The Development of John’s Gospel

An Absolute Beginning

Compared to the other gospels, the beginning of John is most like Mark in that neither has a narrative of Jesus’s birth. While Mark draws readers back to Isaiah’s prophecy as “the beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, God’s Son” (Mark 1:1), John reaches farther back in the Old Testament, to the absolute beginning, compelling readers to recall the beginning words of Genesis: “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth” (Gen. 1:1). Like Moses’s ancient text, John’s Gospel begins not with creation but the absolute beginning, from before creation’s beginning. So, John situates his account concerning the Messiah neither geographically like Mark, beginning in the Judean wilderness in fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy, nor genealogically like Matthew and Luke, respectively tracing Jesus’ human descent from Abraham and back to Adam.

Literary Development and Structure

The literary structure of John’s Gospel reveals a carefully arranged work that differs markedly from the synoptic tradition (i.e., the other three gospels).^[1] Indeed, how the four Evangelists arranged their respective Gospels bears heavily on what each one communicates. Rather than following the chronological framework common to Matthew, Mark, and Luke, John organizes his material around a series of “signs” (miracles) and extended discourses that reveal Jesus’s identity and mission (though there is still chronological progression in the gospel). John’s structural development reflects his theological purpose without rendering chronological concerns irrelevant. Each section builds on the previous one, developing a crescendo that culminates in the passion narrative and resurrection account. Light is a dominant motif in John’s narrative and brackets the beginning and end: the prologue (John 1:1–18) serves as a literary-theological prelude, presenting the arrival of the Light. The epilogue is a literary-theological postlude, featuring a post-resurrection appearance of the Light, which graciously restores and commissions Peter, and subtly reprises themes and motifs from John’s Gospel that reinforce Jesus’s actions.

1. Matthew, Mark, and Luke are often called “synoptic” gospels because they tell the story of Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection in a similar way, or from a similar vantage point. The word synoptic comes from the Greek words syn (together) and optikos (visual, visible, or related to the act of seeing). Thus “synoptic” means seeing together or common perspective. John is typically contrasted with the synoptic gospels because he tells the Jesus story in a very unique way.

Many commentators have understood the Gospel’s structure as consisting of two major sections, which they identify as the Book of Signs (chapters 1–12) and the Book of Glory (chapters 13–21). Acknowledging these two large segments of the Gospel and recognizing that the beginning and ending serve vital roles as a prelude and a postlude, here is my broad outline of John’s Gospel.

1. A Prelude: The Light Dawns in the Darkness (John 1:1–18).
2. The Glory of Jesus Shines in Darkness through His Deeds and Words (John 1:19–12:50).
3. The Glory of Jesus Shines in Darkness through His Passion, Death, and Resurrection (John 13:1–20:31).
4. A Postlude: The Light Shines Forth (John 21:1–25).

The Book of Signs (parts I & II above) focuses on Jesus’s public ministry, featuring seven miraculous signs that point to his divine identity. Accompanying some of these signs are extensive theological discourses that interpret their meaning. The Book of Glory (parts III and IV) centers on Jesus’s final hours with his disciples, instructing them concerning his departure, featuring his crucifixion and resurrection, presenting these events as the ultimate revelation of God’s glory.^[2]

2. James Hamilton’s book, In the Beginning Was the Word: Finding Meaning in the Literary Structure of the Gospel of John (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 2025) presents an intriguing and provocative thesis that John structured his entire Gospel as a large chiasm with multiple sub–chiasms.

Historical Context, Dating, and Authorship

Authorship

Like each of the Synoptic Gospels, the Fourth Gospel is formally anonymous; the author does not explicitly identify himself. However, early witnesses overwhelmingly identify the Apostle John as the author. Critical scholars, including Richard Bauckham, argue against the Apostle John, the son of Zebedee, as the author of the Gospel of John.^[3] Despite this, for many reasons, including the early witnesses of church history, most evangelical scholars have contended that the Apostle John, brother of James, is the author.^[4]

3. Richard Bauckham, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2017, 562–71).

The Role of the Beloved Disciple

4. For a helpful discussion concerning the authorship of John’s Gospel, see D. A. Carson, The Gospel according to John (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1991), 68–81.

Within John’s Gospel is an inconspicuous but important character, the author who identifies himself as “the disciple whom Jesus loved,” who emerges only during the latter half of the Gospel (John 13:23; 19:26; 20:2; 21:7, 20). This unnamed disciple presents himself as an eyewitness source concerning the Gospel’s content and testimony (John 21:24). Within the narrative, he fulfills a crucial role, bearing testimony to Jesus’s ministry and establishing the Gospel’s authority and witness. It is therefore likely that this disciple is the author of the book, referring to himself in the third-person so as to establish the credibility of his eyewitness testimony. Moreover, it is clear this disciple is one of the twelve as only the twelve were at the last supper (cf. John 13:23; Matt. 26:21–22; Mark 14:17), and of the twelve John is most likely for a number of reasons.^[5] This disciple’s unobtrusive references to himself and his testimony contributed significantly to the Gospel’s reception as apostolic.

5. Once again, see Carson, The Gospel According to John, 71–80.

Historical Context and Dating

John wrote his gospel near the end of his life, sometime before the close of the first century (i.e., the century in which Jesus lived). While this claim used to be disputed by critical scholars, in 1934 a papyrus fragment (P52) from around A.D. 125 that contains a portion of John 18:31–33 and 18:37–19:1 was discovered, all but settling the question. Thus, we have both good biblical and historical reasons to accept the early Christian tradition that John, the son of Zebedee, wrote the Gospel, perhaps ten to fifteen years after the fall of Jerusalem, from Ephesus.^[6]

6. Some argue that the Gospel’s “silence” about the destruction of Jerusalem’s Temple indicates that its writing took place before A.D. 70, but this is a minority position.

The Central Message of John’s Gospel

The Purpose Statement

Near the end of his Gospel, John explicitly states the purpose for his writing: “Now these things were written that you might believe that the Christ, the Son of God, is Jesus, and that by believing you may have life in his name” (20:31; author’s translation). This statement summarizes the Gospel’s central message, revealing its dual focus on two questions: (1) Who is the Messiah? (Christology), and (2) What has Jesus, the Messiah, accomplished? (Eschatology). The Gospel’s message centers on the identity of Jesus as God’s Son who has come into the world to reveal the Father and bring eternal life to everyone who believes the message he reveals. This message is developed through a series of carefully curated narratives, discourses, and symbolic presentations that progressively reveal Jesus’s true nature and mission.

Incarnational Theology

At the heart of John’s message lies a profound incarnational theology. The prologue’s declaration that “the Word became flesh and tabernacled among us” (John 1:14)^[7] presents a profoundly full announcement, establishing the fundamental premise that governs the entire Gospel. Though Jesus is a great teacher and prophet, he is far greater. He is the eternal Word of God, God with us in a human body, revealing the Father to us. Yet, more than this, the Word, who took on human flesh, intercedes for us by interposing himself in his own body on our behalf as the Passover Lamb who delivers everyone to live eternally who looks to him.

7. The word “dwelt” (ESV) is the Greek word skēnoō, a verb which comes from the word for “tent” or “tabernacle.” Thus, John is intentionally saying that in Jesus, God dwells with us in a way that far exceeds his dwelling with ancient Israel in the tabernacle.

This incarnational message permeates every aspect of the Gospel’s presentation. Jesus’s signs are not simply miraculous works but revelatory acts that disclose his heavenly glory. His discourses are not merely teachings but divine self-revelations. His passion and death are not merely historical events but the revelation of the manner in which God loved the world (John 3:16).

The Gift of Eternal Life from Above

John’s Gospel consistently presents Jesus as the source of eternal life for everyone who trusts in him. This message is conveyed through numerous images, including Jesus as the bread of life (John 6:35), the living water (John 4:10; 7:38), the light of the world (John 8:12), the good shepherd (John 10:11), the resurrection and the life (John 11:25), the way, truth, and life (John 14:6), and the true vine (John 15:1). Each of these images contributes to the Gospel’s central message that by taking on human flesh, the Word brought eternal life from above to earth that everyone who believes in him will not be condemned but resides in Jesus and receives a quality of life that transcends physical death and connects believers to the eternal life of God. The Gospel presents eternal life not merely as quantitative (life that endures forever) but qualitative (life that partakes of God’s own life). This eternal life is already a present reality for all who now hear the voice of the Son of God (John 5:25), but not yet fully realized “for an hour is coming when all who are in the tombs will hear his voice and come out, those who have done good to the resurrection of life, and those who have done evil to the resurrection of judgment” (John 5:28–29).

Mission and Sending

John’s Gospel also features the theme of mission and sending. Just as the Father sent the Son into the world, Jesus sends his disciples into the world to continue his mission (John 20:21). This sending motif establishes a continuity between Jesus’s mission and the mission of the church, grounding Christian mission in the very nature and design of God’s covenantal, redemptive work in the Messiah.

Major Themes in John’s Gospel

Light and Darkness

Prominent among the themes in John’s Gospel is the cosmic conflict between light and darkness. At the outset of his Gospel, John introduces the Light-Darkness theme that spans the whole Gospel. This contrasting theme presents the Word as the Light that penetrated creation’s darkness on the first day, and now as the Light penetrating human darkness, antithetical to new creation in these latter days.

John introduces this contrasting theme early in the prelude: “And the Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness is not able to apprehend it” (John 1:5). This, the first of several uses of double entendre in the Gospel—“not able to apprehend it”—is an initial compactly summarized message of John’s Gospel: The Light reveals the Father, exposing the evil darkness of humans who refuse to welcome the Light with understanding, and thus wickedly endeavor to squelch and bury the Light—only to be thwarted and conquered when the Light bursts forth from his tomb.

Of course, the Light is another designation for the preincarnate Word, which becomes evident in the subsequent verses:

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to bear witness about the Light, that all might come to believe through him. He was not the Light but came to bear witness about the Light. The True Light, which gives light to everyone, was coming into the world. The Light was in the world, and the world was made through the Light, yet the world did not know the Light. The Light came to its own, and its own people did not receive the Light. (John 1:9–11; ESV, with purposeful edits for emphasis)

This light-darkness theme operates on multiple levels. Jesus as Light reveals truth about God and exposes the darkness of human sin and ignorance. Those who come to the Light receive life and truth, while those who reject the Light remain in darkness and death. This paired theme underscores the Gospel’s emphasis on the necessity of belief and the consequences of unbelief.

Belief and Unbelief

Belief and unbelief form another contrasting theme that spans John’s Gospel, portraying the fundamental response to Jesus’s revelation of the Father, reception or rejection. The Gospel presents belief not as mere intellectual assent but as a willful entrusting of oneself to Jesus, receiving eternal life, already transforming behavior in preparation for the resurrection unto life eternal (John 5:25–29). Various characters in the Gospel illustrate different responses to Jesus, from the immediate and undeveloped belief of the first disciples (John 1:35–51) to the persistent unbelief and antagonism of many Jews and their religious leaders (John 8:31–59). While John’s narrative presents Jesus as responding to “Jews who had believed in him” (John 8:31), the Evangelist makes it clear that there is a kind of “believing” that fails to lay hold of Jesus as the promised Messiah, thus, a belief to which he does not bequeath eternal life and which remains disobedient and becomes recalcitrant, confirming one’s condemnation (John 3:36).^[8] Thus, whether readers already believe or have yet come to believe, John’s Gospel appeals to all: “Now these things were written that you might believe that the Christ, the Son of God, is Jesus, and that by believing you may have life in his name” (John 20:31; author’s translation).

8. See A. B. Caneday, “God’s Incarnate Son as the Embodiment of Last Day Resurrection: Eternal Life as Justification in John’s Gospel,” SBJT 18.4 (2014): 67–88.

Glory

During Jesus’s last Passover, Greeks who were in Jerusalem approached Philip with the request, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus” (John 12:21). Jesus responded to this request by announcing, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified” (John 12:23). Glory forms a unifying theme throughout John’s Gospel. Unlike Matthew’s and Luke’s Gospels, where Jesus’s glory features at his future return, but like Mark’s Gospel, with greater development, John presents Jesus’s glory as revealed throughout his earthly ministry but reaching its climax in his death and resurrection. The Gospel’s distinctive perspective sees the cross not as a defeat but as the ultimate revelation of the Messiah’s divine glory. This theme unfolds throughout John’s Gospel as Jesus’s deeds and teachings glorify the Father, who, at the climax of his Son’s mission, glorifies the Son. This reciprocal relationship throughout the Gospel affirms the intimate unity between Father and Son indicated in the initial verse: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God . . .”

Revelation: Understanding vs. Misunderstanding

Embedded within Jesus’s announcement concerning his being glorified is another linked theme, “belief and unbelief,” a motif that pairs understanding versus misunderstanding as a theme in John’s Gospel. Because Jesus’s teachings, dramatic acts, and signs are masterful symbolic revelatory acts, their meanings do not lie cheaply on the surface. Everything Jesus taught, all his dramatic actions, and all his signs require understanding that comes through belief. For example, early in his Gospel, John makes the case that the disciples’ understanding of Jesus’s riddle in the Temple (“Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up” [John 2:19]) dawned on them only after the crucified Messiah’s resurrection. Likewise, the crowds of Jews at Passover misunderstood Jesus’s purposeful double entendre when he stated, “And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, will draw all people to myself” (John 12:32). They correctly understood “lifted up” to refer to being “lifted up on a Roman cross.” However, because they failed to apprehend the allusion to Isaiah’s prophecy, where both “lift up” and “glorify” occur together, Jesus’s hearers had no comprehension that his crucifixion would be integral to his exaltation.

