Field Reports Archive - Project Gerar

Shadow and Substance

Julian Kinkaid — Mon, 02 Feb 2026 16:50:45 +0000

Shadow and Substance

Colossians 2 and the Judgment Nobody's Talking About:
A Direct Response to Rob Solberg

Author’s Note: This article directly engages Rob Solberg’s interpretation of Colossians 2:16-17. Rather than simply refuting his claims, I want to walk through what Paul actually argues in this passage, show how it resolves interpretive tensions, and then examine where alternative readings struggle. My goal is clarity, not controversy – but where the text leads, we must follow.

If you’ve spent any time watching online critiques of Torah-observant Christians, you’ve probably come across Rob Solberg’s video on Colossians 2:16-17. He presents it as a silver bullet; the “plain reading” that, in his words, “defeats the false theology of Torahism.” He claims Paul was telling “Gentile believers” not to let anyone judge them for ignoring Sabbaths, festivals, and biblical food practices because these were merely “shadows,” now obsolete in Christ.*

It’s clean. It’s confident. It’s rhetorically smooth.

But is it what Paul actually says?

Not according to the text itself. When we trace Paul’s argument from verse 8 through chapter 3, a very different picture emerges, one where Paul defends biblical practices against ascetic judgment rather than dismissing them as obsolete. The traditional interpretation doesn’t just miss contextual clues; it creates logical contradictions within Paul’s own reasoning and forces him to argue against positions he never takes anywhere else in Scripture.

If we’re going to claim “plain reading,” we should at least make sure the reading is internally consistent, matches the historical context, and flows naturally into Paul’s next arguments.

What follows is a careful walk through what Paul actually argues, why this reading resolves problems, and where alternative interpretations break down.

A Note on Framework and Terminology

Before we begin, I need to be transparent about two things:

First, my theological framework: I hold a restoration-of-Israel reading of Paul’s mission. I believe Paul saw his work as fulfilling prophecies about gathering scattered Israel and reuniting the twelve tribes under Messiah (Ezekiel 37:15-28, Isaiah 11:11-12, Hosea 1:10). I argue that the term “Gentile” (Latin gentilis, introduced by Jerome) imposed ethnic-religious categories foreign to Scripture, and that Paul’s Greek ethnē simply means “nations” or “peoples”—a geographic-political term used even of Israel itself. In my view, many of those Paul addressed were likely scattered Israelites who’d lost covenant consciousness, God-fearers already attending synagogue, or nations being gathered into Israel’s reconstituted story through Messiah.

However, and this is crucial, I am not arguing from that framework in this article. My purpose is to demonstrate that Solberg’s interpretation of Colossians 2:16-17 fails on its own terms, using straightforward contextual and grammatical analysis that stands regardless of one’s position on the restoration question. The argument I present works even if you hold the traditional “Jew vs. Gentile” framework. I don’t want anyone dismissing this critique by assuming I’ve contrived a restoration theology just to counter Solberg’s position. The problems with his reading exist independent of my broader theological commitments.

Second, my terminology: To avoid reinforcing categories I believe are mistaken, I will not use the term “Gentile” except when directly quoting Solberg or discussing his specific claims. Instead, I’ll use more neutral language that renders ethnē as “nations” rather than imposing the later “Gentile” category. When the text refers to non-Judean believers, I’ll say “believers from the nations,” “grafted believers,” or simply “the Colossians.” This isn’t to sneak my framework in, it’s to avoid perpetuating terminology that predetermines the interpretation.

With that clarity established, let’s examine what Paul actually argues in Colossians 2.

PART 1: WHAT PAUL ACTUALLY ARGUES (2:8 → 3:17)

Section 1: The Colossian Context – Who and What

Before we can understand what Paul says in verses 16-17, we need to know who he’s addressing and what problem he’s solving.

1A: Who Are the Colossians?

Paul makes their identity clear throughout the letter. They are primarily non-Judean believers (or as Solberg would say, “Gentiles”):

Formerly “dead in sins and in the uncircumcision of your flesh” (2:13)
Previously “alienated and enemies in your mind” (1:21)
Now “reconciled in His body of flesh through death” (1:22)
Incorporated into “the body” of which Christ is the head (1:18)

But notice how Paul consistently describes their new identity. They are:

“Fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God” (Eph 2:19)
Grafted into “Israel’s olive tree” (Rom 11:17-24)
Made “fellow heirs and members of the same body” (Eph 3:6)
Brought near to “the covenants of promise” (Eph 2:12-13)

This explains something crucial: Why would believers from the nations be observing Sabbaths, festivals, new moons, and food laws in the first place? If these practices were understood as obsolete or inappropriate for non-Jewish believers, why are the Colossians keeping them?

The answer: Upon believing in Israel’s Messiah, they understood themselves as joining God’s people. Whether they were God-fearers already familiar with synagogue worship or newer converts, they recognised that belonging to God’s people meant living according to His wisdom. This wasn’t “converting to Judaism”, it was expressing their new identity in Messiah.

The alternative—that brand new believers spontaneously adopted Israel’s entire calendar and food laws for no clear reason—makes no historical sense.

1B: What Was the Colossian Heresy?

The false teaching troubling the Colossians was not mainstream Judaism. It was not pressure from Jewish believers to keep Torah for salvation. Paul describes it with very specific markers:

From 2:8: “Philosophy and empty deception, according to human tradition, according to the elementary principles of the world, and not according to Christ”

From 2:18: “Let no one disqualify you, insisting on asceticism and worship of angels, going on in detail about visions, puffed up without reason by his sensuous mind”

From 2:21-23: “Do not handle, Do not taste, Do not touch” (referring to things that perish with use), “according to human precepts and teachings… promoting self-made religion and asceticism and severity to the body”

Notice what characterizes this system:

Philosophical speculation rather than biblical instruction
Human tradition rather than divine command
Angel worship and visionary experiences as spiritual advancement
Harsh ascetic practices and severe treatment of the body
Prohibitions against handling, tasting, touching physical things
A claim to higher spiritual knowledge that makes people “puffed up”

This is not the profile of biblical Judaism. Torah commands eating (feasting), celebrates the material world as God’s good creation, brings people together in community, and sanctifies physical time and space. The Colossian heresy, by contrast, despised physical engagement, promoted mystical visions over embodied obedience, and treated matter as spiritually inferior.

The core claim of this heresy was: “Christ + our system = true fullness.” Our ascetic practices, our angelic intermediaries, our visionary experiences—these are what complete what Christ began.

This is what Paul is fighting. Not biblical Judaism. Not God’s commandments. But a syncretistic mystical asceticism that treated physical, embodied practices as inadequate for true spirituality.

Section 2: Paul’s Argument Flow (2:8-15) – The Setup

Paul’s response to this heresy follows a clear logical progression. Understanding this flow is essential to understanding verse 16.

2A: The Warning (v.8)

“See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deception, according to human tradition, according to the elementary principles of the world, and not according to Christ.”

Paul’s concern from the very beginning: human tradition competing with Christ. The false teachers were offering something allegedly better than, or necessary to complete, what Christ provides. Paul’s entire response will demonstrate why this is both unnecessary and dangerous.

2B: Christ’s Sufficiency (vv.9-10)

“For in Him all the fullness of deity dwells bodily, and in Him you have been filled/made complete. He is the head over every power and authority.”

This is the theological foundation of everything Paul is about to say. Pay careful attention to his logic:

All fullness (πᾶν τὸ πλήρωμα) of deity dwells in Christ – bodily, not abstractly
You have been filled (ἐστὲ πεπληρωμένοι) in Him – perfect tense, completed action with ongoing results
He is head over every power and authority – including those the false teachers were promoting

Paul’s point is devastating to the heresy: You already possess everything because you possess Christ. Nothing can be added to increase your fullness. No ascetic practice, no angelic mediation, no visionary experience can complete what is already complete.

