He did what was right in the eyes of the LORD, just as his father David had done” (2 Kings 18:3–4). He even recognized that the bronze serpent Moses had made (Num. 21:4–9) had now become a superstitious snare, and destroyed it.
Then he fell ill and wept bitterly. Somehow he got himself into the position where he thought his righteous deeds meant that God owed him a long and prosperous life (2 Kings 20:2–3). In his mercy, God assigned him fifteen more years, and gave him a miraculous sign to confirm the promise (2 Kings 20:1–11). During that fifteen-year span, however, Hezekiah failed an important test: when emissaries came from Babylon, instead of seeking the Lord’s face and walking humbly, Hezekiah played the role of a proud potentate, showing off the kingdom’s rising wealth. Everything was duly recorded in the books of Babylon, in preparation for the day, more than a century later, when Babylon would be the superpower and crush Jerusalem and send her people into exile (2 Kings 20:12–18).
But this is not Hezekiah’s most grievous lapse. When Isaiah the prophet tells him what will happen, the king does not repent of his arrogance, or seek forgiveness, or intercede with God. The threatened judgment is slated for the future: Hezekiah refuses to accept any deeply felt responsibility. He piously comments, “The word of the LORD you have spoken is good”—while the writer comments, “For he thought, ‘Will there not be peace and security in my lifetime?’” (2 Kings 20:19). Hezekiah has become a moral and strategic pygmy.
Far better to die young after genuine, godly, achievements, than to die old and embittered, poisoning your own heritage.
November 8 - Hebrews 3
Many people have suggested that a suitable summary of the theme of Hebrews is “Jesus is better.” In chapters 1–2 he is better than the angels; in chapter 3 he is better than Moses. In Hebrews 4, the rest he offers is better than the rest provided by the Promised Land. In chapters 5 and 7 his high priesthood is better than the Levitical priesthood; in chapter 8, the new covenant over which he presides is better than the old covenant. In chapters 9–10, he officiates over a better sanctuary than the tabernacle, exercises a better ministry, and offers a better sacrifice. In short, “Jesus is better.” The message is designed to strengthen the hearts and minds of Jewish Christians who, though they have willingly suffered for Christ in the past, at this point are tempted to return to the Jewish rites and practices they inherited. The writer of Hebrews is afraid that they are abandoning exclusive confidence in Christ, somehow succumbing to the temptation to think that, although Jesus Christ is all right, one may gain a bit more substance, or spirituality, or historical depth, or acceptance among the kinfolk—whatever—thereby sliding toward an implicit denial that “Jesus is better.”
None of this means the old covenant was bad; it simply means it was not ultimate. Thus in the brief comparison of Moses and Jesus in Hebrews 3:1–6, Moses, we are told, “was faithful in all God’s house” (Heb. 3:2); he “was faithful as a servant in all God’s house, testifying to what would be said in the future” (Heb. 3:5). There is not a word of reproach.
But Jesus is better. It helps to understand that in both Hebrew and Greek house can mean “household.” Like Moses, the author of Hebrews avers, Jesus “was faithful to the one who appointed him” (Heb. 3:2). Nevertheless, “Jesus has been found worthy of greater honor than Moses.” Why? Because “the builder of a house has greater honor than the house itself” (Heb. 3:3). That seems to suggest that Jesus’ role with respect to God’s “house” or “household” is radically different from that of Moses. Moses was faithful as a servant within the household, and his most important role was testifying to what was to come. Jesus is faithful as “a son over God’s house” (Heb. 3:6)—and that household is the community of believers (Heb. 3:6). Moses appears as one servant within the household, looking to the future; Jesus appears as God’s Son over the household, building that household (Heb. 3:3) and proving to be the very substance of that to which Moses was pointing in the future.
However important the comparisons between the two men, the differences are the more striking.
November 9 - 2 Kings 22
The last serious attempt at moral and theological reformation in the kingdom of Judah is reported in 2 Kings 22. After that, there is only the final slide into exile.
