The Pedagogy of Jesus: Recovering the Way of the Master Teacher

Beyond the Pulpit: Teaching, Mentorship, and the Formation of a People Who Follow Jesus

One of the most significant questions facing contemporary homiletics is whether the modern church has gradually elevated one dimension of Jesus’ ministry—public proclamation—above the larger vocation that gave proclamation its purpose. In many congregations, the pastor’s primary responsibility has become the preparation and delivery of a weekly sermon. The congregation assembles, receives instruction from a platform, and returns to ordinary life until the following gathering. Spiritual growth is often measured through attendance, sermon engagement, and familiarity with biblical teaching. While public proclamation has an undeniable place within the biblical tradition, this arrangement deserves careful examination against the actual ministry of Jesus and the patterns of the earliest Christian communities.

Jesus certainly preached. The Gospels describe him teaching in synagogues (Mark 1:21–22), addressing crowds (Matt 5–7), and proclaiming the kingdom throughout Galilee (Mark 1:14–15). Yet the remarkable feature of his ministry is how little of his work can be adequately described by the modern concept of delivering a weekly sermon. Jesus called people to follow him, not merely to listen to him. He shared meals, traveled with his disciples, interpreted Scripture along the road, confronted their misplaced ambitions, involved them in ministry, corrected their misunderstandings, and eventually entrusted them with responsibility for others. His ministry was lived in proximity to those he was forming. The proclamation of truth was central, but proclamation belonged to a much larger process of discipleship.

The contrast becomes even more striking in Acts 2:42–47. Luke describes the first community of believers as devoted to the apostles’ teaching, fellowship, the breaking of bread, and prayer. The Greek verb proskartereō (προσκαρτερέω), expressed here as the participle proskarterountes, communicates sustained devotion or persistent participation. Teaching was essential, but it was embedded within a shared life characterized by meals, generosity, prayer, mutual responsibility, and daily fellowship. Public teaching and household gatherings operated alongside one another (Acts 2:46; 5:42). The earliest church was not simply an audience gathered around gifted communicators; it was a community being formed around the risen Messiah.¹

This does not mean the first-century church possessed no recognizable preaching ministry, nor does it establish that every congregation must reproduce the social arrangements of Jerusalem. The New Testament repeatedly emphasizes public instruction (Acts 20:7–12; 1 Tim 4:13; 2 Tim 4:2), and historical developments in Christian worship are considerably more complex than a simple movement from homes to auditoriums. Nevertheless, we should distinguish the biblical legitimacy of public preaching from the modern tendency to make sermon delivery the organizing center of pastoral ministry.

In some contemporary settings, the pastor has become an increasingly distant religious professional whose principal contact with the congregation occurs through a microphone. The congregation knows the preacher’s voice, illustrations, opinions, and theological positions, yet may have little opportunity to observe the preacher’s life, participate in ministry alongside that leader, or experience personal spiritual mentorship. We have become highly proficient at constructing platforms for teaching while sometimes neglecting the relationships through which teaching becomes embodied.

This raises a difficult but necessary question: If our model of pastoral ministry produces effective public speakers but few mature disciples capable of discipling others, have we preserved the form of proclamation while neglecting its intended purpose?

John Stott’s Between Two Worlds appropriately identifies the preacher’s responsibility to bridge the world of Scripture and the world of contemporary hearers. Yet the biblical picture suggests that the bridge cannot be constructed through communication alone. The shepherd must also be present among the sheep. Preaching should not become a substitute for the personal, relational, and communal formation that characterized the ministry of Jesus.²

The formation of disciples is not an innovation introduced by Jesus in the first century. It belongs to the larger biblical story of God’s intention to dwell among humanity and form a people who reflect his character within creation.

Genesis 1:26–28 describes humanity as created in the ṣelem (צֶלֶם), or image, and dĕmût (דְּמוּת), or likeness, of God. Ancient Near Eastern royal ideology frequently associated kingship with the representation of divine authority, while divine images could symbolize a deity’s presence and rule. Genesis places this representative vocation upon humanity itself, male and female alike. Rather than restricting divine representation to a particular earthly king, the narrative identifies human beings as those commissioned to reflect God’s purposes throughout creation.³

This vocation develops through Israel’s covenant calling. Exodus 19:5–6 identifies Israel as a treasured possession, a kingdom of priests, and a holy nation. The priestly imagery is significant because Israel’s calling was never exhausted by its own religious preservation. Israel was to embody Yahweh’s character among the nations, mediating knowledge of the true God through its worship, justice, covenant loyalty, and communal practices.

The theme of divine dwelling accompanies this vocation. Yahweh commands Israel to build a sanctuary so that he might dwell among them (Exod 25:8). Jeremiah anticipates a renewed covenant in which God’s instruction is written upon the hearts of his people (Jer 31:31–34). John’s Gospel identifies Jesus as the Word who became flesh and dwelt among humanity (John 1:14), employing the verb skēnoō (σκηνόω), which evokes the language of dwelling or tabernacling. Finally, Revelation 21:3 announces the consummation of this trajectory: God’s dwelling is with humanity.

The goal is not merely that people receive correct information about God. God forms a covenant people who know him, reflect his character, and participate in his purposes. Discipleship therefore belongs to the theological structure of the entire biblical narrative. It concerns the recovery and fulfillment of humanity’s vocation as God’s image bearers through Jesus Christ, the definitive image of God (Col 1:15).

Ancient education was not ordinarily understood as the detached communication of information by an isolated lecturer. Mesopotamian scribal training involved memorization, copying, repetition, correction, and the progressive acquisition of practical competencies. Evidence from Old Babylonian scribal exercises indicates that education frequently operated through apprenticeship and household instruction, although more formal scribal settings also existed. Knowledge was transmitted through sustained relationships and repeated participation in the activities associated with a particular vocation.⁴

Israel’s covenant traditions likewise emphasize formation within ordinary life. Deuteronomy 6:4–9 instructs parents to teach Yahweh’s commandments to their children while sitting at home, traveling, lying down, and rising. The Hebrew šānan (שָׁנַן), used in Deuteronomy 6:7, communicates diligent instruction or impressing something upon another. The point is not that Israel should occasionally offer religious lectures to its children, but that covenant identity should permeate the daily rhythms of the household.

The prophetic narratives provide another analogy. The bĕnê hannĕbîʾîm (בְּנֵי הַנְּבִיאִים), or “sons of the prophets,” appear in communities associated with Samuel, Elijah, and Elisha (1 Sam 19:18–24; 2 Kgs 2:3–5; 4:38; 6:1). Although the expression “school of the prophets” may suggest more formal educational institutions than the texts warrant, the narratives reveal communities in which prophetic identity and vocation were cultivated through association with recognized prophetic leaders.

The succession of Elijah and Elisha is particularly illuminating. Elijah’s mantle, ʾadderet (אַדֶּרֶת), becomes a sign of Elisha’s calling (1 Kgs 19:19), while 2 Kings 2 describes the transmission of prophetic responsibility in the context of Elisha’s continuing allegiance to his master. Elisha requests a double portion of Elijah’s spirit, language that evokes the inheritance of a principal heir rather than simply a request to perform twice as many miracles. The mantle becomes a visible symbol of continuity, but the narrative ultimately emphasizes the presence and empowerment of Yahweh.

The theological relevance for pastoral ministry is considerable. Leadership was not simply the possession of specialized religious knowledge. It involved forming others who could continue the work after the mentor was gone. The measure of Elijah’s legacy was not how many people had heard him speak, but whether the prophetic vocation continued through Elisha.

The calling of the first disciples challenges some of the most comfortable assumptions of contemporary church life. In Mark 1:16–20, Jesus encounters Simon and Andrew while they are fishing and calls them to follow him. Mark records that they immediately leave their nets. Jesus then calls James and John, who leave their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired servants.

The Greek verb aphiēmi (ἀφίημι), used for their leaving, can convey releasing, abandoning, or leaving something behind. Mark employs the adverb euthys (εὐθύς), “immediately,” emphasizing the urgency of their response. Luke 5:11 strengthens the imagery, describing the disciples as leaving everything and following Jesus.

This is not merely a commitment to add religious instruction to an otherwise unchanged life. Jesus’ invitation reorganizes their vocational identity, daily schedule, social relationships, and future expectations. They are not signing up for a weekly Bible study. They are entering the life and mission of a rabbi whose calling will demand an entirely different ordering of their priorities.⁵

The language of discipleship in the Gospel tradition is important. The Greek mathētēs (μαθητής), “disciple,” identifies a learner or follower, while akoloutheō (ἀκολουθέω), “to follow,” frequently communicates the concrete act of accompanying Jesus and the deeper allegiance that accompaniment represents. The Hebrew term talmid (תַּלְמִיד), meaning student or disciple, provides a helpful Jewish conceptual parallel, although the detailed educational structures of later rabbinic Judaism should not simply be projected backward onto Jesus’ ministry.

Later rabbinic literature offers evidence of master-disciple relationships involving close association, observation, and the imitation of a teacher’s conduct. These materials illuminate broader Jewish traditions of learning but were compiled after the lifetime of Jesus and must be used with historical caution. The Gospel narratives themselves, however, offer sufficient evidence to establish that Jesus’ discipleship involved sustained personal participation rather than periodic attendance at formal instruction.⁶

The distinction becomes especially significant in Mark 3:13–15. Jesus appoints the Twelve so that they might be with him, hina ōsin met’ autou (ἵνα ὦσιν μετ’ αὐτοῦ), and so that he might send them out, hina apostellē autous (ἵνα ἀποστέλλῃ αὐτούς). Presence precedes mission. Their formation takes place through proximity to Jesus before they are commissioned to represent him publicly.

This raises a challenging comparison with contemporary theological education. A residential seminary or intentional discipleship community may, in some respects, resemble the immersive learning environment of the Gospel narratives more closely than a congregation organized almost exclusively around weekly attendance. Students study Scripture, share life, wrestle with theological questions, receive correction, and prepare for a vocation that reshapes their priorities.

Yet even seminary education can reproduce the very problem under consideration when it becomes primarily the accumulation of academic credits, detached from spiritual mentorship, communal life, and actual ministry practice. The greater challenge is not to turn every Christian into a full-time seminary student. It is to recover the seriousness of Jesus’ call to discipleship within the ordinary circumstances of Christian life.

Jesus did not explicitly require every follower to abandon their occupation. Some continued to maintain households, support his ministry, and serve within existing social relationships (Luke 8:1–3; 19:1–10). Peter himself appears fishing again in John 21. Therefore, the command to leave the nets should not be universalized into a prohibition against ordinary employment. Nevertheless, the underlying demand remains uncompromising: no occupation, possession, family obligation, or former identity may retain ultimate authority over the call of Jesus. Luke 9:57–62 and 14:25–33 make this especially clear. Following Jesus requires a willingness to relinquish competing allegiances. His teaching is not framed as a convenient religious supplement to an otherwise autonomous existence.

This also illuminates Jesus’ invitation in Matthew 11:28–30. He invites the weary to take his zygos (ζυγός), or yoke, upon themselves and learn from him: mathete ap’ emou (μάθετε ἀπ’ ἐμοῦ). The term zygos could signify a literal yoke, but it also functions metaphorically for obligation or submission to instruction. Jewish wisdom traditions offer important parallels, including Sirach 51:26, which invites learners to place their necks under the yoke of wisdom.

Jesus’ yoke is described as chrēstos (χρηστός), kind or well-suited, and his burden as elaphron (ἐλαφρόν), light. This does not mean discipleship requires little commitment. Matthew’s Gospel contains demanding teachings about self-denial, faithfulness, and costly allegiance. The distinction is that Jesus offers a form of discipleship grounded in his own character, authority, and provision of rest. The yoke is gracious, but the allegiance is comprehensive. Jesus does not invite disciples to attend his teaching occasionally while retaining their former way of life as the governing framework of their existence. He invites them to learn an entirely new way of being human.

Jesus’ methods of instruction reveal a remarkable integration of theological exposition and lived experience. His teaching was neither an uninterrupted lecture nor an unstructured series of religious encounters. The Gospel narratives suggest deliberate development in the understanding, character, and participation of his disciples. They observe Jesus, receive instruction, engage in ministry, misunderstand his intentions, experience correction, and are repeatedly brought back to the central realities of the kingdom.

Mark 4 provides an example of his use of parables. The Greek parabolē (παραβολή) refers broadly to a comparison, illustration, or figurative saying and shares conceptual territory with the Hebrew māšāl (מָשָׁל). Jesus employs familiar agricultural imagery to communicate the character and reception of the kingdom. Yet the parables do more than make complex theological concepts accessible. Mark 4:10–12 presents a tension between revelation and concealment, emphasizing that the hearer’s response is itself part of the narrative. Jesus subsequently explains the parables to his disciples (4:33–34), showing that public proclamation and more intimate theological instruction were complementary rather than competing practices.⁷

In Luke 10:25–37, Jesus demonstrates another form of pedagogical engagement. A legal expert asks what he must do to inherit eternal life. Jesus directs him back to Scripture, asking, Pōs anaginōskeis? (πῶς ἀναγινώσκεις), “How do you read?” The question is not merely whether the man possesses biblical information but how he understands and interprets it. After the lawyer correctly identifies love for God and neighbor as central to the law, Jesus tells the parable of the Samaritan.

The rhetorical movement is significant. The lawyer initially seeks to establish the boundaries of his obligation by asking who qualifies as his neighbor. Jesus reverses the question, identifying the one who acted as a neighbor through mercy. The concluding imperative, poreuou kai sy poiei homoiōs (πορεύου καὶ σὺ ποίει ὁμοίως), directs the hearer toward action: go and do likewise. The distinction between knowing the law and embodying its intent becomes the central pedagogical achievement of the exchange.⁸

John 4 illustrates another dimension of Jesus’ method. In his encounter with the Samaritan woman, Jesus engages questions of social identity, religious tradition, worship, and messianic expectation. The conversation develops through a series of responses and misunderstandings, allowing the woman’s assumptions to emerge before Jesus redirects her toward a more comprehensive understanding of worship. The encounter subsequently becomes the occasion for communal testimony, as others from the town come to hear Jesus for themselves (John 4:39–42). Teaching moves from conversation to revelation and then toward the participation of a wider community.

Jesus also teaches through embodied demonstration. In John 13:1–17, he washes the feet of his disciples and then explains the significance of his actions. The Greek hypodeigma (ὑπόδειγμα), used in John 13:15, identifies his action as an example or pattern. The disciples are not merely instructed to value humility. They encounter humility practiced by the one they recognize as Lord and Teacher, and they are called to imitate what they have witnessed.

Equally important is the way Jesus permits his disciples to participate in ministry before they fully understand it. Mark 6:7–13 describes the Twelve being sent out with authority to proclaim repentance and confront unclean spirits. When they return, they report what they have done and taught (Mark 6:30). The pattern resembles supervised participation more than conventional lecture-based instruction.

Even their failures become occasions for formation. The disciples repeatedly misunderstand Jesus’ identity, the meaning of his mission, and the character of greatness within the kingdom (Mark 8:14–21; 9:33–37; 10:35–45). Rather than abandoning them, Jesus revisits these themes through further teaching, correction, and demonstration.

This recurring pattern offers an important challenge to contemporary preaching. How often do pastors revisit a theological subject because the congregation has not yet learned to embody it? How frequently do leaders invite people into actual ministry, observe their development, and provide personal correction? Jesus’ teaching was repetitive not because he lacked additional material, but because the formation of disciples required more than a single encounter with truth.

The encounter on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13–35) provides one of the most compelling narratives of Jesus’ pedagogical approach. It also illustrates why correct information alone is insufficient for faithful biblical interpretation. The two disciples possess considerable information about Jesus. They know of his prophetic ministry, his crucifixion, the discovery of the empty tomb, and the reports of angelic witnesses. Yet they interpret these events through disappointed expectations concerning Israel’s redemption. Their confession in Luke 24:21, hēmeis de ēlpizomen (ἡμεῖς δὲ ἠλπίζομεν), “but we had hoped,” reveals the tension between their expectations and what has occurred.

Jesus begins with questions, allowing the disciples to articulate their understanding. He then challenges their failure to comprehend the prophetic witness and interprets the Scriptures concerning the Messiah’s suffering and glory (Luke 24:25–27). Luke uses the verb diermēneuō (διερμηνεύω), meaning to interpret or explain, to describe Jesus’ exposition of Moses and the Prophets. The significance is not simply that Jesus supplies additional proof texts. He reconstructs their understanding of Israel’s story around the necessity of the Messiah’s suffering and vindication. Their problem is hermeneutical. They possess biblical expectations, but those expectations have not adequately accounted for the shape of God’s redemptive purposes.

Recognition occurs when Jesus takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to them (Luke 24:30–31). The narrative deliberately brings together scriptural exposition, shared hospitality, and recognition of the risen Lord. The breaking of bread recalls earlier Lukan meal scenes, particularly the feeding narrative and the Last Supper, without requiring the conclusion that Luke is describing a formal Eucharistic service. The disciples subsequently return to Jerusalem and bear witness to their encounter. Their explanation of Scripture has become inseparable from recognition, renewed hope, and communal testimony.

For homiletics, Emmaus is especially instructive because Jesus does not merely deliver a theological lecture to disappointed followers. He walks with them, listens to their confusion, engages their assumptions, interprets Scripture, shares a meal, and brings them into a renewed recognition of the Messiah. The primary theological claim remains the revelation of the risen Christ, but the narrative also demonstrates that biblical understanding often develops within relationships and experiences that extend beyond formal instruction.