This is not yet about whether to keep biblical practices. This is about where reality and fullness are located. Paul is establishing that they are located exclusively in Christ.

2C: What Christ Accomplished (vv.11-15)

Paul then reminds them what happened when they believed:

Verse 11-12: Circumcision of the heart, buried and raised with Christ
Verse 13: Made alive when you were dead in sins
Verse 14: “Having cancelled the certificate of debt consisting of decrees against us, which was hostile to us, He has taken it out of the way, having nailed it to the cross”
Verse 15: “Having disarmed the rulers and authorities, He made a public display of them, having triumphed over them through the cross”

A Note on Paul’s Language: Alienation and Reconciliation

Before we continue, we should pause to notice Paul’s specific word choices when he describes the Colossians’ former state just a few verses earlier:

Colossians 1:21: “And you, who once were alienated (ἀπηλλοτριωμένοι) and enemies in your mind by wicked works…”
Colossians 1:22: “Yet now He has reconciled (ἀποκαταλλάσσω) in the body of His flesh through death…”

These words carry specific theological weight:

“Alienated” (ἀπηλλοτριωμένοι) doesn’t simply mean “ignorant of God” or “never connected.” It means estranged, cut off from something one should belong to. Paul uses the identical word in Ephesians 2:12: “alienated from the commonwealth of Israel.”

“Reconciled” (ἀποκαταλλάσσω) presupposes a ruptured relationship being restored, not merely a first-time introduction. Paul uses this language for healing relational fracture, removing enmity between parties, restoring what was broken.

Whether we read this as covenant restoration language or as typical conversion terminology, Paul’s point is clear: these believers have been brought from estrangement into relationship with God and His people through Christ’s work.

Now, with that context in place, let’s trace how Paul’s logic unfolds.

What Exactly Did Christ Cancel?

This is where careful reading becomes crucial. What was it that Christ cancelled in verse 14?

The Greek word Paul uses is χειρόγραφον (cheirographon); literally “handwritten document.” In legal contexts, it referred to a certificate of indebtedness, a written record of debt owed. Paul says this document consisted of “decrees” (δόγμασιν) that were “against us” and “hostile to us.”

Critical distinction: Paul is talking about condemnation, not instruction. The problem wasn’t that God gave commandments. The problem was that we violated those commandments, and the law’s condemning power stood as a record of our debt. That certificate of debt; the legal liability, the accusation, the jurisdiction of condemnation, is what Christ cancelled at the cross.

This distinction matters because Paul elsewhere affirms that the law itself is “holy, righteous, and good” (Romans 7:12). What needed to be dealt with was not the instruction but our violation of it and the resulting condemnation.

Think of it this way: If a child repeatedly breaks household rules and is under constant threat of punishment, and the parent removes that threat and wipes the record clean, does that mean the rules themselves were bad and should be abandoned? Or does it mean the child is now free to learn those rules without fear?

Paul is addressing the condemning power of violated law, not declaring God’s commandments evil or obsolete.

Section 3: The Pivot – “Therefore, Let No One Judge You” (vv.16-17)

Now we arrive at the verses in question. But notice: we’re sixteen verses into Paul’s argument. Everything he’s said so far provides the framework for understanding what comes next.

3A: The Logical Connection

“Therefore (οὖν) let no one judge you…”

That word “therefore” is load-bearing. It connects what Paul is about to say to everything he’s just established. The logic flows like this:

PREMISE 1: In Christ dwells all fullness (v.9)
PREMISE 2: You have been made complete in Him (v.10)
PREMISE 3: Christ cancelled the certificate of debt that condemned you (v.14)
PREMISE 4: Christ disarmed the powers that held that condemnation over you (v.15)
CONCLUSION: Therefore, don’t let anyone place you back under judgment

The “therefore” doesn’t mean “stop keeping biblical practices.” It means “since you’re complete in Christ and free from condemnation, don’t let anyone re-establish judgment over you.”

3B: The Practices Paul Names (v.16)

“Therefore let no one judge you in food and drink, or with respect to a festival or a new moon or Sabbaths.”

Notice what Paul lists:

Food and drink (eating and drinking practices)
Festival (ἑορτή – annual celebrations like Passover, Pentecost, Tabernacles)
New moon (μηνός – monthly observances)
Sabbaths (σαββάτων – weekly rest days)

This is a Jewish triadic formula. You find it throughout the Old Testament referring to the full cycle of Israel’s appointed times:

1 Chronicles 23:31: “…for all appointed times, on the Sabbaths, on the new moons, and on the fixed festivals”
2 Chronicles 31:3: “…for the burnt offerings morning and evening, and the burnt offerings for the Sabbaths, for the new moons, and for the appointed feasts”
Ezekiel 45:17: “It shall be the prince’s duty to furnish…the grain offerings, burnt offerings, and drink offerings, at the feasts, the new moons, and the Sabbaths”

Paul is deliberately invoking biblical language for Israel’s sacred calendar, moving from annual (festivals) to monthly (new moons) to weekly (Sabbaths). This covers the complete spectrum of appointed times established by God in Torah.

Pause on this question: If Paul intended to tell believers these practices were now obsolete or inappropriate, why would he use the most sacred Old Testament formula that establishes them as God-ordained? Why reach for language that honors these observances as genuinely biblical?

Think about it this way: Imagine someone saying: “Your wedding vows were just a shadow. Now that love has arrived, the vows no longer matter.” And then (astonishingly) quoting the vows themselves to emphasise the point: “For better or worse, in sickness and in health, till death do us part but those were just temporary symbols pointing to something greater.”

Everyone would immediately recognise the contradiction. You don’t quote vows reverently to announce that they’re now irrelevant. The very act of invoking the sacred language honours what it describes. If vows had become obsolete, you wouldn’t reach for the most solemn covenant language to say so. You’d use distancing language: “old promises,” or “outdated commitments”.

The same principle applies here. Paul uses Scripture’s most sacred formula for God’s appointed times; the exact triadic pattern (annual/monthly/weekly) that appears throughout the Old Testament specifically to establish these as divinely instituted rhythms. This isn’t neutral language, it’s covenantal language, and in Scripture, God’s covenant with His people is repeatedly described using marriage imagery.

Furthermore, something we often miss. These aren’t late inventions or temporary measures: The Sabbath is established at creation; before Israel, before Sinai, even before humanity itself (Genesis 2:2-3). It is later reaffirmed as “a sign between Me and the children of Israel forever” (Exodus 31:16-17). The appointed times are repeatedly described in Scripture as “everlasting statutes” (Leviticus 23:14, 21, 41). Even dietary distinctions predate the Mosaic covenant, appearing first in God’s instructions to Noah (Genesis 9:3-4), where humanity’s relationship to life, blood, and holiness is already being defined.

Practices that precede Sinai, are rooted in creation, and are described as eternal covenant signs do not belong to the category of disposable religious scaffolding. If Paul believed they had become inappropriate for believers, we would not expect Scripture-saturated affirmations. He does not speak like a man dismantling God-ordained rhythms; he speaks like a shepherd protecting them from being distorted into instruments of condemnation.

3C: What Paul Actually Says (and Doesn’t Say)

Let’s be precise about Paul’s words:

Paul does NOT say:

“Stop observing these things”
“These practices are now sinful”
“You must not keep Sabbaths or festivals”
“These were never truly from God”
“You’re free to choose whether to follow God’s wisdom”

What Paul DOES say:

“Let no one judge you regarding these matters”

The issue is judgment, not the practices themselves. Paul doesn’t forbid the practices. He doesn’t command the practices. He addresses the judgment about the practices.

But judgment from whom? And about what? That’s the crucial question, and Paul answers it in the very next verse.

3D: The Reason – Shadow and Substance (v.17)

“These are a shadow of the things to come, but the substance belongs to Christ.”