King Hezekiah, the effect of whose reign was so largely good, was succeeded by his son Manasseh. He reigned a long time, fifty-five years, but his reign was notorious for its “evil in the eyes of the LORD, following the detestable practices of the nations the LORD had driven out before the Israelites” (2 Kings 21:2). There was no form of current idolatry he did not adopt. According to 2 Chronicles 33, Manasseh repented toward the end of his life, but the religious and institutional damage could not easily be undone. He was succeeded by his wicked son Amon, who lasted only two years before he was assassinated (2 Kings 21:19–26).
Then came Josiah, a boy of eight when he came to the throne (2 Kings 22:1). He reigned thirty-one years—which means, of course, he died a premature death at the age of thirty-nine. Initially he would have been under the guidance and control of others. But in the eighteenth year of his reign, Josiah, then in his mid-twenties, initiated temple cleanup and repair—and the “Book of the Law” was rediscovered. Probably this refers to the book of Deuteronomy. (Nineteenth- and twentieth-century scholars of skeptical bent contend that this was in fact when Deuteronomy and other parts of the Pentateuch were actually written, so that this story of “rediscovering” the law was made up to justify these new developments. This theory is increasingly being dismissed; its foundation is little more than raw speculation.)
The reforms instituted by Josiah were sweeping. On every front, wherever he could effect change, Josiah brought the nation into line with the Law of God. He fully recognized the terrible threat of wrath that hung over the covenant people, and he resolved to do what was right, leaving the outcome with God. If the day of reckoning could not finally be removed, at least it could be delayed.
Of the important lessons to be learned here, I shall focus on one. Some people find it difficult to believe that the nation could descend into complete biblical ignorance so quickly. After all, Hezekiah was Josiah’s great-grandfather: the reformation he led was not that long ago. True—but long enough. The intervening three-quarters of a century had begun with the long and wicked reign of Manasseh. The history of the twentieth century testifies to how quickly a people can become ignorant of Scripture—and we live this side of the printing press, not to mention the Internet. The church is never more than a generation or two from apostasy and oblivion. Only grace is a sufficient hedge.
November 10 - Hebrews 5
The words from Psalm 2:7, “You are my Son; today I have become your Father,” are quoted three times in the New Testament: (a) in Acts 13:33, where it serves as a kind of proof-text to justify the resurrection of Jesus; (b) in Hebrews 1:5, where the author infers that because Jesus alone is the Son of God, he is superior to the angels; and (c) in Hebrews 5:5, where it is cited to prove that just as Aaron did not take on the high priesthood by himself, but was called by God to the task, so also Jesus was appointed by God to his high priesthood.
So Psalm 2:7 is variously taken to support the resurrection of Jesus, to provide evidence of Jesus’ superiority over the angels, and to demonstrate that when Jesus became high priest he did not take on the job himself, but was appointed by God. On the face of it, none of these applications of Psalm 2:7 is very obvious.
It helps to remember two things. First, Psalm 2:7 is an enthronement psalm. It celebrates the appointment to office of the next Davidic king. At that point the man becomes “God’s son.” In the ancient world, sons usually ended up doing what their fathers did. God rules with justice and equity; the king, functioning as God’s “son,” was to do what God does: among other things, rule with justice and equity. And this Davidic line finally ends in one who is the “Son” par excellence.
Second, at the risk of oversimplification, New Testament christology falls into one of two patterns. In the first, the account of Christ begins in eternity past, descends in humiliation to this world and to the ignominy and shame of the cross, and rises through the resurrection and exaltation of Christ to triumph. We might think of it as the “up-down-up” model. Philippians 2:6–11 and John 17:5 are memorable examples. In the second, there is no mention of Jesus’ origin in eternity past: it is a “down-up” model. The entire focus is on his triumph through death, resurrection, ascension, exaltation. This great, redemptive event is the critical thing, the time when Jesus is appointed king, the time when his priestly role commences, the moment when he is “declared with power to be the Son of God by his resurrection from the dead” (Rom. 1:4). This is not to say that there is no sense in which Jesus is the Son, or the king, or exercises priestly functions, before the cross and resurrection. But this model of christology has no doubt where the greatest turning point of history lies.