Revealing and Concealing: My Hour Has Not Yet Come

The Word, who is in intimate relationship with the Father, now veiled in flesh, makes known the Father whom no one has ever seen except “he who descended from heaven” (John 1:14, 18; 3:13). From this derives the revealing and concealing theme that permeates John’s Gospel, with Jesus presented as the revealer of divine truth according to his Father’s appointed time. Hence, when his mother wants him to intercede after the wedding wine is depleted, Jesus’s statement, “My hour has not yet come” (John 2:4), hints that his turning water to wine is an immanent foreshadowing of the imminent revealing of his glory. He shrouds the revelation of his glory in signs, riddles, teaching, and dramatic prophetic actions, even hiding himself as acts of judgment, in the flesh, he imitates God’s hiddenness to dramatize divine judgment by concealment (John 12:36) until the full display of his glory is revealed when he dies as the Passover Lamb upon the cross (John 3:14; 8:28; 12:32–34; 19:31–37).

Thus, throughout his teachings, miraculous signs, and dramatic acts, Jesus fulfills the Old Testament Scriptures. He does this by replicating the revelatory giving of the prophetic Scriptures as he moves toward the climactic hour, escalating his conflict with religious authorities who zealously endeavor to protect Jerusalem’s Temple from Jesus who riddled, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up” (John 2:19). Integral to this escalation also are Jesus’s numerous “I am” sayings. We see this in John 6, where Jesus presents himself with the divine name, “I am.” He allays his disciples’ fright as he walked on the sea’s surface (John 6:20; also 8:24, 58; 13:19; 18:5, 6), and he completed the phrase “I am” by announcing he is the Original Manna (John 6:35), the Light of the world (that is, greater than the sun, in John 8:12), the Sheep’s Entrance (John 10:7, 9), the Good Shepherd (in contrast to Israel’s false shepherds, in John 10:11, 14), the Resurrection and Source of Life (John 11:25); the Way, the Truth, the Life (John 14:6); and the True Vine (meaning he is the Authentic Israel; see John 15:1, 5).^[9]

9. Caneday, “God’s Incarnate Son,” 71–75.

True and Truth

That Jesus says, “I am the True Bread” (John 6:35) and “I am the True Vine” (15:1, 5), prompts the need to mention two English cognates, the noun truth (alētheia) and the adjective true (alēthinos/alēthēs), which occur frequently in John’s Gospel.^[10] These uses of the adjective “true” follow its use in John 1:9, where “the True Light” does not contrast with “false light.” Rather, the Word is “veritable light” in contrast to the Baptist who “was not that light” but only bore witness to the light (John 1:9). John the Baptist was a mere earthly replica of the greater Light. Here, John’s use of “true” features the Word as the Original Light versus all other lights that are only copies. Likewise, manna was an earthly copy of the heavenly “True Bread” as Israel is an earthly copy of the “True Vine.” Thus, “True” features divine verity akin to “the exact imprint of the divine essence” as in Hebrews 1:3.

10. Truth (alētheia, 25 times) and true (alēthinos, nine times; alēthēs, 14 times).

Similarly, in John 1:17, where John states, “the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ,” his use of truth does not suggest that the Law Covenant was devoid of grace or truth (John 1:16). Rather, the Law Covenant foreshadowed the grace and truth that now come through Jesus Christ, who embodies “grace and truth.” Thus, the grace entailed in the Law Covenant mediated through Moses reached its fulfillment and replacement in the grace that came through Jesus Christ, “who is full of grace and truth” (John 1:14).

Love

Love also runs through John’s Gospel as a significant theological theme. Because the English word “so” is unclear, Christians mistakenly assume that John 3:16 speaks of the magnitude of God’s love for the world.^[11] Elsewhere, in 1 John 3:1, John speaks of this, but not in John 3:16. Here, his concern is to expound the manner of God’s love. Hence, he explains, “God loved the world in this manner, that he gave his only Son.”^[12] The giving of his Son is the expression of God’s love. Jesus’s love is the model for Christian love (John 13:34–35). This love is surely not devoid of emotion but is a willful act of self-sacrifice that seeks the good of the beloved. John’s treatment of love is both cosmic (God’s love for the world) and intimate (Jesus’s love for his friends). This theme reaches its culmination in Jesus’s voluntary laying down of his life for his friends, which the Gospel presents as the greatest expression of love (John 15:13).

Conclusion

The Gospel of John represents a remarkable achievement in early Christian literature, combining historical narrative with profound theological reflection and amazing literary genius. The Gospel’s numerous themes work together to create a distinctive and coherent theological presentation of the Messiah’s deity, presenting the Word who was with God as Jesus, the incarnate Word, “the Light” overcoming darkness, and “the Life” giving resurrection life already the acquitting verdict of the Last Day and the assurance of resurrection life to come. Distinctive among the Four Gospels, John’s Gospel’s escalating storyline, message, and themes climax with a purpose statement that invites readers to believe that the promised Messiah is none other than Jesus of Nazareth (John 20:30–31).

1. For a lengthier introduction to the Gospel of Luke, see Douglas S. Huffman, “The Gospel of Luke,” 80–101 in What the New Testament Authors Really Cared About: A Survey of Their Writings, ed. Kenneth Berding and Matt Williams, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Kregel, 2015).

Authorship & Date

All four of the canonical Gospels in our New Testament are technically anonymous. But all four have long traditions pertaining to their authorship, which eventually led to the addition of their eponymic titles. Since the second century, the Third Gospel has uniformly been attributed to Luke, as has the New Testament book called the Acts of the Apostles (this corpus of literature is regularly dubbed simply Luke–Acts). That the Third Gospel and Acts are written by the same person is clear enough from the coordination of their prefaces (Luke 1:1–4 and Acts 1:1–2) as well as their shared writing style and thematic interests. Furthermore, several passages in Acts indicate its author was accompanying the apostle Paul at those points in the story (see the “we” passages of Acts 16:10–17; 20:5–15; 21:1–18; 27:1–28:16). From Paul’s New Testament letters, we know a first-century man named Luke to have been a physician (Col. 4:14) who occasionally accompanied Paul as a “fellow worker” (Phlm. 24) in his missionary travels (2 Tim. 4:11). All this internal evidence lends credence to identifying Luke as the author of Luke–Acts.

Four lines of external evidence are more overt in supporting Luke’s authorship of Luke–Acts. First, in discussing the New Testament writings, a list of books called the Muratorian Canon dating to AD 170–80 attributes Luke–Acts to the man Luke. Two, among a second-century collection of introductory remarks prefaced to copies of the Gospels (perhaps comparable to introductions in modern study Bibles), the Anti–Marcionite Prologue to the Third Gospel descriptively names the author of Luke–Acts as Luke, a Syrian from Antioch, a physician by trade, a disciple of the apostles, and a follower of Paul. Third, by the third century traditional Gospel authorship appears to have been common enough to be represented in titles, and the oldest extant Greek manuscript of the Third Gospel, a papyrus codex called P⁷⁵ (a.k.a. the Bodmer Papyrus XIV–XV) and dating to AD 175–225, has the first known occurrence of the title “Gospel According to Luke.” Fourth, among the early church fathers, several have written works identifying Luke as author of Luke–Acts. These include Irenaeus (ca. AD 130–200), Clement of Alexandria (ca. AD 150–215), Tertullian (ca. AD 155–240), Origen (ca. AD 184–254), a book called The Teaching of the Apostles (ca. AD 230), Eusebius, bishop of Caesarea (ca. AD 260–340), Pamphilus of Caesarea (died AD 309), Epiphanius of Salamis (ca. 310/320–403), Chromatius, bishop of Aquilaeia (ca. AD 345–407), Jerome (ca. AD 347–420), John Chrysostom, bishop of Antioch (ca. AD 349–407), and a book entitled Apostolic Constitutions (ca. AD 375–380). In fact, in all of church history, there is no other name so universally associated with the authorship of Luke–Acts.

Thus, given the internal evidence and the abundance of external evidence, we have little reason to doubt the well-attested and rather unanimous early church tradition that identifies the author of both the Third Gospel and Acts to be Luke, the first-century physician and sometimes ministry companion of Paul.^[2] Since in several respects the Gospel of Luke seems dependent upon the wording and format of the Gospels of Matthew and Mark (these three are called the “Synoptic” Gospels because they “view together” the life of Jesus), it seems likely that Luke wrote after them, especially after the shorter and more rough Gospel of Mark. On the other hand, since Luke abruptly ends his second book with Paul under a two-year house arrest and with no mention of major happenings thereafter (e.g., Paul’s death, the Jewish revolt against Rome, the fall of Jerusalem, official Roman persecution of Christians, etc.), it seems likely that Luke wrote both Luke and Acts prior to AD 64. But precision on the issues of date and even authorship is not as important as understanding the message of the Gospel of Luke.

2. Luke’s ethnic background has been debated, but two observations from the text of Scripture convincingly suggest that Luke was a gentile. First, in Colossians 4:10–14 Paul lists for the moment Aristarchus, Mark, and Justus to be “the only men of the circumcision among my fellow workers” (Col. 4:10–11) and then goes on to add the names of the presumably non-Jewish men Epaphras, Luke, and Demas as also being with him (Col. 4:12–14). Second, in recounting the demise of Judas Iscariot in Acts 1:18–19, Luke gives the Semitic name of the place, remarking it is “in their own language,” that is, the language of the Jews and not his ethnical language.

Purpose & Outline for the Gospel of Luke

At the beginning of his Gospel, in Luke 1:1–4, Luke communicates clearly about his purpose for writing. Desiring “to compile a narrative of the things that have been accomplished among us” (Luke 1:1), our author collected information from sources such as “those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and ministers of the word” (Luke 1:2). Well researched, “having followed all things closely for some time past” (Luke 1:3), Luke set out “to write an orderly account” (Luke 1:3, where “orderly” means “organized and intentional”) so that his readers “may have certainty concerning the things you have been taught” (Luke 1:4). Luke may also have had other intentions for his writing (e.g., historical, biographical, doctrinal, paradigmatic, mediational, apologetical, evangelistic, and even entertainment), but he is clear from the beginning that he wants to confirm for his readers the truth of faith in Jesus Christ.

While variating in some details, nearly all suggested outlines for Luke’s Gospel acknowledge that the book is divided into two parts, with Luke 9:51 clearly marking the midpoint. The story takes a turn there with reference to how Luke (alone among the Gospels!) will conclude his book with an account of Jesus’s ascension: “When the days drew near for him to be taken up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem.” Up until this midpoint, Luke has focused on the unique identity of Jesus, sharing stories and information that emphasize Jesus’s unique birth (Luke 1:5–2:52), his unique qualifications for ministry (Luke 3:1–4:14), and his unique power and authority (Luke 4:15–9:50). After Luke 9:51, Luke focuses on the mission of Jesus to bring God’s salvation to humankind, sharing stories that emphasize reordered priorities for following Jesus (Luke 9:51–19:27), narrating the events that led to Jesus’s sacrificial death (19:28–23:56), and celebrating Jesus’s resurrection and ascension (Luke 24:1–53).

A. The Man: Jesus’s Unique Identity

•     1. Preface: Luke’s Purpose for Writing (Luke 1:1–4)
•     2. Infancy Narratives: Jesus’s Unique Birth (Luke 1:5–2:52)
•     3. Preparation for Ministry: Jesus’s Unique Qualifications (Luke 3:1–4:14)
•     4. Early Ministry: Jesus’s Unique Power and Authority (Luke 4:15–9:50)

B. The Mission: Bringing God’s Salvation

•     1. Travel Narrative: Reordered Priorities for Following Jesus (Luke 9:51–19:27)
•     2. Jesus in Jerusalem: Conflict (Luke 19:28–23:56)
•     3. The Resurrection & Ascension: Victory and Exaltation (Luke 24:1–53)

Most significant about this outline of Luke’s Gospel is that his confirmational intention is apparent in the orderly structure of his narrative. For example, more than the other Gospels, Luke includes in the first half of his account more stories about people asking questions about Jesus’s identity (see Luke 5:21; 7:19–20; 7:49; 8:25; 9:9; 9:18–20). These stories of inquiry about Jesus’s identity are enclosed between two accounts where the definitive answer is given by a voice from heaven: “You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased” (Luke 3:22) and “This is my Son, my Chosen One; listen to him!” (Luke 9:35). Consequently, by the time Luke’s readers get to the turning point of the Gospel, they should know Jesus’s unique identity as the Son of God, the Messiah, the one to follow.

Then immediately after the turning point of Luke 9:51, unlike the other Gospel writers, Luke makes much of Jesus’s final journey to Jerusalem, the city where Jesus will accomplish his mission. This travel narrative of Luke 9:51–19:27 is filled with parables—most of them found only in Luke—where Jesus challenges his followers regarding their priorities in life. This section begins with an overview about reordered priorities for following Jesus regarding material values (Luke 9:57–58), schedules (Luke 9:59–60), and one’s focus of attention (Luke 9:61–62). So, while Jesus is literally traveling, Luke recounts Jesus’s instructions regarding what it means to travel with Jesus in all of life.

Like the other Gospels, Luke recounts the conflicts Jesus had in Jerusalem which culminated in his death on the cross for our sins, a death he knew was coming (see Luke 9:22; 43–45; 18:31–33; cf. 5:35; 9:31; 12:50; 20:9–19) and would willingly undergo to establish “the new covenant in my blood” (Luke 22:20). And like the other Gospels, Luke gives evidence of Jesus’s victory over sin by reporting his resurrection and triumph over death. But Luke alone among the Gospels recounts Jesus’s ascension. Indeed, while other New Testament writers mention the fact (and/or results) of the ascension (e.g., John 6:62; 20:17; Rom. 8:34; Eph. 1:20–22; 4:7–13; Phil. 2:9–11; Col. 3:1; 1 Tim. 3:16; Heb. 1:3; 4:14; 8:1–6; 9:24; 10:12; 12:2; 1 Peter 3:21–22), Luke is the only one to actually narrate the event itself, and he does so twice (Luke 24:50–53 and Acts 1:9–11). Jesus’s ascended exaltation is significant to Luke’s view of Jesus as Savior. Jesus is the resurrected Lord who is exalted to the right hand of God the Father. 