This verse is often read in isolation, as if Paul is simply making a statement about the nature of Old Testament practices. But in context, Paul is giving a reason why the Colossians shouldn’t let anyone judge them.

The question we must ask: What is Paul’s point in calling these things “shadows” in this specific context of refuting the Colossian heresy?

To answer that, we need to understand what the false teachers were claiming.

Section 4: Understanding “Shadow” in Paul’s Polemic

The key to understanding verse 17 is recognising that Paul is not making an isolated abstract theological statement. He’s countering a specific claim made by the false teachers.

4A: The Ascetics’ Claim

Based on everything Paul tells us about the heresy, we can do a good job at reconstructing their argument:

“These physical practices; eating, drinking, celebrating festivals, observing Sabbaths, are mere shadows of spiritual realities. True spirituality transcends the material through visions, angelic mediation, and ascetic severity. If you want real fullness, real spiritual maturity, you need more than these earthly practices. You need our system.”

The ascetics weren’t denying these practices were shadows. They were using that very fact to argue they were inadequate. “Yes, they’re shadows, which means they’re incomplete, immature, elementary. Mature believers move beyond them to the real spiritual experiences we offer.”

Their core message: Christ alone isn’t enough. You need Christ + our ascetic system to achieve true fullness.

4B: Paul’s Counter

Now watch how Paul responds. He doesn’t deny they’re shadows. Instead, he corrects their understanding of what shadows are and what they point to:

“Yes, these ARE shadows, but they point to Christ alone as the substance.”

Paul is rescuing these practices from the ascetics’ hijacking. His logic:

You’re right that they’re shadows
But you’re wrong about what that means
They don’t point to your system – they point to Christ
They don’t need your additions – they already point where they should
Christ is the substance – not another shadow, not needing embellishments from your asceticism

This is Paul’s point: The shadows don’t compete with Christ. They don’t need supplementation by the ascetics’ system. They already do exactly what they’re meant to do; point to the one who possesses all the fullness bodily.

4C: Biblical Shadow Typology

To understand what Paul means by “shadow,” we need to understand how Scripture uses this imagery.

Critical point: In biblical typology, “shadow” does not mean “false” or “worthless” or “now obsolete.” It means “prophetic pointer to a greater reality.”

Consider two crucial examples:

EXAMPLE 1: David’s Throne

Everyone agrees David was a “type” (shadow) of the Messiah. The Messiah is even called “son of David.” David’s kingship pointed forward to Christ’s eternal kingship.

But here’s what destroys the “shadow means obsolete” interpretation: God explicitly promised David, “Your house and your kingdom will endure forever before Me; your throne will be established forever” (2 Samuel 7:16).

Think about what this means. David’s throne is a shadow of Messiah’s throne. Yet God promised David’s throne would be eternal. The shadow doesn’t cease when the substance arrives. Rather, the shadow participates in the eternal reality of the substance. When Jesus sits on David’s throne, He doesn’t abolish it, He fulfils it. David’s kingdom doesn’t become obsolete; it reaches its ultimate expression in Christ.

The shadow is taken up into and perfected by the substance. David’s life, his psalms, his reign continue to instruct us about the nature of Messianic kingship precisely because they share in the eternal reality that Christ embodies.

EXAMPLE 2: The Tabernacle

Hebrews 8:5 describes the earthly tabernacle and its service: “They serve a copy and shadow of the heavenly things.”

Does this mean the tabernacle was meaningless or worthless during its function? Of course not. It was:

Commanded by God Himself
Built according to the pattern shown on the mountain
The place where God’s glory dwelt
Holy, sacred, essential to Israel’s worship
Where priests served daily and continually

The shadow derived its value from the heavenly reality it reflected. The earthly pointed to the heavenly, and both were simultaneously real and meaningful. The shadow didn’t lose value because the heavenly reality existed, it gained meaning because of what it represented.

But here’s the chronological detail that destroys the “shadow equals obsolete” argument: The heavenly tabernacle (the substance) already existed when God commanded Moses to build the earthly tabernacle (the shadow).

Exodus 25:9: “According to all that I show you concerning the pattern of the tabernacle… so you shall make it.” Exodus 25:40: “See that you make them according to the pattern for them, which is being shown you on the mountain.”

The timeline:

The heavenly tabernacle (substance) exists eternally
God shows Moses the heavenly pattern – the substance was already present
God then commands Moses to build the earthly copy (shadow)

If the existence of the substance makes the shadow obsolete, God’s command makes no sense. Why would God command the construction of something rendered obsolete by the existence of what it points to?

The answer: Shadows don’t become obsolete when substance exists. They serve an ongoing function of pointing people toward the substance, teaching them about the substance, and allowing them to participate in the reality the substance represents, even when that substance already exists.

The earthly tabernacle was commanded, built, and honoured precisely because it reflected heavenly reality, not in spite of it.

The Pattern: Biblical shadows are not temporary placeholders waiting to be discarded. They are prophetic pointers that find their deepest meaning and ultimate fulfilment in the reality they’ve always been pointing toward.

4D: Paul’s Point in Context

With this understanding, Paul’s logic becomes clear:

The ascetics were saying: “These practices are shadows, therefore incomplete, therefore you need our system to reach true spirituality.”

Paul responds: “These practices ARE shadows (you are correct), but you’ve misunderstood what that means. They point to Christ, who is the substance. They don’t point to your angels, your visions, your ascetic severity. They point to Him. And their fullness is complete in Him. Your system adds nothing. In fact, it distracts from the very reality these practices were always meant to direct us toward.”

Paul isn’t minimising the practices. He’s rescuing them from the ascetics’ misuse. The practices don’t need embellishment or replacement. They already function perfectly as pointers to Christ.

The shadow doesn’t compete with the substance – it reveals it.

This is why Paul can defend these practices (v.16) while simultaneously pointing to Christ as the ultimate reality (v.17). There’s no contradiction. The practices are good and meaningful because they point to Christ. The problem is not the practices, but the assumption that they are lacking and need something more, specifically the man-made system of asceticism and mystical experiences. This assumption empties them of their true purpose, which is to bear witness to Christ alone.

Now the question becomes: Who exactly was doing the judging Paul warns against?

Section 5: The Nature of the Judgment (vv.18-23)

Paul doesn’t leave us guessing about who the judges were or what they were promoting. He describes them explicitly in the verses immediately following.

5A: The Profile of the Judges

Verse 18: “Let no one disqualify you, insisting on asceticism and worship of angels, going on in detail about visions, puffed up without reason by his sensuous mind”

Verse 19: “…and not holding fast to the Head, from whom the whole body, nourished and knit together through its joints and ligaments, grows with a growth that is from God”

Verse 20-21: “If with Christ you died to the elementary principles of the world, why, as if you were still alive in the world, do you submit to regulations – ‘Do not handle, Do not taste, Do not touch'”

Verse 22: “(referring to things that all perish as they are used) – according to human precepts and teachings”

Verse 23: “These have indeed an appearance of wisdom in promoting self-made religion and asceticism and severity to the body, but they are of no value in stopping the indulgence of the flesh”

5B: Testing the Interpretations

We’ve already detailed the ascetic profile in Section 1B. Now let’s test which interpretation this profile actually supports:

Does this fit “Jewish legalists pressuring believers TO adopt Torah”?

No. The profile includes angel worship (forbidden in Torah), mystical visions (not Torah emphasis), “do not handle/taste/touch” prohibitions (Torah commands handling, tasting, engaging), and “not holding fast to Christ” (Jewish believers affirmed Christ).

Does this fit “ascetic mystics condemning physical practices”?

Yes. Every element fits: despising material engagement, promoting visions over embodied obedience, harsh treatment of the body, and treating physical practices as spiritually inferior.

The judges were not promoting biblical practices – they were condemning them as inadequate for “true spirituality.”

5C: The Critical Question

Now we can ask the decisive question: Does this profile fit someone pressuring believers from the nations TO adopt biblical practices? Or someone condemning them FOR keeping biblical practices?

