Weston Blaha

Category: Eschatology

  • The Radioactive Cross: Why the Tombs Burst Open on Good Friday

    The Radioactive Cross: Why the Tombs Burst Open on Good Friday

    There is a moment in Matthew’s Gospel so strange that many modern readers—and even some pastors—simply skip over it. At the moment Jesus dies, the earth shakes, rocks split, and:

    “The tombs also were opened. And many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised, and coming out of the tombs after his resurrection they went into the holy city and appeared to many.” (Matt. 27:52-53).

    For skeptics, the passage is often dismissed as symbolic exaggeration. For many Christians, it becomes little more than strange apocalyptic scenery surrounding the crucifixion. But Matthew is not recording random special effects. The opened tombs are the logical consequence of what happens when the Holy One enters death itself.

    To understand why the graves burst open, we must first look at another moment earlier in Matthew’s Gospel: a bleeding woman reaching through a crowd to touch the edge of Jesus’ garment.

    The Bleeding Woman: A Resurrection Story in Miniature

    In Matthew 9:20–22, a woman suffering from chronic bleeding reaches out to touch the “hem” of Jesus’ garment. The Greek word used is kraspedon—the tassel or fringe worn on the corners of a Jewish man’s robe. These tassels were tied to covenant identity and obedience (Num. 15:38–39). But there is something interesting happening here.

    Centuries earlier, Malachi had prophesied:

    “The sun of righteousness shall rise with healing in his wings” (Mal. 4:2).

    The Hebrew word for “wings” is kanaph, which can also mean the corners or edges of a garment. In other words, in reaching for the hem of Jesus’ robe, the woman is taking hold of the promised healing of the Messiah Himself. She believes that life radiates outward from Him. And she is right.

    But the deeper shock of the story is not simply that she is healed. The deeper shock is how she is healed. Under the logic of Leviticus, uncleanness spreads outward. An unclean person contaminates what they touch. The bleeding woman should make others unclean. But when she touches Jesus, the direction reverses.

    Instead of her impurity infecting Him, His holiness overwhelms her impurity. Rather than uncleanness spreading outward, holiness spreads outward.

    This is the first clue that Jesus is not just another clean Israelite. He is the source of a new creation powerful enough to reverse the curse of sin itself.

    Realistically, the woman’s condition is a kind of living death:

    • perpetual impurity
    • separation from worship
    • weakness
    • loss of life-blood
    • social exile

    And yet the moment she touches Christ, life begins swallowing death. The bleeding woman is not merely a healing story–she is a resurrection story in miniature.

    The Holiness That Invades Death

    This is why Matthew 27 matters so much. At the cross, the pattern reaches its climax. The same holiness that healed the bleeding woman now enters the grave itself. And death cannot survive the contact.

    Matthew records that at Jesus’ death:

    • the earth shook
    • rocks split
    • tombs opened
    • saints were raised

    This is powerful and intentional imagery. Matthew is showing the curse beginning to collapse under the weight of the crucified Christ. The bleeding woman touched Him and was healed. Now the grave touches Him—and the grave breaks open.

    Just as her body could not remain diseased in His presence, neither could the tombs remain closed in His presence. The miracle has expanded from one suffering woman to creation itself.

    Zechariah 14: The King Has Arrived

    This also explains why Matthew’s imagery sounds so much like Book of Zechariah 14.

    Zechariah prophesied that on the Day of the Lord, YHWH Himself would arrive as King:

    “On that day his feet shall stand on the Mount of Olives… and the Mount of Olives shall be split in two” (Zech. 14:4).

    The mountain splits.
    The earth trembles.
    Creation breaks open before the arrival of the divine King.

    Matthew intentionally echoes this imagery at the crucifixion:

    • the earth quakes
    • rocks split
    • tombs open

    Why?

    Because the cross is more than an unjust execution–it is the arrival of the King into the realm of death.

    When the Son of God entered the grave, creation itself reacted. The cursed ground began to crack beneath the weight of its Creator’s foot.

    The earth does not split because God is absent. The earth splits because God has arrived. The old world order is beginning to break apart. Death’s reign is being invaded from within.

    “Kiss the Son”

    This gives terrifying depth to Book of Psalms 2:

    “Kiss the Son, lest he be angry, and you perish in the way” (Ps. 2:12).

    In the ancient world, to kiss the king—or even the hem of his garment—was an act of surrender and allegiance. The bleeding woman reaches toward Christ in faith and receives life. But the kingdom of death encounters this same Christ and is shattered like pottery beneath a rod of iron.

    The same holiness that heals also judges. The same presence that restores creation destroys the curse consuming it. Christ is not passive before death.

    He is its conqueror.

    At the cross, death finally touches something it cannot corrupt, and in that moment, death itself begins to die. Puritan John Owen calls this “the death of death in the death of Christ.”

    The Firstfruits of Resurrection

    This is why the opened tombs matter so deeply. Matthew is showing us the first visible cracks of the resurrection age breaking into history.

    The saints who rise with Christ on the third day are not random additions to the story. After Christ, they are the firstfruits of what Christ’s death accomplishes. The resurrection is not merely a legal declaration of forgiveness; it is the reclamation of creation itself.

    It is the beginning of a new world where:

    • impurity no longer spreads
    • death no longer reigns
    • graves no longer hold their captives

    The cross is not Christ being overwhelmed by death. The cross is Christ invading death with incorruptible life.

    When Christ entered the grave, He did not enter as a helpless victim. He entered as Life itself.

    And death could not contain Him.

    The Gospel According to the Open Tombs

    Matthew 27 teaches us that wherever the holiness of Christ extends, the curse begins to unravel. A woman’s bleeding stops.
    Demons flee. Storms obey. The earth trembles. Rocks split. Tombs open.

    The opened graves on Good Friday are not strange interruptions in the story. They are not “Christian myth” that circulated or apeared in later manuscripts. They are the inevitable result of the Holy One entering the world’s deepest uncleanness and reversing it from the inside out.

