Helping ordinary people learn to study the Bible
The minor prophets can often seem distant and difficult. Yet God gave them to us for our growth in faith. So here is a wonderful overview of Amos by John Hartley to help you on your way.
What entrenched and multiplied transgressions brings the Lord to come against his own people? In a word, oppression. In more words, oppression of the poor by an unchecked appetite for luxury and leisure.
A few weeks ago, I finished reading the book of Number 20 times in a row. From that reading, my draft of the main point is “Yahweh sees his people through the wilderness, though not in a manner any of them hoped or expected.”
Douglas Allison recently posted an overview of Numbers, where he proposes a similar main point: “I have taught that the big idea of Numbers is that Yahweh is his people’s guide to the promised land.”
Allison defends his main point through an outline of the book and an explanation of benefits for reading the book.
As we read today, we can be confident that the same God who led the Israelites through the wilderness in Numbers is the same God who will see us home. Yahweh was Israel’s guide to the Promised Land. And he has not left us without a guide.
Hugh Whelchel tells the story of the entire Bible as a play in four acts: Creation, Fall, Redemption, and Restoration. He then says:
This four-chapter gospel is not just a way to read the Bible. It’s the framework through which we live our lives. Everyone sees the world through a unique view or perspective, a worldview. As Christians, we see the world through the perspective of the Bible. Think of the four-chapter gospel like a set of prescription glasses that helps us focus our actions and decisions on God’s great story of his creation. When we live with a blurry prescription for a long time, our eyes adjust. Life out of focus becomes routine, and we struggle to realize we could be seeing something more. With a new set of glasses, everything becomes clearer. The four-chapter gospel is just that – the sharpest, most complete view of life that is true for all of humanity. It serves as the most accurate prescription to view and understand the world.
Sadly, we often truncate this story merely to the acts of Fall and Redemption, which leaves us with a thin and uncompelling narrative or explanation for human existence. But the story God has given us in Scripture is a beautiful, glorious story that far outshines all others. Whelchel’s piece is well worth your consideration as you aim to keep the big picture in view.
The book of Job is about more than suffering; it’s about how to fear God through suffering. Let’s see how this main point plays out in the debates between Job and his three friends.
CALI (2011), Creative Commons
At the end of Job 2, Eliphaz, Bildad, and Zophar enter stage left. The play unfolds as each man gives a long speech, and Job responds to each with a speech of his own.
The third cycle gets cut short, and Zophar never gets his third moment of fame.
I won’t list the main points speech-by-speech; I encourage you to marinate in the poetry and discover the main ideas for yourself. But I want to highlight the main threads that amaze me.
Eliphaz is sensitive, Bildad is logical, and Zophar is hot-headed. Their personalities clearly vary, but they are still cut from the same strip of papyrus. They have one Ace in their collective hole, and they’re not afraid to use it every which way they can.
Good things happen to good people, and bad things happen to bad people. God is holy, righteous, and good, and he will not allow his cosmic order to be upset by some self-righteous upstart like Job. On the last day, our good deeds will be weighed against our bad deeds, and God will treat us as our actions deserve. There is a place for the wicked, one filled with loneliness, despair, and terror. But it is not possible for bad things to happen to good people. And consequently, it will never be possible for God to find a way to justify the wicked.
Job begins with this same worldview, and Eliphaz begins the cycle by gently reminding him of what he already knows (Job 4:2-5). In fact, Eliphaz claims, this system of belief is what it means to fear God. And such fear of God should be Job’s confidence (Job 4:6).
Eliphaz will not be so gentle by the time he’s done with Job. He’ll accuse Job of having no true fear of God (Job 22:4), but of bereaving others, withholding generosity, and crushing the helpless (Job 22:5-11).
These three friends exhaust their arguments and end up in the same place where they began (compare Job 25:4 with Job 4:17). There are different angles on the same principles, but there is no development of their thought. Perhaps that’s why Zophar has nothing to add in the third cycle. Their tone may change as they go, but their belief does not.
Job, however, goes through a radical transformation. He begins in the same place as his friends (Job 4:2-5), but he will not stay there. He knows he is innocent, and yet he’s suffering terribly. This blows up everything he thought he knew about God. Notice how his thought progresses through his eight speeches:
Though the friends end up in the same place they begin, Job does not. He has completely changed his mind.