Let’s test it both ways:

HYPOTHESIS 1 (Traditional interpretation): These are Jewish legalists pressuring non-Jewish believers to keep Torah for salvation.

Problems:

Why would Jewish legalists promote angel worship? This is explicitly forbidden in Torah.
Why would they emphasise mystical visions over Torah obedience?
Why would they be described as “not holding fast to Christ”? Jewish believers affirmed Christ.
Why would Paul call their teachings “human precepts” rather than “God’s commandments”?
Why would their prohibitions be “Do not handle, Do not taste, Do not touch”? Torah commands handling (sacrifices), tasting (feasts), touching (holy objects by priests).

HYPOTHESIS 2 (Contextual interpretation): These are ascetic mystics condemning physical practices as spiritually inferior.

This explains:

Angel worship: Ascetics saw angels as intermediaries to transcend the material
Visions: Mystical experience was valued over embodied obedience
“Not holding fast to Christ”: They treated Christ as insufficient without their additions
“Human precepts”: Because these weren’t biblical commandments but invented prohibitions
“Do not handle, taste, touch”: Asceticism despises engagement with the material world

5D: Torah’s Character vs. Ascetic Character

Let’s make this even more explicit by comparing what Torah actually commands versus what asceticism promotes:

These are opposite systems. Torah celebrates the material world as God’s good creation and establishes rhythms for holy engagement with it. Asceticism despises the material as spiritually inferior and promotes disengagement from it.

Conclusion: The judges in Colossians 2 were not promoting biblical obedience. They were condemning physical, embodied practices; including the biblical practices of eating, drinking, celebrating festivals, and observing Sabbaths, as inadequate for true spirituality.

Paul’s response: Don’t let them judge you for keeping these practices. These practices rightly point to Christ. Their system is “self-made religion” with no real power.

Section 6: Why This Makes Paul’s Argument Coherent

We’re now ready to see how all the pieces fit together. When we read Paul’s argument as a unified whole, a consistent logic emerges.

6A: The Internal Consistency Test

Here’s the test: Can Paul be saying in verse 16 “don’t let anyone judge you for NOT keeping food laws” and then in verse 21 condemn those who say “Do not taste, Do not touch”?

Under the traditional interpretation:

16 would mean: “You’re free to abandon biblical food laws”
21 would mean: “Don’t follow ascetic food prohibitions”
Problem: These would be encouraging and condemning the same basic action (not following food restrictions)

Under the contextual interpretation:

16 means: “Don’t let ascetics judge you for keeping biblical practices of eating, drinking, festivals, Sabbaths”
21 means: “Don’t submit to their ascetic prohibitions against handling, tasting, touching”
Result: Both verses defend physical engagement and condemn ascetic avoidance

The contextual reading makes Paul’s argument flow naturally. The traditional reading creates an internal contradiction.

6B: The “Therefore” Actually Works

Remember the logic Paul established:

Christ contains all the fullness (v.9)
You are complete in Him (v.10)
He cancelled the condemning certificate of debt (v.14)
He disarmed the powers that wielded condemnation (v.15)

Therefore (v.16): Don’t let anyone re-establish judgment over you.

Under what scenario does this “therefore” make sense?

Scenario A: You’re complete in Christ, condemnation is cancelled, therefore abandon biblical practices.

This doesn’t follow. Completeness in Christ doesn’t lead to abandoning God’s wisdom. It leads to freedom from performance-based acceptance.

Scenario B: You’re complete in Christ, condemnation is cancelled, therefore don’t let ascetics condemn you for engaging biblical practices that point to Him.

This follows perfectly. Christ’s sufficiency means:

The practices don’t save you (He does)
The practices don’t complete you (you’re already complete)
The practices point to Him (not to any; or in this case, ascetic additions)
No one can judge your standing based on these matters (the condemnation has been removed)

The “therefore” connects naturally when we understand Paul is defending freedom from judgment, and not advocating the abandonment of certain practices.

6C: The Chapter 2 → Chapter 3 Flow

This is perhaps the most compelling evidence that Paul’s argument has been misunderstood. If Colossians 2 teaches “you’re free from these obligations,” what happens in chapter 3?

Paul’s argument doesn’t stop at 2:23. Remember, these chapter divisions weren’t original, Paul wrote this as one continuous letter. Let’s trace the flow:

Colossians 3:1-4 – Your Life Is Hidden with Christ

“If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.”

Is this ascetic detachment from the physical? No. Paul has just spent the end of chapter 2 condemning that very mindset.

What is it? Resurrection orientation. Your identity is secure in Christ. Your standing doesn’t depend on impressing anyone with your spiritual achievements. Your life is “hidden”; secure, protected, already determined, in Christ.

Notice also: “When Christ appears, then you will appear with Him in glory.” Future tense. The consummation hasn’t yet happened. The “already but not yet” tension is preserved. We live between Christ’s resurrection (already accomplished) and our full glorification (still to come).

Colossians 3:5-11 – Put to Death What Is Earthly

“Put to death therefore what is earthly in you: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry…Put them all away: anger, wrath, malice, slander, and obscene talk from your mouth. Do not lie to one another, seeing that you have put off the old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge after the image of its creator.”

Is this body-denying asceticism? No. This is the transformation of how you use your embodied life.

What’s being put to death? Not the body, but sinful patterns: lust, greed, anger, lying.

What requires this? Actually engaging the body rightly, not escaping it. You can’t put off lying by retreating to a cave. You do it by speaking truth within the community. You can’t put off sexual immorality by hating the body. You do it by honouring the body and directing your desires rightly.

This is exactly the opposite of the ascetic system Paul condemned. The ascetics claimed severity to the body would restrain sin. Paul says their system “is of no value in stopping the indulgence of the flesh” (2:23). True transformation comes through our union with Christ and by walking in the Spirit, not through the punishment of the body.

Colossians 3:12-17 – Clothe Yourselves with…

“Put on then, as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.”

Notice what Paul commands:

Compassion, kindness, humility, patience (embodied character qualities)
Bearing with one another, forgiving (community practices)
Love that binds together (relational engagement)
Teaching and admonishing one another (active discipleship)
Singing together with thankfulness (corporate worship)
Doing everything in Jesus’ name (a total life orientation)

These are all concrete, embodied, community-centred practices. Nothing here suggests “you’re now free from obedience” or “patterns for holy living are obsolete.”

If Paul’s point in chapter 2 was “Christ frees you from Torah obligations, so live as you choose,” chapter 3 would be incoherent. But if his point was “Christ frees you from condemnation, so now live in grateful, secure obedience,” chapter 3 flows perfectly as the positive outworking of that freedom.

6D: The Argument’s Unity

When we read 2:8 through 3:17 as Paul’s unified argument, here’s what we find:

2:8-15: Foundation – Christ’s sufficiency and accomplished work
2:16-17: Defence – Don’t let ascetics judge you about biblical practices
2:18-23: Expose – The ascetic system is powerless and false
3:1-4: Reorient – Your life is secure in the risen Christ
3:5-11: Negative – Put off sin patterns
3:12-17: Positive – Put on Christ-like character and practices

There’s no break in logic. There’s no “you’re free from obedience” interlude. There’s liberation from condemnation (2:14) leading to liberation from false spiritual systems (2:16-23) leading to secure, joyful obedience (3:1-17).

The traditional interpretation requires severing this flow, treating chapter 2 as about freedom from obligation and chapter 3 as a sudden return to commands. The contextual interpretation sees the whole as a seamless argument about living in the security and sufficiency of Christ against false spirituality.

Section 7: What Paul Actually Means by Freedom

We need to address this directly because it’s the core pastoral application of this passage, and where most of the confusion often arises.

7A: The Question That Must Be Answered

When Paul says “don’t let anyone judge you” (2:16), what kind of freedom is he granting?

