The Theosabes

Barnabas and Paul arrive in Pisidian Antioch and follow their typical script. They immediately find their Jewish brethren and join them in fellowship and worship at the local synagogue. After the normal synagogue service, visiting guests are invited to share a word of encouragement with the people gathered there. This is a basic gesture, especially for visiting teachers — let alone the fact that Paul is a student of one of the most renowned Jewish teachers of their day. I’m sure people couldn’t wait to hear from Paul.

And hear from Paul, they do.

We are told Paul stood up and motioned with his hand for the assembly’s attention. One thing to notice is this thirteenth chapter of Acts seems to signify the arrival of Paul as a teacher. Prior to the story of Pisidian Antioch, Luke is very intentional to say “Barnabas and Saul/Paul,” which would signify Barnabas is the leader (by putting his name first). After this story, it will become, for the rest of the book of Acts (with one exception), “Paul and Barnabas.”

This story appears to be a defining moment for Paul. It seems the church in Antioch sent Paul out with Barnabas as his teacher, and it is in this story where the roles switch. Barnabas will give Paul the nod, Paul will seize the moment, and Barnabas will become the student. Incredible humility.

Paul stands up and begins his presentation, “Men of Israel and you Gentiles who worship God…”

Now wait a minute. We have to unpack a lot of context in this brief address.

We need to expound on the rabbinical climate of Asia Minor in the first century. Decades before the ministry of Jesus, the Jewish world in Asia Minor was having to figure out what they did with the Gentiles in their synagogues who wanted to worship the God of Israel. While this was not a problem in the world of Judea and Jerusalem, the rest of the Roman world was a different story. We are told by modern scholars that the population of Asia Minor was somewhere close to 20% Jewish.

That’s significant — one out of every five people.

Folks knew about the Jews; people in Asia Minor had exposure to the Jewish faith. And some of them really liked it. They learned to love the God of Israel and to love His words. They came to synagogue and tried to find a place of worship. And the Jews had to figure out what to do with that.

Is it acceptable for a Gentile to worship the God of Israel? All Jews were in agreement. “Of course.”

But one rabbi said, “Hey Gentiles, we are glad you are here. We love that you love the God of Israel. But it won’t do you any good unless you convert, take on circumcision (and the rest of the law that it represents), and become Jewish.” If you're thinking that such a position sounds a lot like Shammai, then you’re dead on.

But the other rabbi — indeed, a guy by the name of Hillel — said, “Gentiles, we are thrilled you are here and we love that you love the God of Israel. You are welcome to worship God and you can even find justification. If Abraham was justified by faith before he was circumcised, so can you!” Now, Hillel would have remained quite steadfast that these Gentiles were not Jews; they were not brothers in the family of God, but they were welcome to be distant cousins.

This is all well and good, but what does this have to do with the story of Pisidian Antioch? Well, Pisidian Antioch sits on the edge of the region known as Galatia. While almost all of Asia and Asia Minor was very Hillel driven (which makes sense; a Jewish world finding its place within a Roman context would like to lean toward inclusion), the region of Galatia was very definitely Shammai country. As we mentioned in the last post, Galatia was very rugged, primitive, “off-the-beaten-path,” backwoods territory. The Jewish population that settled there purposefully did so NOT to assimilate into a Roman context. There are six quotes from Galatian rabbis in the Mishnah and all six of them are Shammai quotations.

So this argument created three different people groups referenced in the land of Asia Minor within a Jewish context. There are people the Jews would call “brothers”; this indicated they were fellow ethnic Jews. They also spoke of “children of Abraham”; this was a designation given to proselytes — converts who were not born Jewish but had decided to take on circumcision and follow the law and become completely Jewish. Then there was a group of people who were called in the Greek theosabes; it’s a term we translate “God-fearer” or “God-fearing Gentiles.”

The Jewish argument was swirling about the theosabes. What do we do with the God-fearing Gentile? Everybody agreed about the “brothers” and the “children of Abraham,” but what do we do about the theosabes? It’s impossible to know which direction the synagogue in Pisidian Antioch leaned, but it’s safe to say the cultural argument was a tense one.

We also know that, whatever their position, Paul references the presence of all three groups more than once. When Paul stands up and says, “Men of Israel (Jews) and you Gentiles who worship God (theosabes),” that tells you that you have a little bit of everybody in the room.

Paul will later address all three groups directly. If Acts 13:26 is translated correctly (as it used to be in the 1984 edition of the NIV), it will read, “Brothers, children of Abraham, and you God-fearing Gentiles…”

Brothers (group one), children of Abraham (group two), and you God-fearing Gentiles (group three).

Paul has some good news that’s going to stir the pot. What will their reaction be? I think we may be surprised.

Saul to Paul

Barnabas and Saul arrive at Cyprus. It seems clear that they are taking the standard route to Asia (see the map below), the likely place to begin this first missionary journey. Cyprus is the island that sits just west off of the Mediterranean coast from Antioch and is the logical stop for all ships sailing west.

When Barnabas and Saul get to Cyprus (we are told John is with them, as well), they begin proclaiming this message of a new Kingdom in the synagogues of the region. We are not given the impression they have a negative experience at all or find any trouble being received by their Jewish brothers (more on this later). Eventually, they meet a Jewish sorcerer (if you’re scratching your head, you should be — those two do not go together and is a direct violation of Torah) who happens to work for the Roman proconsul, named Sergius Paulus. You could think of proconsul as the “Secretary of State” of the Roman world. (At the least, it refers to that major region, but most have argued the position is imperial, not just regional.)