    The bleeding woman was the preview.

    The opened tombs were the announcement.

    The resurrection of Christ–bringing the saints from the grave around him–would be the victory itself.

  • The Empty Tomb as the Mercy Seat: What John Wants Us to See on Easter Morning

    The Empty Tomb as the Mercy Seat: What John Wants Us to See on Easter Morning

    On Easter Sunday, Christians around the world celebrate a simple but earth-shaking truth:
    Christ is risen. While all the gospels recount the resurrection, the Gospel of John includes details that, at first glance, may seem small or incidental. Details that, in our excitement, we rush past. Yet when we slow down and pay attention, we begin to see that these details are doing something profound. One of those details appears in John 20:12:

    “She saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had lain, one at the head and one at the feet.”

    Why does John tell us this? Why mention where the angels are sitting? The answer may take us all the way back to the Old Testament: to the mercy seat.

    The Mercy Seat: The Place of Atonement

    To understand what John may be showing us, we need to revisit the Ark of the Covenant. At the center of Israel’s worship was the ark, and on top of the ark was what Scripture calls the mercy seat (Exodus 25:17–22). This lid was the place where atonement was made.

    Once a year, on the Day of Atonement, the high priest would enter the Holy of Holies and sprinkle blood on the mercy seat for the sins of the people. And what stood on either side of that mercy seat? Two cherubim—angelic figures—positioned at either end.

    So the image Leviticus paints is this:

    • A sacred space (the mercy seat)
    • Blood for atonement (from the sacrifical lamb)
    • Two angels, one on each side (guarding the space)

    This was the place where God dealt with sin and met with His people.

    The Tomb: A New Mercy Seat

    Now return to the resurrection account in John 20. Mary Magdalene looks into the tomb and sees:

    • Two angels
    • One at the head
    • One at the feet
    • And between them—the place where Jesus’ broken, bleeding body had been laid

    This is more than a throw-away detail. John could have simply said, “there were angels.” But instead, he gives us their exact positioning. Why? Because he wants us to see something. The empty tomb is being presented as a kind of new mercy seat.

    • The place where Christ’s body lay is the place where atonement has been accomplished
    • The angels stand as witnesses, just as the cherubim did
    • The sacrifice has already been made—not repeatedly, but once for all

    The mercy seat of the Old Covenant required ongoing sacrifice. The “mercy seat” of the tomb declares that the perfect lamb has been sacrificed.

    Not Just the Cross—The Resurrection Reveals It

    We often (rightly) focus on the cross as the place where atonement was accomplished. But John’s Gospel pushes us to see something more: The resurrection is the public vindication of that atonement. The cross is where Christ says, “It is finished.” The resurrection is where God declares, “It is accepted.” Thus, the empty tomb is indeed proof that Jesus is alive, but it is also the declaration that:

    • Sin has been dealt with
    • Death has been defeated
    • The sacrifice has been received
    • The old covenantal system is no longer needed

    In other words, the resurrection is not a separate or ancillary aspect of the atonement—it is the confirmation of it.

    Why John Shows Us This

    Throughout his Gospel, John consistently presents Jesus as the fulfillment of Old Testament realities:

    • Jesus is the true temple (John 2:19–21)
    • Jesus is the true Passover Lamb (John 19:36)
    • Jesus is the true source of living water (John 7:37–38)

    So it should not surprise us that here, at the resurrection, John is showing us: Jesus is the true and final mercy seat. No longer is atonement found on a golden lid in the Holy of Holies. Now it is found in a risen Savior.

    A Finished Work

    The imagery of the mercy seat reminds us of something essential to the Christian faith: Atonement is not ongoing; it is a completed work. The high priest of Israel had to return year after year. Christ offered Himself once, and the work is done. There is no more sacrifice to be made; there is no more blood to be offered. Instead, the empty tomb stands as a witness:

    • The debt has been paid.
    • The wrath has been satisfied.
    • The work is finished.

    What This Means for Us

    The danger for us is leaving this theolgical truth as merely that: a theological truth. But it should be much more than that. If Christ has truly made atonement for sin, and if that atonement has been accepted and confirmed in the resurrection, then:

    • You do not need to earn God’s favor
    • You do not need to carry your guilt
    • You do not need to wonder if enough has been done

    Everything necessary for your salvation has already been accomplished. The question is not:

    “Has enough been done?”

    But:

    “Do you believe it?”

    Seeing What John Saw

    John tells us that when he entered the tomb: “He saw and believed.” (John 20:8) He probably didn’t yet understand everything. He likely didn’t yet have a fully developed theology of the resurrection.

    But he saw enough.

    And John’s Gospel invites us to do the same. To look at the empty tomb; to see what it reveals; And to believe.

    Easter Is the Announcement

    As such, Easter is more than a celebration, it is an announcement:

    • The true mercy seat has been revealed.
    • The final sacrifice has been accepted.
    • The risen Christ now stands as the only ground of our salvation.

    And that means there is nothing left to add. Only something to receive.

    Final Question

    So the question this Easter is simple:

    Do you believe?

    Do you see what John is showing you? Do you trust that Christ has done everything necessary to bring you to God? Because the empty tomb is not empty: It is full of meaning.

    And it declares, even now: Christ is risen. He is risen indeed.

  • Why Christians Should Think Twice About Celebrating Hanukkah

    Why Christians Should Think Twice About Celebrating Hanukkah

    Every December, I see Christians posting menorahs, lighting candles, or saying things like, “Jesus celebrated Hanukkah, so I do too!” And on the face, it sounds histroical, thoughtful and reverent. But the history behind Hanukkah is far more complicated than most Christians realize. And if we take Scripture seriously (as we all should!), the festival raises some theological concerns that make Christian celebration “iffy,” if not inappropriate.

    Let’s walk through the real story.