OPTION A: Autonomy freedom – “You’re free to choose whether to follow God’s wisdom. These practices are optional. Your own conscience decides.”

OPTION B: Security freedom – “You’re free from condemnation regarding your standing before God. Nobody can judge your acceptance based on these matters.”

These are fundamentally different kinds of freedom, and the difference matters enormously.

7B: Why It Can’t Be Option A (Autonomy)

Several factors make Option A impossible:

Colossians 3 immediately commands specific obedience. If Paul meant “you’re free to choose,” the sudden return to imperatives would be jarring and contradictory.
Paul consistently affirms Torah as “holy, righteous, and good” (Romans 7:12). He says he “upholds the law” through faith (Romans 3:31). He would not tell believers that God’s wisdom is now optional.
Paul himself continued practicing these things. Throughout Acts, Paul observes Sabbaths (13:14, 42, 44; 16:13; 17:2; 18:4), rushes to keep feasts (18:21; 20:16), takes vows (18:18), and undergoes temple purification (21:26). If he believed these practices were obsolete or optional, his behaviour makes no sense.
Paul’s entire theological framework is “lordship transfer,” not autonomy. He speaks constantly of dying to self, being slaves of Christ, offering bodies as living sacrifices, being bought with a price. Autonomy theology; “live as you choose”, contradicts everything Paul teaches about discipleship.
The grammar doesn’t support it. Paul doesn’t say “You’re free to keep or not keep these things as you prefer.” He says “Don’t let anyone judge you.” He’s addressing external judgment, not internal decision-making about obedience.

7C: What Freedom Actually Means in Context

Option B fits perfectly with everything Paul has said and everything that follows.

Think about what had just happened theologically:

Under the old covenant administration:

The law revealed God’s righteousness
We violated that law through sin
The law’s condemning power stood as a testimony against us
The certificate of debt accumulated
We were under judgment, rightly condemned

What Christ accomplished (2:14-15):

He cancelled (ἐξαλείψας) the certificate of debt
He took it out of the way (ἦρκεν ἐκ τοῦ μέσου)
He nailed it to the cross
He disarmed the powers that wielded that condemnation
He made a public display of their defeat

The result:

The condemning power is broken
The accusation is silenced
The jurisdiction of judgment is removed
We are complete in Him (2:10)
No one can successfully charge God’s elect (Romans 8:33)

Now the ascetics come along and try to re-establish judgment:

“You’re not spiritual enough”
“You need our system to be truly mature”
“Your physical practices show you’re not enlightened”
“You’re engaging the material world when you should transcend it”

Paul’s response: “Don’t let them place you back under judgment. The condemnation Christ removed cannot be re-established. Your standing before God is not based on whether you meet their standards or anyone else’s standards. You are complete in Christ.”

This is freedom from condemnation, not freedom from obedience.

7D: The Practical Difference

Here’s what this freedom looks like in practice:

Without gospel freedom (under condemnation):

I keep Sabbath to earn God’s acceptance
I celebrate feasts to prove I’m spiritual enough
I follow food laws to maintain my standing
I’m anxious about whether I’m doing it right
Others’ judgment determines my identity
Failure means condemnation

With gospel freedom (secure in Christ):

I keep Sabbath because it teaches me to rest in God’s provision
I celebrate feasts because they tell God’s redemptive story and point to Christ
I follow biblical wisdom about food because I trust God’s design
I’m free to learn and grow without fear of rejection
Others’ judgment doesn’t define me, Christ does
Failure is met with grace and sanctification, not condemnation

These are the same practices, but an entirely different motivation and security.

This is what Paul means: Don’t let anyone judge you regarding these matters. Not because the practices are wrong or obsolete, but because your standing is secure in Christ. Nobody’s judgment; ascetic, legalist, or otherwise, can place you back under condemnation.

You’re free to engage God’s wisdom from love, gratitude, and trust. You’re free to let these practices point you to Christ. You’re free from the performance treadmill and from spiritual intimidation.

This is freedom for obedience, not freedom from obedience.

And this is exactly the freedom Paul demonstrates in chapter 3, where he immediately commands concrete obedience, but now flowing from our secure identity in Christ, not our anxious striving for acceptance.

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PART 2: WHY THIS READING RESOLVES PROBLEMS

We’ve walked through Paul’s positive argument. Now let’s see how this interpretation resolves questions and tensions that the traditional reading struggles to address.

Section 8: The Question Solberg Never Answers

There’s an elephant in the room that the traditional interpretation consistently ignores. It’s a simple historical question with no simple answer under that framework.

8A: Why Were the Colossians Keeping These Practices?

According to the traditional interpretation::

The Colossians were former pagans in Asia Minor (1:21, 2:13)
They had no prior connection to Israel’s covenant or calendar
Yet they were observing Sabbaths, festivals, new moons, and food laws (2:16)

These aren’t practices you stumble into accidentally. Sabbath observance required complete restructuring of your weekly schedule. Festival observance meant learning an entirely new calendar with agricultural and historical significance potentially foreign to their previous culture. Food laws meant changing foundational dietary habits.

The question the traditional view must answer: Why would complete pagans with no prior connection to Israel’s covenant spontaneously adopt these demanding practices?

8B: The Traditional View’s Problem

Solberg claims: “The Colossians were being pressured to adopt these practices by false teachers.”

But this creates more problems than it solves:

Problem 1: If Torah observance was already understood as obsolete or inappropriate for non-Jewish Christians, why would pressure to adopt it even exist in Colossae? Why wasn’t this a non-issue?

Problem 2: Why do we see no similar controversy in Paul’s other letters to predominantly non-Jewish churches? If this was a widespread problem of Jewish Christians pressuring new believers to keep Torah, we’d expect it to appear prominently in Romans, Corinthians, Galatians, Ephesians. But it doesn’t.

Problem 3: The actual controversy in Acts 15 was about circumcision for salvation, and even there, Sabbath observance never comes up. The Jerusalem Council never says, “Believers from the nations don’t need to keep Sabbath.” Why not, if it was contentious?

Problem 4: Paul’s own behaviour. If he believed Torah observance was obsolete and inappropriate for the new covenant, why does he consistently practice it himself? We’re not talking about isolated incidents but a clear pattern running throughout Acts.

The traditional view has no satisfying answer to these problems. It requires us to believe:

New believers randomly adopted practices they were told were obsolete
Or false teachers successfully pressured them into practices the apostles said were unnecessary
But somehow this pressure left no trace in Paul’s other writings
And Paul fought against it while simultaneously practicing it himself

8C: The Contextual View’s Answer

The contextual interpretation provides a coherent explanation—and it doesn’t require any contested theology. It just requires reading the book of Acts.

What Acts Shows Us About Paul’s Pattern:

Throughout Acts, Paul’s consistent practice was to begin in the synagogues, where he reasoned with both Jews and God-fearing Greeks every Sabbath (Acts 13:14, 43; 14:1; 17:2, 4, 10, 12; 18:4, 8; 19:8). (For full documentation of Paul’s practice and its theological implications, see Section 11C.)

Who Did He Find There?

Not just Jews, but God-fearing Greeks as a major part of the synagogue community. These God-fearers were already:

Attending synagogue regularly
Observing Sabbath
Familiar with Torah
Keeping biblical food practices
Honouring Israel’s festivals
Worshipping Israel’s God

They were, in effect, already walking in Torah’s wisdom, fully integrated into synagogue life, just not ethnically Jewish.

So When Paul Preached Messiah and They Believed…

They didn’t “adopt” these practices. They continued to walk in them, now understanding them in light of Christ. They were already keeping Sabbath, festivals, and food laws. Nothing changed about their practices. What changed was their understanding of who Messiah is and what His work had accomplished.

This Makes the “Why Were They Keeping These Practices?” Question Trivial:

Traditional view assumption: Pagan converts with no connection to Judaism mysteriously adopted demanding Jewish practices

Simple Acts reading: Synagogue attendees who already kept these practices continued doing so after believing in Messiah

The second explanation requires no speculation. It’s just what Acts naturally leads us to conclude.