These are the presuppositions that lie behind all three uses of Psalm 2:7. It is a useful exercise to reflect on them again, with these structures in mind.
November 1 - 2 Kings 14
One of the attractive and disturbing things about the Bible is its realism. Simplistic idealism would very much like the “good” people to be more or less consistently rewarded, and to be fruitful and blessed in their work; similarly, it would like the “bad” people to turn out to be failures. Doubtless on the longest haul, before God’s tribunal, justice will be done and will be seen to be done. Doubtless, too, there are enough temporal rewards and blessings to remind us that God is in control. But in the mystery of providence, there are also enough anomalies to remind us that ultimate justice is not found in this world. And this, of course, is true to life, the ultimate realism.
The point is well illustrated in the two kings of 2 Kings 14. Amaziah, son of Joash, reaches the throne of Judah at the age of twenty-five. “He did what was right in the eyes of the LORD, but not as his father David had done” (2 Kings 14:3). Though he was not as consistent as David, he was on many fronts a good man. Even in the matter of capturing and executing the assassins of his father King Joash, Amaziah refrained from wiping out their families—a not uncommon practice at the time—for he was following the law of God (Deut. 24:16; 2 Kings 14:6). And then, after enjoying moderate military success (2 Kings 14:7), which apparently went to his head, he taunted the northern tribes for no good reason into a war he lost disastrously. The stupidity was gargantuan. Eventually Amaziah was himself assassinated after a twenty-nine-year reign.
By contrast, on gaining the throne of the northern kingdom Jeroboam II “did evil in the eyes of the LORD and did not turn away from any of the sins of Jeroboam son of Nebat, which he had caused Israel to commit” (2 Kings 14:24). Nevertheless he proved to be an able administrator and military leader. Because the Lord was sensitive to the cries of his people as they faced the crushing power of Syria to the north, he used Jeroboam II to restore the boundaries of Israel against Syrian encroachment, eventually recovering for Israel both Damascus and Hamath, which had belonged to Israel in the days of the united monarchy. Jeroboam II reigned for forty-one years and died in peace.
Observe: (1) A good king may do bad and stupid things. (2) A bad king may do good and important things. (3) It follows that one should never evaluate the morality of a leader simply on the basis of select good things or bad things they do. Even Hitler restored German confidence and created jobs. Presidents have been known to win wars and keep the economy going while living, sexually speaking, in the gutter.
November 2 - Titus 1
In some denominations, it is held that the Bible prescribes three church officers: bishops, who preside over several congregations; elders/pastors, who serve at the level of the local church, especially with respect to the ministry of the word and prayer (some would add “sacrament”), and deacons, who help in the administration of funds, especially with respect to caring for the physical needs of the flock (see the October 25 meditation).
It is widely recognized, however, that in reality the New Testament recognizes only two officers: the bishop/elder/pastor and the deacon. One of the most convincing treatments of the matter was written in the last century by J. B. Lightfoot, himself an Anglican. The breakdown into three divisions, he rightly contends, takes place after the New Testament documents have been written.
This means, of course, that one of the two offices enjoys three labels, partly because the work has many facets. The word pastor comes from a Latin root for “shepherd” (1 Peter 5:2). Shepherds feed, defend, guide, and discipline the flock. Elder terminology derives both from the rule of ancient villages and from synagogues: the leaders are to be mature and respected. Because bishop nowadays has so many ecclesiastical overtones, the NIV adopts the not uncommon practice of rendering the word “overseer” (e.g., 1 Tim. 3:1) to capture the elements of oversight, godly management, and spiritual accountability bound up with the task.