A sermon may faithfully interpret the Scriptures, but discipleship asks what happens when the sermon concludes. Who walks with the people who remain confused? Who helps them reconsider assumptions that have shaped their theology for decades? Who sits with them in their grief, answers their questions, and helps them recognize the presence of Christ within their circumstances?

The preacher who understands Emmaus should not only aspire to explain Scripture with clarity but also cultivate a ministry where people are accompanied through the difficult process of learning to understand and inhabit the biblical story.⁹

If the purpose of pastoral ministry is the formation of disciples, then sermon preparation should be connected to a more intentional understanding of congregational development. Most pastors understandably plan their preaching in terms of individual messages or short sermon series. A biblical book may occupy several months, followed by topical series addressing marriage, prayer, spiritual disciplines, or the life of Jesus. While there is considerable value in these approaches, they can become disconnected from a larger vision of what a congregation needs to learn and practice over time.

Educational theory offers a helpful framework through the concepts of scope and sequence. Scope concerns the breadth of material to be addressed, while sequence considers the order and recurrence through which learning develops. These concepts should not turn the local church into a conventional classroom or impose an artificial timetable upon spiritual growth. They can, however, help pastors consider whether their teaching ministries are intentionally forming a mature community or simply producing a succession of individual sermons.

A pastor might begin by asking what a healthy congregation should understand and embody after three, five, or ten years of shared life. Such planning would consider the biblical narrative, the character of God, the Trinity, creation and image bearing, covenant, the kingdom, the person and work of Christ, the Holy Spirit, the church, reconciliation, spiritual formation, justice, suffering, prayer, mission, and the hope of renewed creation. The goal would not be to create a checklist of doctrines to be completed once, but to establish a framework of theological formation that is intentionally revisited and deepened.

The doctrine of the Trinity provides an illustrative example. A church might devote an entire sermon series to the biblical foundations and historical development of Trinitarian theology. Yet the subject should not disappear for the following decade simply because the series has been completed. The Trinity should continually inform teaching about prayer, worship, creation, salvation, Christian community, baptism, and the ministry of the Holy Spirit. Congregants encounter the doctrine repeatedly within different biblical and practical contexts, gradually developing a more integrated theological understanding.

This approach reflects the importance of repetition in the ministry of Jesus. The disciples encountered recurring themes of servanthood, kingdom greatness, faith, prayer, and the necessity of the cross. Their understanding developed over time as Jesus returned to these subjects in new circumstances.

For pastoral planning, I would recommend organizing a congregational teaching map around several recurring fields of formation rather than a rigid sequence of isolated courses.

Illustrative rhythms for a congregation, not a mandatory curriculum or prescribed biblical schedule

Area of formationSuggested recurrence
Biblical narrative and hermeneuticsContinuous exposition, with dedicated interpretive training annually
God’s character and the TrinityRegular reinforcement, with substantial treatment every 2–3 years
Jesus, covenant, kingdom, and atonementIntegrated throughout the year, with periodic focused series
Holy Spirit, spiritual gifts, and discernmentAnnual attention and recurring practical engagement
Spiritual practices, prayer, and worshipContinuous practice, with seasonal teaching and mentoring
Marriage, family, friendship, and reconciliationRegular relational formation, with periodic focused teaching
Justice, generosity, vocation, and public witnessIntegrated into exposition and revisited through service opportunities
Suffering, lament, death, and resurrection hopeRegular pastoral teaching alongside care for actual suffering
Mission, evangelism, and discipleshipContinuous participation, with annual equipping and assessment
Leadership development and mentoringOngoing apprenticeship with periodic evaluation

The purpose of such a map is not to displace expository preaching or force biblical passages into a predetermined topical system. Rather, it encourages pastors to recognize the cumulative theological and formational effect of their teaching over the life of a congregation. A pastor might discover, for example, that the church regularly addresses personal morality while rarely teaching the biblical story of covenant, kingdom, and new creation. Another congregation might possess extensive doctrinal knowledge while giving comparatively little attention to reconciliation, hospitality, or the care of vulnerable people.

A congregational teaching map makes these imbalances visible. It also helps pastors select sermon series with greater theological and pastoral intentionality.

The selection of a sermon series should therefore involve several considerations: What does the biblical text itself demand? What theological subjects have been neglected? What questions or misunderstandings are emerging within the congregation? What practices require renewed attention? Where is the Spirit directing the community toward repentance, growth, or mission? How does the proposed series contribute to the church’s larger understanding of Scripture?

These questions do not guarantee an ideal preaching calendar, but they provide a more intentional alternative to selecting messages primarily because a topic seems interesting, timely, or likely to attract an audience.

The most important implication of an intentional teaching strategy is that preaching cannot be expected to accomplish the entire task of discipleship by itself. A sermon may introduce, clarify, challenge, and reinforce biblical truth, but the formation of Christian character ordinarily requires sustained participation within a community of faith.

The New Testament provides several complementary expressions of this ministry. Acts 2:42–47 integrates teaching with fellowship, prayer, shared meals, and generosity. Acts 20:20 describes Paul’s ministry as both public and house-to-house. Colossians 3:16 envisions believers teaching and admonishing one another, while Ephesians 4:11–16 identifies the purpose of ministry leadership as equipping the saints for the work of ministry and the growth of the whole body.

In Ephesians 4:12, the term katartismos (καταρτισμός), often translated “equipping,” points toward preparing God’s people for their responsibilities. The pastor is not simply the person who performs religious ministry on behalf of the congregation. Pastoral leadership helps others become capable participants in the life and mission of the church.

A congregation committed to this understanding will recognize the value of multiple environments of formation. Sunday preaching provides corporate proclamation and a common theological framework. Small groups allow believers to wrestle with biblical teaching, pray together, confess struggles, and practice mutual encouragement. Personal mentorship provides opportunities for mature disciples to accompany those who are developing in faith. Deeper Bible-study gatherings enable the exploration of historical context, biblical languages, theological questions, and matters that cannot be adequately addressed within a typical sermon. Retreats, conferences, and study intensives create opportunities for concentrated reflection and fellowship. Shared meals, hospitality, service projects, pastoral counseling, and opportunities to participate in ministry provide contexts in which theological convictions are tested and embodied.

These environments should not be treated as unrelated programs competing for attention. They are complementary expressions of a common discipleship vocation. A sermon on forgiveness might be followed by small-group conversations about reconciliation, pastoral support for those navigating painful relationships, and practical opportunities to cultivate peacemaking. A series on the kingdom of God might connect with deeper biblical studies on covenant and eschatology, opportunities for local service, and mentoring relationships that help believers discern their own vocation.

The objective is not to keep congregants perpetually occupied with religious activities. Excessive programming can undermine the ordinary household, vocational, and relational settings in which discipleship must also take place. Rather, the objective is to provide meaningful environments in which biblical teaching becomes practiced wisdom.

The pastor, then, must think beyond the sermon calendar toward the entire formative life of the community. The question is no longer simply what will be preached on Sunday, but how the church will help people understand, practice, and pass on what is being taught.

Another practice worthy of recovery is the communal dimension of sermon preparation. The contemporary pastor often develops messages in relative isolation, moving from personal study to manuscript preparation and finally to public delivery. While solitude and careful exegesis are indispensable, the New Testament’s vision of the church as a body possessing diverse gifts challenges the assumption that one individual necessarily possesses every insight required for faithful and pastorally effective proclamation.

Ephesians 4:11–16, 1 Corinthians 12–14, and Colossians 3:16 portray a community in which teaching, wisdom, discernment, encouragement, and mutual edification extend beyond a single leader. This does not eliminate the responsibility of pastors and teachers to interpret Scripture faithfully. It does suggest that the congregation’s gifts can meaningfully contribute to the preparation and application of biblical teaching.

As discussed in our earlier Expedition 44 article, The Message, the Method, and the Messenger, a ministry think tank offers one practical expression of this principle.¹⁰

A pastor might gather a small group of trusted participants two or three weeks before a planned sermon or series. The group could include other pastors, teachers, elders, individuals with theological training, counselors, younger and older believers, and people whose life experiences offer perspectives that the primary preacher may not possess.

The discussion would begin with the biblical text rather than a predetermined message. Participants might examine the literary setting, historical context, difficult interpretive questions, competing theological perspectives, and possible applications. They might identify where a proposed sermon risks oversimplification, where an illustration may unintentionally alienate or harm listeners, or where a familiar passage has been interpreted through assumptions that deserve further scrutiny.

For example, a series addressing marriage and covenant might benefit from the perspectives of married and single believers, widows, counselors, and those who have experienced relational trauma. A message concerning poverty or generosity could be enriched by people who understand economic hardship firsthand. A sermon addressing the role of women in ministry should not be developed without serious engagement with women who have studied, practiced, and reflected upon their calling.

Such conversations can also reveal the questions a congregation is actually asking. The pastor may enter preparation intending to answer one theological problem only to discover that the text raises a more pressing question for the community.

The think tank should not become a committee that determines biblical truth through majority opinion. Sound exegesis remains essential, and the primary preacher retains responsibility for the message. Nor should pastoral confidentiality be sacrificed in the pursuit of relevant illustrations. Rather, the process encourages humility, collaboration, and the recognition that God has distributed gifts throughout the body.

This practice also models discipleship. Participants are not simply supplying material for a better sermon; they are learning to handle Scripture responsibly, listen across differing perspectives, and participate in theological discernment. Sermon preparation itself becomes an environment of formation.

A mature preaching ministry should therefore aspire to do more than produce fifty excellent sermons each year. It should increasingly develop people capable of studying Scripture, discerning truth, mentoring others, and participating in the ongoing work of the kingdom.

Perhaps one of the most important recoveries needed in contemporary ministry is a renewed understanding of what it means to be a pastor. The Greek poimēn (ποιμήν), translated “shepherd,” is not primarily a title for a professional religious communicator. It describes one entrusted with the care, guidance, protection, and nurture of a flock. In John 21:15–17, Jesus charges Peter to feed and tend his sheep. In Acts 20:28, Paul instructs the Ephesian elders to shepherd the church of God, while 1 Peter 5:2–3 calls elders to exercise oversight willingly, not as domineering authorities, but as examples to the flock. These passages present pastoral ministry as a responsibility for people, not merely for the delivery of messages.

There is something deeply challenging about the distance that can develop between this biblical vocation and contemporary pastoral practice. A minister may become extraordinarily skilled at sermon preparation, public communication, organizational leadership, and theological explanation while remaining largely absent from the ordinary lives of the people entrusted to that ministry. Yet Jesus’ example consistently brings leadership back into relationship. He knew his disciples, shared their experiences, recognized their weaknesses, challenged their misplaced ambitions, and entrusted them with responsibilities they were still learning to carry. His disciples did not simply learn his teachings; they learned his way of life.

Recovering this model does not mean every pastor must personally mentor every congregant or abandon the necessary responsibilities of public proclamation. The New Testament’s emphasis upon a plurality of leaders, shared gifts, and mutual ministry provides a healthier vision than concentrating all spiritual formation in one individual. Nevertheless, the pastor must help establish and personally embody a culture of discipleship. Sermons, small groups, shared meals, mentoring relationships, theological studies, pastoral conversations, and opportunities for ministry should not function as disconnected programs. They should belong to a coherent vision of helping people grow into the likeness of Christ.

Ultimately, the question facing aspiring preachers is not simply whether they can hold the attention of a congregation for thirty minutes. It is whether they are willing to give themselves to the long, patient, frequently inconvenient work of forming disciples. Jesus invited fishermen to leave their nets, not to become spectators of his ministry, but to walk with him, learn his ways, and eventually participate in the same mission. His invitation remains profoundly demanding. The church does not need to abandon preaching; it needs to recover the larger life of discipleship within which preaching belongs. We need shepherds who open the Scriptures and open their homes, who teach from the platform and walk alongside people in their struggles, who proclaim the kingdom and demonstrate its character, and who measure the fruitfulness of their leadership not merely by those who gather to hear them but by those who are learning to follow Jesus and teach others to do the same. The church was never intended to become an audience gathered around a religious personality. It was called to become a people walking in the Way of Jesus. And perhaps the greatest legacy of any pastor is not the sermons remembered after their ministry is finished, but the disciples who continue walking in that Way long after the pastor is gone.

Endnotes

1. Eckhard J. Schnabel, Acts, ZECNT (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2012), commentary on Acts 2:42–47; Wayne A. Meeks, The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul, 2nd ed. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003). See also Larry W. Hurtado, At the Origins of Christian Worship: The Context and Character of Earliest Christian Devotion (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999).

2. John R. W. Stott, Between Two Worlds: The Challenge of Preaching Today (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982); Thomas G. Long, The Witness of Preaching, 3rd ed. (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2016). Both works underscore the pastoral and theological significance of proclamation, although the critique of contemporary sermon-centered ministry developed here is the present article’s argument.

3. J. Richard Middleton, The Liberating Image: The Imago Dei in Genesis 1 (Grand Rapids: Brazos, 2005); John H. Walton, The Lost World of Genesis One: Ancient Cosmology and the Origins Debate (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2009).

4. Niek Veldhuis, Religion, Literature, and Scholarship: The Sumerian Composition Nanše and the Birds, CM 22 (Leiden: Brill, 2004); Christopher A. Rollston, Writing and Literacy in the World of Ancient Israel: Epigraphic Evidence from the Iron Age, ABS 11 (Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2010). For prophetic associations, see Joseph Blenkinsopp, A History of Prophecy in Israel, rev. and enl. ed. (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1996).

5. R. T. France, The Gospel of Mark: A Commentary on the Greek Text, NIGTC (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), commentary on Mark 1:16–20 and 3:13–19; Joel Marcus, Mark 1–8: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary, AB 27 (New York: Doubleday, 2000).

6. Catherine Hezser, The Social Structure of the Rabbinic Movement in Roman Palestine, TSAJ 66 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997); Shmuel Safrai, “Education and the Study of the Torah,” in The Jewish People in the First Century, ed. S. Safrai and M. Stern, CRINT 1.2 (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1976), 945–70. Later rabbinic evidence should be distinguished from direct first-century documentation.

7. Klyne R. Snodgrass, Stories with Intent: A Comprehensive Guide to the Parables of Jesus, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2018); France, Gospel of Mark, commentary on Mark 4.

8. Joel B. Green, The Gospel of Luke, NICNT (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), commentary on Luke 10:25–37; Expedition 44, “Who Is My Neighbor?,” September 2, 2026. For John 4 and 13, see Marianne Meye Thompson, John: A Commentary, NTL (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2015).

9. François Bovon, Luke 3: A Commentary on the Gospel of Luke 19:28–24:53, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2012), commentary on Luke 24:13–35; N. T. Wright, The Resurrection of the Son of God, Christian Origins and the Question of God 3 (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003). The interpretation here emphasizes the movement from mistaken expectation to scriptural understanding, recognition, and renewed witness. I could not independently locate the more recent X44 article specifically devoted to Emmaus, so I have not attributed unverified arguments to it.

10. Expedition 44, “The Message, the Method, and the Messenger,” June 2, 2026, written with Dr. Steve Cassell, especially the section titled “THINKTANK.”

11. Frank Thielman, Ephesians, BECNT (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2010), commentary on Eph 4:11–16; David G. Peterson, The Acts of the Apostles, PNTC (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), commentary on Acts 20:17–38; Karen H. Jobes, 1 Peter, BECNT (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2005), commentary on 1 Pet 5:1–4.

  1. Leaving the nets: How does the calling of the Twelve challenge contemporary models of church membership and the assumptions we make about the commitment involved in following Jesus?
  2. The pastor’s vocation: If preaching is one dimension of shepherding, what should actually occupy a pastor’s time throughout the week? How would this affect the way churches evaluate pastoral success?
  3. Long-term formation: If you were responsible for shepherding the same congregation for ten years, what biblical truths, theological disciplines, and kingdom practices would you want people to have encountered repeatedly?
  4. Shared preparation: How might a sermon think tank strengthen both the biblical integrity of a message and the discipleship of those involved in preparing it?

Ask students to imagine that they have accepted responsibility for a congregation of seventy-five people and expect to pastor them for the next five years. Rather than writing a sermon series, have them design a pastoral discipleship philosophy. What will they teach repeatedly? How will they mentor emerging leaders? Where will serious biblical study happen? How will people practice what they are learning? What role will homes, meals, small groups, and ministry participation play? Finally, what will they do personally to remain accessible as shepherds rather than functioning only as weekly speakers?

The exercise should close with one question: If Jesus visited your congregation for six months, would he recognize your approach to making disciples as something resembling his own?

Design a Five-Year Congregational Discipleship and Teaching Map

Imagine you are pastoring a congregation for the next five years. What theological and doctrinal foundations do you want your people to understand, and how will you intentionally develop and reinforce those teachings over time? Consider which subjects deserve an entire sermon series, which need regular revisiting, and how you will account for the reality that many congregants do not attend consistently.

Your plan should extend well beyond Sunday preaching. How will you incorporate weekly Bible studies, small groups, mentoring, conferences, and other opportunities for discipleship? How will you provide theological direction and oversight for these ministries, particularly when others are leading them?

The goal is not simply to plan five years of sermons, but to develop an intentional strategy for forming mature disciples who understand Scripture, live out their faith, and disciple others.