And This Explains Why Any Actual Pagans Would Adopt Them Too:

The assemblies likely consisted of:

Jews (who had always kept Torah)
God-fearing Greeks (who were already keeping Torah as synagogue attendees)
A smaller number of actual pagans (new to these practices)

When someone joins a community, they naturally adopt that community’s practices. If you join a community where everyone observes Sabbath, celebrates biblical festivals, and follows food wisdom, you do too—not because you’re being “pressured by false teachers,” but because that’s what the community you’re joining does.

The community norm was Torah observance. New converts, whatever their background, would naturally participate in the life of the community they were entering. This isn’t mysterious. It’s just how communities work.

Now Let’s Turn Back to Colossians:

If the Colossian assembly was primarily composed of such God-fearers (which fits Paul’s established pattern perfectly), then:

Step 1: They were already keeping Sabbaths, festivals, new moons, and food laws before hearing about the Messiah

Step 2: When they believed in Christ, they understood themselves as now fully part of God’s people, no longer outsiders looking in, but “fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God” (Ephesians 2:19)

Step 3: The ascetic teachers judged them for these physical practices. “Why are you engaging these material, bodily observances? True spirituality transcends the physical. You need visions, angels, mystical experiences, harsh ascetic discipline.”

Step 4: Paul defends them. “Don’t let these teachers judge you. Your practices point to Christ. You don’t need their additions. Christ is sufficient.”

This explanation:

Accounts for why believers from the nations were practicing these things (many of them already were)
Explains who the judges were (ascetics condemning physical practices)
Makes sense of Paul’s defence (protecting biblical practices from ascetic criticism)
Aligns with Paul’s documented journeys and practices in Acts
Requires no contested theological framework, just a plain reading of the Acts account

8D: The Evidence Test

Which explanation better fits the historical evidence?

Traditional view requires:

Jewish legalists pressuring non-Jewish believers toward Torah (but described as ascetic mystics)
Paul defending freedom from Torah (but practicing it himself)
This controversy being unique to Colossae (unexplained why)
The early church maintaining a strong consensus on this (despite supposed widespread pressure)

Contextual view explains:

Believers from the nations naturally engaging or continuing in covenant patterns upon joining God’s people
Ascetic teachers condemning physical practices as inadequate
Paul defending biblical practices from ascetic corruption
Why this pattern appears nowhere else (it’s specific to Colossae’s particular heresy)
Why Paul’s practice matches his teaching

The contextual reading provides what any good interpretation should: coherent explanation of all the evidence without special pleading.

Section 9: The Grammatical Support

Beyond the contextual and logical arguments, the Greek grammar itself supports this reading. Let’s examine the key linguistic elements.

9A: The “Things to Come” (τῶν μελλόντων)

In verse 17, Paul writes: “These are a shadow of the things to come (τῶν μελλόντων)”

The phrase τῶν μελλόντων is a genitive plural present participle from μέλλω. This grammatical construction is significant:

What it indicates:

Present participle suggests ongoing relevance
Not a completed past action
Things that are “about to be” or “coming”
Emphasis on future events from a given perspective

What it doesn’t say:

Not aorist (simple past): “things that came”
Not perfect: “things that have been completed”
Not “things that came and are now finished”

The grammar preserves the forward-looking orientation. The shadows point toward realities that, from their own perspective, were “to come.” But the question is: have those realities fully arrived, or are they still in process?

9B: Paul’s Eschatological Framework

This is where understanding Paul’s theology becomes crucial. Paul consistently operates within an “already but not yet” framework:

Already accomplished:

Christ has come, died, risen, ascended
The Spirit has been poured out
The new covenant has been inaugurated
The kingdom has broken into history
We have been raised with Christ (Colossians 3:1)

Not yet consummated:

Christ has not yet returned in glory
Creation still groans (Romans 8:22)
We still await “the redemption of our bodies” (Romans 8:23)
Our life is “hidden with Christ” until He appears (Colossians 3:3-4)
We “see through a glass darkly” (1 Corinthians 13:12)
“What we will be has not yet appeared” (1 John 3:2)

This “already/not yet” tension pervades all of Paul’s eschatology. The age to come has been inaugurated in Christ’s resurrection, but it has not been consummated. We live in the ‘overlap of the ages’.

9C: The Grammatical-Theological Fit

Given this framework, what does τῶν μελλόντων (“things to come”) refer to?

Traditional interpretation: The “coming things” were Christ’s first advent. He came, so they’ve fully arrived. The shadows have served their purpose.

Problem with this: It collapses Paul’s “already/not yet” tension. It requires claiming that the reality is fully here, which Paul never says. In fact, he says the opposite; our full unveiling awaits Christ’s appearing (Colossians 3:4).

Contextual interpretation: The “coming things” include both:

What has been inaugurated in Christ’s first coming (the “already”)
What will be consummated in His return and the new creation (the “not yet”)

The shadows pointed forward to Messiah’s work; His incarnation, death, resurrection, ascension, reign, return, and the final restoration of all things. The first part is accomplished; the final part still awaits. The shadows continue their function of pointing forward to the full reality still to be revealed.

This explains why Paul can say:

“These are a shadow” (present tense – they still function as shadows)
“Of the things to come” (they point forward)
“The substance belongs to Christ” (He is the reality they’ve always pointed to)

The shadows don’t become obsolete at Christ’s first coming any more than David’s throne becomes obsolete when Jesus begins reigning from it. The shadows participate in and point to the eternal reality being progressively revealed.

9D: Supporting Evidence from Paul’s Usage

Paul uses similar “things to come” language elsewhere, and it consistently includes future eschatological realities:

Romans 8:18: “The sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us”

1 Corinthians 3:22: “Whether the world or life or death or the present or the future (μέλλοντα) – all are yours”

Ephesians 1:21: Christ is “far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the one to come (μέλλοντι)”

In each case, Paul acknowledges the ongoing future expectation; realities not yet fully realised. This is his consistent pattern.

Therefore: The grammar and theology together support reading Colossians 2:17 as “These practices are shadows pointing toward Messiah and His complete work, a work that has been inaugurated but awaits its consummation. As long as we’re between the ‘already’ and ‘not yet,’ the shadows still serve their prophetic function.”

Section 10: The Coherence Test – Seven Ways This Reading Works

Let’s summarise why the contextual interpretation makes sense of the entire passage and surrounding evidence, while the traditional view struggles.

This interpretation coheres with:

1. Why Believers from the Nations Kept These Practices

Traditional view: Inexplicable or requires external pressure
Contextual view: Natural expression of covenant identity through Messiah

2. The Profile of the Heretics

Traditional view: Described as ascetic mystics but supposedly promoting Torah obedience
Contextual view: Actually ascetic mystics condemning physical practices

3. The V.16 + V.21 Relationship

Traditional view: Creates contradiction (affirming food law abandonment, condemning food prohibitions)
Contextual view: Both defend physical engagement against ascetic condemnation

4. The Use of the Jewish Triad

Traditional view: Uses sacred biblical formula to dismiss biblical practices
Contextual view: Uses biblical formula to establish biblical basis of practices being defended

5. The Chapter 2 → 3 Flow

Traditional view: Awkward break – freedom from practices, then immediate commands
Contextual view: Seamless flow – freedom from condemnation enables secure obedience

6. Paul’s Own Documented Behaviour

Traditional view: Paul practices what he supposedly tells others is obsolete
Contextual view: Paul models what he teaches – his practices flow from his secure identity

7. The “Already/Not Yet” Eschatology

Traditional view: Requires full arrival of reality, collapsing eschatological tension
Contextual view: Preserves tension – reality inaugurated, awaiting consummation

The principle: A good interpretation should make sense of all the evidence without special pleading or forced explanations. The contextual reading does this. The traditional reading requires explaining away substantial evidence.