    Hanukkah Is Not a Biblical Festival

    Hanukkah does not come from Moses, David, the Prophets, or any Old Testament command. It comes from the Maccabean/Hasmonean revolt in the 2nd century BC—a revolt that freed Judea from Seleucid (essentially Greek) oppression but produced its own theological and political problems.

    1. The Hasmoneans Were Not from Judah

    The Maccabees were Levites from the priestly family of Jehoiarib—not from the royal line of David. After the Maccabean revolt:

    • They did not restore the Davidic monarchy.
    • They crowned themselves rulers.
    • They merged priestly and kingly authority in a single family—something Scripture forbids.

    In the Scriptures, the kingship belongs to Judah (Gen 49:10), the high priesthood belongs to the line of Zadok (Ezek 40–48), and the prophets are sent by God. Hanukkah celebrates the moment when a priestly family took the throne that belonged to David’s line.

    2. Hanukkah Celebrates the Overthrow of the Zadokite High Priesthood

    In addition to seizing civil authority—the Hasmoneans took the high priesthood too, appointing themselves high priests despite not being from the line of Zadok. This is why the Qumran/Essene community (Dead Sea Scrolls) rejected Hanukkah entirely. They saw the Hasmonean high priests as illegitimate usurpers. In other words: A major Jewish sect in Jesus’ day rejected Hanukkah for the exact reasons Christians overlook today.

    3. Hanukkah Represents the Suppression of the Davidic Line

    By the time we get to Joseph and Mary, David’s royal family is politically sidelined, economically marginalized, and living in obscure working-class conditions. This is not an accident nor a coincidence. The Hasmoneans consolidated wealth and power around themselves, leaving David’s sons in the shadows. In short: Hanukkah celebrates the political arrangement that kept the true king’s family—Joseph’s family—off the throne.

    “But Jesus Celebrated Hanukkah!” — Did He Really?

    Many appeal to John 10:22: “At that time the Feast of Dedication took place in Jerusalem.” But notice what the text does not say. It does not say:

    • Jesus attended the festival
    • Jesus lit candles
    • Jesus observed rituals
    • Jesus endorsed the celebration

    John simply notes the time of year using the feastal calendar that Israel would have been familiar with. Jesus is walking and teaching in Solomon’s Portico—something He did constantly. And what does He do at Hanukkah?

    • He rebukes the temple leaders (John 10:26–30).
    • He confronts the very authorities who claimed legitimacy through the Hasmonean system that Hanukkah celebrates.

    If anything, John 10 is a rejection of Hanukkah’s claims, not an endorsement. As far as Scripture speaks, Jesus never celebrated Hanukkah. Instead, He used the occasion to declare Himself the true Shepherd-King—the Son of David —in opposition to the Hasmoneans.

    What About the Miracle of the Oil?

    We are often told the story of Hanukkah as it is found in it final form—the miracle of the oil that burned for eight days. But here’s the true background to that story:

    • The earliest sources (1 and 2 Maccabees) mention no oil miracle.
    • Josephus (1st century AD) mentions no oil miracle.
    • The Dead Sea Scrolls mention no oil miracle.
    • The earliest accounts describe an eight-day festival because they didn’t have time to celebrate the Feast of Booths earlier.

    So when does the oil story appear? In the Babylonian Talmud in the 5th Century AD.

    That’s roughly 700 years after the events! In other words, it is a later rabbinic legend—an attempt to spiritually reframe a holiday that originally celebrated a dynasty later viewed as corrupt.

    Which means: The most beloved part of Hanukkah wasn’t even part of Hanukkah until centuries after Jesus.

    Who Celebrated Hanukkah in Jesus’ Day?

    In Jesus’ time, Hanukkah was politically charged, and as such, not universally embraced.

    • The Pharisees largely supported it.
    • The Sadducees/Hasmonean priests embraced it—because it justified their power.
    • Many common Jews observed it culturally.
    • The Essenes/Qumran rejected it outright as an illegitimate festival.

    Judaism was not unified on Hanukkah, and neither was the early church.

    So Should a Christian Celebrate Hanukkah?

    A Christian may:

    • study Hanukkah historically
    • understand its role in Second Temple Judaism
    • teach how it sets the stage for Christ’s arrival

    But a Christian should not:

    • treat it as a spiritual or religious holiday
    • light menorahs devotionally
    • merge it with Advent
    • imitate rituals that historically celebrate illegitimate priest-kings

    Here’s why: Hanukkah celebrates the wrong king, the wrong priest, and the wrong restoration. Advent celebrates the arrival of the right King, the right Priest, and the true Temple. Hanukkah points to the failure of human rulers while Advent points to the triumph of Christ. Hanukkah shines a temporary, human light. Advent reveals “the true Light who gives light to everyone” (John 1:9). Hanukkah is longing for restoration. Advent is restoration arrived.

    Conclusion

    Christians do not need Hanukkah because Hanukkah needed Christ. The Maccabean revolt produced a dynasty that subverted David’s throne and Zadok’s priesthood—precisely the corruption Jesus came to confront. The “Festival of Lights” is ultimately a celebration of misplaced hope. Advent is the celebration of fulfilled hope. Hanukkah celebrates earthly attempts at empire, Advent remembers the true Kingdom established by Christ.

    Friends, the child born in Bethlehem—descended from a forgotten line of kings—came to take back the throne every other dynasty stole.

  • Sabbath As Rebellion

    Sabbath As Rebellion

    “The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. So the Son of Man is lord even of the Sabbath.”

    — Mark 2:27–28

    A Subversive Rest

    In a world where your worth is measured by productivity, rest is a rebellion. The Sabbath command isn’t about squeezing in a nap or catching up on Netflix. It is God’s weekly declaration that His people are not slaves to Pharaoh, Wall Street, or Silicon Valley.

    Ponder this overlooked theological truth: When we stop, we resist. We say with our lives: “I am not defined by my output but by the God who redeemed me.”