Luke’s Own Summary

Luke’s two books are the longest in, and together comprise more than twenty-five percent of, the New Testament.^[3] Nevertheless, Luke’s large contribution to Scripture can be summarized very quickly; in fact, he does so himself using words spoken by Jesus.^[4] This occurs in Luke 24:46–47, at the end of the Gospel of Luke and immediately before the book of Acts, right at the hinge point of Luke’s two volumes. We have here a summary of the message of the Gospel of Luke when Jesus says, “Thus it is written, that the Christ should suffer and on the third day rise from the dead” (Luke 24:46), which is followed immediately by a summary of the message of the book of Acts as Jesus continues, “and that repentance for the forgiveness of sins should be proclaimed in his name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem” (Luke 24:47). So it is that this one sentence encapsulates the view of Jesus that Luke presents in a quarter of the New Testament.

Speech act theory maintains that every communication between people consists of three aspects:

1. a locution, the content of the communication
   
2. an illocution, the type of communication (assertion, command, promise, declaration, exclamation, warning)
   
3. a perlocution, the anticipated response or desired effect of the communication

Specifically, with a focus on illocutions and perlocutions:

• for an assertion, the expected perlocution is acknowledgment or belief; for example, the proper response to the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed’s assertion that the Holy Spirit is to be worshiped and glorified together with the Father and the Son, is to worship the Holy Spirit
  
• for a command, the intended perlocution is obedience; for example, the right application to Paul’s imperative “be filled with the Spirit” is to obediently adopt a posture of yieldedness to the Holy Spirit
  
• for a promise, the projected perlocution is trust; for example, to the Jesus’s promise that “the Holy Spirit will be with you forever,” the correct reaction is the lessening of anxiety or fear that the Spirit will somehow abandon us when we grieve him and an increase in faith in his ongoing presence in our life
  
• for a declaration, the perlocution is a new state of affairs; for example, when an officiant at a wedding proclaims “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the result is a new state of affairs: that man and that woman are now legally and covenantally husband and wife (the declaration makes it so)
  
• for an exclamation, the awaited perlocution is joy or fear; for example, to the cry “Jesus Christ is coming again!”, the proper response for believers is exceeding delight, yet for unbelievers, is intense dread
  
• for a warning, the anticipated perlocution is action or avoidance; for example, when my wife alerts me “there’s a snake in the grass” of our front yard, I either avoid going outside or, more likely, I grab the shovel from our garage and chop its head off

Diagrammatically:

Three key points arise from speech act theory: 

1. God does things with his words: God himself is the agent who communicates through his Word, and God does more than just state things. “Accordingly, speech act theory emphasizes the divine agency associated with the many-faceted utterances of Scripture: God himself is the agent who communicates through his Word, and God does more than merely state things, that is, make propositional statements.”^[4] As Timothy Ward underscores, “the words of the Bible are a significant aspect of God’s action in the world.”^[5]
   
2. The Holy Spirit is especially associated with the perlocutionary aspect of a divine speech act.^[6] Through his ministry of illumination, “the Spirit plays a particularly crucial role in helping the hearers/readers of Scripture to understand it correctly and to respond rightly to God’s Word. The Spirit stirs up obedience to its commands, ignites faith in its promises, prompts a sense of dread to its warnings, and the like.”^[7]
   
3. By viewing Scripture through the lens of divine speech acts, the church should give attention to the following: “Through his speech act the triune God savingly engages his people through assertions, commands, promises, exclamations, declarations, and warnings, and their response must be fitting to this inscripturated trinitarian communication.”^[8]

Thus, speech act theory is not just a philosophical framework applied to Scripture; it can be practical in application. For example, for those who preach/teach/counsel/disciple, the two above points should undergird their sermons/teachings/counseling sessions/lessons. Preachers/teachers/ counselors/mentors are not merely making assertions, communicating information, telling some facts; but the Spirit speaking through Scripture as they preach/teach/counsel/disciple is promising, commanding, warning, and the like.

Moreover, the illocutionary aspect of sermons/teachings/counseling sessions/lessons should mirror the illocutionary aspect of the text being preached: as Scripture promises, commands, or warns, so should sermons/teachings/counseling sessions/lessons promise, command, or warn the congregation.

Finally, as Christians preach/teach/counsel/disciple, they should depend on the Holy Spirit to (1) ignite faith as the proper perlocutionary response to a promise, (2) prompt obedience as the proper perlocutionary response to a command, and (3) stimulate fleeing from danger as the proper perlocutionary response to a warning.

1. G. K. Chesterton,“Humor,” The Spice of Life and Other Essays, edited by Dorothy Collins (Beaconsfield, UK: Darwen Finlayson, 1964).

I want to interrogate that word “sparingly.” What falls in that bucket? What guardrails did the older saints erect to protect their use of this sword? Most importantly, how would God have us wield satire? I’ve argued elsewhere that satire is a thoroughly biblical category, so what prudential principles does the Bible provide for its use?

I aim to move toward answering those questions with ten biblical principles, but before getting there, we need to answer a preliminary question: What is satire?^[2]

2. Update: As noted in the podcast introduction to this Longform, this month seeks to engage last year’s dust up related to the Christian use of satiric speech, along with all the ways that Christians are called to speak words that please our Lord. Notably, in the same paragraph that Kevin DeYoung questions satire in his critique of Doug Wilson, he commends the use of “good satire.” Employing good satire, as one of many good words, is the aim of this month and this essay. We pray this piece will move the ball forward in that discussion. (The COA Editors)

Subversive Persuasion

We begin by coming to terms. Satire is an overarching category of what Os Guinness calls “subversive persuasion,”^[3] which includes ridicule, mockery, taunting, oversimplification, and hyperbole. The category resists tidy delineation. However, Leland Ryken’s definition is widely accepted (at least in Christian literature). He defines satire as “the exposure of human vice or folly through rebuke or ridicule.”^[4]

According to Ryken, satire has four components. 1) Satire is aimed at a specific target, thus involving a certain degree of specificity. 2) Satire leverages a medium, whether a whole narrative, a parable, or a single metaphor (e.g., “cows of Bashan” [Amos 4:1]). 3) The medium conveys a satiric tone, communicating the author’s critical attitude toward the target. Broadly speaking, the tone may either wield laughter (humor) or the lash (bite/anger) against the target. 4) Whichever tone is taken, satire always assumes a norm. Satire’s ability to expose incongruities requires a standard to measure against.

In his book-length exploration of satire, Terry Lindvall singles out two further characteristics of Christian satire.^[5] First, satire (generally) attacks with the hope of healing. Lindvall proposes, “The heart of true satire is recognition of a moral discrepancy between what is proclaimed and what is practiced, often with an attempt to remedy it.” Second, although not always funny, satire leverages wit and humor to elicit “recognition of the ridiculous.” Only by wedding these two aspects—moral concern and wit—can satire blossom into a “redemptive art.” Lindvall concludes, “At its best, Christian satire combines laughter and a vision of reform.”^[6]

Finally, holy satire serves as “a form of rebuke and admonition, deployed to correct and reprove someone when they’re headed down a sinful or foolish path.” Joe Rigney points out that this kind of language operates on a dimmer switch to fit the situation and the sin, increasing in intensity from playful ribaldry to prophetic upbraiding.

In sum, satire is a form of subversive persuasion that aims to expose the folly of sin in hopes of reform. Now, we can return to DeYoung’s concern—namely, what biblical principles protect holy satire from unraveling into petty squabbling, sarcastic comebacks, and playground name-calling?

How Then Shall We Mock?

I propose the following ten principles as good and godly guardrails for satirical language:

1. Holy satire burns with love.
2. Holy satire seriously hates sin (and laughs at it).
3. Holy satire imitates the saints.
4. Holy satire channels Chesterton.
5. Holy satire should be practiced in thick, Christian community.
6. Holy satire celebrates God’s revealed will as the Norm.
7. Holy satire may confront for the sake of onlookers.
8. Holy satire answers a fool—and doesn’t.
9. Holy satire resists being steered.
10. Holy satire is a late-game strategy (normally).

While certainly not exhaustive or final, these principles move toward a synthesis of what, by good and necessary consequence, may be deduced from Scripture, along with what sober-minded saints have taught regarding holy satire. When fenced within these prudential boundaries, mocking is (most likely) holy and pleasing to God.

1. Holy satire burns with love.

Holy satire blazes forth from the furnace of love. Sadly, the greatest misunderstandings arise just here. Modernity asserts that satirical language is unloving and, therefore, unbecoming of winsome Christians. However, this objection springs from a truncated vision of love. So, what love fuels holy satire?

First, love for God. The Christian’s primary allegiance belongs to the triune God. His goodness, truth, and beauty are the Christian’s deepest delight. Therefore, love for God should dominate, dictate, and motivate all Christian words and deeds—including holy satire. This joy in all that God is animates a passion to defend his name. Thus, Jesus, who alone has loved God perfectly, was consumed with zeal for the place where God’s name resided, and thus he relentlessly satirized the hypocrisy that makes light of God’s holiness (see Matthew 23). The same fiery love moves the prophets and inspires godly rebuke (Titus 1:9–13). Love for God manifests in righteous zeal and happily fights to defend the Loved.^[7]

7. Wilson’s “The Satire of Jesus” is a helpful chapter on this subject (A Serrated Edge, (Moscow, ID: Cannon Press, 2003).

Second, love for others. Love for others is not sentimental kindness. It is an unflinching determination to do good to others, whether they see such action as loving or not. Indeed, as John Piper has argued, loving others aims to help them to see and savor the greatest of those goods—the triune God. Love’s chief end for men is the chief end of man: to glorify God by enjoying him forever.^[8] Love will settle for nothing less. C.S. Lewis shatters the modern illusion of love as mere kindness or tolerance. He explains,

8. See John Piper’s revision of the Westminster Shorter Catechism’s first question in Desiring God (Multnomah Publishing: Sisters, OR, 2003), 18, 28, 31, passim.

Love, in its own nature, demands the perfecting of the beloved; the mere “kindness” which tolerates anything except suffering in its object is, in that respect, at the opposite pole of Love . . . Love is more sensitive than hatred itself to every blemish in the beloved . . . Of all powers he forgives most, but he condones least; he is pleased with little, but demands all.^[9]

9. C.S. Lewis, The Problem of Pain (Broadway, New York: HarperCollins, 2001), 38–39.

This is the kind of love for others that compels holy satire. By exposing the absurdity of sin, holy satire aims at “perfecting the beloved.”

Thus, satire does not finally seek to demolish but to edify. “Holy mockery seeks to edify others by exposing rebellion for the folly that it is.”^[10] Satire spares not the rod because hard hearts may need to be bruised and broken before mending. It cuts to heal (cf. Hos. 6:2–3). “In afflicting the sinner, satire works as a scourge of God, purifying the soul through a kind of comic mortification.”^[11] If we take Jesus as an example, sometimes the most loving thing to do is call someone a whitewashed tomb (Matt. 23:27).

Men of other ages understood this connection between love and satire. Augustine explains, “Charity may sometimes oblige us to ridicule the errors of men, that they may be induced to laugh at them in their turn, and renounce them.”^[12] In the same vein, Pascal contends, “The spirit of charity prompts us to cherish in the heart a desire for the salvation of those against whom we dispute, and to address our prayers to God while we direct our accusations to men.”^[13] Thus, all Christian satire, worthy of that name, is moved by love for others grounded in love for God. It springs up from a white-hot celebration of the gospel and a will for the good. It begets hope mothered by mockery.

In sum, Chesterton was spot on when he observed that only a man who truly loves a thing will tear it down to build it better. “Before any cosmic act of reform, we must have a cosmic oath of allegiance.” After all, “Love is not blind . . . Love is bound”—bound to work from love of the Good for the good of the loved.^[14] This is the kindling of all holy satire.

14. G. K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy, Centennial edition (Nashville, TN: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2016), 66.

2. Holy satire seriously hates sin (and laughs at it).

This point serves as a corollary to the previous one. If you kneel in awestruck adoration of God, you will hate evil (Prov. 8:14). Pascal put it this way: “It were impiety . . . to be wanting in contempt for the falsities which the spirit of man opposes to [the truth of God].”^[15] In other words, those who fail to treat sin and folly with contempt display a poverty of love for the good, true, and beautiful.

15. Pascal, “Letter IX,” 168.

Holy satire articulates that contempt with wit and verve. Because satire thrives on revealing incongruities, “Satire is particularly suited to exposing the silliness of sin.” Rigney even includes this contempt of sin in his definition of satire as “an appeal to reality over against the absurdities of sin and rebellion.”^[16]

16. Rigney, “On Satire”

Now, some may ask: Won’t laughter lead to levity in our view of sin? Not necessarily. The seriousness of sin sometimes demands we laugh at it. The Bible everywhere assumes that sin is deadly serious and yet often mocks it. Why? Laugher allows us to recognize sin for the utter folly that it is, instead of elevating it with the kind of respectability and approval the world demands (Rom. 1:32). “There are many things which deserve refutation in such a [mocking] way as to have no gravity expended on them,” explains Tertullian. “Vain and silly topics are met with special fitness by laughter. The truth may indulge in ridicule, because it is jubilant. . . . wherever its mirth is decent, there it is a duty to indulge it.”^[17] Treating some sin and error respectfully cedes ground the Bible calls Christians to defend. We should, like our God, hate rebellion against him enough to mock it (Ps. 2:4).^[18]

After all, laughter not only reveals the depths of our hearts—what tickles our fancy—but it also catechizes our loves and hates. My family makes it a habit to mock the evolutionary propaganda that saturates most nature documentaries for just this purpose. It teaches my kids not to take the modern myth seriously. Augustine encourages a similar lambasting of heresies: “Laugh at these things, while pitying them, to show their falsehood and absurdity.”^[19] The world implicitly understands the power a chuckle can have, leading Rigney to ask, “Could it be that one of the ways that the world advances its rebellion, its blasphemy and heresy, is by teaching us what to laugh at and by demanding that we take its folly seriously?” Holy satire refuses to take the cue and creates its own laugh track.

