//One of the themes common to the Synoptic Gospels is how daft the original apostles were. In Mark, they never do really catch on to Jesus’ purpose.  Matthew and Luke paint a less insulting picture, though the comedy remains.

As we begin the book of Acts (which is the sequel to Luke), Jesus has just risen from the dead. The disciples, who still hope for a conquering Messiah like what the Jews had long dreamed of, ask Jesus if he is finally going to restore Israel to its rightful place as the world leader. Put bluntly, they are saying “Too bad you failed with the first attempt, Jesus; is God giving you a second shot at it?”

Jesus’ reply, in so many words, redirects the question back onto the shoulders of the disciples. It’s up to them to make the world a better place. The Holy Spirit will soon arrive to help establish the new “kingdom.” Then Jesus departs, ascending up to heaven.

So the question remains. Did Jesus succeed in restoring the kingdom to Israel? What’s your opinion?

★★★★

This is a 2002 revised edition that I bought out of curiosity because of its subtitle: Isaiah and the New Jerusalem. There are so many strange theories about the New Jerusalem floating around that I felt it would be a relief to read what a professor had to say, based on the vision of Isaiah that kicked off the whole dream in the first place.

Of course Mouw is right and the Bible does describe the New Jerusalem as a city on earth. Nobody who carefully reads Isaiah chapter 60 (the book’s proof text), or the last couple of chapters of Revelation, could conclude otherwise. Isaiah dreams of a day when God will be back in control of this world, and Revelation posits that it will happen in conjunction with a bodily resurrection to live again on earth—using imagery that most lay Christians today correlate with heaven. Hence the provocative title of Mouw’s book: “When the Kings Come Marching In.” Both Isaiah and Revelation describe kings of the nations visiting the New Jerusalem.

That’s an intriguing picture, isn’t it? What are these pagan kings doing in “heaven”? Or do they come from Christian nations? Are they all saved? This puzzle highlights the complexity of trying to read the Old Testament from a Christian standpoint, since when Isaiah made that promise, there was no Christian concept of “saved” or “unsaved.” Mouw speculates that the kings come to Jerusalem for a different kind of transaction, rather than to be accepted among the saved. Perhaps they bring the “wealth of the nations” to God’s people. Or perhaps they come (presumably against their will) to be judged, because justice must be done and God’s people must be avenged publicly.

There is much more to the book, of course; I’m merely highlighting the topic of the book’s title. I find this book to be a curious blending of ancient and modern beliefs, and wonder if it doesn’t do violence to both by trying to merge both together like pieces of a puzzle.

//Of late, I’ve been somewhat fascinated by the allusions in the New Testament that Jerusalem is the new Egypt. See Revelation 11:8, where Jerusalem is “spiritually called Sodom and Egypt,” without explanation. In today’s verse, Matthew alludes directly to Hosea 11:1: When Israel was a child, then I loved him, and called my son out of Egypt.

The curious thing about how Matthew uses this scripture is where he places it. One would think the call out of Egypt would not be placed after verse 13—which is about King Herod wanting to kill Jesus—but after verse 21, when Jesus actually does leave Egypt.

This placement is not accidental, however. Matthew is actually writing about Jesus leaving Judea! Jesus escapes from Judea and King Herod’s attempt at infanticide, just as Moses survives the intended infanticide by Egypt’s Pharaoh.

Thus, “out of Egypt have I called my son” in today’s verse surely means away from Judea—the new Egypt—and King Herod.

//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!

★★★★

This is an autobiography of author Alex Rogers’ years in middle school and early high school. When presented to me for review, it was billed as a book about bullying, with a Christian flavor. I was intrigued, as combating bullying is a hot topic in many churches today.

I didn’t really find it very intense. The bullying, while certainly worse than anything I experienced in my school years, was not enough to send anyone all Columbine … and Alex didn’t face it totally by himself, nor was he totally cowed. So, to set the proper flavor, let me quote from the forward: Alex writes, “[this is] the story of my early adolescent life and the issues that all of us can relate to at that stage in our lives. At some time we have all been in an awkward stage until, one day, we surface as something more.”

So what is the Christian bent? Minor spoiler alert: curiously, Alex is rescued from the bullying by an act of God. I’ll give you a hint: it occurred in 2005, in New Orleans. A short interlude in the book tells about Alex attending church as the hurricane neared, hearing from the pulpit about a “cleansing” that God was sending. Alex and his family evacuated, and when they returned, the high school circumstances had changed. It’s all presented as a sort of odd coincidence, just one of the ways the bumps in life get mysteriously ironed out, so I’m uncertain if we’re really supposed to read much into the fiery “cleansing” sermon.

The writing is simple, easy for young readers to follow (it would make a great young adult book), and it holds your attention. I enjoyed sharing Alex’s young life and getting to know him. Beyond that, given my own stage in life (I’m 52), it didn’t make a deep impression … my bullies have all grown up and my kids are out of high school.

★★★★★

Not the type of book I usually read—it’s more inspirational than educational, more conservative than liberal—but this one is really good. The author promises that through ten “lessons” (events from the New Testament) he will take you on a journey, “traveling the road of Christ’s life in search of the underneath things.” That’s what Nappa means by “God in slow motion;” slowing down the New Testament stories frame-by-frame to catch a glimpse of the real people who came in contact with Jesus.

//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?