    The Sabbath as a Weapon Against Pharaoh

    When Moses delivered Israel from Egypt, God’s people were freed from endless quotas and brickmaking. Pharaoh’s economy demanded ceaseless labor. God’s covenant commanded rest. Observing the Sabbath was Israel’s way of saying, “We are not Pharaoh’s slaves anymore. We belong to Yahweh.”

    Whether we recognize it or not, our world has its own Pharaohs. The demand for constant availability, the cult of hustle, the unspoken law of emails at midnight—these are modern brick quotas. Keeping the Sabbath is rebellion against those powers. It’s a declaration of independence from the gods of busyness. It trust that Yahweh supplies what Pharaoh demands. Our rest cries out “Jehovah Jireh,” Yahweh provides.

    The Sabbath as Counter-Cultural Identity

    In an interesting shift from the Exodus law, the Sabbath command in Deuteronomy 5 is rooted not in creation alone but in redemption:

    “You shall remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the LORD your God brought you out…” (Deut. 5:15)

    To stop working is to remember you’re free—to worship is to remember who set you free.

    For Christians, the Lord’s Day extends this logic into resurrection life. Christ has triumphed over sin and death; therefore, we rest not only from our labor but in His finished work. Sabbath rest proclaims that the victory is already won. It proclaims that rest is the established for His people—as such, we gather in Sabbath worship as a corporate body, not as individuals. He saved His people, not his persons. To be in Christ is to be in the corporate community.

    Why Sabbath Is More Than “Self-Care”

    Our culture loves to market rest as self-care: spa days, Netflix binges, vacations that leave us exhausted. But biblical rest isn’t consumeristic—it’s covenantal. It reorients us to God, His people, and His promises.

    When the church gathers in worship, when families put away their devices, when believers refuse the tyranny of constant emails, that is not mere self-care—it’s spiritual warfare.

    Sabbath as Eschatological Protest

    Every time we keep Sabbath, we proclaim that the kingdoms of this world are not ultimate. Capitalism isn’t ultimate. Politics isn’t ultimate. My own to-do list isn’t ultimate.

    Sabbath is a weekly protest march declaring that Christ reigns and that eternal rest is coming. But even more than that—as wild as this may sound—it’s also evangelistic. To observe the Sabbath is a visible marker of serving Christ instead of Pharaoh. And everyone else who continues to make bricks without straw needs to see you setting the work aside for the true divine Son of God.

    Rest as Rebellion

    Can you imagine how the Egyptians would have responded if the Hebrews in slavery simply stopped? If they set the bricks aside and said “today we worship the true God.” Anyone would identify that action as rebellion. Friends, to observe the Sabbath is to rebel. To rest in Christ is to subvert the false gods of productivity, consumerism, and self-definition.

    So here is the ultimate question: Does your Sabbath reflect bondage to Pharaoh or rest in Yahweh? Who rules your time—Pharaoh, or Christ?

    True freedom is not found in endless hustle or maxed-out schedules—but in holy rest.

  • Jericho Fell, The Temple Fell: God’s Plan for the Nations

    Jericho Fell, The Temple Fell: God’s Plan for the Nations

    Jericho fell so the Seed of promise might be sown. The Temple fell so that Christ’s harvest might be won.

    Sometimes a single line can capture the sweep of the whole Bible. From the walls of Jericho to the stones of the Temple, God has been writing one story: the story of Christ for the nations.

    Jericho Fell: A Seed Planted in the Land

    When Israel marched around Jericho and the walls came crashing down, it wasn’t just a victory for one nation. It was God’s way of planting His people in the land He had promised to Abraham.

    Why? Because God had already promised that through Abraham’s Seed all nations would be blessed (Genesis 12:3; Genesis 22:18). Jericho’s fall wasn’t about Israel’s glory—it was about clearing the ground so the Seed could take root in history. Because the Seed in view is a singular seed–its THE Seed: Christ. The land was never the ultimate goal; it was the soil in which God would grow His greater plan. The soil from which a Seed would become a cosmis tree:

    "I myself will take a sprig from the lofty top of the cedar and will set it out… On the mountain height of Israel I will plant it, that it may bear branches and produce fruit and become a noble cedar. And under it will dwell every kind of bird; in the shade of its branches birds of every sort will nest." (Ezekiel 17:22-24)

    The land was the down-payment. It was the security deposit. It was never the end goal. Jericho must fall so the Seed could be planted.

    The Temple Fell: A Harvest Opened to the World

    Centuries later, another set of stones fell. In A.D. 70, the Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed. For many, it looked like the end of Israel’s story. But in reality, it was the next step in God’s plan.

    The Temple had pointed forward all along: to the once-for-all sacrifice of Christ, the true Lamb of God (John 1:29; Hebrews 10:11–14). When Christ died and rose again, the need for animal sacrifices ended. And when the Temple fell, the gospel was no longer tied to one city, one altar, or one people. The harvest of the nations had begun (John 12:24; Matthew 28:18–20).

    The tree was spreading its branches to cover the whole earth.

    One Story, One Savior, One Mission

    From the fall of Jericho to the fall of the Temple, God was moving history toward the same goal: salvation through Christ for all peoples.

    God’s plan has always been global. Always Christ-centered. Always aimed at a harvest of people from every tribe, tongue, and nation worshiping the Lamb (Revelation 7:9). Just as Jericho fell so the Seed might be planted, so the Temple fell so the branches might extend.

    What This Means for Us

    It means that God’s plan is unstoppable. What looks like ruin in the moment—whether the collapse of Jericho’s walls or the destruction of the Temple—is actually God’s way of moving His story forward. And it means that we, the Church, are caught up in this mission. We are the fruit of the harvest and also the laborers sent into the field (Matthew 9:37–38).

    So when we look back at Jericho and the Temple, we aren’t just reading history—we’re seeing our place in God’s story. Christ is the Seed. Christ is the Temple. Christ is for the nations.