Saul boldly confronts the sinful and deceptive lifestyle of this false prophet who is immediately engulfed in darkness and blindness. Upon seeing this encounter, Sergius Paulus believes in the Lord and finds himself amazed at the teaching. What I find so interesting in this story is that Saul changes his name to Paul. Why would he do that?

If you immediately made the connection to Sergius, you are astute. It seems that Saul changes his name to that of his first convert.

However, if you also thought deeper than that, you are even more astute. Paul changes his own name. This is something that almost never happens in Scripture. (Naomi, in the story of Ruth, tells her friend to call her “Marah,” which means bitter.) A name change is always initiated by a figure of authority who has the right to change your name (God, a rabbi, your parents, etc.), but Paul formally changes his own name.

This name change signifies something significant in the consciousness of Paul. What is it? I think the next story may clue us in.

After this encounter John leaves their company while Barnabas and Paul head to Pisidian Antioch. This is where unfamiliarity with the geography of Asia and Asia Minor will have us miss the point in the story completely. The original readers would be shaking their heads as to why they end up in Antioch of Pisidia. It doesn’t make any sense.

They were clearly heading west to Asia; now they are headed due north into the middle of nowhere in Asia Minor. It’s a drastic change of route. They would have to sail north to reach the coast, and upon reaching the coast they would depart on a week-long hike. This hike would be through a region that does not even have a road to walk on. They would have hiked through the wilderness and they probably could have counted the people they met on the way with their two hands.

What are they doing?

It will also help to know a few details about Antioch of Pisidia. The city was one of many Antiochs that were planted by Rome throughout the tribal region of Asia Minor. Rome always struggled to conquer the primitive tribal regions since they had no imperial structure. These strong barbaric fighters were such a nuisance to the Romans that they formed treaties to solicit their help in the region rather than conquer them. In order to influence the region with progressive thought and the values of Hellenism, the Romans planted these cities that put Rome on steroids.

The cities were designed to put Rome on display, in all of her military might. Pisidian Antioch was unique because it was known as a miniature Rome. Built on seven small hills, the city had most of the same installations as its capital counterpart. In the archaeological ruins of Pisidian Antioch, we have found multiple references to one name of particular interest: Proconsul Sergius Paulus.

Sergius Paulus was a resident of Pisidian Antioch. According to one of the inscriptions, he was the one who paid for the installation of the main city gate — which is an impressive structure. Why Barnabas and Paul ran into Sergius on Cyprus is unclear. Was he traveling through? Was he on an assignment? Vacation? We don’t know, but their next stop after his conversion will be his hometown.

It makes the reader wonder if Paul’s excitement after experiencing his first encounter with a convert — coupled with the fact that it is such a high-profile leader — affected his mission strategy. Was he convinced he could go straight to the top of Rome? Was his goal to speak directly to the family of Caesar himself? It is impossible to know for sure, but there is certainly a lot of evidence in Paul’s writings that will lend credence to this theory.

He will tell the Christians in Rome more than once how he cannot wait to visit Rome, and how it has been a goal of his to get to Rome ever since his calling. More than once in the book of Acts, we will see Paul try to go to Rome and have his mind resolutely set on standing before Caesar.

Of course, God has other plans — as He often does.

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. Barnabas and Paul have quite the interaction in Pisidian Antioch, and it is one that will shape the contours of the New Testament.

Conversion? Repentance? Or...?

The next chapter tells the stunning story of Saul’s transformation. If you remember, we were introduced to Saul in the story of Stephen as he held the coats and oversaw the execution. We are reminded of his intense pursuit of the church in the next chapter as the movement was scattered because of the persecution he was leading.

And then, all of a sudden, Jesus enters Saul’s story and everything radically changes. Saul is on his way to Damascus with letters in hand from the high priest himself to find and arrest any of Jesus’s followers. (Please note, the letters are intended for “synagogues”; apparently this early church is still very much Jewish and a part of the world of Judaism.) As he gets closer to Damascus, a bright light sends him to the ground as he hears the voice of Jesus asking why Saul is trying to persecute him. When Saul asks who is speaking to him, Jesus responds that it is he whom Saul is persecuting.

I find it interesting to note that Jesus claims — twice — it is he whom Saul is persecuting. He doesn’t say, “Hey Saul! Why are you persecuting my followers?” But Jesus claims Saul is actually persecuting Jesus. I find that to be quite the commentary on what it means to partner with God and be a part of the “body of Christ.” But I digress.

Saul is struck blind and sent to the house of Ananias (who isn’t too pleased with the idea of helping out the man who is notorious for trying to destroy them) and he regains his sight. He also enters into a time of deep commitment and training. After all, Saul — who has been trained by Gamaliel the Elder — has a lot to learn (and unlearn) in his Judaism. This isn’t a statement we should read past. Saul was the disciple of one of the greatest names of first-century Judaism. Saul’s pedigree is incredible; it’s the equivalent of being a Ph.D. from Harvard. Saul would be able to walk into any Jewish setting and demand respect simply by being a student of Gamaliel’s. 

But in this Jesus reality, much of what he has learned is still incomplete.

Now, I want to end this post with a question. I want to pose a question I don’t intend to resolve until the end of our time in Acts.