One of the reasons why so many have come to the conclusion that bishop, elder, and pastor are all words applicable to one office is that the lists of qualifications for these tasks are so similar. Thus, compare Titus 1:6–9 regarding an elder with 1 Timothy 3:1–7 regarding an overseer (bishop).
One point of apparent divergence in the NIV calls forth pangs of conscience among some pastors. First Timothy 3:4 stipulates that the overseer “must manage his own family well and see that his children obey him with proper respect.” By contrast, Titus 1:6 stipulates that the elder must be “a man whose children believe and are not open to the charge of being wild and disobedient.” This sounds like more stringent requirements for the elder. But in fact, the NIV rendering is both mistaken and unworkable. The Greek is justifiably rendered “whose children are faithful”—in the sense that they are not “wild and disobedient.” As long as the children are under their father’s roof, the bishop/elder must so order his household as to demonstrate he is capable of ordering the church. If Titus 1:6 were understood as in the NIV to stipulate that his children be believers, one might well ask, “From what age?” In short, the mistranslation is also unworkable. What the text actually says aligns it well with 1 Timothy 3.
November 3 - 2 Kings 16
The books of 1 and 2 Kings, though they follow the fortunes of both Judah and Israel (the southern and northern kingdoms, respectively, after the division that followed Solomon’s death), lay more emphasis on Israel, the northern ten tribes. More space is devoted to Israel’s kings than to Judah’s. Eventually, of course, the northern kingdom collapses (see tomorrow’s meditation), and then all the attention is focused on the south. By comparison, 1 and 2 Chronicles recount more or less the same history, but turn the spotlight primarily on the southern kingdom of Judah.
Even in 2 Kings, however, substantial attention is sometimes focused on one of the kings of Judah. So it is in 2 Kings 16. By and large, the northern kings degenerated more quickly than in the south. In the south, many kings are described as following the Lord, but not as David had done; in the north, many are described as following in the footsteps of Jeroboam the son of Nebat, who caused Israel to sin. But every once in a while a really evil or stupid king arises in the south. And such is Ahaz.
Religiously and theologically, Ahaz was a disaster. “Unlike David his father, he did not do what was right in the eyes of the LORD his God. He walked in the ways of the kings of Israel and even sacrificed his son in the fire, following the detestable ways of the nations the LORD had driven out before the Israelites” (2 Kings 16:2–3). Politically he fared no better. Harried by Israel and Syria to his north, King Ahaz of Judah decided to strip the temple of its wealth and send it to King Tiglath-Pileser of Assyria. Assyria was the rising superpower. Sending money to him as a kind of tribute, with a plea to get him to lean on Syria and Israel so as to reduce pressure on Judah, was a bit like throwing a hunk of meat to a crocodile: you could be sure that this crocodile would want more. Worse, King Ahaz became so enamored of Assyria that he introduced some of its pagan ways into the temple service. Fear turned Ahaz toward pagan power, and “deference to the king of Assyria” (2 Kings 16:18) fostered fresh compromises.
Contrast Hezekiah, two chapters later, who, while facing a far more serious threat from the Assyrians, brought on in no small part because of the stupidity and faithlessness of Ahaz, brooks no compromise but diligently seeks the face of God. There he discovers, in line with the experience of Moses and the fathers of Israel, that God is able to defend his people against few or many—it is all the same with him.
November 4 - 2 Kings 17
Second Kings 17 is a defining moment in Old Testament history. The northern kingdom of Israel comes to an end as a political entity. The trigger for this last step in the destruction of the nation is a piece of deceit perpetrated by her last king, Hoshea. While nominally maintaining her allegiance to Assyria (the regional superpower), Hoshea opened negotiations with Egypt, still an impressive political and military power, in the hope that Israel could come under her umbrella under better terms. Shalmaneser, king of Assyria, could only interpret this as treason and destroyed Samaria, the capital of Israel (2 Kings 17:1–6). He transported the leading Israelites to Assyria and then, as the end of the chapter makes clear, imported pagans from elsewhere in the empire, who intermingled with the poor Israelites left behind.