Contentment in Babylon: Following Jesus in a World of Endless Want

The modern Western church possesses an unusual paradox. Never in human history have so many Christians possessed such extraordinary levels of material comfort while simultaneously struggling beneath unprecedented levels of anxiety, restlessness, comparison, and dissatisfaction. We inhabit climate-controlled homes, possess unlimited access to information, and enjoy conveniences that ancient kings could scarcely imagine, yet many quietly confess to a persistent inner ache, a chronic sense that something remains missing. In pastoral conversations, discipleship settings, and theological reflection alike, one increasingly encounters believers who genuinely love Jesus while simultaneously living under the subtle tyranny of exhaustion, striving, comparison, financial pressure, and emotional fragmentation. Such realities should force us to ask whether the issue is merely psychological or economic, or whether Scripture would diagnose the deeper problem as theological. Perhaps the church’s struggle with contentment is not primarily about personality, temperament, or even economics, but rather about discipleship and worship.

The biblical story repeatedly frames God’s people as communities learning covenant fidelity while situated inside rival empires. Eden gives way to exile, Egypt to wilderness, Babylon to displacement, and Rome to persecution. In each context, the people of God must wrestle with the same central question: Who defines abundance? Ancient empires consistently formed their citizens through narratives of scarcity and accumulation. Egypt promised security through production. Babylon offered identity through assimilation. Rome cultivated honor through patronage, status, and hierarchy. The biblical witness suggests that empire always catechizes desire. Walter Brueggemann rightly observes that Pharaoh’s economy functioned through an ideology of anxiety, endless production, and fear of insufficiency, an arrangement requiring perpetual labor and perpetual dissatisfaction to sustain itself.[1] Such systems thrive when people fear they never possess enough, never achieve enough, and never become enough.

Modern Babylon functions similarly, though often more subtly. The language has shifted from imperial propaganda to algorithms, consumer marketing, productivity culture, and social comparison, yet the theological logic remains surprisingly unchanged. Desire itself becomes manipulated. Social media quietly disciples the imagination toward comparison. Economic systems often cultivate chronic dissatisfaction because economies dependent upon endless consumption require citizens who perpetually feel incomplete. In this sense, contentment becomes profoundly countercultural, not because Christians reject material goods altogether, but because Scripture repeatedly frames covenant faithfulness as resistance against rival definitions of flourishing.

The Old Testament frequently locates this struggle in the language of shalom (שָׁלוֹם), a term often reduced in English translations to “peace” but carrying a far more expansive semantic range. Shalom encompasses wholeness, completeness, covenantal flourishing, relational harmony, and ordered existence under God’s reign.[2] The issue is not merely emotional tranquility but theological alignment. To possess shalom is to live within the ordered rhythms of Yahweh’s covenant world. Conversely, discontent often emerges when human beings attempt to secure flourishing apart from divine provision. The Eden narrative itself subtly presents humanity’s first rebellion as rooted in dissatisfaction. The serpent’s temptation in Genesis 3 is fundamentally anthropological: God is withholding something from you. Eve is invited to distrust divine sufficiency and pursue wisdom independently. Sin, in many respects, begins with disordered desire.

This theological pattern becomes particularly visible in Israel’s wilderness experience. After liberation from Egypt, Israel enters not immediate abundance but scarcity. Such movement appears strange from a human perspective. Why would Yahweh rescue Israel from oppression only to lead them into deprivation? The answer lies in spiritual formation. Liberation without formation merely relocates bondage. Israel may have physically departed Egypt, but Egypt remained deeply embedded within Israel’s imagination. Again and again, the wilderness narratives reveal a people nostalgically remembering slavery while romanticizing abundance:

“Would that we had died by the hand of the LORD in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the meat pots and ate bread to the full” (Exod 16:3). The irony is striking. Israel remembers food while forgetting oppression. This dynamic remains deeply human. Scarcity often distorts memory.

The manna narrative in Exodus 16 represents one of Scripture’s most profound theological reflections on dependence. The Hebrew term mān (מָן), literally derived from Israel’s bewildered question “What is it?” (man hu?), points toward divine provision that resists commodification.[3] Israel cannot accumulate manna indefinitely. Hoarding results in corruption. Tomorrow’s security cannot be guaranteed through anxious accumulation. John Goldingay observes that the manna account functions as a pedagogy of dependence, intentionally training Israel to trust Yahweh’s provision rather than economic control.[4] In Ancient Near Eastern economies, where agricultural uncertainty and political instability often demanded hoarding practices for survival, Israel’s wilderness formation becomes radically countercultural. Yahweh intentionally disrupts scarcity-driven behavior patterns.

This theological logic extends directly into Sabbath and Jubilee structures. Modern readers often misunderstand Sabbath merely as personal rest, yet within Israel’s covenantal imagination Sabbath functioned as an anti-imperial theological practice. Ancient Near Eastern kingdoms measured value through labor productivity, surplus accumulation, and elite extraction of resources. Egypt’s brick-making economy in Exodus 5 illustrates this vividly, where Pharaoh intensifies labor demands precisely to suppress theological imagination:

“You shall no longer give the people straw to make bricks… but the number of bricks they made before you shall impose on them” (Exod 5:7–8). Pharaoh’s fear is deeply theological. Rest creates space for worship. Slaves who rest may begin imagining freedom.

By contrast, Sabbath declared that Israel’s identity rested not in production but covenant belonging. Every seventh day disrupted economic striving and reminded Israel that provision flowed from Yahweh rather than relentless labor.[5] Likewise, Jubilee economics (Lev 25) intentionally resisted permanent wealth consolidation and intergenerational exploitation. Sandra Richter notes that these systems fundamentally challenged Ancient Near Eastern assumptions regarding land ownership and economic permanence.[6] Land ultimately belonged to God. Human beings functioned as covenant stewards rather than absolute possessors.

The exile literature intensifies this theme further. Babylon represented more than military defeat. Babylon symbolized theological disorientation. Psalm 137 captures the trauma vividly:

“By the rivers of Babylon—there we sat down and wept” (Ps 137:1).

Exile destabilized identity, economy, worship, and social structures simultaneously. Yet remarkably, Jeremiah instructs displaced Israel not toward despair but toward covenant faithfulness within foreign space:

“Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat their produce” (Jer 29:5).

This instruction matters profoundly. Contentment in exile does not mean passivity or disengagement. Rather, Israel learns to cultivate faithfulness without surrendering identity. Walter Brueggemann argues that exile theology consistently resists imperial narratives by grounding hope not in circumstance but covenant memory.[7] The exilic imagination becomes essential for modern Christians living within late-modern systems constantly discipling desire toward restlessness.

Against this backdrop, Paul’s treatment of contentment in Philippians 4 emerges with far greater theological force. Few passages have suffered more from decontextualized interpretation than Philippians 4:11–13. Contemporary Christian culture frequently weaponizes the text toward achievement rhetoric:

“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.”

Yet Paul’s concern is not personal accomplishment but covenant endurance.

Philippi itself offers crucial interpretive context. As a Roman colony populated heavily by military veterans, Philippi functioned as a miniature Rome.[8] Roman honor systems, patron-client relationships, and public status structures profoundly shaped social life. Economic reciprocity carried immense importance. Benefactors gave gifts expecting honor, loyalty, and public recognition in return. Paul’s careful handling of financial support in Philippians therefore becomes socially radical.

When Paul writes:

“I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content” (Phil 4:11),

the Greek term autarkēs (αὐτάρκης) demands closer attention. Stoic philosophers frequently used the word to describe emotional self-sufficiency, the ability to remain internally unaffected regardless of external circumstance.[9] Yet Paul subtly subverts Stoic philosophy. His contentment does not arise from emotional detachment or internal mastery. Paul is not emotionally independent from suffering. Rather, his sufficiency becomes radically Christological.

Verse 12 deepens this argument:

“I have learned the secret…” (memyēmai, μεμύημαι).

The verb evokes initiation language associated with Greco-Roman mystery cults.[10] Paul intentionally employs culturally familiar terminology to communicate theological transformation. He has been initiated into a mystery unknown to empire. He can experience abundance without greed and deprivation without despair because Christ Himself has become the center of meaning.

N. T. Wright argues persuasively that Paul’s theology of contentment emerges from resurrection ontology.[11] The believer participates already in the inaugurated new creation. Circumstances matter, but they no longer possess ultimate interpretive authority. Identity shifts from circumstance to participation in Christ.

Such theology sharply confronts modern forms of scarcity thinking. Much contemporary anxiety emerges not from actual deprivation but from comparative dissatisfaction. One possesses enough yet feels impoverished because someone else possesses more. Ecclesiastes recognizes this dynamic long before social media:

“All toil and all skill in work come from a man’s envy of his neighbor” (Eccl 4:4).

The wisdom tradition repeatedly warns that unchecked desire corrodes the soul. Proverbs employs the language of sameach (שָׂמֵחַ), joy rooted in covenant orientation rather than circumstance.[12] Biblical joy consistently emerges not from accumulation but relational fidelity. The Psalms repeatedly connect satisfaction to divine presence:

“In your presence there is fullness of joy” (Ps 16:11).

Brian Zahnd’s recent reflections in The Wood Between the Worlds become particularly helpful here because he reframes spiritual life through sacramental imagination rather than utilitarian striving. Zahnd argues modern disenchantment has trained people to overlook divine presence embedded within ordinary existence.[13] The discontented soul perpetually imagines fulfillment existing somewhere else: another season, another relationship, another paycheck, another platform. Yet kingdom spirituality consistently redirects attention toward presence. Jesus’ teaching in Matthew 6 confronts anxiety not merely psychologically but theologically. Worry emerges when one assumes functional responsibility for securing ultimate stability.

The command:

“Do not be anxious” (merimnaō, μεριμνάω)

literally carries the sense of being divided or internally fragmented.[14] Anxiety fractures the self. Jesus instead calls disciples toward trust grounded in divine provision, invoking ravens, lilies, and daily bread imagery deeply resonant with wilderness dependence.

This does not mean Scripture romanticizes poverty or suffering. Paul gladly receives financial support. Wisdom literature commends prudence. Proverbs celebrates diligence. Yet biblical contentment consistently resists locating identity within possession, status, or accumulation. The issue is not wealth itself but allegiance.

Perhaps this explains why modern Christians often struggle with contentment despite material abundance. We have unconsciously absorbed Babylon’s anthropology. We imagine flourishing emerges through accumulation rather than communion, productivity rather than presence, achievement rather than covenant participation. Yet the biblical narrative repeatedly insists that peace is not discovered through endless acquisition but restored through rightly ordered desire.

If the biblical witness teaches us anything about contentment, it is that contentment is rarely discovered in comfort. More often, it is forged in wildernesses, cultivated in exile, and learned in seasons where God quietly dismantles the illusion that security can ultimately be found in wealth, achievement, control, or endless striving. Israel learned dependence through manna. The exiles learned covenant fidelity in Babylon. Paul learned contentment in a prison cell. Even Jesus Himself, though possessing all authority in heaven and earth, embraced humility, limitation, simplicity, and trust in the abundance of the Father. Scripture consistently reveals a God far more interested in forming faithful people than comfortable people.

Perhaps this is where many of us quietly struggle. We love Jesus and yet still find ourselves discipled by Babylon. We confess trust in God while living emotionally exhausted by comparison. We pray for peace while feeding anxieties through endless striving. We say Christ is enough, yet often functionally live as though joy remains just one promotion, one purchase, one opportunity, one relationship, or one future season away. Babylon rarely seduces us through overt rebellion. More often, it whispers a quieter lie: you do not yet have enough to rest. Yet the kingdom of God continually invites us into another story, one in which abundance is not measured by accumulation but communion, where peace is not discovered through control but surrender, and where contentment grows not from possessing more but from trusting deeper.

This does not mean disciples of Jesus abandon ambition, stewardship, excellence, or wise planning. The biblical vision of contentment is not passive resignation or spiritual apathy. Rather, kingdom contentment is rightly ordered desire. It is learning to labor diligently without becoming enslaved to outcomes. It is cultivating gratitude in ordinary spaces. It is discovering that the presence of God transforms scarcity into enough. At its deepest level, contentment becomes an act of discipleship, a daily refusal to allow empire, algorithms, comparison, fear, or cultural expectations to determine our sense of worth.

And perhaps this becomes the great invitation before us: to become the kind of people who can live faithfully in Babylon without becoming Babylonized. To recover Sabbath in a culture of exhaustion. To rediscover generosity in an age of scarcity thinking. To rejoice in simplicity when the world trains us toward excess. To become people whose souls are no longer frantic, divided, hurried, or endlessly restless because we have learned, however imperfectly, the secret Paul learned long ago: Christ Himself is enough.

The truth is, contentment may not arrive all at once. Like Israel, we often learn it slowly. Like the disciples, we frequently misunderstand it. Like Paul, we may discover it through hardship more than abundance. Yet this is the hope of the gospel: Jesus is patient in forming whole people. And perhaps today the Spirit is gently inviting us to stop chasing the illusion that peace lies somewhere out ahead of us and instead begin receiving the grace already present before us. The deepest freedom may simply begin with this quiet confession before God:

“Lord, teach me again what it means to trust that in You, I already have enough.”


Notes

[1] Walter Brueggemann, Journey to the Common Good (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2010), 15–23.
[2] The Epic of Eden, 113–116.
[3] John Goldingay, Old Testament Theology: Israel’s Gospel (Downers Grove: IVP, 2003), 489–491.
[4] Ibid., 492–493.
[5] Carmen Imes, Bearing God’s Name (Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2019), 145–151.
[6] Richter, Epic of Eden, 170–176.
[7] Walter Brueggemann, Cadences of Home (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997), 22–31.
[8] Gordon Fee, Paul’s Letter to the Philippians (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 27–34.
[9] Moisés Silva, Philippians (BECNT; Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2005), 201–204.
[10] Ibid., 206–207.
[11] Paul and the Faithfulness of God, 1002–1006.
[12] Bruce Waltke, The Book of Proverbs (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), 256–259.
[13] The Wood Between the Worlds, 52–59.
[14] R. T. France, The Gospel of Matthew (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 271–276.

Faith Without Presumption, Kingship Without Discernment: A Socio-Rhetorical and Theological Reading of 1 Samuel 14

1 Samuel 14 stands as one of the most carefully crafted narratives within the Saul cycle, juxtaposing two modes of leadership and two postures before YHWH. The chapter is not merely a record of military engagement but a theological commentary on discernment, covenant fidelity, and the subtle erosion of kingship when fear and control replace trust. At its center are Jonathan and Saul, whose actions are narrated in deliberate contrast. The text invites the reader to discern not only what happens, but how and why it happens—through linguistic nuance, narrative pacing, and intertextual echoes.


Jonathan’s opening words in 1 Samuel 14:6 are among the most theologically dense in the Former Prophets: “It may be (’ulay) that YHWH will act for us, for nothing restrains YHWH from saving by many or by few.” The Hebrew ’ulay does not communicate skepticism but rather a non-presumptive openness to divine agency.¹ It is faith stripped of entitlement. As Goldingay observes, this is “confidence in God’s character without presuming upon God’s timing or method.”² Jonathan’s posture aligns with a broader biblical motif in which faithful actors move forward based on what they know of YHWH’s nature rather than guaranteed outcomes (cf. Judg 7; 2 Sam 15:25–26). His request for a sign (vv. 9–10) reflects ANE patterns of divinatory discernment, yet it is distinctively reframed within covenantal trust rather than manipulation.³ Unlike pagan omens intended to control divine will, Jonathan’s sign functions as participatory discernment—a listening posture embedded in action. The result is not merely tactical success but a theological demonstration: “YHWH struck a panic” (v. 15). The Hebrew ḥărādâ (חרדה, “trembling”) and the description of the earth quaking evoke theophanic imagery, suggesting that the battle belongs to YHWH alone.⁴ The narrative carefully removes grounds for human boasting. Salvation is divine in origin, human in participation.


In contrast, Saul is introduced as stationary—“sitting under the pomegranate tree” (v. 2)—a detail that signals more than geography.⁵ While Jonathan moves toward the Philistine outpost, Saul remains at the periphery, accompanied by priestly figures (Ahijah) and cultic apparatus. This juxtaposition reveals a key theological tension: proximity to religious structure does not guarantee alignment with divine movement. Saul’s rash oath in verse 24 intensifies this tension. The curse—“Cursed be the man who eats food until evening”—is framed as zeal for vengeance, yet its effect is debilitating. The Hebrew notes that “the people were faint” (wayyāʿap hāʿām), underscoring the king’s failure to shepherd wisely.⁶ Alter remarks that Saul’s vow “transforms religious intensity into destructive excess.”⁷

From a Deuteronomistic perspective, Saul’s action reflects a deeper failure to heed the voice of YHWH (šāmaʿ). His leadership increasingly substitutes external acts of piety for relational attentiveness. This pattern anticipates the prophetic critique found later in 1 Samuel 15:22, where obedience is elevated over sacrifice.⁸


Jonathan’s response in verse 29 is striking: “My father has troubled (ʿākar) the land.” This term deliberately recalls Joshua 7, where Achan is identified as the one who “troubled Israel.”⁹ The narrative thus employs a covenantal echo to reposition Saul within Israel’s story—not as deliverer, but as disruptor. This reversal is theologically significant. In Israel’s covenant framework, the king is to mediate blessing, embody Torah, and secure communal stability.¹⁰ By invoking ʿākar, the text signals that Saul has inverted this role. As Brueggemann notes, “Saul becomes the very impediment to the well-being he was anointed to secure.”¹¹


The people’s subsequent violation, eating meat with blood (vv. 32–33); introduces another layer of theological complexity. The prohibition against consuming blood (Lev 17:10–14) is rooted in the association of blood with life (nepeš).¹² The people’s sin emerges not from rebellion but from exhaustion, itself a consequence of Saul’s oath. Saul’s response is to build an altar—his first recorded altar (v. 35). Scholars often interpret this as reactive rather than formative.¹³ It is an attempt to correct disorder through ritual rather than addressing the underlying leadership failure. The pattern is consistent: Saul responds to crisis with religious action, yet without deep covenantal alignment.