The main difference between Job and his friends is not that Job suffers and they do not. Nor is it that Job understands suffering in a way they do not. The main difference is that Job fears God and they do not.
While Job’s suffering provides the raw material for their debate, the heart of their conflict is over what it means to fear God (Job 4:6, 6:14, 13:11-16, 15:4, 22:4, 23:14-17, etc.). The message of this book is not so much about how to deal with suffering as about how to fear God, even through suffering.
Without the fear of God, one must hold to a religious system of cosmic karma, where we’re good with God as long as we try to be good people. But the true fear of God acknowledges the possibility – no, the necessity – of innocent, substitutionary suffering. If a really, really good person can suffer terrible things, then maybe, just maybe, the wicked can somehow be justified and made right with God.
But it all hangs on both a Redeemer who lives and a tenacious hope of resurrection.
I wish I could poll the Christian world to answer the question, “What is the book of Job about?” And I would eat my freshly shorn grass clippings if I didn’t get a nearly unanimous answer: SUFFERING. But that answer would not be right. Well, it might be half-right, but not nearly so right as we’ve been led to believe.
Patty Mooney (2009), Creative Commons
Of course Job suffers. But the suffering itself moves off-stage after two chapters. The body of the book is written as a play in 5 acts, filled with many characters waxing eloquently about Job’s suffering. Perhaps the point is more about how to talk about suffering. And perhaps that’s why most readers race from chapter 2 to chapter 38 and never look back. Nobody, myself included, feels comfortable when talking about a real person’s real suffering.
I’ve read this book at least 25 times in my life, but until this year I’ve never taken the time to study and consider the speeches chapter-by-chapter. I can’t believe all I’ve missed.
First, let’s not forget how Job got into this mess. Job fears God and turns away from evil (Job 1:1), and for that reason, when Satan goes looking for trouble in all the wrong places, God draws a bull’s-eye on his main man (Job 1:7-8, 2:2-3). Make no mistake: God draws Satan’s attention to Job, because Job fears God. If that fact doesn’t terrify you, I don’t know what will.
Second, consider what’s at stake here. Both the narrator (once) and God (twice) unequivocally assert Job’s fear of God (Job 1:1, 8; 2:3). And this fear is the very thing Satan calls into question: “Does Job fear God for no reason?” (Job 1:9). Satan places his bet: “Job doesn’t really fear God; he just loves the nice things God gives him. Take those things away, and his ‘fear of God’ will melt into face-to-face cursing of God” (paraphrase of Job 1:10-11, 2:4-5). God goes all in: “Game on” (Job 1:12, 2:6).
The narrator’s key question is this: Will Job still fear God when he loses everything he loves?
Job takes up his lament in chapter 3 with his own key question: Why is this happening to me? He knows nothing of God’s bet with Satan. He has no explanation for his loss, his bereavement, or his pain. He curses the day of his birth and the night of his conception (Job 3:1-7). He even asks others to join him in cursing that day and that night (Job 3:8).
But when he turns to consider God, he has no curse. He has only questions filled with dread (Job 3:20-26).
As I mentioned, Job is a play in 5 acts, with a narrative prologue and epilogue. We struggle with this book for the same reasons we struggle with Shakespeare: it’s old, it’s a play, and it’s poetry. But delve this mine, and its riches will mesmerize you.
Narrative Prologue: Job suffers because he fears God – Job 1-2
Act I: Job curses his life, but still fears God – Job 3
Act II: Job and three friends debate over what it means to fear God – Job 4-26
Act III: Job meditates on the beginning of wisdom: the fear of God – Job 27-28
Act IV: Job delivers his concluding speech, and a fourth friend challenges him to excel still more in fearing God – Job 29-37
Act V: God shows up, and Job’s fear of him reaches new heights – Job 38:1-42:6
Narrative Epilogue: This dangerous Deity puts the fear of God in Job’s friends and implicitly takes the blame for Job’s suffering – Job 42:7-17
The prologue and epilogue obviously parallel one another. Acts I and V have much parallel language (for example, Job calls on those who rouse up Leviathan – Job 3:8, and God rouses up Leviathan – Job 41). Acts II and IV have Job interacting with his friends.
