//Bible scholars agree that a single author—we know him as Luke—wrote both the Gospel of Luke and the book of Acts. Nowhere is this made more clear than in the opening verse of both books. Both are addressed to Theophilus, and Acts specifically refers to a “former” treatise, which could only be the Gospel of Luke.

We don’t know who Theophilus was, or even whether it was a person’s name, rather than an honorary title. Some argue that he was a Roman official. Dedications such as the opening of Luke’s Gospel were a Hellenistic literary convention, meant to elevate the writing to the cultural level of its patron. Indeed, Luke presents himself as a well-informed, cultured person. He makes reference to Queen Candace of Ethiopia and the philosophical curiosity of the Athenians.

We don’t know who wrote this Gospel, yet even critical scholars admit the possibility that it’s the “Luke” mentioned occasionally in the New Testament. Paul refers to a Luke in Colossians, describing him as a physician. It’s not a stretch that this is the man, given his cultural awareness and Hellenistic conventions.

//So begins the book of Lamentations, an appropriately named treatise. It’s a five chapter lament, written poetically … so poetically, in fact, that it’s impossible to properly translate to another language.

You see, the whole book is an acrostic. There are 22 verses in the first chapter, and each one starts with a unique letter, stepping through the Hebrew alphabet … Alef, Beit, Gimel, Dalet, Hei … through the final letter, Tav, which begins the final verse.

Chapters two, four, and five follow the same pattern: 22 verses stepping through the alphabet. But the middle chapter is even more amazing: It is a triple acrostic! There are 66 verses, and the verses start with Alef, Alef, Alef, Beit, Beit, Beit, Gimel, Gimel, Gimel and so on through the final letter.

You may be aware that the Bible was never divided into chapter and verse in the original Hebrew and Greek. Such divisions are entirely artificial in our current-day translations. This makes this one book of the Bible even more special, because it provides us important clues for the study of ancient Hebrew metric. For once, we really do know where the verses begin and end!

//You’ve been reading Mark’s account of the death of John the Baptist. The curious thing about this passage is that it tells the story of Jesus, but backward!

Verse 14: John’s “resurrection” is discussed.

Verse 16: John dies.

Verse 17: John is imprisoned.

Verse 18: The reason for capture is given.

Read from the bottom up, and you get the story of Jesus. Could this be coincidence, or are we meant to recognize a well-hidden clue regarding the coming death of Jesus?

//This verse concludes a well-known parable in the Gospel of Luke. Lazarus, a poor beggar, sits outside the mansion of an uncaring rich man. When the two die, Lazarus goes to a place of comfort, in the bosom of Abraham, while the rich man lands in torment. The rich man then begs Abraham to resurrect Lazarus and send him to the rich man’s family, warning them of a horrible afterlife if they do not repent.

 Abraham answers that even if Lazarus did rise from the dead, they would not believe.

 Have you ever wondered if this parable influenced the story in John’s Gospel of the raising of a man named Lazarus? In John’s Gospel, immediately after Lazarus rises from the dead, the story transitions into the effect this miracle had on the Pharisees. It had none; they didn’t believe even though “one rose from the dead.”

Many scholars propose that Luke’s rendition of Lazarus has a foundation in Greek storytelling. The place of fiery torment is clearly of Greek influence. But could John’s story be another rendition of the same? I am really curious, now, to know the original Greek Lazarus story.

//In this passage, Jesus warns Israel of the coming day when Jerusalem would be destroyed (it happened about 40 years later). Judeans would have to escape into the mountains! Woe to mothers who are with child!

But Matthew, when he copies Mark’s warning, adds a phrase: “neither on the Sabbath day.” Why?

Matthew, scholars often explain, is the most “Jewish” of the four Gospels. Matthew has a high respect for the Law. It is Matthew who reports that “Till heaven and earth pass, one jot or one tittle shall in no wise pass from the law, till all be fulfilled.”

It’s therefore expected that Matthew would retain his respect for the Sabbath as well. So, woe to Jerusalem’s citizens if its destruction happens on a Sabbath! If the call to flee comes on the Sabbath, it could not be obeyed by observant Jews!

//These are the words of the Lord to Ezekiel. Note the phrase “son of man,” which Ezekiel uses often to refer to himself. In time, however, this phrase took on messianic and eschatological connotations. See especially the books of Daniel and Enoch. Jesus took the title upon himself, as evidence of his messiahship.