[ Article Continued on Next Page ]

PART 3: WHERE ALTERNATIVE READINGS BREAK DOWN

We’ve established what Paul actually argues and shown how this reading resolves problems. Now let’s examine where alternative interpretations struggle, not to score points, but to demonstrate that the traditional reading creates difficulties it cannot easily resolve.

Section 11: The Traditional Reading’s Internal Contradictions

11A: The V.16 vs. V.21 Problem

We’ve already established this contradiction in Section 2, but it bears emphasizing as the fatal flaw in the traditional interpretation. The logic is mechanical:

If Paul tells believers in v.16 they’re free to abandon biblical food practices, he cannot then condemn in v.21-23 those who say “Do not handle, Do not taste, Do not touch.” Both would be forms of abstention from physical engagement.

The traditional reading tries to escape this by dividing the heresy into “Jewish legalism” (v.16) and “pagan asceticism” (v.21), but Paul never makes this distinction. The same judges, the same philosophy, the same “human commands” run throughout verses 8-23.

The contextual reading has no such problem: Paul consistently defends physical, embodied practices against ascetic condemnation throughout the passage.

11B: The Colossians 3 Problem (Revisited)

If chapter 2 establishes that believers are “free from Torah obligations,” what is chapter 3?

Immediate problems:

3:1-4: “Set your minds on things above, not on things on earth”

Is this ascetic detachment? No, Paul just condemned that
But the traditional reading offers no clear alternative interpretation

3:5-11: “Put to death… put them all away… put on the new self”

These are commands for transformation using embodied life
But we were just told we’re free from commandments?
How do we distinguish “obsolete commands” from “current commands”?

3:12-17: “Put on… bearing with one another… forgiving… teaching… singing… doing everything in the name of the Lord”

Comprehensive commands for concrete practices
Where’s the transition from “freedom from obligation” to “here are obligations”?

The traditional interpretation requires an unexplained logical break between chapters 2 and 3. The contextual interpretation sees a seamless flow: freedom from condemnation (2:14) → defence against false judgment (2:16-23) → secure obedience from love (3:1-17).

11C: Paul’s Behaviour Problem

This is perhaps the most devastating evidence against the traditional view. If Paul believed what Solberg claims he believed, his documented behaviour is inexplicable.

Acts 13:14: “They went into the synagogue on the Sabbath day”
Acts 13:42: “As they went out, the people begged them to speak about these things the next Sabbath”
Acts 13:44: “The next Sabbath almost the whole city gathered to hear the word of the Lord”
Acts 16:13: “On the Sabbath day we went outside the gate to the riverside, where we supposed there was a place of prayer”
Acts 17:2: “Paul went in, as was his custom, and on three Sabbath days he reasoned with them from the Scriptures”
Acts 18:4: “He reasoned in the synagogue every Sabbath, and tried to persuade Jews and Greeks”
Acts 18:21: “I must by all means keep this coming feast in Jerusalem”
Acts 20:16: “Paul had decided to sail past Ephesus… he was hastening to be at Jerusalem, if possible, on the day of Pentecost”

But Here’s What Makes This Absolutely Devastating:

Paul doesn’t just practice these things privately or for unclear reasons. He explicitly tells believers that his behaviour is the pattern they should follow. This is the Hebraic discipleship model; the rabbi models, the disciples imitate.

1 Corinthians 11:1: “Imitate me, as I also imitate Christ”

1 Corinthians 4:16: “I urge you, therefore, be imitators of me“

Philippians 3:17: “Join in imitating me, brothers, and observe those who walk according to the example you have in us“

Philippians 4:9: “What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me—practice these things“

1 Thessalonians 1:6: “You became imitators of us and of the Lord”

2 Thessalonians 3:7-9: “You yourselves know how you ought to imitate us… we did this… to make ourselves a model for you to follow“

Think about what this means:

Paul is telling believers: “Watch what I do and do the same.”

What does he do? He observes Sabbath, keeps festivals, takes vows, undergoes purification, rushes to Jerusalem for Pentecost; as was his custom.

If the traditional view is correct, Paul is:

Telling the Colossians not to let anyone judge them for abandoning these practices
While simultaneously modelling these practices himself
And explicitly commanding believers to imitate his behaviour

This is beyond contradictory. It’s incoherent. You cannot tell people “imitate me” while living the opposite of what you’re teaching them.

The standard response: “Paul was just doing this for evangelism—to reach Jews where they were.”

Why this doesn’t work:

Pattern, not exception: This isn’t occasional but consistent throughout his ministry
Mixed audiences: Paul attends synagogue whether audiences are receptive or hostile
With believers: Paul rushes to keep Pentecost with other believers, not as evangelism
Language used: “as was his custom” (Acts 17:2) suggests personal practice, not strategy
Voluntary actions: Paul voluntarily takes a Nazirite vow (Acts 18:18) and undergoes temple purification (Acts 21:26), these aren’t evangelistic
The imitation command: Paul explicitly tells believers to imitate his behaviour, so even if he was “doing it for evangelism” (which the evidence contradicts), he’s still commanding others to do the same. The “evangelism excuse” doesn’t escape the problem; it makes it worse.

Here’s the unavoidable logic:

IF Paul believed these practices were obsolete shadows believers shouldn’t keep,
THEN his behaviour contradicts his teaching,
AND his command to “imitate me” becomes a trap that leads believers into obsolete practices,
AND his entire discipleship model collapses into incoherence.

BUT IF Paul believed these practices were God’s good wisdom that point to Messiah; valuable but not salvific, THEN:

His behaviour matches his teaching (coherent)
His “imitate me” command makes perfect sense (disciples following the rabbi’s pattern)
His defence in Colossians 2 is protecting practices he himself models (consistent)
His practice flows from secure identity in Christ, not from earning acceptance (grace-filled)

The second explanation requires no special pleading, no contradictions, no elaborate justifications. It’s just Paul living and teaching the same thing.

Section 12: The Theological Problems

Beyond internal contradictions in Colossians itself, the traditional interpretation creates broader theological difficulties.

12A: Making Paul Contradict the Rest of Scripture

If Solberg’s interpretation is correct, Paul is saying: “Don’t let anyone judge you for ignoring commandments that God Himself gave, called holy, and established as perpetual statutes.”

This contradicts:

Deuteronomy 4:2: “You shall not add to the word that I command you, nor take from it”
Deuteronomy 12:32: “Everything that I command you, you shall be careful to do. You shall not add to it or take from it”

Psalm 19:7-11: “The law of the LORD is perfect, reviving the soul… the commandment of the LORD is pure, enlightening the eyes… they are more to be desired than gold”

Psalm 119:89: “Forever, O LORD, your word is firmly fixed in the heavens”
Psalm 119:160: “The sum of your word is truth, and every one of your righteous rules endures forever”

Matthew 5:17-19: “Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfil them… whoever relaxes one of the least of these commandments… will be called least in the kingdom of heaven”

James 1:25: “He who looks into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and perseveres… this one will be blessed in what he does”
James 2:8: “If you really fulfil the royal law according to the Scripture… you are doing well”

1 John 5:3: “For this is the love of God, that we keep his commandments. And his commandments are not burdensome”

The problem: The traditional reading makes Paul the lone voice saying God’s commandments have become obsolete and inappropriate. He would be contradicting Moses, David, Jesus, James, and John; every other biblical voice that speaks to this issue.

Paul explicitly denies this role. When he anticipates the objection “Do we then overthrow the law by this faith?”, his response is emphatic: “By no means! On the contrary, we uphold the law” (Romans 3:31).

12B: The “Forever” Problem

God uses specific language when establishing certain practices:

Exodus 31:16-17: “The people of Israel shall keep the Sabbath, observing the Sabbath throughout their generations, as a covenant forever. It is a sign forever between me and the people of Israel”

Leviticus 23:14, 21: Describes festivals as “a statute forever throughout your generations”

The traditional view must argue that “forever” (עוֹלָם, olam) doesn’t actually mean forever—it means “until Christ comes.”