The subtitle in most Bibles for this section is going to read: “The Conversion of Saul”

Is that an accurate subtitle? Is Saul “converted”? On some level, this is a matter of semantics and what we mean technically by “conversion.” But if we mean that Saul changes religious affiliation, I would like to ask you to reconsider. You see, this is why semantics matter, because I believe most of us as Jesus followers tend to take a similar stance toward Judaism.

God worked through Judaism in the Old Testament, then God sent Jesus and God changed stories. He abandoned Judaism and started at square one. If Jews want to be saved, they have to accept Jesus as the Messiah and be converted. They need to switch teams from an old abandoned Judaism to “the new thing” God is doing in Jesus.

Right?

But this betrays the story we have been studying. I have been trying to show that this story of God is one narrative from front to back. God doesn’t change game plans; Jesus is the fulfillment and the demonstration of the game plan that has been true all along. And while we aren’t in the book of Romans yet, I think the position we typically hold in the evangelical community runs directly contrary to the teaching of Romans 11. We have been grafted into the Jewish story. We have been grafted into their tree. God didn’t plant a brand new tree and invite everybody to jump on board. No, God pruned and continued to cultivate the original tree and grafted Gentiles into that.

While I will admit that Saul was certainly misguided in his persecution of Christians, his intentions come from a zealous pursuit of the God of the Bible. The same Jewish God Jesus came to show us.

So I will ask again, was this a conversion?

Or was this a repentance? Was Saul following the right story and simply had some wires crossed? Once he realized his error, did he switch teams or simply start following the same God and the same faith with a new understanding of what God was up to in the world?

Or was this something else entirely?

We will talk much more about Saul and his education. We’ll talk much more about this new “Christian” faith and how it fits into Judaism in the time to come. For now, I simply want to let that question upset the apple cart before we move on.

The Story Behind the Story (part two)

This is the second part to a two-part blog post. To have an understanding of where we are at, you will want to go back and read this post to catch up.

The huge hint that clues us in is not only to notice what the Chronicler leaves out of his story, but what he puts in. There is a huge addition of material about the Temple. For the Chronicler, the story is — on some level — about the Temple of the LORD.

The author rearranges the events of David and Solomon’s life to make some big points. In the first story, David expresses his desire to build God a house in 2 Samuel 7. The plea seems almost insignificant and unnoticeable; this part of the story makes no grand splash in the greater picture. Yet, in the Chronicles version, it is this request that almost seems to serve as the hinge point of the David story. In 1 Chronicles 17, David asks God to build the temple and everything in the story seems to change. David will no longer seem to be concerned about kiddush haShem. Now, David seems to be bent on conquest and plans for building the Temple and supplies for the Temple.

And why did David ask to build the Temple anyway? Because he felt guilty about the kind of life he was living.

“Why should I live in a palace of cedar, while my LORD lives in a tent?”

God’s response: “I like my tent, thank you very much. When did I ever ask you (or anyone else) for a house?”

David is wrestling with the kind of person he’s becoming. He’s no longer the poor little shepherd boy, living out in the fields with his father’s sheep. He’s not just a raggedy ol’ kid marching down the hillside with his sling.

He’s a big, mighty king — living in a palace of cedar. And it makes him a little nervous.

And he becomes obsessed (with the best of intentions, I believe) with remedying the situation by building God a glorious house.

But it’s all starting to look a little more like empire and a little less like shalom.

This will get passed on to his son Solomon, who will take his father’s blueprints and exponentially increase the Temple’s grandeur. And Chronicles will waste no time in letting you know exactly where it stands on Solomon. In the very first chapter of 2 Chronicles, the author makes a point of including this paragraph:

Solomon accumulated chariots and horses; he had fourteen hundred chariots and twelve thousand horses, which he kept in the chariot cities and also with him in Jerusalem. The king made silver and gold as common in Jerusalem as stones, and cedar as plentiful as sycamore-fig trees in the foothills. Solomon’s horses were imported from Egypt and from Kue—the royal merchants purchased them from Kue at the current price. They imported a chariot from Egypt for six hundred shekels of silver, and a horse for a hundred and fifty. They also exported them to all the kings of the Hittites and of the Arameans.

And in the course of four verses, Solomon breaks every one of the commands of the king from Deuteronomy 17.

This isn’t looking good for Solomon. And the whole story will show the greatness and grandeur of Solomon that comes at the expense of God’s kingdom project. As the first paragraph after Solomon’s death will have the people of Israel approaching his son, Rehoboam, begging for him to loosen the yoke of Solomon from around their necks. Because building an empire always comes at a price.

You see, the story isn’t just about your morality and obedience. The story that God is telling in this scripture is inviting us to see the story behind the story.

And we’ve seen this story before; it’s the same one God’s been trying to tell from the beginning.

We’ve seen it here.

And here.

And here.

And here.

We’ve seen it a lot. And God continues to invite us to trust that we’re okay and we don’t need more. He invites us to enter His rest and wait on every word. He invites us to sit in the shade and not worry too much about houses made of cedar — whether they are ours or His.

As one final thought, in case anybody continues to wrestle with whether they agree with my take on the story, I would invite you to wrestle with these two mirror passages.

The first one from 2 Samuel 24:

Again the anger of the Lord burned against Israel, and he incited David against them, saying, “Go and take a census of Israel and Judah.”
So the king said to Joab and the army commanders with him, “Go throughout the tribes of Israel from Dan to Beersheba and enroll the fighting men, so that I may know how many there are.”
But Joab replied to the king, “May the Lord your God multiply the troops a hundred times over, and may the eyes of my lord the king see it. But why does my lord the king want to do such a thing?”
The king’s word, however, overruled Joab and the army commanders; so they left the presence of the king to enroll the fighting men of Israel.