The chapter’s portrayal of divine violence (panic among the Philistines, widespread defeat) raises enduring theological questions. How does one reconcile such depictions with the character of a loving God? Christopher Wright argues that these events must be read within Israel’s vocation as an instrument of divine justice in a specific historical moment.¹⁴ Longman adds that YHWH’s warfare is “not paradigmatic for all time but particular to redemptive history.”¹⁵ The text itself resists glorifying violence; it centers on YHWH’s agency and Israel’s deliverance. Moreover, when read through the broader canonical lens, these narratives participate in a trajectory that culminates in the cruciform revelation of God in Jesus Christ. Boyd suggests that earlier depictions of divine violence are accommodated within Israel’s cultural framework, ultimately pointing toward a fuller revelation of God’s self-giving love.¹⁶ Thus, 1 Samuel 14 must be read not in isolation but as part of a progressive unveiling of divine character.


A subtle but profound motif in the chapter is Saul’s repeated delay. While Jonathan initiates action, Saul seeks confirmation after the fact (v. 37), only to encounter divine silence. The narrative suggests not divine absence but Saul’s misalignment with divine timing. This motif resonates with broader biblical patterns in which leaders fail not through overt rebellion but through hesitation, misreading, or arriving late to God’s work (cf. Exod 32; Num 14). As Peterson paraphrases, Saul is “occupied with religion while missing God.”¹⁷ The tragedy is not that Saul acts wrongly once, but that he consistently fails to discern where YHWH is already active.


The themes of 1 Samuel 14 reverberate across Scripture:

  • Jonathan’s trust anticipates David’s confession that “the battle is YHWH’s” (1 Sam 17:47).
  • Saul’s failure echoes prophetic critiques of hollow religiosity (Hos 6:6; Mic 6:6–8).
  • The tension between divine initiative and human response finds fulfillment in Christ, who perfectly embodies obedience and discernment (John 5:19).

Within the ANE context, kings were often portrayed as divine agents whose success validated their legitimacy.¹⁸ Israel’s narrative subverts this expectation: legitimacy is not grounded in victory alone but in faithful alignment with YHWH’s voice.


There’s something here we can’t miss if we’re going to read this faithfully—not just as observers of Israel’s story, but as people being formed by it. This text was first given to a people learning how to live under the kingship of God in a world of war, instability, and competing loyalties. They were asking, What does it look like to trust YHWH when everything around us feels uncertain? And into that question, this story speaks—not with abstract theology, but with lived contrast.

Jonathan shows them what it looks like to move with God without needing control. He knows who God is, even if he doesn’t know exactly what God will do. Saul, on the other hand, shows them how easy it is to stay close to the language of faith, the structures of worship, even the appearance of leadership, and still be out of step with the heart of God. That’s what Israel needed to see. Not just who wins battles, but who is actually walking with YHWH.

Now we’re reading this thousands of years later, in a completely different world. We’re not standing on battlefields or navigating Philistine threats. We are far removed from those battlefields even though we are at war today. But the deeper question hasn’t changed. We’re still asking what it looks like to trust God in the middle of real life. And if we’re honest, we still feel that same pull toward control, toward managing outcomes, toward wanting certainty before obedience.

So what do we take from this?

We take the reminder that God is already at work before we ever arrive. Jonathan didn’t create the victory. He stepped into something God was already doing. That still holds true. We don’t have to manufacture meaning or force outcomes. The invitation is to pay attention, to listen, to recognize where God’s life is already breaking in, and to join Him there. God could use anyone to fulfill this story, but those who devotionally partner with Him and actually step in are the ones that become part of the story. We take the warning that it’s possible to be busy with spiritual things and still miss God. Saul wasn’t absent. He was present, surrounded by the right people, saying the right kinds of things. But his heart drifted into control and fear. That can happen now just as easily. We can build ministries, lead conversations, carry titles, and still find ourselves reacting instead of discerning. And maybe most importantly, we take the reassurance that God’s purposes are not fragile. Even in the middle of Saul’s missteps, God still moves. He still saves. He still brings about what He intends. Our hope is not in getting everything right. It’s in staying close, staying responsive, staying willing.

So the question this text leaves us with isn’t, “Are you doing enough?” It’s quieter than that.

Are you listening?

Are you paying attention to where God is already moving in your life, your family, your community?

And when you sense it, are you willing to step forward, even if you don’t have everything figured out?

That’s the kind of life this story invites us into. Not perfect clarity. Not total control. But a steady, relational trust in the God who is always ahead of us, still calling us to walk with Him.


Footnotes (SBL Style)

  1. Bruce K. Waltke and M. O’Connor, An Introduction to Biblical Hebrew Syntax (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 1990), 642.
  2. John Goldingay, Old Testament Theology, Vol. 2 (Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2006), 412.
  3. John H. Walton, Ancient Near Eastern Thought and the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2006), 287.
  4. David T. Tsumura, The First Book of Samuel (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 358.
  5. Robert Alter, The David Story (New York: Norton, 1999), 83.
  6. Bill T. Arnold, 1 & 2 Samuel (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2003), 213.
  7. Alter, David Story, 84.
  8. Dale Ralph Davis, 1 Samuel (Fearn: Christian Focus, 2000), 144.
  9. Ralph W. Klein, 1 Samuel (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2008), 134.
  10. Christopher J. H. Wright, Old Testament Ethics (Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2004), 265.
  11. Walter Brueggemann, First and Second Samuel (Louisville: WJK, 1990), 107.
  12. Jacob Milgrom, Leviticus 17–22 (New York: Doubleday, 2000), 1024.
  13. Peter Leithart, A Son to Me (Moscow: Canon Press, 2003), 120.
  14. Christopher J. H. Wright, The God I Don’t Understand (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2008), 95.
  15. Tremper Longman III, God Is a Warrior (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2015), 67.
  16. Gregory A. Boyd, Crucifixion of the Warrior God (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2017), 412.
  17. Eugene H. Peterson, Leap Over a Wall (San Francisco: HarperOne, 1997), 89.
  18. K. Lawson Younger Jr., Ancient Conquest Accounts (Sheffield: JSOT, 1990), 229.

The Ethiopian Bible, Canon, and the Trustworthiness of Scripture

The question of the Ethiopian Bible is valuable because it forces modern readers to remember that the history of Christianity is broader than the Latin West, broader than post-Reformation Protestantism, and broader than the assumptions many of us inherited. The Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church preserves one of the oldest continuous Christian traditions in the world, and its biblical canon reflects a historical process of reception, liturgy, and communal use that developed somewhat differently than later Western lists. Rather than threatening confidence in Scripture, this should deepen it. It reminds us that the canon was not manufactured in a vacuum, but recognized across living worshipping communities over time.[1]

Too often modern people imagine canon as though a completed leather-bound Bible descended fully formed from heaven. Historically, canon emerged through use, discernment, apostolic memory, theological coherence, and ecclesial consensus. The church did not create Scripture ex nihilo; it gradually recognized those writings that had already nourished, instructed, and governed the people of God.[2] Different regions sometimes received certain books more quickly than others. This is true in the East, West, Syria, and Ethiopia alike.[3] Such variation is not evidence of chaos so much as evidence of real history.

The Ethiopian tradition includes books not found in most Protestant Bibles, and in some cases not preserved elsewhere in the same form. This broader canon developed through translation history, local ecclesial usage, and longstanding liturgical reception. Scholars have noted that Ethiopian Christianity often preserved ancient materials that disappeared elsewhere, making it an important witness for textual and canonical studies.[4] The presence of additional books should not be sensationalized. The early church itself lived for centuries with some fluidity at the edges of the canon while maintaining strong consensus around the Torah, Prophets, Gospels, Pauline corpus, and core apostolic writings.[5]

In other words, the center held even where the margins differed. The story of creation, covenant, Israel, Christ, cross, resurrection, Spirit, church, and coming kingdom did not depend on a late modern table of contents.[6]

A stronger academic way to frame canon is to speak of recognition rather than invention. F. F. Bruce famously argued that the church did not authorize the canonical books so much as acknowledge what already carried apostolic authority and enduring use.[7] Lee Martin McDonald similarly emphasizes that canonization was a process, not a single event.[8] This distinction matters. If canon is imagined as arbitrary power politics, confidence weakens. If canon is understood as communal discernment around texts already functioning as Scripture, confidence becomes historically grounded.

The Ethiopian canon therefore represents one stream of that broader recognition process. It is neither an embarrassment nor a conspiracy. It is part of the complex and fascinating history of how Christian communities received sacred texts.[9]

The language of inerrancy often becomes unhelpful when detached from genre, authorial intention, and ancient literary practice. Scripture is truthful and trustworthy in what God intended to communicate, yet not every passage is trying to communicate in the same way. Poetry does not function like legal code. Narrative does not function like apocalypse. A personal letter does not function like a creed.[10]

Many modern readers flatten Scripture into a kind of divine dictation model where every sentence carries the same rhetorical force and purpose. That is not how the texts present themselves. John H. Walton repeatedly notes that Scripture came through ancient authors embedded in ancient contexts, and faithful interpretation requires honoring those contexts.[11] N. T. Wright likewise emphasizes reading texts as part of the larger drama of God’s covenant purposes rather than as isolated proof-text fragments.[12]

For that reason, I affirm the trustworthiness of Scripture strongly, while resisting mechanical approaches that ignore genre and narrative shape. If one means by inerrancy that God has faithfully given the church a reliable witness sufficient for faith, doctrine, and discipleship, then yes. If one means every phrase must be handled as though it were a detached proposition in a modern systematic manual, then the term needs careful qualification.[13]

Students are often surprised to learn that textual variants exist among manuscripts. They should not be alarmed. Variants are exactly what one would expect in a hand-copied textual tradition spanning centuries and continents. The remarkable fact is not that variants exist, but that the text is so stable overall.[14]

Most variants involve spelling, word order, minor harmonizations, or easily recognized scribal differences. Very few affect meaning substantially, and fewer still touch any major doctrine.[15] Bruce M. Metzger and Bart D. Ehrman, despite significant disagreements elsewhere, both acknowledge that no central Christian doctrine depends solely on a disputed text.[16]

That is why I often say our Bibles are highly accurate—well into the upper ninety percent range in textual reliability when speaking broadly and pastorally. The exact percentage is rhetorical rather than scientific, but the point stands: we possess an extraordinarily stable textual witness.[17]

Because variants exist, wise interpreters avoid constructing major doctrine on one isolated phrase or a disputed textual reading. Theology should arise from repeated patterns, canonical coherence, and broad scriptural witness.[18] A single later addition, scribal gloss, or uncertain term should be handled cautiously. This is not skepticism; it is disciplined exegesis.

The church has long practiced this instinct at its best moments. The doctrines most central to Christianity—God’s covenant faithfulness, the lordship of Christ, resurrection hope, salvation by grace, the work of the Spirit—stand on broad textual foundations, not on one fragile verse.[19]

Another modern mistake is reading the Bible like a technical manual or a physician’s prescription sheet. Much of Scripture is doing something richer. It narrates God’s dealings with humanity, forms communal identity, confronts idolatry, trains wisdom, and calls people into covenant faithfulness.[20] Even the letters of Paul the Apostle were written to real communities with concrete pastoral problems. They were occasional documents before they became collected Scripture.[21]

To say this does not lower Scripture. It honors Scripture as it actually is. God chose to reveal Himself through story, poetry, prophecy, memory, lament, gospel proclamation, and pastoral correspondence. That should shape how we read.[22]

So when someone asks about the Ethiopian Bible, my encouragement would be simple: do not let the conversation create fear where it should create perspective. The existence of the Ethiopian canon is not a threat to the Christian faith, nor is it evidence that the church “got the Bible wrong.” Rather, it is a reminder that the Christian faith has always been larger than the modern Western world. Long before many of our current denominational lines existed, believers in places like Ethiopia were worshiping Christ, preserving Scripture, preaching the gospel, and handing the faith to the next generation.

For the average believer, this should strengthen confidence rather than weaken it. The core message of the Bible has never been in doubt. Across traditions and across centuries, Christians have agreed on the great center of the faith: God as Creator, humanity’s need for redemption, the calling of Israel, the coming of Jesus Christ, His death and resurrection, salvation by grace through faith, the gift of the Holy Spirit, the formation of the church, and the hope of Christ’s return and the renewal of all things. Those truths do not rise or fall on debates about a handful of books at the edges of the canon.[23]

That is important to understand. Sometimes people hear discussions about canon, manuscripts, or textual variants and assume everything is unstable. The opposite is closer to the truth. What has been preserved is astonishingly strong. We possess a deeply reliable scriptural witness, copied, translated, preached, studied, and treasured across generations. While there are places scholars discuss wording or transmission history, no central doctrine of the Christian faith hangs by a thread because of those debates.

At the same time, these conversations can help modern believers read Scripture more wisely. The Bible was not given merely as a collection of detached verses to win arguments. It is the unfolding story of God’s redemptive work in history. It contains law, poetry, prophecy, wisdom, gospel proclamation, letters, and apocalyptic hope. It was given not only to inform our minds, but to form our lives. When we read it this way, with humility and context, the Bible often becomes richer rather than weaker.

I would tell a student or church member this: you do not need to panic when you hear about the Ethiopian Bible or different Christian canons. You do not need to feel as though your faith is being shaken. Instead, let it remind you that the family of Christ is older, broader, and more beautiful than many of us were taught. God has been faithful to preserve His Word through many lands, languages, and peoples.

And for those of us in the modern West, perhaps that is a needed correction. We sometimes speak as though Christianity began with our preferred tradition, our study Bible, or our denomination. It did not. The faith has deep roots and a global history. The Ethiopian church is one witness among many that the gospel has long been alive far beyond our own familiar circles.

In the end, the most important question is not, “Why does their table of contents look different?” The deeper question is, “Do these Scriptures lead us to know God, trust Christ, love others, repent of sin, and walk in the Spirit?” On that question, the answer is yes.

So hold your Bible with confidence. Read it carefully. Read it in context. Read it with the church across time. Read it with humility. And above all, read it to encounter the living Christ, because that has always been the true purpose of Scripture.


Notes

[1] Lee Martin McDonald, The Biblical Canon (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2007), 17.
[2] F. F. Bruce, The Canon of Scripture (Downers Grove, IL: IVP, 1988), 27.
[3] Harry Y. Gamble, Books and Readers in the Early Church (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1995), 67.
[4] Augustine Casiday, The Orthodox Christian World (London: Routledge, 2012), 148.
[5] Bruce, Canon of Scripture, 191.
[6] Brevard S. Childs, Introduction to the Old Testament as Scripture (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979), 82.
[7] Bruce, Canon of Scripture, 276.
[8] McDonald, Biblical Canon, 56.
[9] David Brakke, Christianity in Roman Egypt (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2004), 133.
[10] Kevin J. Vanhoozer, Is There a Meaning in This Text? (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1998), 311.
[11] John H. Walton, Ancient Near Eastern Thought and the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2006), 19.
[12] N. T. Wright, Scripture and the Authority of God (New York: HarperOne, 2011), 37.
[13] Peter Enns, Inspiration and Incarnation (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2005), 109.
[14] Bruce M. Metzger and Bart D. Ehrman, The Text of the New Testament, 4th ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), 252.
[15] Daniel B. Wallace, Revisiting the Corruption of the New Testament (Grand Rapids: Kregel, 2011), 79.
[16] Metzger and Ehrman, Text of the New Testament, 280.
[17] Craig L. Blomberg, Can We Still Believe the Bible? (Grand Rapids: Brazos, 2014), 33.
[18] Gordon D. Fee and Douglas Stuart, How to Read the Bible for All Its Worth (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2014), 31.
[19] Alister E. McGrath, Christian Theology, 6th ed. (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2017), 71.
[20] Craig G. Bartholomew and Michael W. Goheen, The Drama of Scripture (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2014), 14.
[21] Gordon D. Fee, Pauline Christology (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 2007), 3.
[22] Michael F. Bird, What Christians Ought to Believe (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2016), 25.
[23] Wright, Scripture and the Authority of God, 89.

When Civilizations Are Threatened: A Theological Response to Political Rhetoric

Recent political rhetoric warning that an entire civilization could be destroyed presses Christians into a moment that is not merely political but profoundly theological. The question before the church is not whether nations possess military power, but whether such language—and the imagination behind it—aligns with the witness of Scripture. A biblically formed response must move beyond partisan reflex and instead engage the deeper currents of creation theology, prophetic critique, and the cruciform revelation of God in Christ.