The rest of the chapter provides us with two explicit explanations, and a subtler, implicit one.
First, the ultimate reason for the destruction of the nation was not political or military, but religious and theological (2 Kings 17:7–17). The nation of Israel succumbed to idolatry. While maintaining superficial allegiance to the living God, they “secretly” built up pagan high places—as if the all-seeing God could be deceived! Asherah poles and Baal worship multiplied. The people ignored the prophets God sent them. “They followed worthless idols and themselves became worthless” (2 Kings 17:15; cf. Jer. 2:5). Rejecting the temple in Jerusalem, they constructed two calf idols. They worshiped astrological deities, messed around in the occult, and finally sank into the abominable practice of child sacrifice to Molech. “So the LORD was very angry with Israel and removed them from his presence” (2 Kings 17:18).
Second, this chapter explains the origins of the syncretistic religion of Samaria (2 Kings 17:24–41). The immigrant pagans mingled with the remaining Jews of the land. Racially and theologically, the results were mixed. Despite warnings from God (in the form of rampaging lions—no longer found in that part of the world, but at one time plentiful), the best this breed can muster is pathetic: they “worshiped the LORD, but they also served their own gods” (2 Kings 17:33). This is the background to the “Samaritans” we come across in Jesus’ day.
The third explanation is only implicit. It is obvious only when this chapter is read in the flow of canonical development. Fallen humanity is judged at the Flood; only a few survive. The patriarchs of the nascent Jewish nation end up in slavery. When God delivers them, their unbelief delays their entry into the Promised Land. The period of the judges ends in debauchery, corruption, decay. And now the period of the monarchy is winding up in similar shame.
God help us: we need a more radical answer than these.
November 5 - Philemon
In the first century, a slave who ran away could legally be executed. A master might not enforce that punishment, but at the very least the runaway slave who was caught would face very brutal treatment.
Onesimus is a slave who has run away from Philemon. Somewhere along the line, Onesimus has been converted. Whether he sought out Paul before his conversion or after, Onesimus is now with Paul, probably in Rome. The apostle is in prison awaiting trial, and Onesimus, now a believer, is running errands for him and otherwise helping him out.
But Paul knows this cannot continue. The apostle himself could be charged with aiding and abetting a fugitive. Legally, even morally, Onesimus must go back to Philemon and square things. But where is the morality in Roman slavery itself?
So Paul writes to Philemon and Apphia, knowing they are Christians, presumably well-to-do, with a home big enough to house the church where they live. The letter is a masterpiece of firm, godly diplomacy.
Paul commends Philemon for his love and encouragement (Philemon 7). He mentions that he could simply order him to take certain actions (Philemon 8), yet he prefers to appeal to him “as Paul—an old man and now also a prisoner of Christ Jesus” (Philemon 9) so that Philemon will act out of love. Only then does he mention Onesimus, and state what the appeal consists in. Paul wants Philemon to take back Onesimus, whom Paul characterizes as his “son,” now a “useful” person (which is what the name Onesimus means), and so loved by the apostle that he is Paul’s “very heart” (Philemon 10–12). Paul would have been happy to keep him, but would not do anything without Philemon’s “consent” (Philemon 14). Of course, Onesimus had run away, but regardless of how reprehensible that act had been, in the larger scheme of things “perhaps the reason he was separated from you for a little while [a convenient passive!] was that you might have him back for good—no longer as a slave, but better than a slave, as a dear brother” (Philemon 15–16). Surely he will therefore be dear to Philemon, “both as a man and as a brother in the Lord” (Philemon 16).
So Philemon is to welcome back Onesimus as he would welcome the apostle himself (Philemon 17), who hopes to come soon on a visit that will check up on things (Philemon 22). Apparently Onesimus stole from Philemon when he left: Paul says he will gladly repay the full amount—though Paul gently reminds Philemon of the supreme debt he owes to the man who brought him the Gospel.