    When you see the ruins of Jericho and the rubble of the Temple, remember: God builds His kingdom, not on human walls, but on Christ alone. And that kingdom has no boundaries.

  • Why Is Saul Naked in 1 Samuel 19?

    Why Is Saul Naked in 1 Samuel 19?

    What Jonathan gave freely, Saul lost by force—and what that teaches us about Christ’s lordship.

    The Naked King
    This is the kind of Bible passage that makes Sunday school teachers squirm. In 1 Samuel 19, Saul—the king of Israel—lies flat on the ground, stripped of his clothes (1 Sam. 19:23–24). It’s a strange and unsettling image and, as such, is the sort of passage we tend to skim past. When this scene appears, the reader’s attention is already drawn to previous unusual details, like the household idols in David’s house (1 Sam. 19:13), the company of prophets around Samuel (1 Sam. 19:18-20), or Saul’s violent pursuit of David (1 Sam. 19:8-10). But the narrator lingers on Saul’s nakedness—and he does so for a very important reason. However, the key to understanding why comes from the broader narrative: just one chapter earlier, Saul’s son Jonathan also removes his royal robe. When placed side by side, the contrast between these two episodes couldn’t be sharper.

    Jonathan’s Voluntary Surrender
    In 1 Samuel 18:3–4, Jonathan takes off his robe and gives it to David. This is no small act. In the ancient world, clothing symbolized identity and status. Jonathan’s robe wasn’t just fabric; it represented his position as crown prince. To give it away was to yield his claim to the throne. Jonathan’s gesture is covenantal and deliberate. It’s an act of humility, a recognition that God’s hand rests on David. He decreases so that David may increase. His submission is voluntary, born of faith and love.

    Jonathan’s actions anticipate the New Testament pattern of discipleship. To follow Christ is to “put off the old self” and “put on the new” (Eph. 4:22–24). To be his disciple is to “hate” father, mother, wife, children, brother, sister—even his own life (Luke 14:26). Jonathan prefigures this dynamic by laying aside his own honor and clothing another with it. He voluntarily casts his crown at the feet of the anointed one of YHWH (Rev. 4:10-11).

    Saul’s Forced Humiliation
    By contrast, Saul’s disrobing is not chosen but compelled. In 1 Samuel 19:23–24, the Spirit of God overwhelms him, and Saul strips off his clothes and lies helpless throughout the day and night. What Jonathan surrendered in covenant love, Saul loses in humiliation. Far from a heroic prophetic moment, Saul’s nakedness symbolizes his undoing. The king who resists God’s anointed is forcibly stripped of his dignity—the one who would not yield is brought low.

    The Bible often uses clothing as a sign of honor or shame. Joseph is given a magnificent coat of honor (Gen. 37:3). The Prodigal Son is covered in his father’s best robe (Luke 15:32). In contrast, Adam and Eve hide in shame once they realize their nakedness (Gen. 3:7). Job tears his robe when undone by grief (Job 1:20). Isaiah walks naked as a prophetic sign of judgment (Isa. 20:2–4). To be clothed is to be honored, but to be stripped bare is to be exposed, powerless, and humiliated. Saul’s unraveling fits this biblical pattern.

    Commentators agree on this basic understanding but highlight different angles. Robert Alter describes Saul’s condition as “the grotesque abasement of the king.”1 David Tsumura emphasizes that the removal of garments likely signified the loss of royal dignity.2 Dale Ralph Davis underscores the humiliation of a king undone by God’s Spirit.3 Walter Brueggemann notes the biting irony: Saul, who sought to destroy God’s anointed, finds himself unmade by God’s power.4 In general, scholars tend to agree that Saul’s nakedness symbolizes a loss of royal status. Yet the irony is sharper when read alongside Jonathan’s robe-giving: what Jonathan does willingly, Saul experiences unwillingly.

    Reading the Forest, Not Just the Trees
    If one read these episodes in isolation, the rhetorical contrast might be overlooked. Jonathan’s robe-giving simply seems like a tender story of friendship. Saul’s nakedness looks like a bizarre prophetic frenzy. Read as disjointed stories results in merely moralized illustrations for the church. But when read together, they form a deliberate juxtaposition—two paths of submission.

    This is why it is so valuable to read large swaths of Scripture at once. The Bible’s authors were master storytellers. When we zoom in too tightly, we risk missing the broader patterns. Jonathan and Saul’s contrasting acts make sense not as stand-alone vignettes but as side-by-side portraits of willing surrender versus forced humiliation.

    Every Knee Will Bow
    This contrast points us forward to a deeper reality. Paul writes in Philippians 2:10–11 that one day “at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord.”

    Some, like Jonathan, will bow gladly—casting down their crowns in joyful submission.
    Others, like Saul, will be brought low despite themselves.
    Either way, Christ will be confessed as King.

    Encouragement for the Church
    So why is Saul naked in 1 Samuel 19? Because Jonathan was naked in 1 Samuel 18. One disrobed in covenant love, the other in divine humiliation. One bowed gladly, the other was brought low.
    The contrast isn’t only about two men in Israel’s history; it’s about two ways all people respond to God’s Anointed. One day, every knee will bow—some with joy like Jonathan, others in judgment like Saul. Either way, Christ will be confessed as King.

    That’s why the church can take courage today. Those who humble themselves now are not left exposed but are clothed in the righteousness of Christ. The question is not whether Jesus will be confessed as Lord, but how. Will it be the willing surrender of faith—or the forced acknowledgment of defeat?

    Jonathan shows us the path of covenant loyalty, humility, and joy. Saul shows us the path of resistance, pride, and humiliation. Both remind us that the Lord will not be mocked: his anointed King will be honored.

    How Might We Practice “Forest Before Trees” Bible Reading Today?
    A few suggestions:

    1. Read whole books in one sitting. Just as letters weren’t meant to be piecemeal, neither were Samuel or Acts. Try reading through an entire Gospel or prophetic scroll in a single afternoon.
    2. Trace repeated themes. Look for how clothing, covenant, exile, or temple imagery develops across the text.
    3. Ask narrative questions. How does one scene echo or contrast with another? How does this section prepare for what follows?
    4. Then zoom in. Once the big picture is clear, dig into word studies, cross-references, and applications.