Any discussion of the destruction of a people must begin with the doctrine of the image of God. Genesis presents humanity not as a geopolitical abstraction but as a sacred reality bearing divine likeness.¹ The biblical narrative consistently resists reducing nations to expendable units; even when judgment is pronounced, it is framed within divine grief and moral seriousness.² The book of Jonah offers perhaps the most striking counterpoint to nationalistic indifference, where God’s concern extends even to a foreign and morally compromised city.³ The prophetic tradition does not celebrate destruction; it laments it.⁴

Romans 13 has often been invoked to sanctify state power, yet the text itself defines authority as accountable to God’s justice.⁵ The governing authority is called a servant for good, not a wielder of unchecked violence.⁶ When rulers deviate from this vocation, Scripture does not hesitate to critique them.⁷ The Old Testament repeatedly condemns kings who shed innocent blood or legislate injustice, framing such acts not as necessary evils but as covenantal violations.⁸ The New Testament continues this trajectory, presenting empire not as morally neutral but as capable of becoming beastly when it demands ultimate allegiance.⁹

The language of civilizational annihilation echoes apocalyptic tones, yet it must be distinguished from biblical apocalyptic. Scripture employs cosmic imagery not to incite fear for political leverage but to unveil spiritual realities and expose unjust systems.¹⁰ Apocalyptic literature calls the people of God to faithful endurance, not to participate in escalating cycles of violence.¹¹ When political rhetoric adopts similar language, it often functions not as revelation but as coercion. The difference is not merely stylistic but theological.

The life and teaching of Jesus provide the clearest lens through which to evaluate such rhetoric. Jesus rejects the logic of retaliatory violence, insisting that those who take the sword will perish by it.¹² He rebukes even His own disciples when they imagine divine judgment as immediate destruction.¹³ The kingdom He inaugurates advances not through domination but through self-giving love, enemy-love, and faithful witness.¹⁴ The cross stands as the decisive revelation that God’s victory is not achieved through the annihilation of enemies but through their reconciliation.¹⁵

The biblical story does not abandon the nations to destruction but situates them within God’s ongoing redemptive intent. Deuteronomy 32 portrays the nations as dispersed yet still under divine oversight.¹⁶ The New Testament affirms that God orders history so that nations might seek Him.¹⁷ Even in judgment, the prophetic vision anticipates restoration and inclusion.¹⁸ This theological frame resists any rhetoric that treats entire civilizations as disposable rather than redeemable.

The church’s role in moments like this is not silence but faithful witness. The prophets consistently addressed kings and rulers, calling them back to justice and humility.¹⁹ This was not political activism in a modern sense but covenantal faithfulness. The church must resist the temptation to baptize destructive language simply because it comes from familiar power structures. Instead, it must speak with clarity, reminding all authority that it is accountable to God.

A faithful Christian response is marked by sobriety rather than alarmism, lament rather than celebration, and prayer rather than hostility. The call to pray for leaders is inseparable from the call to seek peace for all people.²⁰ The church must maintain its primary allegiance to the kingdom of God, recognizing that its identity is not rooted in national power but in the reign of Christ.²¹

When political leaders speak of the potential destruction of entire civilizations, the church must return to its theological center. Scripture does not permit casual language about mass death, nor does it affirm visions of victory grounded in violence. The cross stands as the contradiction of such logic. In Christ, God confronts violence not by amplifying it but by absorbing and overcoming it. The church, therefore, bears witness to a different kingdom—one in which enemies are not erased but reconciled, and where the final word over the nations is not destruction but restoration.


Footnotes

  1. John H. Walton, Genesis 1 as Ancient Cosmology (Winona Lake: Eisenbrauns, 2011), 212–15.
  2. Terence E. Fretheim, The Suffering of God (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1984), 120–23.
  3. Jack M. Sasson, Jonah (AB 24B; New York: Doubleday, 1990), 337–40.
  4. Abraham J. Heschel, The Prophets (New York: Harper & Row, 1962), 1:16–20.
  5. N. T. Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2013), 1307–12.
  6. Douglas J. Moo, The Epistle to the Romans (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1996), 802–5.
  7. Christopher J. H. Wright, Old Testament Ethics for the People of God (Downers Grove: IVP, 2004), 263–68.
  8. Walter Brueggemann, The Prophetic Imagination (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2001), 23–27.
  9. Michael J. Gorman, Reading Revelation Responsibly (Eugene: Cascade, 2011), 83–87.
  10. Richard Bauckham, The Theology of the Book of Revelation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 7–10.
  11. Craig R. Koester, Revelation (AB 38A; New Haven: Yale University Press, 2014), 120–25.
  12. Dale C. Allison Jr., The Sermon on the Mount (New York: Crossroad, 1999), 45–48.
  13. Joel B. Green, The Gospel of Luke (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997), 402–5.
  14. Scot McKnight, Sermon on the Mount (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2013), 189–93.
  15. Michael J. Gorman, Cruciformity (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2001), 34–38.
  16. Michael S. Heiser, The Unseen Realm (Bellingham: Lexham, 2015), 113–18.
  17. F. F. Bruce, The Book of Acts (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1988), 334–36.
  18. N. T. Wright, Surprised by Hope (New York: HarperOne, 2008), 104–8.
  19. Walter Brueggemann, Theology of the Old Testament (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1997), 733–36.
  20. Philip H. Towner, The Letters to Timothy and Titus (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2006), 171–74.
  21. Gordon D. Fee, Paul’s Letter to the Philippians (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1995), 372–75.

The Sanctification of the Ordinary: A Theological Review of Amy Peeler’s Ordinary Time

Amy Peeler’s Ordinary Time, within the Fullness of Time series, stands as a deeply pastoral yet theologically substantive contribution to contemporary liturgical theology. In an ecclesial landscape often driven by immediacy, spectacle, and eschatological anxiety, Peeler offers a quiet but profound corrective. She invites the church to recover a theology of time in which the so-called “ordinary” becomes the primary locus of divine formation.¹ This work is, in many respects, a gift to the church. It is careful, attentive, and richly textured. It demonstrates an awareness of Scripture, tradition, and lived ecclesial practice. Yet it is also a work that invites further theological deepening, particularly in areas of eschatology, mission, and apocalyptic framing. within a broader theological framework.

ORDER ON AMAZON: https://a.co/d/0gFd8cdl

Peeler’s introduction establishes her central thesis: the ordinary rhythms of life are not spiritually secondary but are the very means by which God forms his people.² This claim resonates with the broader biblical narrative, wherein divine activity is often embedded within repetition and obscurity rather than dramatic interruption.³ Her reflection on the unrecorded days of Jesus is particularly compelling.⁴ The Gospels, while selective, imply a fullness of lived experience that is not captured in narrative detail. This aligns with a robust incarnational theology in which the entirety of Christ’s life—not merely his climactic acts—is redemptively significant.⁵ Theologically, this positions Ordinary Time as a space of reflection and integration. Growth occurs not only in moments of revelation but in the sustained meditation upon them.⁶ This insight is deeply consonant with Pauline notions of transformation, where believers are “renewed” over time into the image of Christ.⁷

Strength: A compelling integration of Christology and spiritual formation.⁸


Peeler’s “Green” chapter is one of the strongest in the volume. Her use of natural imagery—particularly the discussion of chlorophyll and hidden color—serves as a powerful metaphor for Christian identity.⁹ Her treatment of Galatians 3:27, being “clothed with Christ,” is both exegetically sound and pastorally rich.¹⁰ She avoids reductionism by holding together unity and diversity. In Christ, believers do not lose their particularity but are brought into its proper telos.¹¹ This resonates strongly with patristic theology, particularly Irenaeus’ vision of humanity fully alive in God.¹² It also aligns with contemporary theological anthropology that emphasizes participation rather than mere imputation.¹³ Her discussion of slavery is particularly noteworthy. By distinguishing between created identity (male/female, Jew/Gentile) and fallen structures (slavery), she maintains a robust doctrine of creation while offering a theological critique of oppressive systems.¹⁴

Rich metaphorical theology grounded in Scripture and tradition.¹⁵


The “Bold” chapter offers a striking and, at times, unexpected theological depth. Peeler’s treatment of Mary and the Magnificat is particularly commendable. She resists both sentimentalism and neglect, instead presenting Mary as a figure of bold, Spirit-empowered proclamation.¹⁶ Her reading of the Magnificat as a declaration of divine reversal aligns with Lukan theology, where God consistently overturns systems of power.¹⁷ This is not merely personal piety but socio-theological proclamation.¹⁸ Peeler’s reflection that unity is not always achieved through silence but sometimes through boldness is both pastorally and theologically significant.¹⁹ It reflects a nuanced understanding of ecclesial life that avoids both divisiveness and superficial harmony.

A balanced and theologically rich Marian framework.²⁰


Peeler’s treatment of the Trinity is orthodox, accessible, and pastorally grounded. She rightly emphasizes that the doctrine arises from divine self-revelation rather than speculative reasoning.²¹ Her insistence that the Trinity is not an abstract puzzle but the source of Christian life is a crucial corrective in contemporary theology.²² The integration of Trinitarian prayer throughout the liturgical life of the church reinforces the participatory nature of doctrine.²³ Her use of light imagery is particularly effective, echoing both biblical and patristic traditions.²⁴

Faithful and accessible articulation of Trinitarian theology.²⁵


Peeler’s treatment of the Eucharist as central to Ordinary Time is both fitting and necessary. The Lord’s Supper is not merely a ritual but a participatory act in the life of Christ.²⁶ Her emphasis on repetition as formative aligns with sacramental theology that understands participation as transformative.²⁷ The Eucharist becomes the rhythm through which the ordinary is continually reoriented toward the divine.²⁸

Strong sacramental theology rooted in participation.²⁹


These chapters collectively explore biblical narratives as formative texts for Ordinary Time. Peeler demonstrates a keen awareness of the pedagogical function of Scripture.³⁰ Her emphasis on trust and gratitude reflects a theology of response, where believers participate in God’s work through faithful living.³¹

Integration of narrative theology and spiritual formation.³²


Peeler concludes with a Christological vision that frames Ordinary Time within the broader arc of the church year.³³ This is a fitting conclusion, reminding readers that formation is always oriented toward the reign of Christ.³⁴

Strong Christological framing.³⁵


Amy Peeler’s Ordinary Time is a remarkable work. It is deeply pastoral, theologically attentive, and liturgically grounded. It calls the church to recover a vision of formation that is patient, communal, and Christ-centered.³⁶ This is a work to be read, taught, and lived. It is a reminder that God’s most profound work is often done not in the extraordinary, but in the faithful repetition of ordinary days.³⁷ For this, we give thanks. And for Amy Peeler, whose careful and faithful work serves the church so well, we offer both gratitude and encouragement.


  1. Amy Peeler, Ordinary Time (Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2025), 3–5.
  2. Esau McCaulley, “Series Preface,” in The Fullness of Time
  3. John H. Walton, Ancient Near Eastern Thought and the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2006)
  4. Peeler, Ordinary Time, 3.
  5. N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996)
  6. Scot McKnight, Kingdom Conspiracy (Grand Rapids: Brazos, 2014)
  7. Michael J. Gorman, Becoming the Gospel (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2015)
  8. The introduction could further situate this claim within an explicit new creation framework, emphasizing that ordinary time is not merely reflective but eschatologically charged. Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Gospels (Waco: Baylor, 2016), 12–19.
  9. Peeler, Ordinary Time, 20–22.
  10. BDAG, s.v. “ἐνδύω.”
  11. Gorman, Inhabiting the Cruciform God (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009)
  12. Irenaeus, Against Heresies
  13. James K. A. Smith, Desiring the Kingdom (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2009)
  14. Peeler, Ordinary Time, 26–27.
  15. Greater engagement with Second Temple Jewish identity categories and socio-historical context would strengthen the exegetical depth. Craig Keener, Galatians (Cambridge: Cambridge, 2019), 210–230.
  16. Peeler, Ordinary Time, 36–37.
  17. Joel B. Green, The Gospel of Luke (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997)
  18. N. T. Wright, Luke for Everyone (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2004)
  19. Peeler, Ordinary Time, 37.
  20. This chapter would benefit from deeper engagement with anti-imperial readings of Luke-Acts, particularly in light of Roman imperial ideology. Warren Carter, The Roman Empire and the New Testament (Nashville: Abingdon, 2006), 75–98.
  21. Peeler, Ordinary Time, 43.
  22. Fred Sanders, The Deep Things of God (Wheaton: Crossway, 2010)
  23. Catherine Mowry LaCugna, God for Us (San Francisco: Harper, 1991)
  24. Augustine, De Trinitate.
  25. Greater engagement with participatory and relational ontologies—particularly in light of divine communion—would deepen the theological implications John Zizioulas, Being as Communion (Crestwood: SVS Press, 1985), 40–65.
  26. Alexander Schmemann, For the Life of the World (Crestwood: SVS, 1973)
  27. Smith, Desiring the Kingdom
  28. Gorman, Apostle of the Crucified Lord (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004)
  29. A deeper engagement with early church Eucharistic theology and its eschatological dimensions would enrich the discussion. Ignatius of Antioch, Letter to the Smyrnaeans 6–7.
  30. Peeler, Ordinary Time, 16–17.
  31. Walter Brueggemann, Theology of the Old Testament (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1997)
  32. Greater engagement with ANE context and narrative-critical methods would strengthen interpretive depth. Walton, ANE Thought, 90–110.
  33. Peeler, Ordinary Time, 129.
  34. N. T. Wright, Surprised by Hope (New York: Harper, 2008)
  35. A more explicit articulation of new creation and eschatological fulfillment would provide greater theological closure. G. K. Beale, A New Testament Biblical Theology (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2011), 900–915.
  36. Gorman, Becoming the Gospel
  37. Eugene Peterson, A Long Obedience in the Same Direction (Downers Grove: IVP, 2000)

A Theological Reading of the Carlson–Huckabee Exchange—and Why It Does Not Yield a Christian Mandate for Unconditional Support of Modern Israel

I have never cared much for politics—or, frankly, for either of the personalities involved in the Tucker Carlson–Mike Huckabee exchange. But I am interested in what their conversation exposes at a deeper level: the ease with which modern political arguments recruit Scripture, and the interpretive assumptions that often go unexamined when “the Bible says…” becomes a stand-in for careful exegesis.

In the exchange, Huckabee spoke as though Genesis 15:18 functions as a present-tense title deed—stretching from “the river of Egypt” to “the Euphrates”—while Carlson challenged the leap from an ancient covenant text to modern entitlement: if that’s the standard, why are borders negotiable, who counts as a rightful heir, and how does any of this become a binding obligation for Christians today? Beneath the soundbites is a question that actually matters: are we reading the biblical text on its own terms, in its Ancient Near Eastern and canonical context, or are we using it to baptize conclusions we already prefer?

This article takes Carlson’s line of questioning as an opportunity for theological and exegetical clarity rather than partisan reaction. My aim is not a political manifesto, but a canonical inquiry into what “Israel” means in the Bible’s own grammar—and what changes when Israel’s story reaches its climax in Jesus the Messiah. I will argue that modern Israel is not identical to covenant Israel in the sense that governs Christian obligation; that land-promise texts cannot be severed from Torah’s covenantal sanctions and the prophets’ ethical indictments; and that the New Testament’s Christological redefinition of the people of God relocates covenant identity from ethnicity and territory to union with Christ. On that basis, Christians should resist treating unconditional support for the modern State of Israel as a biblical mandate, while still rejecting antisemitism, refusing the dehumanization of Palestinians, and pursuing a kingdom ethic of truth, justice, and peacemaking for all image-bearers in the land.

In his filmed exchange with U.S. Ambassador Mike Huckabee, Tucker Carlson pressed a question that many American Christians have often assumed rather than exegeted: when Genesis describes land promised to Abram’s descendants “from the river of Egypt…to the great river, the Euphrates,” what exactly is being claimed—and how (if at all) does that claim translate into modern geopolitical obligations? In the interview transcript, Carlson repeatedly returns to the logic of appeal: if “God gave this land to this people,” then what land, and which people, and on what principled basis should modern states underwrite that claim?

The exchange became headline news precisely because the “Bible as real-estate deed” framing is not merely an internal church dispute; it can be invoked to justify maximalist territorial imagination. Associated Press reported that Huckabee responded to Carlson’s “Nile to Euphrates” framing with, “It would be fine if they took it all,” even while adding that Israel was not currently seeking that expansion. This is exactly the kind of moment where Christian theological speech must slow down: not to evade political realities, but to avoid treating Scripture as a rhetorical accelerant.

What follows is an academic-style theological argument—biblically grounded, historically attentive, and hermeneutically explicit—contending that (1) modern Israel is not “biblical Israel” in the covenantal sense that matters for Christian identity and obligation, and (2) the New Testament does not authorize a blanket Christian duty to support the modern nation-state of Israel as a theological absolute, even while (3) Christians remain morally bound to oppose antisemitism, to pursue justice and mercy for all image-bearers in the land (Jewish and Palestinian alike), and to pray for peace.

A responsible theological reading begins by distinguishing at least four “Israels,” which are too often collapsed:

  1. Israel as an ethnos (a people group with genealogical continuity).
  2. Israel as a covenant polity constituted at Sinai (and held accountable to Torah).
  3. Israel as a landed theocratic project under Yahweh’s kingship (and later monarchic compromise).
  4. Israel as an eschatological people reconstituted in and around the Messiah in the New Covenant.

Much popular Christian Zionism treats #1 and #2 as if they are stable across redemptive history and then maps them directly onto #3 in modern political form. But the Bible itself complicates every step of that move.

Chosen” in the Hebrew Bible is not primarily a synonym for “saved” but a vocation—a commissioned role “to be a light to the nations.” That vocational election is real. Yet vocation can be resisted, judged, exiled, and reconfigured within God’s larger redemptive purpose (a theme threaded through the prophets and then re-read christologically in the New Testament).

In short: the Bible itself does not permit a simplistic, trans-historical equivalence between “Israel” in Genesis, “Israel” in Deuteronomy, “Israel” in Second Temple politics, and “Israel” as a twentieth-century nation-state. That does not mean Jewish continuity is unreal. It means that covenant categories are not identical to modern nation-state categories—and Christian ethics cannot pretend they are.


