Reading the Old Testament

I have to admit that, all things considered, I prefer to teach the New Testament than the Old.  There are many reasons for this preference, some of which I am more comfortable with discussing than others.  The New Testament seems universal to me, global.  The Old Testament can seem very nationalistic, even tribal.  That is not to say it is not universal in terms of human experience or that the narratives are untrue or aren’t great literature.  I am speaking more in terms of the perspective and worldview.

A second reason is that I think many Bible teachers do a poor job at the application.  The lesson behind David’s life events (or any other Bible character’s) is not that we should make the same kind of decisions or actions.  The main points of the Bible stories and characters in the Old Testament is to teach the sovereignty of God in history and the superintendency of the Jewish people to bring Christ to the world; also Old Testament narratives show examples of God’s character.  There are so many cultural and historical issues involved in the Old Testament that putting the figures up as role models is problematic.  Many of the “lessons” that Bible teachers (especially those on the radio who have to come up with “new material”) are insultingly obvious anyway, as if we couldn’t figure out some of it by ourselves.

However, as I had to teach on Solomon this morning, I did see some fresh (for me, of course, not for others) ideas about the Old Testament in I Kings 1-8.  The book starts like some kind of movie, with scheming among David’s family and multiple wives.  Solomon comes out the winner, as he was supposed to be, and sets about to be as good a king as his father.  He marries for political advantage, wreaks some revenge on those who betrayed his father, and otherwise begins to reign.  At this point, we moderns just don’t get it.  We don’t do kings.  I wonder how seriously we take it.  But then Solomon gets a chance few ever do:  to answer the question from God, “What do you really want.”  And he answers not just right, but in an incredibly humble fashion.

Here is where I stop.  Despite his culture and time, Solomon is thinking like a New Testament person.  He is, dare I say it, thinking like a modern, not like what he is—a king in 1000 B.C. Mesopotamia.  His answer is essentially the same as if we were to say, “The main thing I want is to be like Christ, whatever it takes.”  He says, “I want wisdom to lead God’s people.”  There is no selfishness in his prayer, and what’s more, there is no sense of the despotic middle eastern king of that time.  This is not Saul, not Shalmeneser, not Tiglath-Pileser.    Solomon understands that the law of God is king; the king is not the law.  Solomon understands (and we see later that he stands and kneels to pray) that he is just like everyone else, not a deity as would be a common in that time. 

He gets his request, and I am reminded of Eph. 3:20.  God is not stingy; he gives us exceedingly abundantly above what we ask or think.  We are just not sensitive enough to see it. 

In chapter 8 we have the “prayer” of Solomon at the dedication of the temple he is allowed to build because his father was too bloody a warrior (and a murderer as well) to do so.  That prayer is, shall we say, ahead of its time.  It has a universal, global world view, not a local one.  Read it and notice how he 1. Acknowledges the human need for grace 2. Places the Jewish nation in an international context and 3. Emphasizes that the temple is only a symbol of God’s presence with the Jews, not where a transcendent God lives. 

I live with the ghosts of bad preachers.  I have heard so many sermons on the sin of these characters, yet God didn’t look at them and see the blots.  He looked at them and sees their hearts.   Just like he does us, and just like we don’t to other people.  This is a thought for another post—seeing hearts.