And the other from 1 Chronicles 21:

Satan rose up against Israel and incited David to take a census of Israel. So David said to Joab and the commanders of the troops, “Go and count the Israelites from Beersheba to Dan. Then report back to me so that I may know how many there are.”
But Joab replied, “May the Lord multiply his troops a hundred times over. My lord the king, are they not all my lord’s subjects? Why does my lord want to do this? Why should he bring guilt on Israel?”
The king’s word, however, overruled Joab; so Joab left and went throughout Israel and then came back to Jerusalem.

So was it Satan or the LORD who had David take the census?

And why does the Chronicler add a statement to Joab’s response?

Could it be that from the perspective of the first author, David did something that the LORD was not happy about (again, making this about David’s obedience/morality), but from the perspective of the Chronicler, it was the lust after empire — the lie of the serpent, the temptation not to trust the story — that actually led Israel as a nation (not just David as a man) into the sin that would lead them into captivity? It is clear in these passages that David is struggling with an obsession of empire — strength, might, security. I would also add that in the historical world, a census was almost without exception accompanied with a tax. You don’t suppose David is trying to acquire the recourses for an upcoming building project, do you?

Not that building projects are bad. They are not. David’s house of cedar is amoral. There’s nothing right or wrong about it.

The Temple of the LORD is amoral. Whether it’s a tent or a gold-plated temple doesn’t matter to God.

There’s nothing wrong with church buildings, church budgets, or institutions that have to pay the bills.

But there’s this horrible temptation to start to build empires and forget what it means to kiddush haShem.

And there’s the constant voice and persistent invitation to remember your days in a field, shepherding sheep; to remember the shade of a rotem bush in the desert; and never to forget that you were once slaves in Egypt.

If you don’t remember, you just might become Pharaoh yourself, gathering slaves from every corner of the earth to accomplish your will (1 Kings 5:13, 9:15, 21; 2 Chronicles 8:8).  And if that happened, God just might hear the cry of the oppressed and begin the work of rescuing His kids…

The Story Behind the Story (part one)

In order to fully understand this post, you will want to go back and read the last post, as its content will be essential to following the conversation you’ll find in this post.

So, keeping in mind the two different biblical sources we have for Davidic/Solomonic history, I want to take a look at how the two sources tell their history and what kinds of conclusions we can draw by noticing their differences. So first, let’s do a fly-by summary of what’s seen in the Samuel/Kings account.

SAMUEL/KINGS

After a seven chapter biography of Saul — his selection, his struggle, and his rejection — we are introduced to the shepherd boy David in the chapters that describe his anointing, his service of Saul, and the defeat of Goliath. Immediately following the Goliath story, Saul begins to deal with the jealously and ill-will he feels toward David. The remainder of 1 Samuel (over ten chapters) will outline the long and arduous pursuit of David by Saul, and the story goes to great lengths to display David’s humility, morality, and refusal to do anything that would not kiddush haShem.

1 Samuel ends with Saul hopelessly taking his life and 2 Samuel will begin with David mourning the death of his enemy. The first nine chapters of 2 Samuel record how David solidifies his throne in Israel, yet we cannot move past this without making two points: 1) Everything David does in establishing his throne is completely void of self-indulgence. David’s actions will continue to kiddush haShem, and we’ll even have over three chapters dedicated to David establishing the seat of God in Jerusalem, bringing the Ark of the Covenant to rest in that place, and his subsequent prayers, praise, and celebration. 2) David’s “military approach” is so counter-intuitive, that it continues to throw David’s men off their hinges. David will continue to mourn the death of his enemies and slay HIS OWN MEN when they attempt to murder the king’s enemies on their own. The story reads as a completely wacky tragedy for those trying to learn how to live in an upside-down kingdom that brings shalom to chaos.

At this point, the story turns to David’s defeat of the Ammonites and the famous story of his relationship with Bathsheba. After the story of Bathsheba, David’s life will take a turn for the worse. His family becomes a heaping pile of dysfunction, his own children begin raping and killing each other, and Absalom will chase his father through the kingdom (echoes of Saul?) and David will run from a son who eventually dies at the hands of his leading general, who will pay for that protection with his life. David will count his fighting men — a move that will get him in trouble — and the book of 2 Samuel comes to an end.

The book of 1 Kings begins with the throne of Solomon being established and his many building projects. Queen Sheba visits Solomon in chapter 10, where we are told about Solomon’s incredible splendor. Now, while there are some possible hints that things aren’t as great as they appear in the preceding chapters, the first indication that the author of Kings give us in in the middle of chapter 10 where we are told that Sheba’s gift (probably a treaty tax of good faith) weighs 666 talents — a deliberate attempt by the author to tell us we’ve reached a turning point in the story. In fact, it’s going to be this long list of treaties that gets Solomon in trouble, as each treaty is signed by the marriage of Solomon to a daughter of the opposing king/queen. The very next chapter tells us about Solomon’s 700 wives and how they lead him astray to idolatry; it is at this point where Solomon’s kingdom falls apart.

So, if we were to step back and ask what the author is saying about this story, I think we would see a definite point. The Samuel/Kings agenda is to say that the Kingdom falls because of immorality. The definite, undeniable turning point in the David story is his sin with Bathsheba; it’s David’s immorality that leads to his downfall. In a very similar fashion, it is Solomon’s immorality that leads to his downfall and the definitive shift in his story, as well. His wives will lead him into idolatry. From the perspective of the first source, the problem is clear. These men have a problem holding true to God’s path (we haven’t mentioned “trusting the story” in a while, but it certainly fits here).