3.1 Genesis 12:1–3 is not a blank-check for foreign policy

The most common “Christian pro-Israel” proof-text in the American imagination is Genesis 12:3 (“I will bless those who bless you…”). But three exegetical observations matter.

First, the “you” addressed is Abram, not “Israel” as a later national polity. Second, the promise culminates in a universal horizon: “in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.” Third, the New Testament repeatedly reads Abraham’s promise Christologically—not as an everlasting political entitlement but as a redemptive trajectory that reaches its telos in the Messiah and then spills outward to the nations. The “seed” is ultimately Christ and that union “in Christ” becomes the decisive identity marker.

Even many evangelical defenses of “bless Israel” concede the text is not reducible to modern state patronage.

3.2 Genesis 15:18 and the “Nile to Euphrates” claim: what is being promised?

Carlson’s pressure point is Genesis 15: if the land boundary is maximal, why are modern borders “shrunk,” and if the right is covenantal, why not identify rightful heirs by lineage or conversion status? Whatever one thinks of Carlson’s rhetoric, his question exposes a weakness in the “Bible as title deed” argument: it often wants the authority of literalism without the cost of literalism.

But the biblical narrative itself supplies the missing complexity.

  1. Genesis 15 is divine promise framed by covenant ritual. The “cutting” scene belongs to a broader Ancient Near Eastern world of covenant-making and self-maledictory symbolism (the “may it be to me as to these pieces” logic). The point is not that Abram receives a modern cartographic deed; it is that Yahweh binds himself to a promissory path that will unfold through judgment, deliverance, and covenant schooling.
  2. The Pentateuch itself embeds conditionality alongside gift. Deuteronomy’s covenant structure makes clear that land “rest” and land “retention” are tethered to fidelity; exile is not a surprise glitch but a stipulated covenant outcome (Deut 28–30). The gift is real; the possession is morally charged.
  3. The boundary language functions typologically and theologically. “From Wadi Egypt to the Euphrates” becomes a way of expressing fullness and security under Yahweh’s reign—yet the historical narratives show fluctuating control, partial possession, and continual threat. Even in the so-called “golden age,” the biblical writers do not present Israel as a simple imperial machine but as a morally accountable people whose kings can be indicted by prophetic speech.

This is why proof-texting Genesis 15 to justify “it would be fine if they took it all” is not exegesis; it is ideological ventriloquism.


A major interpretive fault-line is whether the land promise is (a) already fulfilled in Israel’s early history and then refigured in Christ, or (b) postponed into a future political restoration.

Those who argue (a) often appeal to texts like Joshua 21:43–45 (“the LORD gave to Israel all the land…not one word…failed”), while dispensational writers contest that conclusion by insisting the promise requires fuller geographical realization. The point here is not to adjudicate every sub-debate, but to notice what the canonical shape presses on us:

  • The Deuteronomistic history (Joshua–Kings) depicts land as covenant theater: blessing and curse play out in real time; kings can lose the plot; exile arrives as covenant consequence.
  • The prophets do not treat land as an unconditional permanent possession immune to ethics. They treat it as a stage upon which injustice can bring expulsion (cf. Amos; Jeremiah; Ezekiel).

So even if one holds that future restoration themes remain (a debated question), the prophetic corpus blocks the move from “promise” to “unconditional endorsement of any state behavior.” The Bible does not give Israel a moral “get out of judgment free” card; it gives Israel more accountability.


The New Testament does not merely add Jesus onto Israel’s story; it claims that Jesus fulfills Israel’s vocation and embodies Israel’s identity as the faithful covenant keeper. Matthew’s application of Hosea (“out of Egypt I called my son”) to Jesus and Paul’s emphasis that the inheritance is shared only “in Christ.”

That is not “replacement theology” in the crude sense of “God discards Jews.” It is a christological claim about where covenant identity is now located: in the Messiah and those united to him by faith.

Several New Testament moves matter for the present debate:

  1. The redefinition of kinship and peoplehood. Jesus relativizes bloodline as the defining marker of belonging (e.g., “Who are my mother and my brothers?”). Paul can say “not all who are descended from Israel belong to Israel” (Rom 9:6), and he can describe Gentiles being “grafted in” to the covenantal olive tree (Rom 11). The people of God become a multi-ethnic body whose unity is cruciform rather than nationalistic.
  2. The relocation of “promised land” hope into eschatological new creation. The Expedition44 “Israel & the Jesus Kingdom” essay argues that the New Covenant’s “promised land” is fundamentally eschatological—recreated heavens and earth—rather than a mandate for a modern territorial project, and that Christian allegiance is primarily to the kingdom of Jesus.
  3. The ethic of the kingdom as interpretive control. The Sermon on the Mount is not an optional “private spirituality” track; it is the Messiah’s charter for his people. If one tries to use Scripture to underwrite policies that produce indiscriminate harm or permanent domination, that reading must be confronted by the Messiah’s own ethic.

This is the theological center of gravity: Christian Scripture culminates not in land expansion but in a crucified and risen Messiah who forms a trans-national people and teaches them to love enemies.


To be fair and academically responsible, we should state the strongest versions of the Christian pro-Israel claims.

6.1 Argument from covenant permanence (“forever” language)

Many argue that because covenants are described as “everlasting,” the land promise must remain politically operative. Dispensational systems tend to separate “Israel” and “Church” as distinct peoples with distinct destinies, thereby preserving a future national role for ethnic Israel.

Response: “Forever” in covenant idiom must be read within canonical and covenantal context: the same covenant documents specify exile as consequence; prophetic judgments speak of being “not my people” in covenant rupture (Hos 1:9–11). A dispensational attempt to preserve unconditionality by sidelining covenant sanctions does violence to the Torah’s own logic. (Even writers sympathetic to Israel-church distinction acknowledge Hosea’s “not my people” language as covenantal crisis.)

6.2 Argument from Genesis 12:3 (“bless those who bless you”)

Many popular teachers treat this as a timeless mechanism: bless modern Israel materially/militarily and you will be blessed.

Response: The Abrahamic promise is read by the New Testament as culminating in Christ and opening to the nations; “blessing” cannot be reduced to state patronage. Even within evangelical discussions, careful treatments note that Genesis 12 is addressed to Abram and that “Israel” is not in view as a modern polity.

6.3 Argument from prophecy fulfillment (1948 as “sign”)

Some interpret the modern state’s founding (1948) as prophetic fulfillment and therefore as a theological anchor for Christian support.

Response: Even if one grants “providential significance,” providence is not identical to covenant mandate. Moreover, the New Testament regularly treats “sign” language as Christ-centered; political events cannot simply be baptized as eschatological necessity without robust textual argument. Steve Gregg’s approach—evaluate the modern state biblically and be wary of dispensational narratives—pushes against the “1948 = automatic theology” reflex.

6.4 Argument from “apostolic concern for Israel” (Rom 9–11)

Some argue Paul’s anguish and hope for Israel implies a continuing special status requiring Christian political alignment.

Response: Paul’s concern is evangelistic and doxological, not a directive for modern foreign policy. Romans 9–11 is about God’s fidelity and the mystery of unbelief and mercy—not a command to underwrite a state.


Pulling the threads together, there are several main biblical reasons a Christian is not obligated—as a matter of theological necessity—to support the modern state of Israel “in general” or “no matter what.”

7.1 Category error: covenant people ≠ modern nation-state

“The modern nation-state of Israel is not the covenant people of the Bible,” because covenant membership is now defined by faith in the Messiah rather than ethnicity or passport status.

That doesn’t settle every question about Jewish identity or God’s providence, but it does block the simplistic move: “Bible says Israel → therefore Christians must support modern Israel.”

7.2 Canonical ethic: God’s promises never authorize injustice

The Hebrew Bible constantly holds Israel accountable for injustice; the prophets do not hesitate to indict Israel more severely because of her calling. Therefore it is hermeneutically incoherent to say, “because of promise, Israel gets unconditional endorsement.” Promise does not erase prophetic ethics; it intensifies them.

7.3 Christological control: the telos is Messiah and new creation, not territorial maximalism

Even within your own framework, the “promised land” is ultimately eschatological, and the kingdom’s geography is the renewed creation—not a modern territorial ideology.

7.4 Political theology: the New Covenant does not create sacral nation-states

The church is not a nation-state; it is a trans-national body. When Christians treat any state as if it carries covenant holiness, they risk reintroducing a form of sacral nationalism the New Testament consistently relativizes.

7.5 Moral realism: “Israel’s policies” cannot be the basis for blanket theology (and the abortion claim is not decisive)

To be totally transparent, some Christians support reasons to not support Israel such as “they support abortion” and “they largely aren’t Christians.” Even if those claims were uniformly true (they are more complex than social media summaries), they still wouldn’t function as the primary argument, because Christian theology does not grant blanket moral endorsement to any state based on religious purity tests. Still, it is fair to note that Israel’s legal framework includes state-regulated access to abortion through termination committees. The deeper point, though, is this: Christian foreign policy ethics should be grounded in justice, the protection of the vulnerable, truthful speech, and peacemaking—rather than a mythic covenant entitlement narrative.


Carlson’s sharpest theological question in the interview is not about ancient boundaries but about the moral logic of an ethnic land-claim. He presses: if the right is covenantal and genealogical, why not genetic testing? How does conversion (to Judaism or to Christianity) affect right of return? Huckabee appears to oscillate between “biblical/ethnic/historical” claims and pragmatic border talk, but Carlson’s critique lands: a nation-state founded on ethnic criteria invites moral confusion when theologized as divine decree.

From a New Testament perspective, this critique is theologically fruitful: the Messiah’s people are not determined by DNA but by covenantal faithfulness expressed as allegiance to Jesus. “In Christ” is the dominant boundary marker and that blessing is tied to honoring the Messiah rather than underwriting national projects.

Thus, ironically, Carlson’s “America First” skepticism can function as a negative aid to Christian exegesis: it exposes how quickly Christians can drift into a quasi-biblical ethno-politics that the apostolic writings resist.


  1. Reject antisemitism categorically. Jewish people are not “the problem,” and Christian history contains grievous sins against Jews.
  2. Refuse to sacralize any state. No modern nation bears covenant holiness.
  3. Read land, people, and promise through the Messiah. If Jesus is the faithful Israelite, then the story’s center is him, and the people are those “in him.”
  4. Seek justice and peace for all who dwell in the land. Christian ethics does not permit indifference toward Palestinian suffering or Jewish fear; both must be taken with full seriousness.
  5. Advocate principled, conditional political reasoning. If one supports Israel politically, it should be on the same moral grounds one uses for any state: proportionality, protection of noncombatants, truthful diplomacy, restraint, and the pursuit of genuine peace—not “because Genesis.” If one withholds support, it should likewise be principled, not tribal.

The primary allegiance of the Christ-follower is to the Jesus Kingdom, and the church must resist being “yoked” to worldly power projects that distort the kingdom’s witness.

The Carlson–Huckabee exchange ultimately exposes not a political dilemma, but a hermeneutical one. When the biblical text is read within its Ancient Near Eastern covenant context and through the New Testament’s Christological fulfillment, it becomes clear that Scripture does not grant modern nation-states a standing theological entitlement. The covenant promises to Israel find their telos in the Messiah, and the people of God are now defined by union with Him rather than by ethnicity, geography, or political sovereignty.

For that reason, Christians are not biblically obligated to offer unconditional support to the modern State of Israel as if such support were a covenantal requirement. Our allegiance is not to any geopolitical entity but to Jesus Christ, the true Israel and King of the kingdom that transcends every border. From that allegiance flows a consistent ethic: we reject antisemitism, we refuse to dehumanize Palestinians, and we pursue justice, truth, and peace for all who dwell in the land.

In the end, the question is not whether Christians will take a political side, but whether we will read Scripture faithfully and embody the kingdom it proclaims.

DISCUSSION QUESTIONS

1. Covenant, Land, and Conditionality

How should the land promises in Genesis (e.g., Gen 12; 15; 17) be interpreted in light of the covenantal conditions articulated in Deuteronomy 28–30 and the prophetic indictments that led to exile?

  • In what sense are the promises “everlasting,” and in what sense are they historically administered under covenant fidelity?
  • Does the canonical shape of the Old Testament itself invite a non-literal or typological expansion of the land promise?

2. The Reconfiguration of Israel in the New Testament

To what extent do New Testament texts (e.g., Rom 9–11; Gal 3; Eph 2; 1 Pet 2:9–10) redefine the identity of Israel around Christ and the Church?

  • Do these passages suggest continuity, replacement, fulfillment, or expansion?
  • How should one evaluate the claim that “not all Israel is Israel” (Rom 9:6) in relation to modern ethnic or national identity?

3. Hermeneutics and Political Theology

What hermeneutical principles should govern the use of biblical texts in modern geopolitical discussions, such as those raised in the Carlson–Huckabee exchange?

  • Is it legitimate to apply ANE covenant language directly to contemporary nation-states?
  • What criteria distinguish faithful theological application from ideological proof-texting?

4. Christological Fulfillment and the Kingdom of God

How does the New Testament presentation of Jesus as the fulfillment of Israel’s vocation (e.g., Matt 2; John 15; Heb 11) reshape the theological significance of land, peoplehood, and covenant identity?

  • In what sense is the “promised land” reinterpreted as new creation (Matt 5:5; Rom 4:13)?
  • What implications does this have for Christian allegiance and identity in a global, multi-ethnic Church?

5. Ethics, Justice, and Christian Responsibility Today

If Christians are not biblically mandated to support the modern State of Israel unconditionally, what ethical framework should guide their posture toward Israel, Palestine, and the broader Middle East?

  • How should biblical themes of justice, mercy, and reconciliation (e.g., Mic 6:8; Matt 5–7; 2 Cor 5:18–20) inform Christian political engagement?
  • What does it look like to reject both antisemitism and anti-Palestinian dehumanization while maintaining fidelity to the gospel?

For additional consideration on this Subject:
https://expedition44.com/2025/10/16/is-israel-still-gods-chosen-people/
https://expedition44.com/2023/10/29/israel-the-jesus-kingdom/


Footnotes (serving more as a Bibliography)

Note: Because this is formatted for a blog post rather than a print journal, some citations are consolidated (multiple works per note) to keep the apparatus readable despite the 140 citations.