I mention in my book about John’s Gospel that i do not think it is appropriate to read the Fourth Gospel chronologically, as if Jesus made several trips to Jerusalem. More likely, Jesus made but one fateful trip to Jerusalem, the big city, during his ministry. That is the story the other three gospels tell. The Jesus story is about a small-town sage, anointed by God as the Messiah, who must carry his message of doom to the big city of Jerusalem.

But why? Perhaps the answer is in today’s verse. If Jesus saw himself as the Son of Man, he would have understood that his mission was to eventually enter God’s holy city, to cleanse the Temple, and to prophesy Jerusalem’s destruction.

//This verse harks back to chapter ten, verse 1, where it explains that the two sons of Aaron—Nadab and Abihu—prepared the incense burner incorrectly (perhaps adding the wrong ingredients) and God killed them. “There went out fire from the LORD, and devoured them.” This appears to shake the faith of Aaron, and indeed, nothing about the incident is treated as out of the ordinary … as if such deaths were a common event.

Perhaps they were. Six chapters later when this incident is recalled, there is no mention of improperly preparing the incense. Instead, the explanation for their deaths is very simple, the way it is described in the original Hebrew: they just got too close to God. One is reminded of the story of Uzza, as the ark of the covenant was being transported by oxen. The animals stumbled, and Uzza reached out to steady the ark, and the Lord “struck him down.” Was Uzza doing something wrong, or did he simply get too close to God?

//In the book of Esther, queen Vashti upsets the king by asserting her independence (she refuses to dance for the king and his pals), and King Xerxes (Ahasuerus) decides he must replace her. It won’t do for men—especially the king—to tolerate such disrespect from their wives. So, he decides to replace his wife. He sends out a decree that all the beautiful young virgins in the kingdom be prepared for his examination. He gives them to the care of his eunuch (who can be trusted not to spoil their virginity) for a period of one year. Each of the young maidens must spend six months being soaked in oil of myrrh and six months being soaked in assorted perfumes.

After each maiden’s year is up, she is paraded in front of the king. If he decides not to accept her, she is returned back to the “harem” and given to the care of a different eunuch. So one eunuch watches over the hopefuls, and one watches over the rejections.

Xerxes rules over 127 provinces stretching “from India to Cush,” so there are quite a lot of maidens to examine. This process appears to continue from the third year of Xerxes reign through his seventh year. It would appear that for four years, only ugly maidens are allowed the marry. The rest remain in the king’s queue while he pretends to make a selection.

But the king has his eye on just one maiden: Esther. He watches daily to make sure she is getting proper treatment. The examination of all the other maidens in the kingdom appears to be only a sham, perhaps merely building his excitement for the day Esther is ready. Like four years of foreplay.

Oh, to be king.

//So David conquers the Moabites, and the king of Moab dies here. Oddly, the last thing we heard about this anonymous king before David’s vengeful slaughter, was that David was asking this king to provide protective custody for his parents! What happened to tear their alliance apart?

All we have is a sort of clue from silence. We hear no more about David’s parents. So, Rabbinic and medieval Jewish commentary blame this king for the their deaths!

I guess it makes as much sense as any other explanation for David’s change of heart.

//Somehow, Sodom and Gomorrah developed a pretty bad reputation. Their story, as you know, is that God destroyed the city with fire from heaven because of their wickedness. Ever wonder what they did that was so bad?

I’ve written about this before, but there seems to be such a misunderstanding that I may as well provide some more context. Ezekiel tells us what Sodom and Gomorrah did that was so naughty: “Behold, this was the iniquity of thy sister Sodom, pride, fulness of bread, and abundance of idleness was in her and in her daughters, neither did she strengthen the hand of the poor and needy.” In other words, the city had plenty of bread, but refused to share. Indeed, it was Sodom’s inhospitable treatment of strangers which upset God, according to later Jewish writings. (No, it had nothing to do with sexual perversity.)

This seems to be Jesus’ take on the subject as well. Matthew, Mark and Luke all tell this story: Jesus sends his disciples out to preach, and says that for those who refuse to accept them, it will be more tolerable for Sodom and Gomorrah in the judgment.

//Bet you can’t name the one minor prophet who is mentioned in the book of Kings. Aww, I gave it away with today’s verse: it’s the one prophet whose book virtually every critical Bible scholar believes is pseudonymous (the story of Jonah is attributed to an obscure historical name merely for emphasis and context).

There are twelve books of minor prophets in the Bible, and they break down like this:

Hosea, Joel, Amos, Jonah, Obadiah, and Micah belong to the eighth century BCE, a period of Assyrian power and the fall of the Kingdom of Israel (the northern kingdom).