    By reading broadly, we not only see the forest—we start to understand why each tree was planted where it is.

    1. Robert Alter, The David Story, (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1999), 118–19 ↩︎
    2. David Tsumura, The First Book of Samuel, NICOT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 508–9 ↩︎
    3. Dale Ralph David, 1 Samuel: Looking on the Heart, (Glasgow: Christian Focus, 2000), 196–202 ↩︎
    4. Walter Brueggemann, First and Second Samuel, (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 1990), 138–39 ↩︎
  • Why David Feared Losing the Spirit (and Why You Don’t Have To)

    Why David Feared Losing the Spirit (and Why You Don’t Have To)

    Most of us know Psalm 51 as David’s heartfelt prayer after his sin with Bathsheba. It’s the psalm we turn to when we need to confess, when we feel the weight of our sin, when we cry out for God’s mercy. But one little line in the psalm often puzzles people:

    “Cast me not away from your presence, and take not your Holy Spirit from me” (Psalm 51:11).

    Why does David pray that? Doesn’t God promise to never leave us? Doesn’t the Spirit dwell in every believer forever?

    The answer becomes clearer when we remember David’s story—and the tragic story of the king before him.

    David Saw What It Looked Like to Lose the Spirit

    David wasn’t speaking in the abstract. He had lived through Saul’s collapse.

    Saul was Israel’s first king, demanded by the people, chosen by God, and anointed with the Spirit. But when Saul disobeyed—first in offering an unlawful sacrifice, and later in sparing what God commanded him to destroy—God rejected him as king. Scripture tells us:

    “The Spirit of the LORD departed from Saul, and a harmful spirit from the LORD tormented him” (1 Samuel 16:14).

    From that moment forward, Saul’s reign unraveled. He became paranoid, insecure, and violent. David—who served in Saul’s court as a musician—watched the whole thing unfold up close. In other words, part of David’s kingly “education” was as an eyewitness to how easily life unravels for kings who are deprived of YHWH’s Spirit.

    So when David sinned with Bathsheba, he knew exactly what was at stake. He wasn’t just afraid of feeling spiritually “dry.” He knew what God’s divine justice demanded—and he begged God not to let that be his fate.

    The King’s Sins Were Never Just Personal

    In Deuteronomy 17, God gave Israel a vision for kingship. Contrary to ancient Near Eastern norms, the king wasn’t supposed to be a military powerhouse or a collector of wealth. Instead, he was to be a brother among brothers, someone who kept God’s Word close, wrote out a copy of the law, read it daily, and led by example.

    In other words: the king was supposed to embody covenant faithfulness for the people. He was to be the “Israelite exemplar.”

    That’s why Saul’s disobedience was catastrophic—not only for him, but for all of Israel. And that’s why David’s repentance mattered so much. His cry in Psalm 51 was not just a guilty conscience seeking comfort; it was a king asking God to restore him so that Israel itself wouldn’t be left adrift. David’s cry of repentance and mercy was intercessory as much as it was personal.

    What About Us?

    So what does all this mean for us today? A few takeaways:

    1. The Spirit is essential for true leadership. Titles, charisma, or influence can never replace God’s presence. Without the Spirit, leadership is hollow.

    2. Repentance is more than personal. When leaders repent, they don’t just restore themselves—they help preserve the health of the whole community they serve.

    3. Christ is the King who never lost the Spirit. Saul lost Him. David feared losing Him. But when the Spirit descended on Jesus at His baptism, John tells us it “remained on Him” (John 1:32). Through Christ, the Spirit is secured in the Kingship for His people forever.

    The Good News

    David’s prayer shows us the fragility of human leadership. But it also points us to something better. Our hope doesn’t rest in pastors, parents, or earthly kings getting everything right. Our hope rests in Christ, the true King, who perfectly obeyed, who always pleased the Father, and who pours out His Spirit on the church without measure.

    So when you read Psalm 51, don’t hear David panicking about losing salvation. Hear a king who knows what happened to Saul and desperately wants to avoid the same fate. And then lift your eyes to Jesus, in whom we are secure forever.

  • The Sheep, the Goats, and the “Least of These”: Reading Matthew 25 in Context

    The Sheep, the Goats, and the “Least of These”: Reading Matthew 25 in Context

    Few passages in Scripture stir the conscience like Jesus’ parable of the sheep and goats in Matthew 25:31–46. The King returns, gathers the nations, and divides them as a shepherd separates sheep from goats. His criterion? How they treated “the least of these my brothers.”

    This phrase is often taken out of its first-century context and made into a universal humanitarian slogan—“Be kind to everyone, especially the poor.” While Christians are indeed called to compassion for all people (Gal. 6:10), this is not the point of Matthew 25. The passage has a sharper edge: it is about how the nations respond to Christ’s people—His disciples—during the period of gospel proclamation leading up to the judgment on Jerusalem in AD 70.

    Who Are “the Least of These My Brothers”?

    In Matthew’s Gospel, “brothers” (ἀδελφοί) consistently refers to Jesus’ disciples (see Matt. 12:48–50; 28:10). The “least” are those who are weak, marginalized, and often persecuted for the sake of the gospel. Jesus had already taught this connection in Matthew 10:40–42—receiving His messengers is receiving Him; rejecting them is rejecting Him.

    The parable in Matthew 25 comes at the end of the Olivet Discourse (Matt. 24–25), where Jesus has been speaking about His coming in judgment against Jerusalem. The “nations” (ἔθνη) are not gathered for some vague, end-of-time general inspection of morality; rather, they are being evaluated for how they treated Christ’s emissaries in the generation before the great tribulation of AD 66–70.