19. Augustine, “Reply to Faustus the Manichaean,” in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Series 1, Vol. IV. Book XV, Chapter 4.

To summarize the first two points, holy satire grows out of ordered loves. The tongue that wields it must be fine-tuned to delight in God and detest evil.

3. Holy satire imitates the saints.

Contrary to the romantic illusion of individualism, Scripture commands imitation. Imitate the prophets “who spoke in the name of the Lord” (Jas. 5:10). Imitate Jesus, whose practice of holy satire left his lips sinless (1 Pet. 2:21–22). Imitate Paul, who imitated Jesus (1 Cor. 11:1). Strikingly, in Philippians 3:17, Paul brackets his call to hierarchical mimesis with satirical language, naming the Judaizers dogs and appetite-worshippers (Phil. 3:2, 19).

Pascal catalogs the satire of the church fathers and concludes that they were those “who, having been the imitators of the apostles, ought to be imitated by the faithful in all time coming . . . They are the true models for Christians, even of the present day.”^[20] Thus, the prophets mocked, Jesus mocked, Paul mocked, ancient saints mocked, and modern Christians should imitate them. That Christians will imitate imperfectly in no way negates the command any more than imperfect obedience vitiates any command.

20. Pascal, “Letter IX,” 171–72.

It would be appropriate here to look at one of the texts often leveled against satire. In Ephesians 4–5, Paul provides several principles of godly speech. Christians should speak truth to neighbors (Eph. 4:25) and avoid corrupting talk, clamor, slander, malice, filthiness, foolish talk, and crude joking (Eph. 4:29, 31; 5:4). Christian words should edify, fit the occasion, mediate grace to the hearer, and overflow from a grateful heart (Eph. 4:29; 5:4).

On a cursory reading, Paul’s manifesto of godly speech may seem to prohibit satire. However, there are several reasons to assume he does not intend that. First, Paul himself used satire and called Christians to imitate him. Whatever Paul means in Ephesians 4–5, his habits of speech elsewhere exemplify, and do not contradict,his intention. Second, Paul bids the Ephesians to “not grieve the Holy Spirit” with their speech. Put positively, let the Spirit inspire your speech. Yet, the Spirit sometimes inspires saints to employ insults, hyperbole, and satire (Acts 13:9–10). Therefore, some subversive words do not grieve the Spirit. Finally, right in the middle of this exhortation, Paul says, “Be imitators of God” (Eph. 5:1) and walk in love as Christ did. But of course, Christ judiciously employed holy satire, and he did so in love. If we are to imitate Christ, who used satire, then Paul cannot categorically prohibit satire here. To riff on Lewis, it’s no good trying to be nicer than God.^[21] He approves of satire. He invented it.

21. C. S. Lewis originally (and rightly) said, “There is no good trying to be more spiritual than God.” See Mere Christianity (San Francisco: HarperCollins), 64.

In sum, holy satire is mimetic. Looking to the saints, steeped in Scripture and Christian tradition, the sanctified satirist loves what God loves, hates what God hates, laughs at what God laughs at, and mocks what God mocks.

4. Holy Satire should be practiced in thick, Christian community.

John Donne, a skilled poet-pastor-satirist, knew that no man is an island. The satirist must be planted in thick, fruitful fellowship with other saints in the church. Why? First and most importantly, mature, Bible-saturated saints must hold him rigorously accountable for his words. He must know how to submit to those wiser than him (Eph. 5:21), know how to let love cover a multitude of sins without bearing arms (1 Pet. 4:8), and, because his mimetic efforts will always be imperfect, he must know how to repent and seek reconciliation without delay. Mature believers act as a healthy immune system, keeping serrated language from becoming diseased.

Second, holy satire is properly a whole-body affair. Not everyone is called to be an Ezekiel (few probably are). Although God kept 7,000 men from bowing to Ba’al, only Elijah (it seems) publicly mocked him (Rom. 11:3–4). Only when each part is working properly—both the sharp tongue and the hand that covers it—will the body grow and thrive (Eph. 4:16). Douglas Jones says it well: “Different parts of the body create different things, some swinging at idols, more showing hospitality, creativity, and robust laughter.”^[22] If the body is healthy, a kind of non-anxious playfulness will characterize the whole, lending itself to the shades of serious joy Jones commends.

22. Douglas Jones, “Appendix: Seductive Disrespect,” in A Serrated Edge: A Brief Defense of Biblical Satire and Trinitarian Skylarking, by Douglas Wilson (Moscow, ID: Canon Press, 2003), 108.

Third, holy satire must grow out of distinctly Christian culture. Jones explains, “Violating the tyrannical decencies of a prevailing idolatry . . . [is] a glorious, sometimes hilarious, negativity, but it has to ride on a deeper, constructive seduction of truth, beauty, and goodness.”^[23] Holy satire must have a godly culture to protect and, more importantly, celebrate, which can only be cultivated by a community of faithful Christian subcreators. The Church militant defends the Church creative.

23. Jones, “Appendix.”

It’s worth noting here that holy satire cannot be in love with quarreling. Although saints must be skilled at correcting opponents, they must not be quarrelsome (2 Tim. 2:24). Hair-pin triggers are a design flaw in satirists. Moreover, the saints must not love to watch quarrels. They must not be rubberneckers. As Virgil warns Dante, “It’s vulgar to enjoy that kind of thing.”^[24] Eagerness to see or start tiffs and rows will render mockery rancid.^[25]

5. Holy satire channels Chesterton.

In conjuring Chesterton, I’m trying to capture two realities that characterize holy satire. First and positively, this kind of speech must overflow from a happy, grateful heart—a heart like Chesterton’s bursting at the seams with thankfulness to God.

Paul presents this Godward joy as the remedy for rotten speech. “Let there be no filthiness nor foolish talk nor crude joking . . . but instead let there be thanksgiving” (Eph. 5:4). Like a mountain brook, the heart running with gratitude—joy in the goodwill of the Giver—cannot produce the sludge of poisonous speech. That kind of language (which is not the same as holy satire) reveals a withered heart, bereft of gratitude. Thanksgiving is the antidote for ugly speech.

Chesterton perfectly modeled this. His satire cut like a razor but was never ugly. His ridicule was big because his love was big. Only a heart like his, happy in God and humbled by grace, can use satire safely without devolving into the kind of sullied talk that Paul condemns.

Practically then, this positive feature of satire should lead would-be satirists to spend more time in a posture of wonder before God’s lavish goodness, enjoying him and cultivating thanksgiving, instead of hunting for enemies of the faith to dismantle. Ironically, holy mockery in service to God must first be deeply rooted in happy marveling at God. Without such awe and gratitude, the fruit of any speech—satirical or stately—will rot on the branch.

Second, and negatively, holy satire is not reactive. Just because a Christian has a quick wit does not mean he should be quick to the draw. Godly mockery responds with sober-minded intentionality—with stability of soul, clarity of vision, and willingness to act. It is not tossed to and fro by the winds of angst or anger. It never seeks revenge (Rom. 12:19).

Instead, like Chesterton, Christian ridicule is governed by reason and grounded in the sanity of God’s Word. Untethered passion cannot be trusted to control the dimmer switch of satire. When passions run the show, quarrels and bickering take the stage, not holy satire (Jas. 4:1). In fact, when the tongue runs on anger or envy or resentment, it is a flamethrower in a dry forest. Everything will burn (Jas. 3:1–11). Such is not holy satire. And anyone who wields the serrated edge in this way misunderstands the entire medium.

6. Holy satire celebrates God’s revealed will as the Norm.

Because satire must always reference a standard, the norm shapes the mockery. If there is no notion of sanity, vain is the effort to make sin look insane. If all is void, you cannot expose the works of darkness (Eph. 5:11). Many have noted that modern society has lost the art of satire largely because we have lost touch with any kind of assumed norm. Relativism renders satire impossible. I wonder if a similar sickness has subtly crept into the church. As God’s ways are less and less prized, as the world’s assumptions more and more shape us, satire becomes harder and harder to stomach.

Yet holy satire celebrates God’s triune nature as the standard of all goodness, truth, and beauty. And that nature is revealed most clearly in God’s word. Therefore, Scripture is the norma normans for all holy satire. This standard holds supreme in both the content and form of serrated rhetoric.

At its best, satire can “put something into a truer perspective” by exposing “the vast incongruity” between sin and the norm.^[26] For instance, Isaiah’s mockery of idolatry reveals the stunning stupidity of splitting half a log to burn in a bread oven while fashioning the other half into a god (Isa. 40; 44:9–20). In this sense, ridicule serves as a reality check. But to know reality, the godly satirist must be soaked in Scripture. He must not only understand the moral imperatives but also deeply love the indicatives from which they grow. In short, he must be wise.

26. Michael J. Ovey, “The Right to Ridicule?,” Themelios  37, no. 2 (July 2012): 182–84.

“The wise laugh at the foolish,” says Augustine, “because they are wise, not after their own wisdom, but after that divine wisdom.”^[27] This divine wisdom, this love of reality—of God’s norm—hedges in holy satire.

27. Quoted in Blaise Pascal, “Letter XI,” 170–71.

7. Holy satire may confront for the benefit of onlookers (or readers or listeners).

In Acts 13, Paul confronts Elymas because the magician was preventing Sergius Paulus from hearing the gospel. He was “making crooked the straight paths of the Lord” even as Paul tried to pave them. So Paul responded with less than winsome language, calling him a “son of the devil . . . full of deceit and villainy” (Acts 13:10). Here, Paul’s harsh language served as a trebuchet to knock down the walls Elymas erected against others hearing the truth. Similarly, when Jesus rained down his seven-fold woe on the Pharisees, he did so because they were slamming the gates of the kingdom shut in people’s faces. As sons of the devil, they neither wanted in nor would allow anyone else to enter (Matt. 23:13). Like grumpy children, if they couldn’t have their way, no one else would be happy either (Matt. 11:16–19). But Jesus would have none of it. He unsheathed his words to clear the gate.

Both Paul and Jesus wield holy satire to allow refugees from the world to escape from the antagonists of the gospel. “The main target needs to be those who know better.” The wise satirist must distinguish between the deceived and the deceiver. It is just here that the appeal to some kind of universal kindness falls flat. To be kind to the antagonists is to hate the refugees. To cater to wolves puts sheep on platters. In other words, undifferentiated kindness is an illusion. It is axiomatic: kindness to sheep means hostility to wolves, and kindness to wolves means hostility to sheep.

Two other corollaries belong under this heading. First, as public as the sin, thus the rebuke. So in general, when satire responds to folly, the mock should reach the same audience the folly affected. Public platforms should be reserved for public sins. Paul confronted Peter’s sin “before them all” because Peter’s sin concerned them all (Gal. 2:11–14). Understandably, a public rebuke may be awkward for the audience, as well as the intended recipient. But that is the point. Public satire aims to expose public error and protect others from falling into the trap.

Similarly, private satire befits private sin (mostly). As far as we know, Nathan’s satirical parable fell on David’s ears alone (2 Sam. 12:1–10). This is the principle of lex talionis applied to audience, and the relevance can hardly be overstated in this media age. A satirical rebuke on social media should not be the first time thousands have heard of the folly being responded to. You don’t confront a private sin with a megaphone.

Second, Paul’s rebuke of Peter (while not explicitly satirical) illustrates the principle that holy satire can be leveled in love at Christians participating in error, folly, or high-handed rebellion. Jesus’s satirical dismantling of the Pharisees, which was more or less an “in-house affair,” further corroborates this point. And the prophets almost exclusively leveled their most poetic mockery at God’s wayward people. After all, judgment begins with the household of God (1 Pet. 4:17), and holy satire is a God-appointed means of cleaning house.

8. Holy Satire answers a fool—and doesn’t.

Solomon exhorts the wise wielder of words both to answer a fool according to his folly and not to answer a fool according to his folly (Prov. 26:4–5). Presumably, Solomon knew the law of non-contradiction and so was not indulging in folly himself when he made these statements. He knew some fools should be pelted with pearls, but others would only muddy the jewels (Matt. 7:6). As the Preacher says elsewhere, there is a time for everything under the sun—a time to unleash satire that would make Isaiah proud and a time to be as silent as the tomb.

It takes prudence to parse what kind of folly is before you and what response it requires. Therefore, holy satire must be governed by biblical wisdom and wielded by saints with prudence who know their own proclivities. Of course, cultivating the skill of employing satire will include occasional missteps, requiring further qualifications, apologies, and forgiveness. But what part of growing in maturity does not? Satirical wit is, after all, a kind of spiritual wisdom, given by God to whom he will and honed by practice.

In general, then, holy satire should be a tool for mature Christians, not new converts. Mature mocking takes time and practice. The satirist must be well practiced on the lowest settings of the dimmer switch before turning it up. He needs to hone his godly instincts and satiric muscles jibing with friends, scoffing at the documentary Planet Earth’s proselytizing, and reading good practitioners of the art.

Godly satirists should be “men of some age and wisdom . . . not novices, firebrands, and zealots,”[28] because subversive language knows when to answer the fool and when not to. The dimmer switch needs a deft hand.

28. Wilson, Serrated Edge, 109.

9. Holy Satire resists being steered.

The sanctified satirist must have emotional stability and a clear conscience before God, who alone tests the heart (1 Thess. 2:3–4). He must fear God, so that he does not fear man. He must seek to please God, so that he does not submit to the yoke of pleasing man. Assuming the first eight principles are in play (especially the accountability of mature Christian friends), holy satire must be impervious to emotional blackmail, slander, and name-calling. Further, the godly satirist can be happy with that kind of sabotage “for so they persecuted the prophets” when they mocked (Matt. 5:11–12).