CHRONICLES

However, the story of Chronicles tells a completely different story, and it’s not because the author is trying to save space. Let’s look at the differences between the two sources.

After a lengthy section of genealogies, the Chronicler spends his time introducing you to the reign of David. There is no effort spent in trying to put David’s morality on display, only his pedigree. There’s no discussion about his exclusion of Saul or how he goes about his warfare. Even more surprising is the absolute exclusion of the Bathsheba debacle. The telling of Chronicles is void of a morality parade. For the author of Chronicles, David’s kingdom consisted of something other than a high moral ethic and it fell for a far broader reason than the moral failure of a leader.

Likewise, the story of Solomon is completely void of the mention of Solomon’s many wives and his subsequent idolatry. What is so striking about this for me (your experience might be different) is that throughout my life I have been taught about the moral (particularly, sexual) failures of these two men, yet another biblically-inspired author seems to be trying to convince us not to miss the bigger point.

The author of Samuel/Kings is not incorrect in the way he tells the story at all. All the observations he makes about the moral struggle are true and the agenda that drives the story is useful and compelling for the reader to become a particular kind of individual. But remember that the Chronicler is trying to write about history with a sense of hindsight and perspective; I feel as though he is trying to tell us that we may miss the forest for the trees if we aren’t careful. To put it another way, there is a story BEHIND the story.

 

 

And this post became so long, that I've split it into two parts.  Come back on Monday to find wrestle more with the story that may lie behind the history of the Old Testament.

One Story, Two Sources

Now, before we continue our chat about the life of David (or Solomon, for that matter), we need to take some time to try and understand the sources that we’re using to unpack this period of history. If you are like me, this is where the story starts to blur and my eyes begin to glaze over. Part of the reason for this is because we are on the cusp of a period of history that will be loaded with short stories about a whole list of kings and their disobedience (with a few exceptions). Another reason is that it becomes hard, once the kingdom divides, to follow which king is whose king, and whose son is which king, and so on and so on.

Another reason I get very glassy in this section is because it always seemed like I was reading two versions of the same story and I could never figure out if we were having flashbacks or what transition I missed. I never felt like this was explained well, so as I look at this period of history with my students (in the books of 1/2 Samuel, 1/2 Kings, and 1/2 Chronicles), I try to be very intentional about mapping out our sources. If it seems like we’re reading two different versions of the same story — it’s because we are.

While I’ll be skipping a lot of extra-curricular information, I’m going to attempt to map out these sections using my own language. While I’m sure there are great sources out there for this, I have never found a package that I liked. I’m sure that many people have done this better than I’m about to and I’m sure that some Bible scholar would tear the language I choose to use to shreds, but nevertheless, I want to make an attempt. (That’s a disclaimer. I’m always nervous when stuff comes out of my own mind and not from a great source. Be warned.)

We see two stories for this period of history in the Hebrew scriptures. One of them is the story as seen in the books of Samuel and Kings. Chronicles is another recording of the same period of history. Yet, they are much more than just two different records. Let’s attack them one at a time.

And before we do, let’s just acknowledge how much debate swirls about all of the details of authorship. Scholars argue about who wrote the books. They argue about when the books were written. They argue about why the books were written and the perspective and/or the agenda we encounter in each. I don’t say this to trivialize those arguments; on the contrary, these debates are incredibly important. In particular, the debate about WHEN, is one of the most significant in trying to understand what is taking place in these records from a literary standpoint.

I will not be trying to speak into these debates, but trying to take very general stances based on everything from consensus, to my own personal leanings.


1/2 SAMUEL & 1/2 KINGS
I like to argue that this version of the story could be read from the perspective of the northern kingdom of Israel. I use that designation very loosely, as I think what I’m trying to point out is where this version is written relative to its (supposed) reference in history — not geography. This portion of history reads more like the headlines of your current events than it does as a reflection on earlier history. However, it is important to point out immediately that ancient easterners do not record history in the same way that modern westerners do. They are not nearly as interested in recording the FACTS with an intense commitment to PRECISION and ACCURACY. Instead, they would like to tell the story of what’s happening in a way that compels the reader to a particular course of action. For the ancient Jew, history is prophetic (and by prophetic, we are not referring to “future-telling,” but the mouthpiece of God to the current day).

One doesn’t need to look much further than where the books are arranged in the Hebrew scriptures. I see many students are shocked to find out that when the Christians arranged the canon that we use today, they rearranged the book order of the Old Testament. Inquiring minds often want to know why we did such a thing, to which my oversimplified answer is, “in order to make the Jews look bad.” This usually doesn’t please many people, who quickly argue that the canon was arranged according to genre (a western category); while this is technically true, to ignore the historical anti-Semitism that is rampant at the point of history where we arranged the canon would be foolish. One has to explain why we felt the need to change the order in the first place.

The original “Old Testament” was called the “TaNaKh,” which is shorthand for the three sections of the Hebrew scriptures: Torah (the books of Moses, often referred to as the Pentateuch), the Nevi’im (“the prophets”), and the Ketuvim (“the writings”). While the “Christian Old Testament” ends with the prophecy of Malachi, therefore placing a curse on the people of the Old Testament, the Bible that Jesus was familiar with ended with the book of Chronicles and a promise to return the people to their land.