    Why This Matters

    While there are many variations of echatology, I share the perspective that the “coming” in Matthew 25 is not describing the end of the physical world but Christ’s coming in judgment against the covenant-breaking nation in the first century. The sheep and goats judgment, then, is tied to the mission of the disciples to the nations (Matt. 28:18–20) and the response they receive.

    In this light, the parable warns that nations and individuals would reveal their allegiance to Christ by their treatment of His people during the gospel’s explosive first-century advance. Supporting, sheltering, and aiding these persecuted witnesses was not mere charity—it was a recognition of the authority of the risen King. Refusing them was to side with the enemies of Christ.

    The Danger of the Humanitarian Hijack

    When “the least of these” is flattened into “the needy” in general, the historical context disappears. The parable is not a moral pep talk for random kindness—it is an eschatological warning rooted in covenant loyalty. Stripping away that context can turn the church into a generic NGO and rob the passage of its sharp, Christ-centered meaning.

    To be clear, this is not about narrowing our compassion; it’s about clarifying what this text is saying. The sheep are not commended for generic philanthropy, but for siding with Christ through tangible care for His people during a time of testing.

    Living the Text Today

    While the original setting is rooted in the first-century gospel mission and judgment on Israel, the principle remains: how we treat Christ’s people is how we treat Christ. Even now, caring for persecuted believers, supporting missionaries, and standing with the church in hardship is not optional charity—it is allegiance to the King.

    To serve “the least of these my brothers” is to serve Christ Himself.

    Sidebar: Common Objections

    Objection 1: “Doesn’t ‘the least of these’ just mean the poor in general?”
    Answer: In Matthew, “brothers” (ἀδελφοί) consistently refers to Jesus’ disciples (Matt. 12:49–50; 28:10). Matthew 10:40–42 directly connects welcoming Christ’s messengers with welcoming Him. This is a covenant family term, not a generic reference to humanity.

    Objection 2: “But shouldn’t Christians care for everyone, not just believers?”
    Answer: Absolutely—Galatians 6:10 makes that clear. But Matthew 25 has a specific, historical focus: the nations’ response to Christ’s messengers before the AD 70 judgment. General compassion is biblical, but this parable is about covenant allegiance.

    Objection 3: “Isn’t this interpretation too narrow?”
    Answer: Narrow doesn’t mean wrong—just precise. In the Olivet Discourse, Jesus is speaking about His return in judgment on Jerusalem and the mission of His disciples in that period. The “least” are persecuted simply because they belong to Him, not because they are poor.

    Objection 4: “What about Luke’s emphasis on the poor and marginalized?”
    Answer: Luke does highlight concern for the economically poor, but Matthew’s context is different—rooted in mission and covenant judgment. We must let each Gospel speak on its own terms instead of importing themes from one into another.

    Objection 5: “Doesn’t this make salvation depend on works?”
    Answer: No. The works in Matthew 25 are the evidence of allegiance to Christ, not the basis of salvation. The sheep are not saved because they aided His brothers, but their care for Christ’s people demonstrates that they belong to Him.

  • The American Eyes Are Tunnel Visioned

    The American Eyes Are Tunnel Visioned

    “If one member suffers, all suffer together; if one member is honored, all rejoice together. Now you are the body of Christ and individually members of it.”
    — 1 Corinthians 12:26–27

    American evangelicalism has a strange blind spot–and its one not really shared with Christendom outside of America. With one eye fixed firmly on Israel and the other seemingly closed to the persecuted church around the world, we’ve developed what can only be called tunnel vision. We raise our voices in prayer for the geopolitical survival of a secular nation—while our brothers and sisters in Christ are being beheaded by radical Islamists in Africa.

    Where is the urgency for the actual body of Christ?

    Praying for a Pagan Nation While Ignoring the Persecuted Church

    Let’s be clear: modern Israel is a secular nation. While it retains immense biblical significance as the historical homeland of God’s covenant people, the current state of Israel is not a theocracy under Yahweh. In fact, Israel ranks as one of the most unreached nations in the world as well as one of the most theologically liberal nations, with fewer than 0.3% of the population identifying as evangelical Christian (Joshua Project, 2025). Missionary efforts are often actively opposed by Israeli authorities.

    By contrast, over 360 million Christians today live under high levels of persecution, many of them in Muslim-majority regions (Open Doors USA, World Watch List 2024). In Nigeria alone, more than 4,100 Christians were killed for their faith in 2023—most at the hands of Islamist groups like Boko Haram or Fulani militants .

    These are our brothers and sisters in Christ. Yet American churches are largely silent.

    A Misplaced Missional Focus

    There is also an enormous gap between where God is working and where the American church is looking.

    While missions to the Jewish people are important, statistical data suggests that Muslims are converting to Christianity at vastly higher rates than ethnic Jews. According to one peer-reviewed study by Duane Alexander Miller and Patrick Johnstone:

    “The number of Muslim-background believers (MBBs) worldwide has grown from around 200,000 in 1960 to over 10 million today.”
    (The World’s Muslim Population and the Growth of the Church, IJFM Vol. 31:1, 2014)

    That’s a 50-fold increase in just over 60 years. Compare that to estimates of Jewish believers in Jesus worldwide—around 300,000 globally, according to Jews for Jesus (2022) .

    Statistically, this means Muslims are coming to Christ at over 30x the rate—and some estimates put it even higher, depending on region. God is moving powerfully in the Muslim world. So why aren’t we paying attention?

    Christ in His Body, Not in a Flag

    To care about Israel is not wrong. To prioritize a political state at the expense of the global church is. Paul says clearly that “not all who are descended from Israel belong to Israel” (Rom. 9:6), and again, that “if you are Christ’s, then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to promise” (Gal. 3:29).

    In the New Covenant, the church is called “the Israel of God” (Gal. 6:16). Christ died for His bride—the Church—not for a political entity or ethnic group. He now dwells not in temples or geographic borders, but in His people by the Spirit (Eph. 2:19–22).