It follows that subversive persuasion should not (necessarily) avoid offense. Jesus himself gave offense and did so both knowingly and intentionally. After rebuking the Pharisees, his disciples ask him, “Did you know that the Pharisees were offended?” And Jesus, in essence, replies, “Why, yes I did,” and then doubles down on the offense. “Let them alone; they are blind guides” (Matt. 15:10–14). Jesus adds satire to the initial offense. Unsurprisingly, he was called ugly names as a result. Yet, Jesus refused to dance to the tune they played (Matt. 11:16–19). He loved too well to be steered.

From this, a principle arises: avoiding offense is a poor litmus test for holy satire. In fact, “Sometimes the central point in religious controversy is to give offense.”[29] Peace at any price is not courage but cowardice and leads inevitably to the tyranny of the easily offended. In the end, each will stand accountable to his Master—not the loudest or most fragile (Rom. 14:4).

29. Woolford, “The Use of Satire,” 27.

10. Holy Satire is a late-game strategy (normally).

In general, the pattern of Scripture shows that satire is not the first tool to reach for. A scalpel in skilled hands may prove a very effective instrument of healing, but rarely should it be the first remedy tried. And at times, it may be the last. Wilson warns,

“Sharp rebukes and the ridiculing of evil practices should seldom be the first approach one should make, but usually should follow only after the rejection of a soft word of reproach, or when dealing with hard-hearted obstinacy displayed over an extended period of time.[30]

30. Wilson, Serrated Edge, 109.

The dimmer switch increases with time and offense.

John Piper agrees: “Satire and irony are not going to be a Christian’s first or main strategy of correction with people.” Elsewhere, Piper emphasizes the need for holy tears to accompany hard words. Lamenting sin should precede lambasting it. Perhaps a good litmus test, then, as to whether the time has come to employ satire is: have you shed tears over the folly you are confronting? The biblical pattern, again and again, reveals that the serrated edge is whet with holy tears. Jeremiah wept, Isaiah wept, Paul wept, Jesus wept. Fitly mourning for sinners can prevent drawing the sword too quickly.

As a general principle, then, holy satire is a late-game strategy reserved for high-handed rebellion. It is a way to startle inattention, frighten indifference, shake the sinner sensible. To urge, “For God’s sake, will you not listen!”

Mock Well

In conclusion, satire is a form of subversive persuasion that seeks to expose the ludicrous nature of sin and folly. Scripture provides ample examples of this kind of rhetoric that the saints should seek to imitate. And God has not been sparing in providing principles to govern this holy weapon. May we mock well for the glory of the triune God and the good of others!

The problem here goes deeper than mere biblical literacy. In many Christian circles, there is an almost irrepressible impulse toward winsomeness—a dogged refusal to offend. As a result, any words, phrases, or tactics that are not governed by that unyielding ‘niceness’ are deemed to be unloving (where love is defined as a kind of universal kindness). At its worst, this imbalance is read back into Scripture, whitewashing any of the less-than-gentle bits.

However, if we let Scripture speak for itself, we find much to undermine the tyranny of winsomeness-at-any-cost. Even more, we may discover—to our surprise or discomfort—that the Author (and authors) of Scripture doesn’t shy away from holy mockery. Especially in the Prophets and when Jesus deals with recalcitrant sinners, we find that God often employs satire—, which might be defined as “the exposure of human vice or folly through rebuke or ridicule.”^[1] In fact, we see that Leland Ryken is right in saying, “The Bible is a thoroughly satiric book.”^[2]

In this brief essay, I want to provide a sampling of the spicy speech that we find scattered throughout God’s Word. A failure to recognize satire as a prominent biblical genre will hamstring our reading of Scripture and, as a result, it will leave our speech impoverished. We will flinch from saying, “Thus says the Lord,” if we don’t recognize that our Lord’s words often bear the serrated edge of satire.^[3]

3. Douglas Wilson popularized the term “serrated edge” as a description of the satirical language of Scripture in his book by the same title (A Serrated Edge: A Brief Defense of Biblical Satire and Trinitarian Skylarking, (Moscow, ID: Cannon Press, 2003)). I’m deeply indebted to Wilson’s assiduous attention to Scripture there and elsewhere. His insights laid the groundwork for this article and launched my thinking on how wise Christians should wield the serrated edge.

The Old Testament Bite

The Old Testament bristles with satire. The lowest hanging fruit may be Elijah mocking the prophets of Ba’al. He taunts: “Cry aloud, for he is a god. Either he is musing, or he is relieving himself, or he is on a journey, or perhaps he is asleep and must be awakened” (1 Ki. 18:27). This scathing sarcasm hardly needs comment, yet note that Elijah includes scatological language here—though cloaked in euphemism.^[4] These prophets believed Ba’al occupied one kind of throne; Elijah imagined him presiding over another.

4. “Scatalogical” should not be confused with eschatological. The former has to do with “potty language” (cf. Phil. 3:8); the latter has to do with the last things.

Or consider Jeremiah, who confronts the men of Judah in ways that might be deemed less than subtle. In Jeremiah 5:8 he calls them “well-fed, lusty stallions, each neighing for his neighbor’s wife.” Therefore, God will judge them for their “adulteries and neighings, [their] lewd whorings, on the hills in the field” (Jer. 13:26–27). Yes, more staid language was available to Jeremiah, but through the vehicle of satire, Jeremiah exposes Judah’s immoral ways as bestial, no better than horses in heat. He lays bare Judah’s pastoral perversions compared with God’s moral norm.

Amazingly, when Ezekiel confronts the same spiritual prostitution of God’s people with Egypt, he manages to make the metaphor even more explicit. Speaking of Jerusalem, he declares, “She lusted after their genitals—as large as those of donkeys” (Ezek. 23:19–20 NET). And in the extended parable of Ezekiel 16, the prophet presents Israel’s sin as akin to working a street corner: Israel “spread [her] legs to every passerby” (Ezek. 16:25 NET). The chapter is hard to read, and yes, every bit of it is the inspired, uncomfortably satiric word of God.

Isaiah also levels mockery at idolaters and their idols. He notes how hard the “god-smiths” have to work at their craft (Isa. 44:9–13). How great can a god be whose maker needs a lunchbreak so he won’t faint? And to cook that lunch, this needy creature takes the leftover wood from his newly-carved god to fuel a fire. Half becomes a deity, and half roasts his grain. Half the log he bows before, the other heats his beans. Isaiah does not let the irony pass silently. For, the folly deserves to be mocked: “Shall I fall down before a block of wood?” (Isa. 44:19). Elsewhere, Isaiah politely asks how an idol, which must be carried by beasts and propped up to stand, can deliver those who cry to it for help. It can’t even move independently, let alone bear others out of hardship (Isa. 46:1–7).

Terry Lindvall, in his work on religious satire, summarizes, “Hebrew prophets once assumed the mantle of holy mocking to uproot the brambles in God’s vineyard so that grapes might grow.”^[5] Perhaps Shakespeare got it backward when he said, “Jesters do oft prove prophets.”^[6]

Yet, satire in the Old Testament is not confined to the prophets. Job repeatedly ridicules his “comforters” as those who murder wisdom (Job 12:1). And Proverbs provides a fund of satiric word pictures. The sluggard is a creaky door, too lazy even to eat (Prov. 26:14; 19:24); a quarrelsome wife worse than Chinese water torture (Prov. 19:13); and a beautiful woman sans wisdom like putting lipstick on a hog (Prov. 11:22).

But this is all Old Testament. What about the New? Surely, the course speech of the prophets finds a reprieve in a mild-mannered Jesus, right? Far from it. To borrow Jesus’s own words: “Have you not read?” (Matt. 12:3, 5; 19:4; 22:31; Mark 12:10, 26; Luke 6:3)

New Covenant Continuity

When we actually read the New Testament, we find that our Lord and his apostles do not jettison this holy mockery. For example, in Acts 13, we are told explicitly that the Holy Spirit inspired the serrated tongue of Paul against the evil wizard Elymas. Paul, “filled with the Holy Spirit, looked intently at him and said, ‘You son of the devil, you enemy of all righteousness, full of all deceit and villainy, will you not stop making crooked the straight paths of the Lord?’” (Acts 13:9–10). Behold what Joe Rigney calls the “Spirit-inspired insult.” Here the fruit of the Spirit tastes like withering mockery, hyperbole, and a dash of ridicule.

Elsewhere, Paul affirms an insulting stereotype—“Cretans are always liars, evil beasts, lazy gluttons”—and then makes that stereotype the ground for godly rebuke. “Therefore rebuke them [the Cretans] sharply, that they may be sound in faith” (Ti. 1:12–13). Here is a Pauline imperative to employ subversive language to combat sin. Additionally, Paul uses language not fit for the dinner table. In fact, he chooses to use “a vulgar term for fecal matter” when he deems all things as “dung (skubalon)” compared with the super-surpassing beauty of Christ (Phil. 3:8; see the NET note). Paul apparently had no problem using a term for dog doo and the name of the Holy One of Israel in the same sentence if the image laden language helped his hearers to see how worthless religiosity is compared with God himself.

Perhaps most strikingly, Paul insists that men obsessed with circumcision might as well perform the whole amputation (Gal. 5:12)! In the very next verse, he demands that love dominate Christian conduct. So, unless Paul is a blatant hypocrite (which he’s not), his cutting insult does not violate the ethic of love, freedom, and harmony that immediately follows. Rather, if we simply apply the next two verses (Gal. 5:13–15) to Paul’s invitation to emasculation, he is actually obeying the law by loving these men enough to use the serrated edge to cut sin from their hearts, lest their penchant for circumcision lead to eternal damnation.

Holy mockery is not at odds with loving speech. Rather, sharp speech can be (and must be) employed with genuine love. As we will see, the God who is love also uses speech that cuts and condescends.

God Mocks

Finally, not only did God inspire satire, he himself mocks. When the rebels of the earth and their foolish kings form a conspiracy against God, he not only laughs, he “taunts them” (Ps. 2:4 NET).^[7] We see this same dynamic when divine wisdom laughs at the tempest of troubles that breaks upon fools and then mocks their distress (Prov. 1:26–27).

7. Cf. Ps. 37:12–13; 59:8; Prov. 19:4; Nah. 3:6

Fittingly, those who are “righteous,” men and women like God, join in the chorus of divine laughter. They “laugh” because they see the massive folly of sin: “See the man who would not make God his refuge, but trusted in the abundance of his riches and sought refuge in his own destruction!” (Ps. 52:5–7).

And Jesus, the righteous man, often used subversive language. Perhaps we too easily miss the sharp corners of his speech because we’ve toddler-proofed the whole affair so no one accidentally gets hurt. However, our Lord harbored no qualms about satirizing religious hypocrites, christening them a brood of vipers, sons of the devil, blind fools, whitewashed tombs, and more. Just take a moment to read Matthew 23. It’s a MasterClass in holy mockery. He even dubbed them traveling salesmen for hell (Matt. 23:15). Yet, Jesus’s favorite form of satire was the hyperbolic (and often humorous) exaggeration.^[8] He spoke of almsgiving heralded by parade, camels squeezing through spaces too small for an ant, unappeasable critics acting like spoiled children, and blind guides (Matt. 6:2; 19:24; 11:16–19; 15:14).

8. “If there is a single person within the pages of the Bible that we can consider to be a humorist, it is without doubt Jesus. . . . The most characteristic form of Jesus’ humor was the preposterous exaggeration” (Ryken, Dictionary of Biblical Imagery, 410).

Jesus regularly uses humor as a polemic tool to confront sin and folly. He illustrates the hypocrisy of his hearers by appealing to the ludicrous image of an eye surgeon operating to remove a bit of sawdust from his patient’s eye, all the while, keeping his head cocked to avoid bumping the table with the two-by-four imbedded in his own (Matt. 7:1–6). He lambasts ignorant leaders with the image of a blind tour guide at the Grand Canyon (Matt. 15:14). He ridicules selective obedience by comparing it to a man who strains the pulp out of his orange juice with tweezers and then drinks it down with gravel (Matt. 23:4). Jesus is blood earnest about the deadly seriousness of these sins, but that does not prevent him from rendering them ridiculous to expose their folly.

Examples of Jesus’s satiric wit and humor abound. Ryken summarizes, “Jesus was a master of wordplay, irony and satire, often with an element of humor intermixed.”^[9] The Word made flesh was, unsurprisingly, a master of the word in all its forms.

9. Ryken, Dictionary, 410.

Thoroughly Satiric

In short, subversive persuasion pervades Holy Writ. Even in this selective look at the Book, it should be clear that satire is a thoroughly biblical category. The prophets use it, the wise men use it, the apostles use it, and Jesus uses it. If we are careful readers, we cannot ignore the serrated edge of Scripture, lest we become like men who look in a mirror and go away unchanged.

As one theologian summarized the situation we find ourselves in perfectly: “Plenary verbal revelation requires that biblical style, as well as content, is inspired. Scripture’s inclusion of satire surely vindicates its prima facie legitimacy in Christian discourse.”^[10] If our speech ought to be Bible-saturated, we should seek to imitate not only the content we find in Scripture but the kinds of speech (including satire) and the proportions as well. So the question becomes, how then shall we mock?

10. Tom Woolford, “The Use of Satire in the Book of Isaiah and in Christian Ministry,” Foundations, no. 77 (Autumn 2019): 26.

An evil political authority wants to put an innocent king to death. This king knows that he will die, even though a close friend does not believe him. This king descends to a place marked by a stone, remains there, and on the morning of the third day he rises—to the weeping of one of his friends. After engaging with a disciple, the king rises further and departs from those he loves.