Nahum, Habakkuk, and Zephaniah belong to the years of Assyrian decline at the end of the seventh century BCE.

The last three books, Haggai, Zechariah and Malachi, belong to the Persian period—the fifth and sixth centuries BCE—when the Jews returned to their homeland and rebuilt the Temple.

The curious thing is that not one of these prophets is mentioned in the book of Kings, which covers the time period of the first nine, unless one counts the pseudonymous Jonah.* Who are these guys, really?

* Some argue that the mysterious “man of God” in 1 Kings 13 is Amos

//Today’s lesson from Jesus follows on the tail of story about a Gentile who comes to Jesus to be healed. Jesus is impressed by the man’s faith, and utters these words.

Matthew has a thing about “weeping and gnashing of teeth,” and we commonly think of the phrase as describing torment in hell, while others go to the “kingdom” up in “heaven.” But that is not at all what Jesus was saying.

The “kingdom of heaven” … or, more precisely, the “kingdom of God” … was never thought in Jesus’ day to be a place up in the sky. It describes the arrival of a new age on earth, when God will rule justly. Jesus is saying, in this verse, that when the kingdom arrives, Gentiles will be a part of it while those Jews who were anxiously waiting for its arrival would be excluded. “Gnashing of teeth,” here and elsewhere in the Bible, refers not to torment but to extreme anger. The Jews, excluded from the kingdom they sought because of their hard-heartedness, would be regretful (weeping) and angry (gnashing their teeth).

Oddly, none of the Gospel references to “weeping and gnashing of teeth” make sense in the context of heaven and hell! How did we ever connect this phrase to a distant afterlife? You may read them for yourself:

Matthew 8:12

Matthew 22:13

Matthew 24:51

Matthew 25:30

Luke 13:28

//Is it possible that this verse in Isaiah contributed to the legend of Jesus’ birth in a manger? Remember the story in the Gospel of Luke:

I was nursed in swaddling clothes, and that with cares. For there is no king that had any other beginning of birth — Wisdom of Solomon 7:4-5

Jesus, the misunderstood king. Put the manger and the swaddling clothes together and we have a beautiful Christmas story!

//Today in Christian circles, a great debate rages about whether God plans to banish the majority of his creation to the fires of hell. Along these lines, here is a fascinating verse that I never paid any attention to, until Crystal St. Marie Lewis, in her little booklet about hell, happened to mention it.

The verse is about the tribe of Judah, which, says God, has done evil, setting up idols, and had even begun sacrificing sons and daughters in the fires of Ben Hinnom.

Do you know where Ben Hinnom is? It’s the valley of Gehenna, south of Jerusalem. It was a perpetually burning garbage dump in the first century, and had become a symbolic figure of speech by Jesus’ time. Today, some versions of the Bible translate the word Gehenna into hell, thinking the symbolism describes God casting sinners into fiery torment.

However, God says something very interesting to Jeremiah. Read today’s verse again. God says it never crossed his mind to cast anyone into the fires of Gehenna! Indeed, he condemns those who do such a thing. What are we to make of this?

Read carefully the following parable:

“The time came when the beggar died and the angels carried him to Abraham’s side. The rich man also died and was buried. In Hades, where he was in torment, he looked up and saw Abraham far away, with Lazarus by his side. So he called to him, ‘Father Abraham, have pity on me and send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, because I am in agony in this fire.’

“But Abraham replied, ‘Son, remember that in your lifetime you received your good things, while Lazarus received bad things, but now he is comforted here and you are in agony. And besides all this, between us and you a great chasm has been set in place, so that those who want to go from here to you cannot, nor can anyone cross over from there to us.'”

Most readers, today, imagine that the rich man went down to hell while Lazarus, the beggar, went up to heaven. But nowhere does the text say that, and indeed, such beliefs would contradict the Biblical understanding of life after death.

There were no “heaven” and “hell” destinations in early Hebrew thinking … just one place, called Sheol, where everyone went … down, down from the grave, to a shadowy existence below the earth. By the time the New Testament was written, Sheol had morphed into Hades, but still, that’s where everybody went when they died.

Today’s parable is not at all about whether you will go to heaven or hell when you die. It is about two people in the underworld, before any resurrection occurred, where one was in fiery torment, yet could look across a chasm and see the other in comfort. Whether or not the tellers of this parable believed literally in a place called Hades is questionable, but the image clearly describes the Greek mythology of differing levels of comfort in the same underworld, close enough to each other that they can see and talk to one another.