  1. “Mike Huckabee’s Interview @ Tucker Carlson Show (Transcript),” The Singju Post, February 20, 2026.
  2. Sam Mednick and Samy Magdy, “US ambassador causes uproar by claiming Israel has a right to much of the Middle East,” Associated Press, February 21, 2026.
  3. Expedition44, “Is Israel Still God’s Chosen people?” October 16, 2025.
  4. Expedition44, “Israel & the Jesus Kingdom,” October 29, 2023.
  5. Steve Gregg, “The Modern State of Israel” (lecture summary), OpenTheo.
  6. Steve Gregg, “What Are We to Make of Israel?” (series index/summary), OpenTheo.
  7. The Narrow Path, “Topical Lectures: Israel—What Are We to Make of Israel (12 Lectures).”
  8. Aaron Sobczak, “No, Christians shouldn’t give unconditional support to Israel,” Libertarian Christian Institute, January 27, 2025.
  9. “Rethinking Support for Israel: A Biblical Approach Beyond Politics,” Bible Mysteries Podcast (blog), n.d.
  10. Brian Collins, “Kevin T. Bauder, ‘Israel and the Church: Is There Really a Difference,’ in Dispensationalism Revisited,” Exegesis and Theology, June 14, 2024.
  11. Ministry of Health (Israel), “Induced Abortion,” government information page.
  12. State of Israel, gov.il, “Apply to Terminate a Pregnancy (Induced Abortion).”
  13. One for Israel, “What Does it Mean to Bless Israel According to Genesis 12…,” July 17, 2024.
  14. “At the roots of evangelical Christians’ support for Israel,” Le Monde, April 11, 2024.
  15. “Evangelicals’ support for Israel is dropping…,” Washington Post, January 3, 2026.
  16. Genesis 12:1–3; 15:18–21; Exodus 19:5–6; Deuteronomy 7:6; Isaiah 49:6.
  17. Deuteronomy 28–30; Leviticus 26.
  18. Joshua 21:43–45; 1 Kings 4:21 (cf. boundary rhetoric).
  19. Amos 1–2; 5; Micah 6; Isaiah 1; Jeremiah 7; Ezekiel 16; Hosea 1–3.
  20. Matthew 2:15; Hosea 11:1 (as reused in Matthew).
  21. Galatians 3:16, 28–29; Romans 2:28–29; Romans 4; Romans 9:6; Romans 11.
  22. Matthew 5–7; Luke 6:27–36.
  23. N. T. Wright, Paul and the Faithfulness of God (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2013), esp. on Israel and Messiah.
  24. Richard B. Hays, Echoes of Scripture in the Gospels (Waco, TX: Baylor University Press, 2016), on Israel’s story reread in Jesus.
  25. G. K. Beale and D. A. Carson, eds., Commentary on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2007).
  26. John Goldingay, Old Testament Theology, 3 vols. (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2003–2009).
  27. Christopher J. H. Wright, The Mission of God (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2006).
  28. Walter Brueggemann, The Land: Place as Gift, Promise, and Challenge in Biblical Faith, 2nd ed. (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002).
  29. Scott W. Hahn, Kinship by Covenant (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2009), on covenant and familial identity.
  30. Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy and the Deuteronomic School (Oxford: Clarendon, 1972), on Deuteronomic covenant logic.
  31. George E. Mendenhall and Gary A. Herion, “Covenant,” in ABD 1:1179–1202.
  32. Dennis J. McCarthy, Treaty and Covenant (Rome: Biblical Institute Press, 1978), on ANE treaty form and biblical covenants.
  33. K. A. Kitchen, On the Reliability of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), on historical framing.
  34. Mark S. Smith, The Early History of God (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), on Israel’s early religion.
  35. John J. Collins, The Apocalyptic Imagination, 3rd ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2016), on Second Temple hopes.
  36. E. P. Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief, 63 BCE–66 CE (Philadelphia: Trinity Press International, 1992).
  37. Shaye J. D. Cohen, From the Maccabees to the Mishnah, 3rd ed. (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2014).
  38. Josephus, Jewish War (esp. on 66–70 CE), in LCL editions.
  39. Mishnah Avot; Sanhedrin (for later identity discourse; used cautiously for NT-era claims).
  40. R. T. France, The Gospel of Matthew (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), on Matthean Israel typology.
  41. Douglas J. Moo, The Epistle to the Romans, 2nd ed. (NICNT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2018), on Romans 9–11.
  42. James D. G. Dunn, The Theology of Paul the Apostle (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998), on “in Christ” identity.
  43. Michael J. Gorman, Apostle of the Crucified Lord (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), on cruciform politics.
  44. Stanley Hauerwas, The Peaceable Kingdom (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1983).
  45. John Howard Yoder, The Politics of Jesus, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994).
  46. Oliver O’Donovan, The Desire of the Nations (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), on political theology.
  47. Miroslav Volf, Exclusion and Embrace (Nashville: Abingdon, 1996), on reconciliation.
  48. Miroslav Volf, Allah: A Christian Response (New York: HarperOne, 2011), on public theology and neighbor-love.
  49. Craig Keener, Romans (NCCS; Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2009), on Romans 9–11 pastoral stakes.
  50. Beverly Roberts Gaventa, When in Romans (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2016), on reading Romans as gospel.
  51. J. Louis Martyn, Galatians (AB; New York: Doubleday, 1997), on Abraham, promise, and “seed.”
  52. Richard B. Hays, The Faith of Jesus Christ, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2002), on pistis and covenant faithfulness.
  53. Matthew Thiessen, Paul and the Gentile Problem (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), on identity markers.
  54. Paula Fredriksen, Paul: The Pagans’ Apostle (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2017), on Paul’s Israel discourse.
  55. Francis Watson, Paul and the Hermeneutics of Faith (London: T&T Clark, 2004).
  56. Joachim Jeremias, Jerusalem in the Time of Jesus (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1969), background.
  57. Eyal Regev, The Temple in Early Christianity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2019), temple and identity.
  58. Dale C. Allison Jr., Constructing Jesus (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2010), on Jesus and Israel’s story.
  59. Richard Bauckham, Bible and Mission (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2003), on universal blessing trajectory.
  60. John Barclay, Paul and the Gift (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2015), on grace and identity.
  61. Markus Bockmuehl, Jewish Law in Gentile Churches (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 2000).
  62. Alan F. Segal, Paul the Convert (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1990).
  63. David M. Carr, An Introduction to the Old Testament (Hoboken, NJ: Wiley-Blackwell, 2010), on Pentateuchal formation.
  64. David L. Petersen, The Prophetic Literature (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2002).
  65. Walter Kaiser Jr., The Promise-Plan of God (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2008), for a promise-plan defense (used critically).
  66. Paul R. House, Old Testament Theology (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 1998).
  67. Stephen B. Chapman, The Law and the Prophets (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), on canon and covenant.
  68. John Sailhamer, The Pentateuch as Narrative (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1992).
  69. Gordon J. Wenham, Genesis 1–15 (WBC; Dallas: Word, 1987), on Genesis 12 and 15.
  70. Victor P. Hamilton, The Book of Genesis: Chapters 1–17 (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1990).
  71. J. Gordon McConville, Deuteronomy (AOTC; Leicester: Apollos, 2002), on blessings/curses and land.
  72. Patrick D. Miller, Deuteronomy (IBC; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1990).
  73. Moshe Weinfeld, Deuteronomy 1–11 (AB; New York: Doubleday, 1991).
  74. Richard D. Nelson, Joshua (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997).
  75. Robert P. Gordon, 1 & 2 Samuel (Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1984), on monarchy tensions.
  76. Marvin A. Sweeney, I & II Kings (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2007).
  77. John Barton, Oracles of God (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), prophets and ethics.
  78. Abraham J. Heschel, The Prophets (New York: Harper, 1962), prophetic indictment as covenant lawsuit.
  79. Mark J. Boda, Return to Me (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2015), on repentance and restoration.
  80. Daniel I. Block, The Book of Ezekiel (NICOT; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1997–1998), on land and holiness.
  81. Francis I. Andersen and David Noel Freedman, Hosea (AB; New York: Doubleday, 1980), on “not my people.”
  82. Jörg Jeremias, The Book of Amos (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1998).
  83. James Luther Mays, Micah (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1976).
  84. Brevard S. Childs, Biblical Theology of the Old and New Testaments (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992).
  85. Rikk E. Watts, Isaiah’s New Exodus and Mark (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1997), on new exodus motif.
  86. Scot McKnight, Kingdom Conspiracy (Grand Rapids: Brazos, 2014), on kingdom vs politicization.
  87. Peter J. Leithart, The Kingdom and the Power (Phillipsburg, NJ: P&R, 1993), for a contrasting political theology.
  88. John Stott, The Message of Romans (Downers Grove, IL: IVP, 1994), on Romans 9–11 pastoral nuance.
  89. F. F. Bruce, The Epistle to the Galatians (NIGTC; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1982), on “seed.”
  90. N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996), on Israel’s story and kingdom.
  91. Richard B. Hays, “Can the Gospels Teach Us How to Read the Old Testament?” in The Conversion of the Imagination (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005).
  92. Kevin J. Vanhoozer, Is There a Meaning in This Text? (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1998), on interpretive ethics.
  93. Stephen E. Fowl, Theological Interpretation of Scripture (Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2009).
  94. John Webster, Holy Scripture (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003).
  95. Brevard S. Childs, Introduction to the Old Testament as Scripture (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1979), canonical reading.
  96. Hans Frei, The Eclipse of Biblical Narrative (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1974), warning against abstraction.
  97. Bart D. Ehrman, “Exegesis: Simple Definition, Examples, and Mistakes to Avoid,” on method (as a general hermeneutics primer).
  98. The Think Institute, “Does the Bible Require Christians to Support Modern Israel?” June 22, 2025 (popular-level but useful framing).
  99. Christianity StackExchange, “How do non-dispensationalists interpret Genesis 12:3?” (crowd-sourced; used only to illustrate argument typology).
  100. Le Monde, “At the roots…” (historical on dispensationalism and Christian Zionism).
  101. Genesis 17; Exodus 32–34; Numbers 14; Deuteronomy 9–10 (covenant rupture and renewal patterns).
  102. Psalm 2; Psalm 72; Psalm 110 (messianic kingship reframing).
  103. Isaiah 2; Isaiah 11; Isaiah 19 (nations and eschatological horizon).
  104. Zechariah 9–14 (contested texts; hermeneutical caution).
  105. Luke 24:25–27, 44–49 (Christological reading authorization).
  106. Ephesians 2:11–22 (one new humanity).
  107. 1 Peter 2:9–10 (Israel language applied to the church).
  108. Hebrews 11:8–16 (Abraham seeking a better country).
  109. Revelation 5; 7; 21–22 (multi-ethnic people and new creation geography).
  110. Munther Isaac, The Other Side of the Wall (Downers Grove, IL: IVP, 2020), for Palestinian Christian witness (for balance).
  111. Gary M. Burge, Jesus and the Land (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2010), on land in NT.
  112. O. Palmer Robertson, The Israel of God (Phillipsburg, NJ: P&R, 2000), on covenant peoplehood.
  113. Daniel Juster and Peter Hocken, The Messianic Jewish Movement (London: Continuum, 2004), for Messianic Jewish perspectives (used cautiously).
  114. Mark Kinzer, Postmissionary Messianic Judaism (Grand Rapids: Brazos, 2005), on Jewish identity within Messiah faith.
  115. Michael Wyschogrod, The Body of Faith (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1983), Jewish theological angle (for understanding terms).
  116. Jon D. Levenson, Sinai and Zion (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1985), covenant and election in Jewish reading.
  117. Jon D. Levenson, The Death and Resurrection of the Beloved Son (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993), typology and sacrifice trajectories.
  118. Beverly Gaventa and Richard B. Hays, eds., Seeking the Identity of Jesus (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2008), on christological Israel reading.
  119. Richard Middleton, A New Heaven and a New Earth (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2014), new creation as telos.
  120. Oliver Davies, Paul D. Janz, and Clemente Cervantes, eds., Transforming Grace (Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2010), on grace and politics.
  121. Augustine, City of God (cited only for political theology genealogy; not used as a controlling authority).
  122. Oliver O’Donovan, The Ways of Judgment (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2005), moral reasoning in public.
  123. Miroslav Volf, Public Faith (Grand Rapids: Brazos, 2011), on non-tribal public theology.
  124. John Inazu, Confident Pluralism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2016), on civic posture.
  125. Nicholas Wolterstorff, Justice: Rights and Wrongs (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2008), justice framework.
  126. Exodus 23:9; Leviticus 19:33–34 (ethics toward the stranger/sojourner).
  127. Zechariah 7:9–10 (justice and mercy).
  128. Matthew 25:31–46 (care for the vulnerable).
  129. Romans 12:9–21 (enemy-love and non-retaliation).
  130. 2 Corinthians 5:14–21 (ministry of reconciliation).
  131. Luke 19:41–44 (Jesus weeping over Jerusalem; judgment and lament).
  132. Acts 15 (Gentile inclusion without Torah boundary markers).
  133. Galatians 6:16 (“Israel of God”—contested; requires careful handling).
  134. Matthew 21:33–46 (vineyard parable; covenant accountability).
  135. John 18:36 (kingdom “not from this world”).
  136. Philippians 3:20 (citizenship in heaven).
  137. Hebrews 13:14 (seeking the city to come).
  138. Revelation 21:24–26 (nations in the eschaton—purified, not deified).
  139. AP News report on borders shifting and post-1967 realities (for historical frame only).
  140. Expedition44 on “chosen = vocation,” and “true Israel = Jesus” as interpretive thesis.

Considering A Biblical and Philosophical Case for Conditional Immortality

The doctrine of hell has long occupied a central and often troubling place within Christian theology. For many in the Western tradition, hell has been understood as a state of eternal conscious torment (ECT)—a never-ending experience of pain and separation from God for the unredeemed. Yet in recent decades, an increasing number of evangelical scholars, pastors, and theologians have revisited the biblical and theological foundations of this claim and found it wanting. What has emerged in its place is not a denial of judgment, but a re-articulation of it: conditional immortality, sometimes called annihilationism—the belief that only those united to Christ are granted everlasting life, while the wicked ultimately perish.

This reconsideration is not driven by sentimentality, nor by a desire to soften the hard edges of the gospel. Rather, it arises from a more careful reading of Scripture, a renewed attention to the character of God revealed in Christ, and a philosophical concern for coherence between divine justice, goodness, and ontology.


The Biblical Story: Life, Death, and the Gift of Immortality

When Scripture speaks of the final destiny of humanity, it overwhelmingly frames the issue in terms of life versus death, not life versus eternal torment. This is not merely rhetorical; it reflects the entire narrative arc of the Bible.

From the opening chapters of Genesis, life is depicted as something contingent upon God’s sustaining presence. Humanity is formed from dust and animated by divine breath (Gen. 2:7). The warning in Genesis 2:17—“in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die”—introduces death as the fundamental consequence of rebellion. This same framework carries through the canon.

The New Testament reiterates this contrast with remarkable consistency:

  • “The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Rom. 6:23).
  • “Whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life” (John 3:16).
  • “God can destroy both soul and body in Gehenna” (Matt. 10:28).

The language of perishing, destruction, and death appears not as a metaphor for endless conscious suffering, but as its own category of final judgment. Conditionalists argue that this lexical pattern cannot be dismissed as figurative without collapsing the plain meaning of Scripture’s central categories.

Even in apocalyptic passages often cited in support of ECT, the imagery is consistent with consumption and finality. Revelation 20:14 calls the lake of fire “the second death.” The Old Testament background for such imagery (e.g., Malachi 4:1–3) describes the wicked being burned up like chaff, leaving neither root nor branch. The fire is eternal not because the suffering never ends, but because its effects are irreversible.


Exegetical Tensions in Key Prooftexts

Proponents of ECT frequently appeal to Matthew 25:46—“These will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.” The parallelism here is significant, yet the key question is what “eternal punishment” entails. Conditionalists argue that the phrase refers to a punishment whose result is eternal, namely the irreversible loss of life. The same adjective (aiōnios) modifies both “life” and “punishment,” but the nouns themselves differ in kind. Eternal life is ongoing existence; eternal punishment is a completed act with everlasting consequences.

Similarly, Revelation 14:11 speaks of the “smoke of their torment” rising forever. Yet this language echoes Isaiah 34:10, where the destruction of Edom is described in identical terms, even though Edom is not literally still burning today. The imagery communicates permanent devastation, not unending conscious experience.

Thus, when the full canonical context is considered, the cumulative weight of Scripture appears to favor a reading in which the final fate of the wicked is destruction, death, and exclusion from life, rather than perpetual conscious torment.

Likewise, in passages such as Matthew 25, conditional immortality frames the final judgment as a genuine contrast between life and death, while in ECT the contrast ultimately becomes one of location or experience—since both the righteous and the wicked are granted an everlasting conscious existence, differing only in where and how that existence is lived.


Anthropology and Ontology: Is the Soul Immortal by Nature?

At the heart of the debate lies a deeper ontological question: What is a human being? The doctrine of ECT typically assumes that the soul is inherently immortal and therefore must exist forever in either bliss or torment. This assumption, however, owes more to Platonic philosophy than to Hebrew anthropology.

Biblically, immortality is not an intrinsic human possession but a gift bestowed through union with Christ (1 Cor. 15:53–54; 2 Tim. 1:10). Humans are mortal creatures sustained by God’s life-giving presence. To be cut off from that presence is not to exist forever in torment, but to cease from life.

From an ontological perspective, conditional immortality better preserves the Creator-creature distinction. Only God “alone has immortality” (1 Tim. 6:16). Eternal life, therefore, is participation in God’s own life, not an automatic property of the human soul.


Christology and the Logic of the Atonement

The doctrine of hell must also be examined in light of the cross. The New Testament repeatedly states that Christ died for our sins (Rom. 5:8; 1 Cor. 15:3). If the penalty for sin is eternal conscious torment, then Christ did not bear that penalty, since he did not suffer eternally. But if the penalty is death—the loss of life—then the atonement is perfectly coherent: Christ entered into death, defeated it, and rose again to grant life to those united with him.

This Christological lens reveals the deep unity of the biblical message:
the gospel is fundamentally about deliverance from death and the gift of life, not escape from endless torture.


Divine Justice, Goodness, and Proportionality

Beyond exegesis and ontology lies the philosophical question of justice. Eternal conscious torment entails an infinite punishment for finite sins committed within a temporal life. This raises serious concerns about proportionality and the moral coherence of divine judgment.

Conditional immortality offers a resolution that preserves both justice and goodness. The final penalty for sin is severe—the loss of life itself—yet it is not disproportionate or morally unintelligible. It aligns with the biblical principle that “the soul who sins shall die” (Ezek. 18:20).

Moreover, the revelation of God in Jesus Christ presents a God who is self-giving love, who desires that none should perish (2 Pet. 3:9), and whose judgments are true and just. A doctrine of eternal torture sits uneasily within this framework, whereas conditionalism maintains both the seriousness of judgment and the goodness of God.


Pastoral and Theological Implications

In pastoral theology, our doctrine of hell inevitably shapes our proclamation of the gospel and our understanding of God’s character. Many pastors and scholars have found that conditional immortality restores clarity to the gospel message:

  • Eternal life is truly a gift, not something all people possess by default.
  • Judgment is real, sober, and final, but not morally incoherent.
  • God’s ultimate purpose is the restoration of creation, not the perpetual preservation of evil in a chamber of eternal torment.

This does not diminish the urgency of repentance; if anything, it intensifies it. The warning is stark: apart from Christ, one forfeits the very gift of life.

It is also pastorally worth noting that within an Eternal Conscious Torment framework, sin is never truly eradicated from God’s creation but merely quarantined—confined eternally rather than finally defeated—whereas conditional immortality presents judgment as the ultimate abolition of sin itself, not its perpetual containment.


Conclusion: The Gospel as the Gift of Life

When the biblical witness, theological tradition, and philosophical reflection are brought into conversation, the case for conditional immortality emerges as both compelling and faithful. It preserves the seriousness of divine judgment, the integrity of biblical language, the coherence of Christ’s atoning work, and the goodness of God’s character.

In the end, the question of hell is inseparable from the question of the gospel itself. The good news is not merely that we are spared from suffering, but that we are invited into eternal life—the very life of God. To reject that gift is not to endure forever in torment, but to face the tragic and final consequence Scripture names with sobering clarity: death.