The book’s structural and thematic center lies in chapters 27-28, with Job’s condemnation of his friends and his praise of the fear of God as the beginning of wisdom.
The book of Job is traditionally considered one of the wisdom books. We should expect its main idea to have something to do with wisdom.
Yes, Job has much to say to help those who suffer. But the book’s main point is more focused: What does it mean to fear the Lord when you suffer? Next week, I’ll look more closely at the debates in Job 4-26 to show how the fear of the Lord paves the way for the amazing gospel of free grace through Jesus Christ.
Of the four New Testament gospels, Luke’s is the lengthiest. And in my opinion, the longest section within the book (Luke 9:51-19:27) is the most challenging to get through. It can feel aimless and meandering, almost as though Luke indulges his personal wanderlust without a clear purpose or organization.
At least his second volume, the book of Acts, can be organized according to travel sequences. The gospel moves out in waves from Jerusalem, into Judea, then Samaria, and then to the ends of the earth. And “the ends of the earth” section is commonly subdivided into Paul’s first, second, and third missionary journeys, with a voyage to Rome appended to the end.
But in Luke, Jesus simply commits himself to going to Jerusalem (Luke 9:51), and then he finally goes up to Jerusalem (Luke 19:28). And nothing really happens plot-wise in the intervening 10 chapters. There is a lot of talking and meandering, with occasional reminders that Jesus is “on the way.” But very few narrative events take place. And they are the sort of events that don’t typically show up on a summary timeline of the life of Christ.
There’s a funny thing about these 10 chapters. In a sense, Luke could have gone without them. Luke more or less puts Jesus into a literary stasis, frozen in the act of traveling toward Jerusalem (with almost no named stops along the way). And Luke’s overall themes could function without this part of the book. In Luke 1:1-4:13, Luke presents Jesus as, himself, the salvation of God. In Luke 4:14-9:50, Jesus proclaims the coming salvation of God through himself. And in Luke 19:28 to the end, Jesus goes and accomplishes the salvation of God. Luke could have jumped right from Luke 9:51 to Luke 19:28 without the intervening material, and the book would still have made sense.
The “parenthetical” nature of Luke 9:51-19:27 is so stark that commentators even have a label for it. They tend to call this section of Luke “The Travelogue” or “The Travel Narrative.”
What further sense can we make of this literary stasis?
It appears that Luke divides this large section into four sub-sections.* His literary signal, to show the beginning of a new sub-section, is a reminder that the plot is still frozen and Jesus is still “on the way” to Jerusalem.
When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem.
Luke 9:51
Now as they went on their way, Jesus entered a village.
Luke 10:38
He went on his way through towns and villages, teaching and journeying toward Jerusalem.
Luke 13:22
On the way to Jerusalem he was passing along between Samaria and Galilee.
Luke 17:11
In each case, Luke makes sure to remind us that Jesus is “on the way” to Jerusalem. And then, almost immediately, somebody asks Jesus a weighty question. And Luke spends the rest of the section showing us how Jesus answered the question.
So the pattern to mark each sub-section is as follows:
For example, in the first section (Luke 9:51-10:37), James and John ask Jesus if he wants them to call down fire from heaven on an unresponsive village (Luke 9:54). Jesus rebukes them, and then he calls another disciple to “go and proclaim the kingdom of God” (Luke 9:60). The rest of the section describes the plan for such proclamation.
In the second section (Luke 10:38-13:21), Martha asks Jesus whether he cares that her sister has left her to serve alone (Luke 10:40). She asks Jesus to tell Mary to help her with the work. Jesus tells Martha that he absolutely cares about what Mary has done, and that Mary has actually chosen the better portion—to sit at his feet and grow closer to him. The rest of the section describes the process for such growth in the lives of those who will sit at Jesus’ feet. We get instruction about such practical topics as the Holy Spirit, prayer, tradition, money management, and repentance.
At the start of the third section (Luke 13:22-17:10), a random person asks Jesus if those who are saved will be few (Luke 13:23). Jesus acknowledges that they will, in fact, be few. And very many will strive to enter the kingdom but will find themselves weeping outside. The rest of the section shows a great concern for how many will get in and how many will be left out.
At the start of the fourth section (Luke 17:11-19:27), the Pharisees ask Jesus when the kingdom of God will come (Luke 17:20). Jesus claims that it has already arrived, but they are simply unable to recognize it for what it is. The rest of the section then describes how to recognize the kingdom, how it is already upon us, and how most Jews of that generation are just about out of time to enter it.