This may sound like something straight out of the Gospels, but in fact it comes from the left field of 1 Samuel 20, a chapter that recounts the historical events David’s life, while also pointing past David to describe the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, David’s greater son (Matt. 1:1). In this article, I’ll seek to demonstrate how 1 Samuel 20 is full of character types that find their ultimate fulfillment in Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection. But first a word about typology itself.

Typology

Tapestries are remarkable works of art. Oftentimes they depict pictures sewn with hundreds of individual threads. A particular thread can prominently protrude into the forefront of the tapestry, dive under the surface into obscurity, and then weave back into the forefront where the same color, texture, or pattern is repeated elsewhere in the canvas. Individual threads can crisscross the entire tapestry, providing a unity and cohesion to the final picture.

Typology is a lot like a tapestry. Typology weaves the Old and New Testaments together like so many colorful threads that connect the massive canvas of redemptive history. Properly defined, typology is “The study of analogical correspondences among revealed truths about persons, events, institutions, and other things within the historical framework of God’s special revelation, which, from a retrospective view, are of a prophetic nature and are escalated in their meaning.”^[1]

1. G. K. Beale, Handbook on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament: Exegesis and Interpretation (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2012), 14.

Thus, as we read our Old Testament, it’s right for us to discern that a thread we find in one book re-appears to find its terminus in the cross. In the grand tapestry of cosmic history, God is the weaver. And what we find in 1 Samuel is the entwine of a master artisan.

As others have shown,^[2] so many experiences in David’s life parallel Jesus’s life. Why would God weave a web like this? He did this in part so that when Jesus came, we would recognize that this Messiah is the one to whom all the threads connect. But how does Jesus fit in 1 Samuel 20? We turn our attention to this question now.

2. James M. Hamilton Jr., “The Typology of David’s Rise to Power: Messianic Patterns in the Book of Samuel,” SBTJ, no. 2 (2012): 4–25.

1 Samuel 20

By this point in the book of Samuel, King Saul is on the decline, and David is on the rise. David has defeated Goliath (1 Samuel 17), he has been anointed the future king by the prophet Samuel (1 Sam. 16:13), and Saul has already made two attempts on David’s life (1 Sam. 18:10–11; 19:9–10). It’s with this backdrop that David meets with his friend Jonathan, the heir to Saul’s throne. And it’s with this background in mind that we see so many parallels with persons and events from this chapter and persons and events surrounding Jesus’s ministry.

Jonathan and Peter

David knows that Saul wants to kill him, and so he communicates to Jonathan “there is but a step between me and death” (1 Sam. 20:3). Jonathan does not believe David, and he proclaims to him, “Far from it [Hebrew: ḥālı̂l]! You shall not die” (1 Sam. 20:2, emphasis added). In the New Testament, immediately after Jesus announces his imminent death, we read, “And Peter took [Jesus] aside and began to rebuke him, saying, ‘Far be it from you, Lord! This [=suffering and being killed] shall never happen to you’” (Matt. 16:22, emphasis added). The phrase “far be it from you” is one word in Greek (hileōs), it’s rare in the New Testament (only here and Heb. 8:12), and it’s used in this setting because it sounds similar to the Hebrew word ḥālı̂l—the very word that Jonathan used.^[3] Matthew’s record of Peter’s rare use of this word recalls 1 Samuel 20:3, and we see in both instances that friends of the Davidic king disbelieve his impending death.^[4]

Saul and the Pharisees

David concocts a plan: David will skip the new moon festival he is expected to attend, and he will instead hide beside “a stone heap” (1 Sam. 20:19). David instructs Jonathan to tell Saul, “David earnestly asked leave of me to run to Bethlehem his city, for there is a yearly sacrifice there for all the clan’” (1 Sam. 20:6). Jonathan would discern from Saul’s reaction whether or not his father intended to kill David, and then Jonathan would bring word to David.

So David hides himself, and three times the text lingers on how David’s place/seat at the festival is “empty” (1 Sam. 20:18, 25, 27). But Saul “sat on his seat” (1 Sam. 20:25)—an unusual phrase that draws attention because of how unnecessary it is.^[5] Amazingly, the Greek words that the Septuagint translator used to describe Saul sitting (kathizō) on his seat (kathedra) are only found together in one verse in the entire New Testament: Matthew 23:2. In this passage, Jesus describes how the scribes and Pharisees—who are planning to kill Jesus (Matt. 21:38, 42, 45)—sit in Moses’ seat. Like the Israelite king Saul who does not obey God (1 Sam. 15:22), these Jewish leaders sit in a place of authority even though they do not practice the obedience to God that they preach.

5. In Hebrew, the words for “sat” (yāšāḇ) and “seat” (môšoḇ) only occurs in seven verses together (Exod. 12:40; Lev. 13:46; 1 Sam. 20:25; Psa. 1:1; 107:36; Ezek. 28:2), and in only three of those verses does it describe someone sitting down (1 Sam. 20:25; Ps. 1:1; Ezek. 28:2). In every case, the person who takes a seat is evil (Saul in 1 Sam. 20:25; scoffers in Ps. 1:1; and the king of Tyre in Ezek. 28:2).

As Nicholas Piotrowski has ably demonstrated, 1 Samuel presents Saul as a seed of the serpent—a character thread that begins in Genesis 3 and reappears with the murderous Cain and Esau and then Saul.^[6] Like Cain, Saul disobeys God’s word and has murderous intentions towards those who obey God, and he is likewise described doing actions that are only elsewhere used of Esau (cf. 1 Sam. 28:25 and Gen. 25:34). The Pharisees are also part of this family tree; Jesus exclaims to them in the same chapter in Matthew 23:33, “You snakes, you offspring of vipers! How will you escape being condemned to hell?” (NET, emphasis added). Clearly, there is a typological connection between the murderous and serpentine Saul and the murderous and serpentine Pharisees; both are looking to kill the Davidic king.^[7]

Jonathan’s Defense of David’s Innocence and Nicodemus’s Defense of Jesus’s Innocence

At the new moon feast, David is missed by Saul on the first day, and the reader hears the strange thoughts of Saul in 1 Samuel 20:26, “Something has happened to him. He is not clean; surely he is not clean.” What’s notable is that uncleanliness is associated with bones, dead bodies, and graves (e. g. Num. 19:18), which suggests that David’s literary condition is associated with death. On the second day, Saul asks Jonathan about David, and Jonathan tells his father what David instructed him to say, but he adds an additional phrase in David’s imaginary speech to him, “So now, if I have found favor in your eyes, let me get away and see my brothers” (1 Sam. 20:29). David had not told Jonathan to say this, but Jonathan added this clause likely to signal his affection for David. Upon hearing Jonathan’s answer, Saul flies into a rage and curses his son for choosing David over and against his own kingdom (1 Sam. 20:31). To this, Jonathan responds in 1 Samuel 20:32, “Why should he be put to death? What has he done?” Jim Hamilton rightly draws the connection to the New Testament:

Just as Saul’s son Jonathan, an establishment insider, had interceded on David’s behalf—asking what David had done that he should be put to death (1 Sam 20:32), so also Nicodemus, an establishment insider “who was one of them” (John 7:50), asked, “Does our law judge a man without first giving him a hearing and learning what he does?” (John 7:51). Just as Jonathan’s intercession had drawn Saul’s wrath, so Nicodemus met with the curt reply, “Are you from Galilee too?” (John 7:52).^[8]

8. Hamilton, “The Typology of David’s Rise to Power”: 12n66.

In both instances, the innocence of the Davidic king is maintained by one of his followers, and this is met with persecution. In Nicodemus’s case this was derision, and in Jonathan’s case it was a hurled spear.

David’s Third Day ‘Resurrection’ and Jesus’s Third Day Resurrection

At this point the temporal references become highly significant, because the previous activity took place on the second day (1 Sam. 20:34). On the morning of the third day, David “rose from beside the stone heap” (1 Sam. 20:41) for his rendezvous with Jonathan. In the Old Testament, the third day is often a day of resolution or deliverance (Gen. 22:4; 42:18; Exod. 19:11; Hos. 6:2; Jon. 1:17), which is why Paul could write in 1 Corinthians 15:4 that Jesus rose on the third day “in accordance with the scriptures.”^[9] Resolution is found for both kings on the third day.

9. Stephen G. Dempster, “From Slight Peg to Cornerstone to Capstone: The Resurrection of Christ on ‘The Third Day’ According to the Scriptures,” Westminster Theological Journal 76 (2014): 371–409.

Here is where it’s worth remembering that Jonathan instructed David to “go down” (yarad) and remain beside the stone heap (1 Samuel 20:19), and then on the third day David “rose” (qwm) from the same.^[10] By itself, this would be unremarkable. But when one considers the tapestry of redemptive history, we see that going down is associated with death (Gen 37:25, 35; 44:29; Exod. 15:5) and coming up with deliverance (Gen. 19:14–15; 21:18; 27:43; 31:21; Exod. 2:17; 12:31; Num. 24:17).^[11] This going down and up of David prefigures the descent to Hades and resurrection that Jesus experiences between Good Friday and Easter Sunday.^[12]

13. See Piotrowski, “Saul Is Esau,” 216–225.

Conclusion

There are other possible pointers to Christ in this passage beyond what is shown above in Figure A.^[14] But suffice it to say, the strands that appear in 1 Samuel 20 seem to re-appear and cluster around Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection. But what significance do these typological connections have for the believer? Two final thoughts:

14. For example, the covenant of steadfast love between David and Jonathan (1 Sam. 20:8, 15–16, 23, 42) and the new covenant between Jesus and his disciples (Luke 22:20); the weeping of Jonathan (1 Sam. 20:41) and the weeping of Mary (John 20:13), the stone heap (20:19, 41) and the stone rolled away (Matt. 27:60; Mark 16:3; Luke 24:2), and the additional rising and departing of David (1 Sam. 20:42) that may correlate to Jesus’s ascension (Acts 1:9).

1. These typological connections help us see Jesus as the center of the entire biblical narrative (Luke 24:44). If we do not read our Bibles seeing the hundreds of foreshadows of Christ, we will not be reading them correctly. The Scriptures bear witness about Jesus (John 5:39–40)! The myriad of biblical types pointing forward to the person and work of Christ are meant to enrich and deepen our understanding of our Lord, and to propel us to greater appreciation for his person and wonder at his work.
2. These typological connections help us understand aspects of Jesus and ourselves. By comparing and contrasting the type and its antitypical fulfillment, we understand more about both. So, for example, Jonathan is a type of one of Jesus’s disciples. As disciples of Jesus today, we can look to Jonathan’s willingness to give up his weapons (1 Sam. 20:39; 18:4) and his choice of David’s kingship over his own (1 Sam 20:30–31) as an example for us to follow. While not always the case, many of the Old Testament characters are real-life examples for God’s people to imitate by faith (Jas. 5:10–11, 17–18) or to avoid imitating (1 Cor. 10:11; Jude 7).

God has woven this grand tapestry of types, shadows, and fulfillments in his word. He is a brilliant author, and he has written the greatest story right into the pages of history. This story climaxes with the death and resurrection of his son, and will crescendo with his final return. And when Jesus returns and “the LORD cuts off every one of the enemies of [the greater] David from the face of the earth,” just as Jonathan affirms in 1 Samuel 20:15, we will look back with awesome wonder on the grand fabric of history that centered on King Jesus.

In Ephesians 1:6, Paul refers to Christ Jesus as ho ēgapēmenos, “the Beloved,” a term that describes Israel in the Hebrew Bible but does so with even more clarity in the Old Greek translations, popularly called the Septuagint. Paul uses a term that echoes or signals to his readers that Christ is the New Israel—consequently, Gentile believers are incorporated into the New Israel since they have been chosen in him.

To discern whether Paul intended to allude to Jeshurun—an Old Testament term of endearment for Israel—we must analyze the Greek term he used in Ephesians 1:6 against its usage in the Septuagint. While the discussion will be slightly technical, the results are significant, for they potentially add another layer to Christ’s identity that further illuminates the identity of Gentile believers in Paul’s theology.

The Context of Ephesians 1:6

Ephesians 1:3–6 says,

³ Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, ⁴ even as he chose us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before him. In love ⁵ he predestined us for adoption to himself as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will, ⁶ to the praise of his glorious grace, with which he has blessed us in the Beloved. (ESV, emphasis added)

The church was blessed in Christ, chosen in Him, predestined through Jesus Christ to the praise of his glorious grace which God gave us in the Beloved.

In the original Greek, the discourse resumes in verse 7 with relative clauses until the end of verse 14, which perhaps marks vv. 3–6 as a unit. The Nestle-Aland 27 edition of the Greek New Testament deemed vv. 3–6 as a paragraph. Within this unit, the expressions “in Christ” (en Christō) and “in the Beloved” (en tō ēgapēmenō) are parallel with each other, since the former is at the end of the first line (indicating the location of all the spiritual blessings), while the latter is at the end of the final line (indicating the location of the glorious grace given to us). The intervening lines use pronouns referring to the first line and mention election and predestination. We will return to the significance of this parallelism below.

Here’s where we get slightly into the weeds, but it will be worth it. The latter term tō ēgapēmenō is a perfect middle/passive participle dative masculine singular from agapaō, “to love,” and it is used as a substantive to translate as “the one having been loved” or “the beloved.” In Greek, there are at least two other ways of communicating this idea: 1) a –tōs adjective agapētos, which is how Paul describes Christians in a number of places (e.g., Eph. 5:1 “beloved children”) and how Matthew describes Jesus at his baptism and his transfiguration [“This is my beloved Son”; Matt. 3:17; 17:5] and 2) the use of a simple relative clause with an active verb [e.g., ho huios sou . . . , hon agapas], “your son, whom you love” in Old Greek Isaiah 3:25). Thus, it may be significant that Paul chose the participle rather than the other two constructions.