Nothing can destroy brutal relationships faster than the Gospel rightly applied.
November 6 - Hebrews 1
The contrasts in the opening verses of Hebrews 1 all tend in the same direction.
“In the past” contrasts with “in these last days.” God spoke “to our forefathers” stands over against the fact that in these last days he has spoken “to us.” In the past God spoke to the forefathers “through the prophets at many times and in various ways.” But in these last days God has spoken to us “by his Son” (Heb. 1:1–2).
Indeed, the form of that expression, “by his Son,” in the original, suggests pretty strongly that the author of Hebrews does not think of the Son as one more prophet, or even as the supreme prophet. The idea is not that while in the past the word of God was mediated by prophets, in these last days the word has been mediated by the Son, who thus becomes the last of the prophets. Something more fundamental is at issue. The Greek expression, over-translated, means “in Son.” The absence of the article “the” is significant. Moreover, “in Son” contrasts not only with “through the prophets” but with “through the prophets at many times and in various ways.”
The point is that in these last days God has disclosed himself in the Son revelation. In the past, when God used the prophets he sometimes gave them words directly (in oracles or visions), sometimes providentially led them through experiences they recorded, sometimes “spoke” through extraordinary events such as the burning bush: there were “many times” and “various ways” (Heb. 1:1). But now, God has spoken “in Son”—we might paraphrase, “in the Son revelation.” It is not that Jesus simply mediates the revelation; he is the revelation. It is not that Jesus simply brings the word; he is himself, so to speak, the Word of God, the climactic Word. The idea is very similar to what one reads in the Prologue of John’s Gospel. The Son is capable of this because he is “the radiance of God’s glory and the exact representation of his being” (Heb. 1:3).
Strictly speaking, then, Christians are not to think of the New Testament books as just like the Old Testament books, bringing the next phase of God’s redemptive plan to us. Mormons argue that that is all they are—and then say that Joseph Smith brought a still later revelation to us, since he was yet another accredited prophet. But the author of Hebrews sees that the climax of all the Old Testament revelation, mediated through prophets and stored in books, is not, strictly speaking, more books—but Christ Jesus himself. The New Testament books congregate around Jesus and bear witness to him who is the climax of revelation. Later books that cannot bear witness to this climactic revelation are automatically disqualified.
November 7 - 2 Kings 20
2 Kings 20 is one of the sadder chapters of Scripture. It pictures a man who has been faithful in the past, now withering away in the complacency of selfishness.
King Hezekiah ruled over Judah, the southern kingdom, in the waning days of the northern kingdom of Israel. Once the Assyrians had defeated Israel and transported its leading citizens, leaving behind only a shattered wreck of a nation, there was plenty of reason for discouragement in the south. But in truly heroic fashion, Hezekiah, guided in part by the prophet Isaiah, withstands the withering siege of King Sennacherib of Assyria, simply relying on the mercy of the Lord God. Sent by God himself, plague sweeps through the Assyrian camp, killing almost two hundred thousand people. Jerusalem and Judah are spared (2 Kings 18–19; Isa. 36–37). Moreover, Hezekiah’s commitment to God in the early years of his reign was not characterized by the typical compromise, which maintained some sort of allegiance to Yahweh while not touching the high places and other sites of pagan worship. Far from it: he cleaned things up, earning the judgment, “He did what was right in the eyes of the LORD, just as his father David had done” (2 Kings 18:3–4). He even recognized that the bronze serpent Moses had made (Num. 21:4–9) had now become a superstitious snare, and destroyed it.