In summary, this lengthy section of Luke, this literary stasis, could be called “The Life of Discipleship.” This large section describes life in the kingdom of God, the life of those who would be his disciples. Luke freezes the plot to draw out the implications of what he’s told us so far in the book. What is Jesus really after? How would he describe the results he expects from his salvation? When does he expect things to play out? And what sort of people does he want his followers to be?
This lengthy section concerns four main topics:
Now that you grasp this skeleton, perhaps you can make more sense of the meandering parables and dialogues found there. We find some of Jesus’ most famous parables here (e.g. good Samaritan, lost sheep, prodigal son, Pharisee and tax collector, rich fool, and rich man and Lazarus). Perhaps you’ll grasp these parables—and other familiar texts—more clearly when you consider them within the context of their sub-section.
* For these structural insights, I am indebted to William Taylor’s marvelous two-volume study guide on Luke in the Read Mark Learn series (Christian Focus, 2016 & 2018).
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Would you like to study Luke’s gospel? Whether you do it for your own edification or to lead a group of friends or students, you must grasp the big picture. Fail to grasp the big picture, and you will get the pieces wrong.
Too often, we study the Bible like we’re United States Navy SEALs. We infiltrate the book via HALO—high altitude, low opening—jump (learn just enough about the book’s basic historical background). We parachute in to the landing zone (the chosen text) and conduct our mission to secure the asset (a nugget of truth or practical application). We then pursue extraction under cover of darkness and radio HQ with the “all clear” (bridging contexts from the ancient world to today).
And we do this week after week, chapter after chapter, without coming away with any real grasp on the argument made by the author, or his intentions for his original audience. Therefore, like Navy SEALs, we can accomplish a narrowly-defined mission. But we haven’t taken the time to assimilate to the culture we’re infiltrating. We don’t understand that foreign nation’s political process, class consciousness, economic aspirations, folk tales, or hopes and dreams for the future. We’re not able to represent the interests of this foreign land (in this case, the book of Luke) nor serve as competent ambassadors to our own (as we seek to apply this ancient text in our setting).
You’ve probably got some favorite or familiar passages from Luke. Maybe you’ve taught or preached them to various audiences.
But can you confidently or competently explain what Luke meant by these episodes? Can you explain how they fit into his structure, or how they drive his main idea home? Can you identify why Luke cared enough to include these stories, or why Luke’s take on them differs from that of other gospel writers?
If the answer to any of those questions is “no,” how can you be certain you haven’t been using these stories the way a drunk uses a lamppost—more for support than for illumination? Can you be sure these words have been speaking to you, and you haven’t been dictating to them?
This is why I’ve spent many weeks overviewing this lengthiest of all New Testament books. That length can be daunting enough to dissuade us from a full-book overview and make us more comfortable to simply parachute in to a chapter here and a chapter there.
So here is where we’ve been so far in this overview:
Let me remind you of the train-of-thought outline I proposed for the book:
All that work leads me to the following main point:
The hope of Israel, God’s plan of salvation for the world, has arrived in Jesus.
Now I’m not saying that I’ve found the perfect or the absolute best way to state Luke’s main point that couldn’t be improved upon. It’s still possible that I’ve missed something or could refine this further. This sentence simply represents an effort to pull together all the data and be as clear and succinct as possible.
But as far as I can tell from my study, this statement captures the essence of what Luke aims to communicate. It encapsulates the entire train of thought from the book’s structure. It takes account of both primary (Theophilus) and secondary audiences (children of Abraham). It fits with the very purposes we can reconstruct from Luke’s intentions.
As we now study any and every passage within the gospel, we should be able to see how that passage advances Luke’s agenda. Some passages will riff on the hope of Israel. Others will expound on that hope as God’s plan of salvation. Others will direct our attention to see this hope of Israel being not merely for Israel but for the world. And yet others will land on the person of Jesus being himself the arrival point for all these hopes.
But when we consider each passage’s placement in the structure of the argument, and how that placement serves the overall agenda—we’ll be in the best place possible to grasp the author’s intent in that passage. Let’s not read our favorite stories from Luke in a vacuum, as though they were dropped from heaven for our next Sunday school lesson.