    To fixate on modern Israel while ignoring Christian martyrdom is to betray the very body of Christ.

    What Should We Do?

    1. Pray for the persecuted church: Resources like Voice of the Martyrs and Open Doors provide regular updates and prayer guides.
    2. Recalibrate your eschatology: If your eschatology blinds you to the Body of Christ, its time to re-evaluate it. Covenant theology rightly emphasizes the unity of God’s people throughout redemptive history.
    3. Support missions among Muslims: Ministries like Frontiers, Global Gates, and Elam Ministries are seeing unprecedented gospel fruit in the Muslim world.
    4. Repent of nationalism masquerading as Christianity: The kingdom of God knows no earthly borders and flies no earthly flag.

    Final Word

    Jesus is not coming back for a nation-state. He is coming for His bride, the Church. And that bride is bleeding in the shadows of Nigeria, Afghanistan, and Indonesia. When American Christians cry out for Israel but fall silent at the sound of the martyr’s blade, something is deeply wrong.

    Let us fix our eyes on Christ—and on His body. The gospel is not a foreign policy tool. It is the power of God unto salvation. And it is spreading—not in headlines, but in hidden places. Let us see rightly.

    A Pastoral Note to My Brothers and Sisters

    I know these words may feel weighty—perhaps even uncomfortable. But they are written with love, not condemnation. I write not as someone who has it all figured out, but as one who has been convicted by the very blindness I describe. This is not a call to abandon concern for Israel or to neglect prayer for any people group. Rather, it’s a plea to remember the Church. To lift our eyes and see the whole Body of Christ—suffering, growing, advancing—in places we’ve often overlooked.

    Let us be people of truth and compassion. People shaped more by the Word than by the news. People whose hearts beat in rhythm with our Savior, who laid down His life for the church.

    And let us pray—deeply, earnestly—for our brothers and sisters who bear that cross every day.

    Sources

    1. Joshua Project. “Country: Israel.” https://joshuaproject.net/countries/IS
    2. Open Doors USA. World Watch List 2024 Report. https://www.opendoorsusa.org
    3. Duane Alexander Miller and Patrick Johnstone, “Believers in Christ from a Muslim Background: A Global Census,” International Journal of Research and Ministry Vol. 31:1, 2014.
    4. Jews for Jesus. “How Many Jewish Believers Are There?” https://jewsforjesus.org

  • When the Kingdom Came in Power: Filling in the Gaps of Mark 8:38-9:1

    When the Kingdom Came in Power: Filling in the Gaps of Mark 8:38-9:1

    In Sunday’s sermon, we explored the sobering and triumphant declaration of Jesus in Mark 8:38–9:1. There, Jesus calls His followers to costly discipleship, warns of judgment, and makes a striking promise: that some standing there would not taste death until they saw the kingdom of God come with power.

    That closing line (9:1) is one of the most debated statements in the New Testament. What did Jesus mean? And did it really come to pass? If not, is it a future event yet to occur? Or could Jesus have been mistaken? This blog post is meant to fill in some of the historical and theological gaps from the sermon and to reaffirm the heart of the message: Jesus was not mistaken. He meant what He said. And His words were fulfilled within a generation.

    The Covenant Context of “Coming”

    In the ancient world, a god “coming” was often a metaphor for divine intervention in history—especially in judgment. This concept saturates the Old Testament. YHWH came in the cloud at Sinai (Ex. 19), in judgment on Egypt (Isa. 19), and through the armies of Babylon against Judah (Hab. 1:6). Significantly, to say that “God is coming” didn’t always mean a physical, visible appearance; it meant His presence would be made known in real and often terrifying ways.

    Jesus picks up that same covenantal framework (He is YHWH, after all–see “Is Jesus YHWH” for more on that). When He says that the Son of Man will come “in the glory of His Father with the holy angels” (8:38), He is invoking Daniel 7—a vision of the Son of Man receiving dominion and judgment authority. This “coming” is judicial, not geographical. In other words, it is expressly covenantal.

    Deuteronomy 28 and the Pattern of Judgment

    In Deuteronomy 28, Israel was warned that if they broke covenant, God would bring foreign nations as judgment: “The Lord will bring a nation against you from far away… like an eagle swooping down” (v. 49). This is the language of divine coming through historical agents. When Jesus predicted Jerusalem’s destruction (cf. Mark 13), He wasn’t imagining some distant apocalypse—He was announcing that the covenant curses were about to fall. And in AD 70, they did—Rome came like a flood.

    Why Not the Transfiguration?

    Some argue that Mark 9:1 refers to the Transfiguration, which happens just six days later. While there are connections—the glory, the divine voice, the cloud—the time-frame of the promise feels exaggerated if it only meant one week later. Additionally, Jesus says that “some standing here will not taste death.” That implies that most would die before this event—hardly a fitting way to describe something happening six days later. With his death, resurrection, ascension, and Pentecost only months away, the fall of Jerusalem nearly 40 years later fits the language better.

    Theological Support

    R.C. Sproul wrote, “The ‘coming’ of Christ in judgment was a real and visible event for those who lived through the fall of the city… not merely a future return.” N.T. Wright likewise argues that Jerusalem’s fall was the public vindication of Jesus’ kingdom mission. Even Matthew Henry notes that Christ’s prediction in Mark 9:1 was fulfilled within that generation.

    So What?

    Jesus’ words came true. Some of those standing there—perhaps John, perhaps others—lived to see the kingdom come in power through judgment. It was not the end of the world, but it was the end of an age. The temple fell, the old covenant was judged and fulfilled, the Church expanded, and Christ was vindicated as Lord.

    For us today, this means Jesus’ words are trustworthy. His kingdom is real. And when He speaks of discipleship, judgment, and glory, He is not playing with vague metaphors, rather, He is proclaiming covenant truth. So take up your cross. Don’t be ashamed of Him. The kingdom has come in power—and it’s still advancing today.