The whole reason we’re on this rabbit trail is to make the point that the “history” of Samuel/Kings is found in the Nevi’im — the prophets. History is prophetic. So while I describe this section of history as being “the headlines” from Israel, I do not mean this in a cold, detached anchorman-delivering-the-facts-of-the-event kind of way. Their “reporting” is much different than ours.

So to summarize, I like to refer to Samuel and Kings as the “agenda-driven headlines from Israel.”


1/2 CHRONICLES
In contrast to Samuel/Kings, Chronicles is written from the perspective of Judah. Again, I use this term loosely, as I’m referencing time and not geography. Most scholars would say that Chronicles is written much later (or, at the very least, Samuel/Kings is written to give the impression of earlier authorship). This also affects the way that Chronicles reads. I teach my students that if Samuel/Kings is supposed to be read as headlines, then Chronicles is written like a documentary.

Imagine you were comparing the headlines from the period of the Vietnam War from a documentary that was made decades later. You are hearing two different records of the same period of history. While the headlines will carry one perspective, loaded with insight that is felt “in the moment,” the documentary is trying to look back and tell the story with a sense of hindsight. Chronicles is the Jewish record of hindsight. And these two tellings of history will pack a wallop of information in their perspectives alone.

You may remember that Chronicles is what ended the Hebrew scriptures, meaning that it is not found in the Nevi’im, but in the Ketuvim — or the “Writings.” While both records have an agenda that is supposed to compel the reader to action, they come from different historical reference points. In this sense, Chronicles is much more like the “history” we are familiar with. Just as we are aware that those who compile history tell a story in the way they compile it, so does the Chonicler.

And so to summarize this section, I would say that Chronicles is a “documentary perspective from Judah.”


You may wonder why we’re taking all this time to get lost in literature, but it will become clear as to why it’s important in our next post.

Throw Your Stone

The theme of this post was heavily influenced by the teaching of Ray VanderLaan.

Of course, it would be impossible to think of the juxtaposition of this donkey herder and shepherd boy without thinking of the famous story of David and Goliath. And now that we have compared the two kings, it’s time to look at the story of the boy who felled the giant.

Before we begin, this is one of those stories where you need to be sure you don’t “check out” as we discuss. As we’ve often seen, there are things in the story that we miss because of our familiarity. In case you need help snapping out of your “David and Goliath Haze.” here is an interesting TED talk on the story (which does not serve as my endorsement of the content, but does get our brains working).

Malcolm Gladwell: The unheard story of David and Goliath

So the story begins with David the shepherd boy (the last of eight sons, the “runt of the litter”) running an errand for his father; he’s sent to take a care package to the front lines of the battle with the Philistines where the brothers (who must be of fighting age) are stationed. Upon reaching the camp, David is startled to hear the taunts of Goliath, the Philistine hero. We are told that Goliath comes out to the valley every day at the morning and evening hours (this refers to the morning and evening sacrifices) to taunt the God of Israel.

David cannot believe his ears. This Philistine not only comes out to taunt the armies of Israel, but openly rebukes YHVH at the very moment Israel would seek to honor and worship Him! David may be young, but he’s also young enough to still carry a passionate, youthful naiveté about him. After inquiring why nobody does anything about this taunting rebel, David offers to go down and fight him himself, to which his brothers respond with a lack of enthusiasm. David approaches King Saul and offers his services.

And this sets the stage for what I call “the story behind the story.” You see, nobody wants to do anything. They are paralyzed with fear — capsized with the illogical.

They don’t trust the story.

But David is willing and eventually talks the king into letting him end this stalemate. After a failed attempt to fit him with Saul’s armor, David goes out to the battle lines after a quick stop by the creek to grab five smooth stones. As a shepherd boy, David is armed with his sling — the typical tool of the shepherd. Shepherds become incredibly good with a sling after using it day after day.

As David approaches Goliath, he receives a taunting rebuke — to which he responds with an assertion of who God is and what the world will see about this God whom Goliath has openly rebuked.

Because David is here to kiddush haShem.

He’s not always logical. But he’s willing.

David lets his first stone fly from his sling and it strikes the giant on the forehead, causing Goliath to fall to his face. David, stealing the sword at Goliath’s side, chops off the giant’s head and the Philistines head for the hills.

But it’s important to see this story as an Easterner.

This story is full of numbers. Some of these numbers get translated away, but I begin to notice some patterns.

Goliath is six cubits high. His spear head weighs six hundred shekels. We know from another passage in Chronicles that Goliath is famous for having a six-fingered brother.

666

And Goliath’s armor covers him like scales.

Like scales? 666? You don’t suppose Goliath is supposed to remind us of evil do you? Of the serpent?

“I will put enmity between you and the woman,
    and between your offspring and her offspring;
he shall bruise your head,
    and you shall bruise his heel.”  Genesis 3:15

The word for bruise is the same as crush.

David has just crushed the head of the serpent. (This is not to take anything from Jesus later, but appreciate what the “pre-Jesus” readers would have heard.)

Why does David choose five stones?
Five is the number for the book of Moses.

And where are you supposed to put the Law?
    “…bind it to your forehead.”

David puts the law on this Philistine’s forehead and he bows in worship to the God he was just taunting.

We have to appreciate the story, not just for it’s factual historicity and mechanics, but for what the author is trying to tell us through his narrative.

And the bigger, greater point of the story? Why was the serpent crushed?

Because David was willing to throw his stone.