Let’s make sure we’ll have no need to be ashamed, because we handle these words of truth rightly.
I’ve now written a number of posts presenting an overview of Luke’s gospel. I’ve addressed numerous background issues, but not simply for historical knowledge. My purpose has been to lay the groundwork for a fruitful study of Luke’s gospel. And for such study to bear fruit, we must be able to grasp the main point of the entire book. All the discussion on genre, audience, occasion, and structure has been working to this end: proposing a main point for the book.
And I have one last issue to cover before I can finally propose that main point. How did Luke expect his book to be used?
As I’ve covered so far, Luke has at least two audiences in mind. His primary, explicit audience is the Roman official named Theophilus, serving some role or other in the Apostle Paul’s trial before Caesar (Luke 1:1-4). And the secondary, implicit audience is the Jews—both ethnic Jews who need to repent before it’s too late, and spiritual Jews, who become such by trusting in Christ.
So it’s not difficult to imagine two main ways Luke might expect people to make use of his book.
He wants Theophilus to read, understand, and consider the evidence in support of Paul’s innocence. Luke wants him to corroborate the testimony, check out the source documents, and confirm the facts. In short, Luke writes his book in order to defend Paul.
And he also wants those who would be children of Abraham to read, understand, and consider the evidence in support of Christianity’s legitimacy. Luke wants both Jews and Gentiles to corroborate the testimony, check out the source documents, and confirm the facts. In short, Luke writes his book in order to defend Christianity.
For more information, you may be interested in checking out Daniel Wallace’s overview article on Luke which argues further for this dual purpose of Luke’s gospel.
With Paul on trial, Christianity is on trial. And Luke (and the Holy Spirit who inspired him) feels no embarrassment going on record in the Roman court system to stake his claim that this movement is the real deal. Christianity’s God is real. Christianity’s beginnings are real. Christianity’s truth claims are real. And Christianity’s ringleaders are trustworthy.
Luke expects his work to be cross-examined and thoroughly vetted. So go right ahead. Consider these claims. Look for holes in the testimony. Review the cited documentation. Give it your best shot; Luke is not afraid of political, historical, or scientific verification. He’s presented his material in an orderly fashion to make it easier to cross-examine and verify.
And in the end, the evidence will, in fact, show two things:
The first conclusion is of historical interest to Luke. He wants his friend to go free.
The second conclusion is of apologetic interest to Luke. He wants the world to be saved from sin and attain to the hope of resurrection.
With this in mind, we’re ready to finally craft a main point for the book. I plan to do so next week, when I’ll also show how the main point ought to guide your study of each passage on your way through the book.
Have you ever read Ezra? Have you bothered to study it? If not, Jesse Johnson thinks you should.
After explaining one of the Bible’s most incredible prophecies (Isaiah 44:24-45:1), Johnson says this about Ezra:
The proclamation is that Israel would return, and is what is fulfilled in the book of Ezra.
Ezra is worth studying because it is a full-color illustration of Yahweh’s sovereignty. Nearly every chapter speaks of the meticulous application of that sovereignty for the purpose of rebuilding Israel. Nehemiah will focus on rebuilding Jerusalem’s physical architecture, but before God gets to that, Ezra first describes the rebuilding of Israel’s spiritual architecture, namely the temple and the priests.
The most remarkable thing about the book of Ezra is that despite their zeal in the return, and despite the miraculous nature of God’s prophetic word, the return doesn’t go well. In fact, it ends in failure.
He concludes:
Study the book of Ezra. As you do, the more you are in awe of God’s meticulous sovereignty, let that impress upon you that for those apart from Christ, they don’t need a miracle. They don’t need a new start. They need a new heart, which only comes through New Covenant.
This analysis is great. Check it out!
Luke wrote a two-volume history of the early Christian movement to Theophilus, a Roman official who likely had some role in Paul’s trial before Caesar. The charges against Paul guided Luke in his selection of themes, and led him to appeal to the Jews to turn around before their doom fell upon them.
So how does Luke structure his gospel? How does he arrange his material in order to persuade both the Romans to acquit Paul and the world (including Jews) to receive God’s salvation?
Matthew uses five major speeches to shape his gospel. Mark uses disciples and predictions. John uses signs and conversations. But Luke’s primary mechanism for signaling literary divisions is his use of setting, especially geography.