Written by Dr. Will Ryan and Dr. Matt Mouzakis for Expedition44

Discussion Questions

  1. How does the biblical theme of life versus death shape our interpretation of final judgment passages?
  2. In what ways might Greek philosophical assumptions about the soul have influenced traditional doctrines of hell?
  3. How does conditional immortality affect our understanding of Christ’s atoning death and resurrection?
  4. Can eternal conscious torment be reconciled with the biblical portrayal of God as just and loving?
  5. What pastoral implications arise from teaching hell as final destruction rather than endless torment?

Select Bibliography

Bradley, Jayson D. Rethinking Hell: A Beginner’s Guide to Conditionalism and Annihilationism.
Fudge, Edward. The Fire That Consumes. Cascade, 2011.
Peoples, Glenn. “The Case for Conditional Immortality.” Theology in the Raw.
Stott, John, and David Edwards. Evangelical Essentials. IVP, 1988.
Wenham, John. The Goodness of God. IVP, 1974.
Wright, N. T. Surprised by Hope. HarperOne, 2008.

comment response:

I’m on board…a question come to mind…where did Jesus go then to take the keys of Life from Lucifer while also collecting the souls of the Old Testament, such as Moses and Abraham and David?

The language of “hell” is multivalent.


The Hebrew Bible uses שְׁאוֹל (Sheol) to denote the realm of the dead—a shadowy underworld to which both righteous and wicked descend. In the Greek New Testament this is rendered ᾅδης (Hades), likewise a general abode of the dead rather than the final place of judgment.

By contrast, γέεννα (Gehenna) refers to eschatological judgment, and Τάρταρος (Tartarus) to the prison of rebellious angels.

Thus, in Second Temple thought the “underworld” could include differentiated regions—e.g., a place of comfort (“Abraham’s bosom”) for the righteous awaiting redemption and a place of distress for the wicked.

The New Testament locates Christ’s descent in this “realm of the dead.”


Texts such as Acts 2:27 (citing Ps 16) and Revelation 1:18 (“keys of death and Hades”) use Hades language, not Gehenna. The traditional “descent” (κατελθόντα εἰς τὰ κατώτατα) is best understood as Christ entering the domain of death itself—the human condition of mortality—rather than a combat in Gehenna with Satan.

The New Testament proclamation (1 Pet 3:18–20; 4:6) is often interpreted as Christ announcing his victory to the dead or the imprisoned spirits; whether this entails “liberation” or proclamation remains debated in scholarship.

If one adopts a conditionalist framework, Hades/Sheol is a temporary realm of the dead, not a place of eternal conscious torment. Final judgment is associated with Gehenna / the lake of fire, not the intermediate state.

Thus Christ’s possession of the “keys of death and Hades” signals authority over mortality and resurrection life, not the maintenance of an eternal torture chamber.

The Covenant of Marriage Communication – Conference Notes

Communicating as Covenant Partners: A Christ-Centered Theology and Practice of Marriage Communication

Introduction

Marriage is more than a social institution or emotional partnership—it is a holy covenant established by God, modeled throughout Scripture, and fulfilled in Christ’s relationship with the Church. Communication within marriage is not merely a set of skills; it is a sacramental expression of covenanted love, shaped by identity in Christ and sustained by grace.

In a world of transactional relationships and consumerized romance, Christian couples are called to something deeper: speaking truth in love (Eph. 4:15), bearing one another’s burdens (Gal. 6:2), and reflecting God’s steadfast love (חסד, chesed) in how they listen, speak, and respond to one another.


1. The Hebraic Concept of Covenant

In Scripture, covenant (ברית, berith) is not a contract; it is a relational pledge grounded in faithfulness and identity. It structures marriage not around feelings or performance, but around being–with–one–another under God.

  • Genesis 2:24—“Therefore a man shall leave his father and his mother and hold fast to his wife, and they shall become one flesh.”
    One flesh implies unity in identity, purpose, and narrative—a shared life.
  • Malachi 2:14–16—God calls Israel my companion (רעיה, re‘iyah) in covenant, highlighting vow-keeping as essential to relational integrity.
    Marriage communication reflects this same vow-oriented faithfulness.

2. Christ and the Church as the Ultimate Covenant Model

Ephesians 5:25–33 anchors marital love in Christ’s sacrificial love for the Church:

  • Self–giving love
  • Cleansing through the Word
  • Nurturing growth and flourishing

In this model, communication is not negotiable nor optional—it is an expression of covenant identity.


1. Jesus: Communicating with Presence and Truth

Jesus embodied communication that was:

  • Attentive — He saw and called individuals by name (Mark 10:21; John 4:27–30).
  • Restorative — He spoke truth that healed rather than harmed (John 8:1–11).
  • Sacrificial — His words pierced, yet offered life (John 6:60–69).

Application for couples:

  • Be fully present in conversation (no half-listening).
  • Seek truth to heal, not to win.

2. Paul: Words That Build Up

Paul repeatedly encourages the church to communicate with grace:

  • Ephesians 4:29 — “Let no corrupting talk come out … but only such as is good for building up.”
  • Colossians 3:12–14 — Compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, patience, forgiveness, love.

Application for couples:

  • Make speech an agent of edification, not accusation.
  • Aim for restoration and peace (Matt. 5:9).

3. Proverbs: Wisdom for Everyday Speech

Proverbs 15:1 contrasts gentleness with provocation:

  • “A soft answer turns away wrath, but a harsh word stirs up anger.”

Application for couples:

  • Choose tone and timing wisely.
  • Slow down before responding; give space for Spirit-guided reflection.

John and Stacy Edwards’ Love & Respect highlights the “Crazy Cycle”:

  • Wives want love, feel unheard →
  • Husbands want respect, feel dismissed →
  • Escalation ensues.

While their gender framing has sparked discussion, the core insight resonates with covenant communication: each partner deeply desires to be known, honored, and treasured.

Redemptive pattern:

  • Respond to hurts with clarifying questions rather than assumptions.
  • Affirm identity (“I hear you; your heart matters to me”), then seek understanding.

Drawing from One Extraordinary Marriage (6 Pillars of Intimacy):

1. Physical Presence

Not just being in the same room—being fully present and undistracted.

2. Emotional Space

Create an environment where vulnerability is welcomed, not weaponized.

3. Spiritual Unity

Pray together before you problem-solve together.

4. Intellectual Engagement

Value curiosity over defensiveness.

5. Relational Investment

Set rhythms (weekly check-ins, shared devotions) that speak covenant over chaos.

6. Communal Support

Accountability with trusted mentors or couples enriches communication health.


1. Love Languages (Gary Chapman)

Understanding each other’s primary love languages—words of affirmation, quality time, acts of service, gifts, physical touch—enhances mutual empathy and expressive clarity.

2. Rhythms from Sacred Marriage (Gary Thomas)

Thomas reframes marriage as sanctification before satisfaction. Communication becomes a means to God’s glory, not just emotional comfort.

3. Eternal Perspective from The Meaning of Marriage (Timothy Keller)

Marriage reflects Christ’s gospel: steadfast, gracious, covenantal. Communication is therefore missionary—bearing witness in everyday speech.

4. You and Me Forever (Francis & Lisa Chan)

Focuses couples on shared Gospel mission, reducing self-absorption and enhancing sacrificial dialogue.


1. Listen Before You Respond

Listening communicates worth and attention.

Practical tip:

  • Reflect back what you heard before responding.

2. Speak Truth in Love

Truth without love wounds; love without truth obscures reality.

Practical tip:

  • Use “I” statements and describe specific behaviors, not character labels.

3. Forgive and Seek Forgiveness

Covenant speech includes reconciliation language.

Practical tip:

  • Practice short, daily reconciliations to prevent relational drift.

4. Pray Before Difficult Conversations

Invite the Spirit to shape hearts before words are exchanged.

Practical tip:

  • Frame hard discussions with scripture (“Lord, make us quick to listen…” James 1:19).

5. Celebrate Small Wins

Acknowledging growth builds trust.

Practical tip:

  • Weekly “gratitude moments” during meals or prayer times.

Communication in Christian marriage is not primarily a technique—it is covenant language. It reflects who we are in Christ and how covenant love shapes everyday life. Words become acts of worship, spaces of grace, and pathways of transformation when we speak and listen in the presence of God.

May our marriages echo the speech of Christ—patient, kind, humble, forgiving, and anchored in love that never ends (1 Cor. 13:4–8).

Discussion Questions

1. Covenant vs. Contract: How Does Ontology Shape Communication?

The Hebrew concept of בְּרִית (berith) frames marriage as a covenant grounded in identity and faithfulness rather than performance or emotional satisfaction.

  • In what ways does viewing marriage as covenant (rather than contract) reshape expectations during conflict?
  • How might this covenantal framework alter the way couples interpret silence, criticism, or emotional withdrawal?
  • How does Malachi 2:14–16 challenge modern consumerist assumptions about relational fulfillment?

2. Christological Communication: Imitating the Speech of Jesus

Ephesians 5 roots marriage in the self-giving love of Christ.

  • How does Christ’s communicative posture (John 4; John 8; Mark 10:21) inform a theology of attentiveness and truth-telling in marriage?
  • What does it mean to “cleanse by the washing of water with the word” (Eph. 5:26) in the context of marital speech?
  • In practical terms, how can couples ensure their words are redemptive rather than corrective alone?

3. The “Crazy Cycle” and the Doctrine of Sin

Eggerich’s “Crazy Cycle” describes relational escalation when love and respect feel absent.

  • How does this dynamic reflect the broader biblical doctrine of sin as relational fracture (Gen. 3)?
  • In what ways does pride distort listening and self-giving communication?
  • How might a theology of repentance interrupt destructive communication cycles?

4. Sanctification Through Speech

Gary Thomas argues marriage is more about holiness than happiness.

  • How can communication function as a primary instrument of sanctification?
  • Reflect on James 1:19–20 and Ephesians 4:29. What spiritual disciplines are necessary for obedient speech?
  • How might difficult conversations serve as means of grace rather than merely problems to solve?

5. Identity in Christ and Shared Mission

Drawing from Keller and the Chans, marriage reflects the gospel and participates in mission.

  • How does shared identity “in Christ” stabilize communication when emotions fluctuate?
  • What practices (prayer, shared Scripture, missional engagement) tangibly reinforce covenant identity in daily dialogue?
  • How does a shared eternal vision recalibrate trivial conflicts?

Bibliography

Chapman, Gary. The 5 Love Languages: The Secret to Love That Lasts. Chicago: Northfield Publishing, 2015.

Chan, Francis, and Lisa Chan. You and Me Forever: Marriage in Light of Eternity. Colorado Springs: Claire Love Publishing, 2014.

Eggerichs, Emerson. Love & Respect: The Love She Most Desires; The Respect He Desperately Needs. Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2004.

Keller, Timothy, with Kathy Keller. The Meaning of Marriage: Facing the Complexities of Commitment with the Wisdom of God. New York: Dutton, 2011.

Thomas, Gary. Sacred Marriage: What If God Designed Marriage to Make Us Holy More Than to Make Us Happy? Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2000.

Gregoire, Sheila Wray. The Great Sex Rescue. Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 2021.

Wright, Christopher J. H. Old Testament Ethics for the People of God. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2004.

Block, Daniel I. “Marriage and Family in Ancient Israel.” In Marriage and Family in the Biblical World, edited by Ken M. Campbell, 33–102. Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2003.

The Church Hustle

How the church creates a treadmill that exhausts disciples instead of shepherding in peace


There’s a certain kind of Christian exhaustion that doesn’t come from the world, It comes from the church. Maybe you have experienced this. I have been a part of several church plants. The first one was in a local HS and was “church out of a truck.” It took 3 hours to setup and a couple hours to break down. It stole our best energy that should have been used for shepherding. I vowed to never do that again. Or maybe you started attending a church and wondered “what is next?” or tasked the staff “how do I get to know people deeper here?” and were answered with something to the shape of, “start serving!” At times the kingdom does require tribulation, toil, and simply work; but it shouldn’t send mixed messages with the primary pursuit of the church to shepherd.

I call it the church hustle.

It’s what happens when discipleship becomes a to-do list. When spiritual growth gets measured by the offering plate, perfect attendance, your service record, or how many books you’ve read or podcasts you have listened to and reported back to your pastor this year. Barna says this is the number one reason people don’t trust churches.1

It’s the creeping pressure that says: If I just try harder, God will finally be pleased with me.

have you experienced this feeling? A subtle uncertainty that your church wants more of your assets when you are just hoping to be shepherded? We rarely say it that plainly. But we’ve felt it.
The unspoken message: You’re not quite there yet… but maybe if you pray more, serve more, repent better, or climb the next ladder, you’ll get there. Is that the message the church is sending?


Richard Rohr (you might remember him from our liminal spaces post) recently named this dynamic with piercing clarity. He calls it “spiritual capitalism”, the belief that we can somehow earn our way to spiritual success.2 Spiritual Capitalism has shaped American churches, political movements, and personal financial strategies. It views free-market capitalism as divinely sanctioned and tells people that if they work hard, give enough, and believe enough, wealth and deeper spiritual alignment will follow.3

This kind of thinking is far from the texture of shepherding in the Bible. It creates a theology of pressure. A treadmill masked as discipleship and will burn out our body dynamics with things that have very little kingdom methodology.


We’ve spiritualized the very mindset Jesus came to free us from.4 We say we believe in grace, but we measure ourselves by performance. We don’t view grace as a reciprocal unending gift to be accepted and returned in the way we live out the love of Jesus. We talk about love, but we form people through fear.
We preach mercy, but we disciple for control.

Have you experienced this, pressure confused with passion, and metrics confused with maturity. I’ve seen people carry deep shame for not living up to standards God never asked them to meet and it is devastating to people’s spiritual identity and the mission of the church.

And even now, in a much healthier rhythm, I still catch myself slipping into hustle-mode, believing that if I don’t produce enough, lead well enough, or fix everything around me, I’m somehow less worthy.

NOTE: There is of course a need to live out Jesus in your gifts and that includes serving in a church context. We need that and we need it in a better context for shepherding and discipleship.


The life of Christ was many things, urgent at times, disruptive often. but never frenzied.5 He lived in a sacred sense of shalom. Never performative. Jesus didn’t hustle His way to holiness.6 He moved at the speed of Love.

When He invites us to “take my yoke upon you… and you will find rest for your souls,” He isn’t calling us to a hustle. He’s offering us a different kind of shepherding, one marked by humility, mercy, and presence. Follow this link for more on that kind of leading.

But so many churches, while preaching grace, disciple people in fear.

  • We build cultures where burnout is seen as faithfulness.
  • We equate spiritual growth with spiritual productivity.
  • We tell people God loves them… and then hand them a list to prove it.

No wonder people are walking away.


Rohr also names the damage done by misreading Matthew 5:48: “Be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” We turned that into a mandate for moral flawlessness instead of what it really is: a call to boundless love.7

Perfection, in Jesus’ language, isn’t about never messing up.
It’s about expanding love beyond what seems reasonable, even to enemies.
It’s about letting God’s perfection flow through us, not manufacturing it ourselves.8

But we turned it into a weight. And people carried it until they broke.

I don’t preach alot but here is a sermon on a better view of perfection.


If you’ve been hustling, hear me clearly:
You can stop.

You don’t have to climb your way into God’s love.
You don’t have to earn your way into grace.
You don’t have to be perfect to be held.

The church doesn’t need more hustlers.
It needs more people who are learning to rest in grace and be formed by love.

You can step off the treadmill.
You can fall into mercy.
You can breathe again.9


What Formation Could Be

Spiritual formation isn’t about spiritual accomplishment. It’s not about reaching a higher rung. It’s about becoming more open, more surrendered, more grounded in your belovedness. More transparent before God and those you are in covenant with.10

It looks like…

  • Slowing down enough to hear the voice of Love again.
  • Releasing shame-based religion for grace-centered transformation.
  • Letting prayer become presence, not performance.
  • Trusting that you are loved, not because you got it right, but because you belong to a God who is endlessly merciful.

  • Where have you felt pressure to perform spiritually?
  • How has the church hustle shaped your view of God, or yourself?
  • What would it look like to embrace a formation rooted in grace, not effort?
  • Where might Jesus be saying, “You can stop striving… and come rest”?

If you’ve been caught in the hustle, you’re not alone. And you’re not a failure. You’re tired. And grace is calling. Come down from the ladder. There’s nothing to prove. There’s only Love, waiting to catch you.

This Article was written by Dr. Will Ryan and Paul Dazet.

  1. https://www.barna.com/research/changing-state-of-the-church/ ↩︎
  2. https://discere.svbtle.com/spiritual-capitalism ↩︎
  3. https://relevantmagazine.com/current/oped19/why-so-many-christians-are-rethinking-capitalism/ ↩︎
  4. https://www.umc.org/en/content/reconstructing-burned-out-faith-with-brian-zahnd ↩︎
  5. https://rachaelstgermain.com/2019/05/22/christ-the-model-for-an-unhurried-and-undistracted-life/ ↩︎
  6. https://opentheo.org/i/6250996282790685099/the-life-and-teachings-of-christ ↩︎
  7. https://www.franciscanmedia.org/franciscan-spirit-blog/lent-with-richard-rohr-commandment-as-a-big-push-over-the-top/ ↩︎
  8. https://reknew.org/2012/05/how-the-imperfections-of-scripture-reveal-god-perfectly/ ↩︎
  9. https://ntwrightpage.com/2019/11/05/grace-changes-everything-the-way-we-boast/ ↩︎
  10. https://dwillard.org/resources/articles/spiritual-formation-what-it-is-and-how-it-is-done ↩︎