Almost every reader misses this point, but Saul is from the tribe of Benjamin. The one thing Benjamin is known for is their special detachment of left-handed men, gifted with the sling:

And the people of Benjamin mustered out of their cities on that day 26,000 men who drew the sword, besides the inhabitants of Gibeah, who mustered 700 chosen men. Among all these were 700 chosen men who were left-handed; every one could sling a stone at a hair and not miss. And the men of Israel, apart from Benjamin, mustered 400,000 men who drew the sword; all these were men of war.    Judges 20:15–17

David’s not the guy who’s supposed to be out there with a sling — SAUL IS!

But the thing that fell the giant was the willingness of a servant of God. Somebody from the bottom. Somebody who remembers where they come from. Somebody who trust the story enough to kiddush haShem.

Whoever you are — wherever you are — throw your stone.

You may not be the most qualified. You may be the right guy or gal for the job. You may not see the logic in your obedience.

Throw your stone, anyway.

Because throwing your stone allows God to use you as a partner in His great story. Throwing your stone demonstrates your willingness. And your weakness demonstrates God’s power, not yours.

David said to the Philistine, “You come against me with sword and spear and javelin, but I come against you in the name of the Lord Almighty, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied. This day the Lord will deliver you into my hands, and I’ll strike you down and cut off your head. This very day I will give the carcasses of the Philistine army to the birds and the wild animals, and the whole world will know that there is a God in Israel. All those gathered here will know that it is not by sword or spear that the Lord saves; for the battle is the Lord’s, and he will give all of you into our hands.”

Trust the story.

Throw your stone.

A King After God's Own Heart

The reign of Saul is interrupted by the introduction of another character who will steal the attention of the narrative of God. After we’ve been introduced to the donkey herder who was demanded by the people, God wants to introduce the Israelites to the kind of king HE would choose (see Deuteronomy 17).

Once Saul has demonstrated his unwillingness and incompetence at surrendering to God’s plan and the story He’s telling in the world, God will send Samuel to go and anoint the next king. Samuel is led to the house of Jesse, who has eight sons. In a Cinderella-esque scene, the brothers are all paraded in front of Samuel, starting with the oldest. However, when God makes it clear that none of these brothers are to be the next king, Samuel presses Jesse on whether or not he has any other sons.

Jesse admits to the existence of David, but this certainly couldn’t be the next king. He’s the last of eight brothers — the runt of the litter. He is so young that he’s out with his sisters watching the flock of sheep. (In the ancient Middle East, the young girls were those who watched the flock, and their little brothers were often sent out to “help their sisters” in order to keep them out of trouble; this may indicate the age of David as being around 6–10 years old.) This kid is a nothing.

However, Samuel demands to see him and God confirms that this is the son who will be the next king of Israel. After a quick anointing service, Samuel leaves the residence of Jesse. In this quick encounter, God has shown the reader, yet again, how counter-intuitive the Kingdom of Shalom is. It is not like the Kingdom of Empire. It does not look for, measure, or build itself upon appearances or skill sets. It’s not about physical strength or prowess. In fact, time and time again, God will choose the underdog. And I believe God does this for (at least) a couple of reasons:

First, God does this so that we — and the world — would never be confused as to whose strength it is on display. He likes to work in such a way that we could never claim that what we did was by our own power alone. God seems to enjoy doing things all backwards, just to remind us of who created “forwards” and “backwards.”

Secondly, people who are chosen from the bottom of the heap just might remember their own story. And if they remember where they came from, they will always be people who see those on the bottom and help to restore that world back to God’s original intent. These are the kinds of people God uses in His upside-down economy; they make the best partners.

And we will see this play out throughout the lives of Saul and David. For quite a while, the narrative will be fixed on these two characters and how they interact with God’s great project and with each other. Saul will continue to try and build up his own empire and his own name. He will try to eliminate the threats to his throne and win back the support of his people so that he might build a bigger and better kingdom.

But that’s not what God has been up to.

And so we continually see David’s heart as Saul tries to have him eliminated. Time and time again, Saul seems to be “delivered” into David’s hands — ripe for destruction. Once David walks upon Saul in his sleep, spear at his side. When David’s companion wants to kill him, David refuses on principle. Another time, Saul stumbles into a cave to relieve himself, unaware that this cave is where David and his men are hiding. David chooses to do nothing more than cut off the corner of his robe (an incredibly loaded move, by the way; David cuts off the tassels from the corners of Saul’s robe — a stunning picture/statement about Saul’s obedience).

This is the difference between Saul and David. Saul is there to build up his own empire and his own name. David is there to do what is called kiddush haShem — or “hallow the Name.” David is there to build up God’s name and God’s kingdom. David is there to do God’s will, God’s way. And this is why God has chosen David.

Now, just like the patriarchs, David will be far from perfect and he will struggle to get things right all of the time. But the juxtaposition of empire and shalom here is hard to miss.

Trusting the story is always counter-intuitive, but we need to remember this in our own lives. There’s a kind of leader God is looking for, and it often runs counter to our ideas of great leadership. Strength is different. Success is different. Things are backwards.

God chooses Jacob, not Esau.

Jacob will cross his hands when blessing Manasseh and Ephraim.

God will rescue Israel from Egypt, the last of all the great nations of the earth.

And God chooses the runt of the litter — the little shepherd boy. The last of eight brothers.
Because he will be willing to kiddush haShem.

And he just might remember where he came from.

Will we?