In the Septuagint, the perfect middle/passive participle is used in two ways: 1) it renders Hebrew words for “love” or “beloved” including references to Israel and individuals in Israel, and 2) significantly, it renders Hebrew Yeshurun/Jeshurun in four places, which is an unexpected translation as we shall see.

References to the Nation of Israel

In seven texts in the Old Testament (e.g., Isaiah 5:1) and the non-canonical Apocrypha (e.g., Baruch 3:37), the participle often translated as “beloved” describes Israel or Judah as a whole.[1]

1. See 2 Chr. 20:7 (Abraham or seed of Abraham); Judith 9:4 (sons of Israel); Hos. 2:23(25) (variant reading and Paul’s wording in Rom 9:25: “I will love the one unbeloved”); Isa. 5:1, 7 (Yahweh).

References to Individual Israelites

In nine texts, the participle modifies individuals, tribes, or even a wife in Israel’s case laws.[2]

2. See Deut. 21:15-16 (beloved wife in contrast to a hated one); Deut. 33:12 (tribe of Benjamin); 2 Sam. 1:23 (Saul and Jonathan are called beloved); 2 Esdras 23:26 (Neh. 13:26; Solomon is “beloved to God”); Jer. 12:7 (Jeremiah’s soul is “beloved;” Sirach 24:11 (the beloved city in the A line and Jerusalem is the city mentioned in the B line); Sirach 45:1 (Moses is beloved by God and men); Sirach 46:13 (Samuel is beloved by the Lord); LXX Dan. 3:35 (Abraham beloved by God).

Thus, this participle refers either to Israel or to individuals within Israel’s history in both texts of the Old Testament and Apocrypha. In all of the Old Testament examples, the Greek word renders the following Hebrew words for love/beloved: yadid, yadiduth,’ahab, sha’ashu’im, which means the Greek translations were predictable in these instances and thus could not be used to determine whether the Septuagint translators were making distinct rhetorical or theological points. When translators use predictable equivalents, it is impossible to parse the theology of the Hebrew Bible from the theology of the Septuagint translators. But what if the translators went off script? What if they also used this perfect middle/passive participle in unexpected ways? I believe that these translators did exactly this when they used this participle to render Jeshurun in four places. Let’s look at each of these in turn in the English Standard Version (which translates the Old Testament primarily from the Hebrew Masoretic Text) and the Lexham English Septuagint (a new translation as of 2012 that translates the Old Testament from the Greek Septuagint).

References to Jeshurun as “Beloved” by the Septuagint Translators

Deut 32:15
“But Jeshurun (Yeshurun) grew fat, and kicked; you grew fat, stout, and sleek; then he forsook God who made him and scoffed at the Rock of his salvation. (ESV)
“And Jacob ate and was filled, and the beloved one (ho ēgapēmenos) kicked; he grew fat, he grew thick, he became large. And he forsook the God who made him, and he drew away from God his Savior.” (LES)

Deut 33:5
Thus the Lord became king in Jeshurun (Vishurun) when the heads of the people were gathered, all the tribes of Israel together. (ESV)
And he [the Lord] shall be a ruler with the beloved one (en tō ēgapēmenō); rulers of people have been gathered with the tribes of Israel. (LES)

Deut 33:26
“There is none like God, O Jeshurun (Yeshurun), who rides through the heavens to your help, through the skies in his majesty. (ESV)
There is none like the God of the beloved (tou ēgapēmenou), who goes upon the heavens as your helper, and the glorious one of the firmament. (LES)

Isaiah 44:2
Thus says the Lord who made you, who formed you from the womb and will help you: Fear not, O Jacob my servant, Jeshurun (Vishurun)  whom I have chosen. (ESV)
This is what the Lord, the God who made you and who formed you from the belly, says, “You will still receive aid; do not be frightened, my servant Jacob, and beloved (ho ēgapēmenos) Israel, whom I have chosen,” (LES)

A few comments on these texts are in order. First, “Jeshurun” is a nickname or pet name for Israel (a hypocoristicon) that is also a term of endearment and that refers to loyalty in the covenant relationship in its Hebrew root.

Second, the translation of the Septuagint is not a straightforward “literal” translation of Jeshurun. The slightly later work of the Three Jewish Revisers (Aquila, Symmachus, Theodotion) renders Jeshurun with Greek equivalents of a Hebrew word meaning “straight” (Hebrew yashar; see Deut. 32:15: Aquila: euthytatos “rather straight”; Symmachus & Theodotion: ho euthēs “the straight one” [cp. tō euthei in Deut. 33:5]). The Three used a rather formal approach to translation— they often rendered Hebrew words with the same stereotypical Greek equivalents, sometimes even using one equivalent Greek root and derivatives for one Hebrew root and derivatives. They were not always concerned with the most contextual rendering. In this case, the Three’s word choice highlights the Septuagint’s word choice for the Hebrew, for “love” for “straight” is not immediately obvious.

Third, there is no possibility of a Hebrew scribal error in this situation, and therefore, I conclude the translators diverge from the plain sense of their Hebrew parent text for rhetorical and theologizing purposes. Their contextual rendering of the pet name or term of endearment for Israel, but it emphasizes God’s love for them in election (e,g., Deut. 7:8).

Fourth, the Greek Isaiah translator is likely dependent on the work of the Deuteronomy translator, who preceded him. LXX of Isaiah also provides a doublet for Jeshurun when he translates it ho ēgapēmenos Israēl, “The Beloved Israel.” It is also important to note the election of Israel (Jacob) in Isaiah 44:1–4, which could also have triggered Paul’s allusion to Jeshurun in Ephesians 1:3–6.

Paul’s Use of “Beloved” in Ephesians 1:3–6

The above analysis leads to the following conclusions for Paul’s use of the Old Testament in Ephesians.

First, ho ēgapēmenos (“the beloved”) is used of both individuals in Israel’s history and of Israel itself. Since the LXX of Deuteronomy translates Jeshurun(a pet name for Israel) with this word and form, we can thus conclude the phrase “Beloved Israel” originated in the Greek of Deuteronomy, and that later books, both canonical and Apocrypha, borrowed the expression. As noted above, LXX of Isaiah combined the terms of Beloved Israel and election, and Paul was influenced by and aware of this connection, even as he now interprets Israel and Jeshurun in light of Christ’s appearance.

Second, Paul capitalizes on the term’s meaning in the Septuagint. The term refers corporately to Israel and to individuals within Israel. He places it in parallel with en christō “in Christ” in Ephesians 1:3, referring to an individual and the Messiah’s people. Primarily via the parallelism, Paul communicates that Christ is the true Beloved or Jeshurun. Paul also uses the terms christō and ēgapēmenos as incorporating (en “in”) terms. Regarding “in Christ,” N.T. Wright rightly says, “I suggest, in other words, that Paul uses ‘Christ’ here as a shorthand way of referring to that unity and completeness, and mutual participation, which belongs to the church that is found ‘in Christ’, that is, in fact, the people of the Messiah”[3]

3. N.T. Wright, The Climax of the Covenant: Christ and the Law in Pauline Theology (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1993), 54.  

Third, regarding “Beloved,” that term was originally intended to be a title for God’s people, Israel, and it expressed God’s covenant love for them. Now, Paul applies it to Christ Jesus. This conclusion, of course, fits with Matthew’s own use of the term in Matthew 3:17 and 17:5, where Jesus is called by the Father “my beloved Son.” Matthew has already clarified that Jesus is the true Israel on a new exodus from his use of Hosea 11:1 in Matthew 2:15.

Fourth, “in Christ” (en christō) and “in the Beloved” (en tō ēgapēmenō), therefore, denote Christ as the true Israel and thus further define the new and true Israel with respect to one’s incorporation into Christ. Believers in Christ are incorporated into Christ, the Beloved. Frank Thielman rightly concludes, “It seems likely, therefore, that when Paul calls Jesus, “the Beloved,” in this passage he has in mind Jesus’s embodiment within himself of the beloved and elect people of God”.[4]

4. Frank Thielman, Theology of the New Testament: A Canonical and Synthetic Approach (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Academic, 2010), 54.

Conclusion

Given the overall context of the letter to the Ephesians, Paul’s use of the Old Testament is astounding. Here, he comments on the status of Gentile believers and says they are elect in Christ, that is, incorporated into the true people of God, for whom the Messiah stands. By being incorporated into Christ, the Gentiles have become full and bona fide members of the people of God. In the Beloved, Israel’s history has become ours. It is important to see that this text does not support supersessionism or a replacement theology in which the Church replaces Israel as God’s people. Instead, Paul clearly identifies Christ Jesus as the true Israel, the Jeshurun or Beloved of old, and grounds one’s membership in God’s people in Christ himself. As Israel’s king, Christ embodies and represents Israel, and one’s faith-union with him tethers one to membership in the true Israel.

1. Jonah 1:1 begins, “Now the word of the Lord came to Jonah.” The phrase, “the word of the Lord came” appears 109 times in the Old Testament, and is primarily associated with the prophets indicating the mode by which God communicates with a chosen servant (see e.g. 1 Sam. 15:10; 2 Sam. 7:4; 1 Kgs. 18:1; Isa 38:4; Jer 1:2; Ezek 1:3; Hag 1:1; Zech 1:1; etc.).

From a theological standpoint, Jonah’s significance is not so easily discounted. In just four short chapters, the book of Jonah is full of rich theological themes, including the presence of God, divine sovereignty and human responsibility, God’s immutability,^[2] and salvation, among others. In the context of the narrative, the point that Jonah is in the belly of the fish for “three days and three nights” (Jon. 1:17; Heb. 2:1) is striking for the simple fact that Jonah did not ultimately die and lived to tell the tale. Yet the significance of Jonah’s ordeal goes beyond the historical details. When we come to the New Testament we read Jesus saying, “for just as Jonah was three days and three nights in the belly of the great fish, so will the Son of Man be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth” (Matt 12:40). In other words, an association is being made between Jonah’s experience and Jesus’s resurrection. Thus, there is more to Jonah’s maritime internment than what might meet the eye at first glance.

2. Immutability means unchangingness.

In this essay, I intend to address several aspects of the Jonah/Jesus relationship in two brief questions: 1) What is the nature of the association that Jesus is making between his death and resurrection and Jonah’s? And, 2) What bearing does this association have on Jonah’s historical claims?

Jonah as a Type of the One to Come

First, in the full context of Scripture, it is best to understand Jonah’s experience in the belly of the fish as a typological theme finding its fulfillment in Christ’s death and resurrection. Typology in Scripture includes divinely intended patterns of historical correspondence and escalation among certain historical people, events, and institutions which propel the storyline of Scripture forward, ultimately finding their telos (goal) and terminus (finish line) in Christ.^[3] Types can be discerned initially by recognizing patterns, words, and themes that repeat within the Old Testament as they occur in biblical history, and/or by finding these Old Testament patterns, words, and themes repeated in the New Testament. In other words, the reuse by later biblical authors of persons, events, and institutions recorded by earlier biblical authors is what constitutes typology. In this way typology connects past events with present ones, while also linking current events with the past. In the biblical framework, types are not made between abstractions but historical realities, a point I will return to below.

3. For one example of employing typological hermeneutics in biblical theology, see Joshua M. Philpot, “Was Joseph a Type of Daniel?: Typological Correspondence in Genesis 37–50 and Daniel 1–6,” Journal of the Evangelical Theological Society 61, no. 4 (2018): 681–96.

In the present study, we can discern a relationship between Jonah and Jesus noted explicitly by both Matthew and Luke. Three patterns of historical correspondence are mentioned specifically. First, Jonah is in the belly of the fish for “three days,” while Jesus will be in the grave for “three days” (Matt 12:38–42; Luke 11:29–32). One might argue that Jonah is not in a  “grave” per se; that is, he is not dead. But Jonah states that his entombment within a fish is in “the belly of Sheol” (Jon. 2:1), using the common Hebrew term for “grave” to refer to his predicament.

Second, Jonah’s time within the fish follows the pattern of the “third day” theme in Scripture, whereby a person or nation is delivered and saved from certain death after three days: the sacrifice of Isaac on the third day (Gen 22:4), God’s descent on Sinai on the third day (Exod. 19:16), Hezekiah healed on the third day (1 Kgs. 20:5), Esther’s intervention for the Israelites on the third day (Esth. 5:1), and Hosea’s prophecy that the Lord will raise up Israel from the dead on the third day (Hos. 6:2). As it happened with Jonah on the third day, so also it will be with Christ.

Paul says additionally in 1 Corinthians 15:3 that Christ “was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures,” concluding the pattern established in the Old Testament. The exact “Scriptures” Paul had in mind is a matter of debate.^[4] What we can ascertain is that when Jesus references “the Scriptures” in Luke 24:26–27 to demonstrate now the Old Testament anticipates his death and resurrection, he likely had many texts in mind instead of just one: “‘Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory?’ And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself.” Perhaps Paul does as well when he describes Jesus dying and then rising from the dead on the third day “in accordance with the scriptures” (1 Cor. 15:4).^[5]

Third, Jonah’s expulsion from the fish (i.e. Sheol, the grave) corresponds symbolically to Jesus’s resurrection from the dead. The connection with resurrection is not stated explicitly in Matthew and Luke, but it’s implied nonetheless, a point that Jesus makes crystal clear in several speeches in Matthew alone (Matt. 16:21; 17:9, 23; 20:19; 26:32). The details in Jonah thus typify the details in Jesus.

As the “third day” theme moves from type (the original context) to antitype (i.e., its fulfillment)^[6] in history, a divinely intended pattern emerges, escalates, and reaches fulfillment in the New Testament. Jesus refers to these corresponding details as the “sign of Jonah” (Matt. 12:39; 16:4; Luke 11:29), indicating that just as Jonah’s rescue from the fish was a sign to the Ninevites that he was truly a prophet from God, so also Jesus’s resurrection from the dead proves to his generation that he is truly the Son of God.