After a short preface (Luke 1:1-4), Luke opens with a statement of time and place (Luke 1:5). Since he’s presenting an “orderly account” (Luke 1:3), he goes out of his way to refer to his sources and extensive research. So we ought to expect such organization to continue.
In Luke 4:14-15, Luke tells us that Jesus returned to Galilee, and he gives us a summary statement of Jesus’ work there (“he taught in their synagogues”). Such summary statements appear to serve as Luke’s main signals that a section is beginning or ending. And Jesus remains in Galilee until Luke 9:50.
In Luke 9:51, Jesus sets his face to go to Jerusalem. From here until Luke 19:27, Luke peppers his narrative with reminders that Jesus was “on the way” (Luke 10:38, 13:22, 17:11).1
In Luke 19:28, Jesus finally goes up to Jerusalem, and he remains there until the end of the book.
So Luke’s geographical markers give us the following major divisions for the book:
Now Luke is a long book. Can we subdivide these major sections any further?
The early chapters begin with scenes that alternate between John and Jesus:
Then we get another major statement of setting (Luke 3:1-2) and another alternation between John and Jesus:
So Luke’s first major division has two subdivisions:
I’m frankly uncertain regarding how to subdivide this section. I’ve come across two schemes that both make sense.
One framework divides the text thematically:
This framework fits with the content of the material. The statement, “After he had finished all his sayings in the hearing of the people” (Luke 7:1), sure sounds like a concluding transition statement into a new section. And it’s exactly the sort of thing Luke would say to “order” his account. But there is no clearly corresponding transition statement at Luke 8:56 or Luke 9:1 to suggest a division there. But “faith” is certainly a major theme in chapters 7-8. And Luke 9 appears to switch topics.
So a second possible framework is worth considering:
The best evidence in favor of this framework is the presence of clearer literary signals in the text (Jesus’ “going out” or “sending out” at the beginning of each of the three sections). The downside to this framework is that it can be difficult to see a unified message in each of the sections.
So I prefer the first framework, but I could easily be persuaded to reconsider.
In this part of the book, it’s easier to identify clear subdivisions, because of Luke’s reminders that Jesus was “on the way” (Luke 10:38, 13:22, 17:11).1 These are not incidental statements without purpose. They serve as literary markers for the sections. In addition, each of the four sections opens with a question from someone for Jesus, and the rest of the section proceeds to answer the question.
The outline will be more memorable and concise, though, if we use the answers instead of the questions:
Once again, we ought to expect some signals from Luke to show us the “orderly” nature of his account. So what do we find?
First, Jesus draws near to Jerusalem by drawing near to Bethphage and Bethany, at “the mount that is called Olivet” (Luke 19:28-29). So as we look for structural markers, we should look for a corresponding summary statement of setting. And we find it in Luke 21:37-38, where Jesus was “teaching in the temple” every day, but retiring to “the mount called Olivet” every night. So Luke 19:28-21:38 make up the first subdivision. In between these bookends, we see the content of Jesus’ “teaching in the temple”—a condemnation of Israel’s current generation.
Second, the next verses tell us that the Passover drew near, and the chief priests and scribes were seeking how to put him to death (Luke 22:1-2). This setting reaches its completion, of course, when Jesus is dead and seemingly done away with on the feast’s Day of Preparation (Luke 23:54-56). In between, we’re told repeatedly that Jesus was innocent and undeserving of this conspiracy (Luke 23:4, 14, 22, 41, 47, etc.).
This leaves us with chapter 24, the grand climax, where the living is not to be found among the dead (Luke 24:5), where the hope of Israel (Luke 24:21) is found in all the Scriptures (Luke 24:27, 32, 44-46), and where the worship of Jesus is found at Bethany (Luke 24:50-52) and the blessing of God is found at the temple in Jerusalem (Luke 24:53).
To summarize, we’ve got the following subdivisions:
To summarize, the structure shows us the following train of Luke’s thought:
1I’m grateful for William Taylor’s Read, Mark, Learn volumes on Luke, which persuaded me of Luke’s structural use of these “on the way” statements. The Amazon link is an affiliate link. If you click it and buy anything, you’ll provide a small commission to this blog at no extra cost to yourself.