A Donkey Herder to Lead Us

As we come closer to the end of the book of Judges, we feel a definite shift in the momentum of the story.

We are confronted with a story about a Levite and his concubine (I know — a blog post ready to be written, but not today) who are traveling through the land of Israel when they need to find a place to stay for the evening. The servant, who could very possibly be a foreigner himself, suggests that they stop in Jebus for the night. The Levite, however, refuses and says they will continue on until they reach a town that is inhabited by Israelites. The Levite is perfectly aware of how foreigners can be treated by pagan nations and has put his trust in the people of God to be people who remember where they come from and take care of the aliens.

When they arrive in the land of Benjamin, an old man invites the travelers to enter his home and care for their needs. During the evening, the people of the town come to take advantage (sexually) of the Levitical guest. The host, in typical eastern fashion, valuing hospitality, urges the men not to make such demands. The host is attempting to save the life of the Levite. By the time the conversation is over, the crowd is distracted by the concubine — whom they rape all night and leave for dead.

This is an ugly story.

But did you notice? We’ve been in this ugly story before.

This story mirrors the story of Sodom and Gomorrah so closely one has to check and make sure they are two different stories. And if you remember, this idea of hospitality in the ancient Middle East is a major, major deal to God.

The Levite knows this and is enraged by their actions. He takes the body of the murdered concubine and cuts it up into twelve pieces and sends it to all twelve tribes of Israel, spreading the word of what has been done in one of the towns of the LORD’s own people. The people of Judah will end up marching against the tribe of Benjamin and, eventually, enacting punishment for the ways of the Benjamites. Then they make a pact to ensure that the remaining Benjamites have wives to preserve their line and not cut off a descendant of Jacob forever.

This is a momentum shift in the story. We aren’t just dealing with a people struggling with how to follow God. We are now seeing the people of God become so bad they mirror the horrible acts of Sodom — acts that caused God to come down and rescue the oppressed. Instead of partnering with God at the crossroads of the earth, being people who trust the story, this nation of Israel is beginning to become what I will call the ANTI-story. They are losing the plot and starting to do everything contrary to their call. They are starting to look like the very Canaanites whom they dispossessed.

This story is followed up by the book of 1 Samuel, which begins with the story of Eli and his sons, a family of priests. The sons have taken up residence at the entrance to God’s tabernacle and are sleeping with the women there (a likely indicator for an introduction of the practice of shrine prostitution) AND they are taking advantage of those who come to sacrifice to YHVH. If you remember the roles of the priests, they are there to help people navigate their atonement and put God on display. But Eli’s sons are being the ANTI-priests; they are the ANTI-story.

There is a momentum shift in the story of God’s people. They are forgetting their call to be a kingdom of priests who put God on display and they instead want to be like all the other nations around them. So, when they come to ask for a king to rule over them, this is their sin. The request for the king is not the problem. We know this by reading Deuteronomy 17:14–15.

When you enter the land the Lord your God is giving you and have taken possession of it and settled in it, and you say, “Let us set a king over us like all the nations around us,” be sure to appoint over you a king the Lord your God chooses. He must be from among your fellow Israelites. Do not place a foreigner over you, one who is not an Israelite.

It’s not the request for a king that displeases God — it is the kind of king they want. Listen to what they say in 1 Samuel 8:

So all the elders of Israel gathered together and came to Samuel at Ramah. They said to him, “You are old, and your sons do not follow your ways; now appoint a king to lead us, such as all the other nations have.”

And again a few verses later:

But the people refused to listen to Samuel. “No!” they said. “We want a king over us. Then we will be like all the other nations, with a king to lead us and to go out before us and fight our battles.”

When Samuel heard all that the people said, he repeated it before the Lord. The Lord answered, “Listen to them and give them a king.”

Then Samuel said to the Israelites, “Everyone go back to your own town.”

They have forgotten the story.
“… such as all the other nations have … Then we will be like all the other nations …”

They are supposed to be different. They are supposed to put God on display. They are supposed to be a kingdom of priests.

And so God gives them the kind of king they want — but not without trying to give them a message at the same time. God chooses a man who is good-looking, head and shoulders taller than the average man. Saul is the man who looks impressive to the eye (does this remind you of a particular desert tree?) and appears to be mighty, just like all the nations around them.

But we are introduced to Saul as he is chasing some lost donkeys. He loses the donkeys and decides to go and see the man of God instead.

Saul is a donkey herder. And not even a good donkey herder — he loses donkeys!

Are you catching God’s tongue-in-cheek teaching lesson?

Who is Israel supposed to be? Sheep.

And who is supposed to lead sheep? A shepherd.

And so if God chooses a donkey herder to be their king, what is God saying they are? Stubborn and stiff-necked like jackasses.

And not only this, but what tribe is Saul from? Benjamin. The tribe with a big nasty history of disobedience. The stench of the Benjamites’ sin is still in the nostrils of Israel. This is God’s way of saying to the Israelites: You can have the kind of king I choose or the kind of king like everyone else. One of those will work out well for you and the other will not.

Will Israel hear the voice of their Shepherd?

This introduction to Saul will typify the kind of leadership and story we will read about with him. Saul, who will always be in it for himself. Saul, who won’t know how to lead God’s sheep to green pasture. Saul, who, instead of leading people through the “valley of the shadow of death,” will sit in a war camp while his people cower in fear under the taunts of a mighty giant.

This is no shepherd. And he’s no leader.

He’s certainly not a priest.

He’s a donkey herder.