Then he fell ill and wept bitterly. Somehow he got himself into the position where he thought his righteous deeds meant that God owed him a long and prosperous life (2 Kings 20:2–3). In his mercy, God assigned him fifteen more years, and gave him a miraculous sign to confirm the promise (2 Kings 20:1–11). During that fifteen-year span, however, Hezekiah failed an important test: when emissaries came from Babylon, instead of seeking the Lord’s face and walking humbly, Hezekiah played the role of a proud potentate, showing off the kingdom’s rising wealth. Everything was duly recorded in the books of Babylon, in preparation for the day, more than a century later, when Babylon would be the superpower and crush Jerusalem and send her people into exile (2 Kings 20:12–18).
But this is not Hezekiah’s most grievous lapse. When Isaiah the prophet tells him what will happen, the king does not repent of his arrogance, or seek forgiveness, or intercede with God. The threatened judgment is slated for the future: Hezekiah refuses to accept any deeply felt responsibility. He piously comments, “The word of the LORD you have spoken is good”—while the writer comments, “For he thought, ‘Will there not be peace and security in my lifetime?’” (2 Kings 20:19). Hezekiah has become a moral and strategic pygmy.
Far better to die young after genuine, godly, achievements, than to die old and embittered, poisoning your own heritage.
November 8 - Hebrews 3
Many people have suggested that a suitable summary of the theme of Hebrews is “Jesus is better.” In chapters 1–2 he is better than the angels; in chapter 3 he is better than Moses. In Hebrews 4, the rest he offers is better than the rest provided by the Promised Land. In chapters 5 and 7 his high priesthood is better than the Levitical priesthood; in chapter 8, the new covenant over which he presides is better than the old covenant. In chapters 9–10, he officiates over a better sanctuary than the tabernacle, exercises a better ministry, and offers a better sacrifice. In short, “Jesus is better.” The message is designed to strengthen the hearts and minds of Jewish Christians who, though they have willingly suffered for Christ in the past, at this point are tempted to return to the Jewish rites and practices they inherited. The writer of Hebrews is afraid that they are abandoning exclusive confidence in Christ, somehow succumbing to the temptation to think that, although Jesus Christ is all right, one may gain a bit more substance, or spirituality, or historical depth, or acceptance among the kinfolk—whatever—thereby sliding toward an implicit denial that “Jesus is better.”
None of this means the old covenant was bad; it simply means it was not ultimate. Thus in the brief comparison of Moses and Jesus in Hebrews 3:1–6, Moses, we are told, “was faithful in all God’s house” (Heb. 3:2); he “was faithful as a servant in all God’s house, testifying to what would be said in the future” (Heb. 3:5). There is not a word of reproach.
But Jesus is better. It helps to understand that in both Hebrew and Greek house can mean “household.” Like Moses, the author of Hebrews avers, Jesus “was faithful to the one who appointed him” (Heb. 3:2). Nevertheless, “Jesus has been found worthy of greater honor than Moses.” Why? Because “the builder of a house has greater honor than the house itself” (Heb. 3:3). That seems to suggest that Jesus’ role with respect to God’s “house” or “household” is radically different from that of Moses. Moses was faithful as a servant within the household, and his most important role was testifying to what was to come. Jesus is faithful as “a son over God’s house” (Heb. 3:6)—and that household is the community of believers (Heb. 3:6). Moses appears as one servant within the household, looking to the future; Jesus appears as God’s Son over the household, building that household (Heb. 3:3) and proving to be the very substance of that to which Moses was pointing in the future.
However important the comparisons between the two men, the differences are the more striking.
November 9 - 2 Kings 22
The last serious attempt at moral and theological reformation in the kingdom of Judah is reported in 2 Kings 22. After that, there is only the final slide into exile.
King Hezekiah, the effect of whose reign was so largely good, was succeeded by his son Manasseh. He reigned a long time, fifty-five years, but his reign was notorious for its “evil in the eyes of the LORD, following the detestable practices of the nations the LORD had driven out before the Israelites” (2 Kings 21:2). There was no form of current idolatry he did not adopt. According to 2 Chronicles 33, Manasseh repented toward the end of his life, but the religious and institutional damage could not easily be undone. He was succeeded by his wicked son Amon, who lasted only two years before he was assassinated (2 Kings 21:19–26).