6. An “antitype” simply means the fulfillment of a type. In other words, it is the final and highest repetition of the pattern that gives the whole sequence meaning. In Scripture, many types have their antitype in Jesus.

We can conclude, therefore, that Jonah’s three days in the “grave” of the fish and his repulsive resurrection^[7] fits a typological pattern culminating in Christ’s three days in the grave and glorious resurrection. These points of contact establish historical correspondence and escalation from one resurrection to the next. Indeed, in Christ “something greater than Jonah is here” (Matt. 12:41; Luke 11:32). 

7. It must have been disgusting.

Jonah as a Historical Reality

But the fact that Jonah’s experience is a typological theme does not lessen its historical nature, as if the story is merely the use of an abstraction (“belly of the fish”) to make a greater moral lesson. This is the view of many who embrace the theological message in the book of Jonah but not the historical reality. For example, David Baker suggests on the evidence of the types of Jonah and Job, that “it is possible to have correspondences between an imaginary person and a real person.”^[8] In his view, even if the type is artificial, the type still has educative value. He writes,

8. Emphasis mine. David L. Baker, Two Testaments, One Bible: A Study of the Theological Relationship Between the Old & New Testaments (Downers Grove: InterVarsity, 1992), 180, fn17.

There is an undoubted correspondence between Macbeth or Hamlet and real people, and the significance of these characters is not lessened by the fact that they are fictional. Likewise, whether or not they ever lived, there are real correspondences between the lives of Jonah and Job as portrayed in the biblical stories and those of Jews and Christians today.^[9]

9. This analogy is offered in a section arguing for the basis of typological relationships, chiefly that types are historical by definition. Baker, Two Testaments, One Bible, 179–80.

To this line of thinking, I offer three counterpoints. First, although the analogy from Shakespeare might serve to illustrate Baker’s point, it does not illustrate a biblical point. Shakespeare never claims divine inspiration as the biblical authors do. Thus, it is the analogy and not the biblical text that is artificial, however convenient that analogy may be. Second, on the basis of the divine inspiration of types/antitypes, one must accept that if Jonah or Job is merely symbolic of a greater principle—i.e. literary contrivance, parabolic or otherwise^[10]—then these men are the only biblical types that might fall into that category. Thus, Jonah and Job would be outside the norm of what constitutes a biblical type. It is the convenience of the skeptical critic that he or she might choose which types are historical and which types are not. But insofar as the authors of the New Testament are concerned (namely, Matt. 12:38–42; Luke 11:29–32), Jonah’s three days in the great fish correspond typologically to Jesus’s three days in the tomb. If one accepts that Jesus’s three days look back to the three days of Jonah, is it possible, within the context of the Bible, to confirm the factuality of the one while denying the other? In addition, if one argues as Baker does that Jonah and his three days refers not to a factual person or event, then one must also apply the same logic to the rising up of the men of Nineveh in judgment (the main point of Jesus’s message), as well as the Queen of the South (1 Kgs. 10:1–13; 2 Chr. 9:1–12), as well as Solomon—all characters that Jesus uses typologically to illustrate the salvation he brings through judgment. Would Matthew and Luke (and Jesus, for that matter) mix an imaginary type with real types? The link between Jonah and the others in relationship to “this generation” supports the conclusion that Jesus considered these individuals to be historical.^[11] Further, Matthew’s assertion that “one greater than Jonah is here,” indicating escalation from type to antitype, prophet to prophet, accords best with correspondence to a factual type and not an imaginary one. What good is it for Jesus to be greater than an imaginary prophet?

Third, the comparison in Matthew 12 with Jonah, Sheba, and Solomon comes at the end of a section beginning in Matthew 12:1 where the words meizon and pleion (“greater”) are used to show how Jesus is “greater” than the temple/priesthood (Matt. 12:6), prophets (Matt. 12:41), and kings (Matt. 12:42). Thus, Jonah is the archetypal, representative prophet in this instance where both his life (in the belly of the fish) and message (to the Ninevites) is presented in typological relationship to Jesus’s life and work. As the archetype of Old Testament prophets, Jonah, not Moses, is put forward. Thus, if Matthew intended to show that Jesus’s life is naturally associated with an imaginary hero like Jonah, the typological relationship would falter. The text assumes that the death and resurrection of Jesus will not be ambiguous. Neither was the death and resurrection of the prophet Jonah. If a person or event is rejected on the basis that it is miraculous, then the Bible’s fabric is torn. If, however, we accept the divine inspiration of the text, then the authenticity of the miraculous events of the Bible (such as Jonah’s three days) is not so far-fetched.^[12] The church stands or falls, after all, on the historical factuality of a dead man coming back to life.^[13]

Conclusion

Christ’s death on the cross, three days in the tomb, and resurrection were unambiguous according to eyewitnesses and historical testimony. And, on a future day the men of Nineveh will rise up in the judgment and give testimony to Jonah’s story, proving once and for all the historical reality of his own personal death and resurrection (Matt. 12:41).^[14] I have argued in this essay that Jonah’s three-day internment in the fish and expulsion to dry land serve as types in the biblical storyline which point to future fulfillment by one greater than Jonah. Like Jonah, Jesus was a prophet. Like Jonah, Jesus descended through the waters of judgment (Luke 9:31; 1 Pet. 3:18–22). Like Jonah, Jesus was in the grave/Sheol for three days. Like Jonah, Jesus did not “see corruption” (Ps. 16:10; Acts 13:35) even while in the grave. Like Jonah, Jesus was expelled from the grave by the voice of God, resurrected to life. Like Jonah, following his resurrection Jesus preached repentance and turning to God for salvation. Like Jonah, Jesus was raised to life in order to prove once and for all that he truly was the man he claimed to be—God’s Son in the flesh. And like Jonah, Jesus’s real resurrection was proof that his message was truly God’s message.

14. The sailors likely assumed Jonah’s death after casting him from the boat in Jonah 1:11–16 in the middle of a turbulent storm.

These are not the only typological correspondences of Christ’s death and resurrection in the Old Testament and New Testament. However, as Christians celebrate Resurrection Day each spring, may we read and remember Jonah’s own experience and glory in the One greater than Jonah, who leads us through the waters of judgment to a future resurrection from the dead.

An Answer to Prayer

The angel Gabriel came to Daniel with words of insight about the future (Dan. 9:21–22). But the angel’s appearance was not arbitrary. It was in response to Daniel’s activity of confession and prayer (Dan. 9:20–21). Most of chapter 9 was Daniel’s bold prayer about the shameful deeds of the Israelites, about the need for great mercy and pardon for those transgressions, and about the hope of restoration to the promised land and holy city. The Israelites had sinned grievously, and the Lord was righteous when he sent them into exile and captivity.

Daniel’s prayer was from Daniel 9:3 to 9:19. The historical context for his prayer was the change in political administrations (Dan. 9:1–2). The Babylonian captors had fallen to the Medo-Persians in 539 BC. The timing signaled that Israel’s exile and captivity in Babylon was finally coming to a close. Daniel had been reading in the book of Jeremiah about the end of Jerusalem’s desolations after a seventy-year judgment (Dan. 9:2; see Jer. 25:1–14). Given the political upheaval in Babylon’s fall to Persia, Daniel knew he was living in the time when God would once again turn his face toward the covenant people and would hear their pleas for mercy and restoration. So Daniel prayed, “O Lord, hear; O Lord, forgive. O Lord, pay attention and act. Delay not, for your own sake, O my God, because your city and your people are called by your name” (Dan. 9:19).

An Even Better Restoration

The angel Gabriel came to Daniel with information about the future, but this information was regarding the distant future—far after Daniel’s days. While Daniel had prayed for the pardon and near-restoration that would bring an end to exile and captivity, a political and geographical realignment would not address the deepest issue. The deepest issue for the Israelites—and for Gentiles—was the problem of sin. The greatest need, therefore, was atonement.

The promise of atonement was precisely the subject of Gabriel’s news. The angel told Daniel,

Seventy weeks [or seventy sevens] are decreed about your people and your holy city,
to finish the transgression,
to put an end to sin,
and to atone for iniquity,
to bring in everlasting righteousness,
to seal both vision and prophet,
and to anoint a most holy place (Dan. 9:24).

We need to notice that Daniel had been reading about a period of “seventy years” (Dan. 9:1), and now Gabriel announces a period of “seventy” weeks/sevens (Dan. 9:24). The former period of “seventy” led to restoration, and the latter period of “seventy” would lead to an even better restoration. Gabriel’s words about “seventy sevens” draw upon Leviticus 25, which teaches about the Year of Jubilee. The Lord told Moses, “You shall count seven weeks of years, seven times seven years, so that the time of the seven weeks of years shall give you forty-nine years. . . . That fiftieth year shall be a jubilee for you” (Lev. 25:8, 11).

Given the background of Leviticus 25:8 to Gabriel’s words in Daniel 9:24, we can see that Gabriel is promising an extraordinary time of liberation. This liberation is on a scale that surpasses anything in Israel’s history. While Leviticus 25 spoke of a jubilee after seven sevens, Gabriel spoke about a liberation after seventy sevens. The year of Jubilee in Leviticus (which occurred after forty nine years) was the year of the Lord’s favor. According to Gabriel, this grand and future Jubilee (which would occur after 490 years) would be a time of unprecedented favor—a tenfold Jubilee!^[1]

1. This is a mathematical observation. If seven sevens speak of 49 years, and seventy sevens speak of 490 years, then numbers are being multiplied by ten. 7 x 10 = 70. And 49 x 10 = 490.

Daniel had prayed for forgiveness and for God’s wrath to be turned away (Dan. 9:9, 16–19). Gabriel’s response is that God would answer that prayer even better than Daniel had prayed. God would deal with his people’s sin. He would bring in righteousness and atonement (Dan. 9:24). And God would accomplish this great act through the work of an anointed one.

An Anointed One to be Cut Off

The reference to “an anointed one” (Dan. 9:25) is in the context of a prophesied atonement (Dan. 9:24). The phrase “anointed one” is the word for Messiah, the promised king from David’s line who would reign forever (2 Sam. 7:12–13). Other prophets foretold that such a king would come, and Daniel reported the same expectation in his book.

The timeline in Daniel 9:25–26 for this king is challenging, though. The seventy sevens are divided into three parts: seven sevens, sixty-two sevens, and one seven. The first division (Dan. 9:25, seven weeks/sevens) is a clear connection to the seven sevens of the Jubilee custom (Lev. 25:8). And after sixty-two sevens, “an anointed one shall be cut off and shall have nothing” (Dan. 9:26a). Adding these references together, the anointed one’s work takes place after sixty-nine sevens—in other words, in the seventieth seven. This climactic time is in view when Gabriel says that the anointed one “shall make a strong covenant with many for one week” (Dan. 9:27a). The “one week” refers to the final seven of the seventy sevens.

Being “cut off” and having “nothing” in 9:26 parallels the actions of making a “strong covenant” and putting “an end to sacrifice and offering” in 9:27. Peter Gentry has rightly discerned an A-B-A’-B’ pattern in Daniel 9:26–27,^[2] such that we should see 9:26a and 9:27a as matching, as well as 9:26b and 9:27b as matching. The anointed one who is cut off is the same figure who makes a strong covenant with the many, fulfilling the seventieth week that accomplishes atonement and brings in righteousness. Being “cut off” (Dan. 9:26a) sounds like judgment, just as saying that the Messiah “shall have nothing” (Dan. 9:26a) sounds like a covenant curse.

2. Peter J. Gentry, “Daniel’s Seventy Weeks and the New Exodus,” SBJT 14.1 (2010): 36.

God will accomplishment atonement for his people by raising up the anointed one—the Messiah—who will be judged in their place. He will pour out blessing for the guilty by bearing the curse of the law. Through his suffering and death, the Messiah will form a strong covenant (a new covenant) with many.

In Concert With the Prophets

Daniel 9:24–27 is good news for a sinful people, because it prophesies what Jesus would fulfill by his death on the cross. Jesus is the anointed one of 9:25 and 9:26. He was “cut off” in our place and formed a “strong covenant” with his body and blood (see Luke 22:19–20). He brought an end to the sacrificial system (Dan. 9:27a), thereby finishing atonement for our iniquities (Dan. 9:24).

If the seventieth seven was fulfilled by Christ’s substitutionary death,^[3] then when did the count of the seventy sevens begin? Or are the 490 years figurative? I think the seventy sevens are symbolic for the time-period extending from Israel’s return from exile to the Messiah’s victory in the first-century Roman Empire.^[4] Regardless of whether we take the seventy sevens to be literal years or figurative years, the focus in Gabriel’s message is on the Messiah’s atoning work.

In fact, the prophecy in 9:24–27 is in sync with what the other prophetic books have told us. According to Isaiah 52–53, a suffering servant-king would bear the griefs and transgressions of sinners, thereby establishing peace (Isa. 52:13–53:12). According to Jeremiah 31, the day was coming when God would make a new covenant with his people and forgive all their sins (Jer. 31:31–34). According to Ezekiel 36, God would cleanse his sinful people and give them a new heart (Ezek. 36:25–27). Gabriel’s words in Daniel 9:24–27 are about the same reality. These prophetic books expect an extraordinary work of divine mercy whereby he brings cleansing and atonement to his people in a new and greater covenant.

Conclusion

Two thousand years ago, an anointed one was cut off and made a strong covenant. The substitutionary death of Jesus the Nazarene was the offering to end all offerings. He was our propitiation, satisfying the righteous judgment of God for all who would have refuge in him. Jesus had once told the synagogue in Nazareth that God’s Spirit had “anointed me” (Luke 4:18) and had sent him “to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor” (Luke 4:19). Jesus knew he had come to bring the Jubilee that Gabriel had told Daniel about. Jesus came to liberate the captives from sin and Satan. He came to restore spiritual exiles. He came to make a new covenant so strong that no one could break it.