Then came Josiah, a boy of eight when he came to the throne (2 Kings 22:1). He reigned thirty-one years—which means, of course, he died a premature death at the age of thirty-nine. Initially he would have been under the guidance and control of others. But in the eighteenth year of his reign, Josiah, then in his mid-twenties, initiated temple cleanup and repair—and the “Book of the Law” was rediscovered. Probably this refers to the book of Deuteronomy. (Nineteenth- and twentieth-century scholars of skeptical bent contend that this was in fact when Deuteronomy and other parts of the Pentateuch were actually written, so that this story of “rediscovering” the law was made up to justify these new developments. This theory is increasingly being dismissed; its foundation is little more than raw speculation.)
The reforms instituted by Josiah were sweeping. On every front, wherever he could effect change, Josiah brought the nation into line with the Law of God. He fully recognized the terrible threat of wrath that hung over the covenant people, and he resolved to do what was right, leaving the outcome with God. If the day of reckoning could not finally be removed, at least it could be delayed.
Of the important lessons to be learned here, I shall focus on one. Some people find it difficult to believe that the nation could descend into complete biblical ignorance so quickly. After all, Hezekiah was Josiah’s great-grandfather: the reformation he led was not that long ago. True—but long enough. The intervening three-quarters of a century had begun with the long and wicked reign of Manasseh. The history of the twentieth century testifies to how quickly a people can become ignorant of Scripture—and we live this side of the printing press, not to mention the Internet. The church is never more than a generation or two from apostasy and oblivion. Only grace is a sufficient hedge.
November 10 - Hebrews 5
The words from Psalm 2:7, “You are my Son; today I have become your Father,” are quoted three times in the New Testament: (a) in Acts 13:33, where it serves as a kind of proof-text to justify the resurrection of Jesus; (b) in Hebrews 1:5, where the author infers that because Jesus alone is the Son of God, he is superior to the angels; and (c) in Hebrews 5:5, where it is cited to prove that just as Aaron did not take on the high priesthood by himself, but was called by God to the task, so also Jesus was appointed by God to his high priesthood.
So Psalm 2:7 is variously taken to support the resurrection of Jesus, to provide evidence of Jesus’ superiority over the angels, and to demonstrate that when Jesus became high priest he did not take on the job himself, but was appointed by God. On the face of it, none of these applications of Psalm 2:7 is very obvious.
It helps to remember two things. First, Psalm 2:7 is an enthronement psalm. It celebrates the appointment to office of the next Davidic king. At that point the man becomes “God’s son.” In the ancient world, sons usually ended up doing what their fathers did. God rules with justice and equity; the king, functioning as God’s “son,” was to do what God does: among other things, rule with justice and equity. And this Davidic line finally ends in one who is the “Son” par excellence.
Second, at the risk of oversimplification, New Testament christology falls into one of two patterns. In the first, the account of Christ begins in eternity past, descends in humiliation to this world and to the ignominy and shame of the cross, and rises through the resurrection and exaltation of Christ to triumph. We might think of it as the “up-down-up” model. Philippians 2:6–11 and John 17:5 are memorable examples. In the second, there is no mention of Jesus’ origin in eternity past: it is a “down-up” model. The entire focus is on his triumph through death, resurrection, ascension, exaltation. This great, redemptive event is the critical thing, the time when Jesus is appointed king, the time when his priestly role commences, the moment when he is “declared with power to be the Son of God by his resurrection from the dead” (Rom. 1:4). This is not to say that there is no sense in which Jesus is the Son, or the king, or exercises priestly functions, before the cross and resurrection. But this model of christology has no doubt where the greatest turning point of history lies.
These are the presuppositions that lie behind all three uses of Psalm 2:7. It is a useful exercise to reflect on them again, with these structures in mind.