But this creates the same problem we identified in Section 4C with David’s throne: 2 Samuel 7:16 uses the identical Hebrew word to describe the eternality of David’s throne. We’ve already shown that David’s throne doesn’t become obsolete when Messiah comes—it participates in Christ’s eternal reign.

The question remains: On what biblical principle do we decide which “forevers” are actually forever and which aren’t? Where does Scripture itself provide the hermeneutical key for making this distinction?

The contextual view has no such problem: practices God established as perpetual remain valuable because they participate in eternal realities in Christ, just as David’s throne does.

12C: The Covenant Inclusion Problem

Paul teaches explicitly that grafted believers are:

Grafted into Israel’s olive tree (Romans 11:17-24) – not a separate tree
Members of the commonwealth of Israel (Ephesians 2:12) – not a different commonwealth
Heirs according to the promise made to Abraham (Galatians 3:29) – not different promises
Brought near to the covenants (Ephesians 2:12-13, plural) – not excluded from them
Built on the foundation of apostles and prophets (Ephesians 2:20) – the same foundation

If believers from the nations are truly incorporated into God’s people, truly grafted into Israel’s story, truly made “fellow heirs” and “members of the same body” (Ephesians 3:6), then on what basis would God’s wisdom for holy living suddenly be inappropriate for them?

The traditional view requires this logic:

Believers from the nations are brought into the people of God
Therefore, the patterns God gave His people don’t apply to them

This is internally contradictory. Whereas the contextual view is coherent:

Believers from the nations are brought into the people of God
They naturally engage with the patterns of life God established for His people
They do so from their secure identity in Christ, not to earn that identity

Section 13: Addressing Anticipated Objections

Let’s address the main scriptural objections typically raised against this interpretation.

13A: “But Hebrews Says the Old Covenant Is Obsolete”

The objection: Hebrews 8:13 says “In speaking of a new covenant, he makes the first one obsolete.” Doesn’t this mean all Torah practices are obsolete?

The response: This objection contains a category error that generates most of the confusion. Let me make the distinction explicit.

The Category Error

Most readers unconsciously assume: Torah = Mosaic Covenant

But biblically, that equation does not hold. What Scripture actually presents is:

Torah = God’s instruction / wisdom / moral order
Mosaic Covenant = One historical administration of Torah

The Mosaic covenant is how Torah was mediated to Israel in a specific time, place, and redemptive context, not the origin, essence, or limit of Torah itself.

Once you see this distinction, Hebrews, Colossians, and Paul stop contradicting themselves.

Torah Clearly Predates Sinai

This matters because it shows Torah is not synonymous with the Mosaic covenant:

Sabbath – Sanctified at creation, before Israel existed (Genesis 2:1-3)

Dietary distinctions – Operative with Noah, before any covenant with Israel (Genesis 7; clarified in Genesis 9)

Moral accountability – Assumed before Sinai (Cain judged for murder, Sodom for wickedness, Joseph resisting adultery as “sin against God”)

Abraham – “Kept My charge, My commandments, My statutes, and My laws” (Genesis 26:5)

That verse alone demonstrates that Torah existed and was binding before Moses, before Sinai, before the covenant at Horeb.

Sinai didn’t create Torah. It codified and administered it covenantally for a nation.

What Actually Became Obsolete (Precisely)

Hebrews 8:13 does not say “Torah is obsolete.”
It says the covenant is obsolete.

What did that covenant include?

A national priesthood (Levitical lineage)
A territorial sanctuary (tabernacle, then temple in Jerusalem)
A sacrificial economy (daily offerings, annual atonement)
Civil and cultic structures tied to land, tribe, and temple access

In other words: What became obsolete was a covenantal governance structure, not divine instruction itself.

This is exactly how administrations work. When a government changes, the laws it administered don’t necessarily become obsolete, but the administrative framework does.

The Clear Formulation

Here’s the distinction stated carefully:

The Mosaic covenant was not Torah itself, but a covenantal administration through which Torah was applied to Israel as a nation.
When Hebrews speaks of obsolescence, it is this administrative framework; centered on the Levitical priesthood, sacrificial mediation, and temple access, that has reached its appointed end in Christ.
Torah, as God’s eternal instruction reflecting His character and wisdom, precedes the Mosaic covenant and continues beyond it.

What has changed is not the content of God’s instruction, but the covenantal structure through which it is mediated.

This Explains Why Hebrews Keeps Quoting Torah

Now the pattern makes perfect sense:

Hebrews 1:5-14 – Quotes Torah to establish Christ’s superiority
Hebrews 3:7-11 – Quotes Torah to warn believers
Hebrews 8:8-12 – Quotes Torah to explain the New Covenant
Hebrews 10:16-17 – Quotes Torah as God’s promise
Hebrews 12:5-6 – Quotes Torah to exhort believers
Hebrews 13:5-6 – Quotes Torah to encourage faithfulness

Throughout the letter, Torah functions as God’s authoritative word. The author doesn’t say “this used to be true” or “Moses said this but it’s obsolete.” He says “God says” (1:5), “the Holy Spirit says” (3:7).

This is the exact same logical pattern we saw in Colossians 2. You don’t invoke honoured biblical language to dismiss what it establishes. Paul uses the sacred triadic formula (festival/new moon/Sabbath) because he’s affirming these as biblical practices. The author of Hebrews quotes Torah constantly because he’s affirming it as God’s authoritative instruction.

As we noted earlier, this is exactly like quoting wedding vows reverently while claiming the vows are obsolete. It doesn’t work. You don’t cite something as God’s authoritative voice if you believe it’s become obsolete and inappropriate.

What Hebrews Actually Teaches

What’s obsolete: The covenant mechanism for dealing with sin; Levitical priests offering repeated animal sacrifices in an earthly temple

Why it is obsolete: Christ fulfilled it completely as the final High Priest offering the final sacrifice once for all

What remains authoritative: Torah as God’s instruction revealing His character, wisdom, and design for holy living

Why it remains: Because God’s character hasn’t changed, and His wisdom for life doesn’t expire when covenant administrations change

This is why:

Hebrews can declare the covenant obsolete (8:13)
While constantly quoting Torah as authoritative (throughout the letter)
And still teaching believers to pursue holiness (12:14), show hospitality (13:2), honour marriage (13:4), and reject greed (13:5); these are all rooted in Torah’s wisdom

The One-Sentence Summary

The Mosaic covenant did not create Torah; it administered Torah for Israel in a particular historical form. When that covenantal administration reached its fulfilment in Christ, it became obsolete, not because Torah failed, but because the administration’s redemptive purpose had been accomplished and God’s instructions now find expression within a new covenantal reality.

How This Resolves Colossians 2

With this clarity, Colossians 2:16-17 makes sense without any gymnastics:

The practices Paul names (Sabbath, festivals, new moons, food laws) belong to Torah, not to the Mosaic covenant exclusively
Their Mosaic administration is not the issue Paul is addressing
The problem is a rival interpretive system (asceticism) claiming these practices are spiritually inferior
Paul’s argument isn’t “These things are over”
Paul’s argument is: “These things already point where they’re supposed to point, to Christ. Stop letting ascetics hijack them with their false spirituality.”

Shadows don’t disappear when the covenant administration changes. They lose their gatekeeping function, not their meaning.

Under the Mosaic covenant, access to God was mediated through priests, sacrifices, and temple. Those things were shadows of Christ, and that mediating function is now obsolete; all access is now through Messiah.

But the practices themselves; Sabbath rest, sacred time, food wisdom, festival celebration, these reflect God’s eternal wisdom about creation, redemption, rest, and holiness. They continue to teach us, shape us, and point us toward the realities they’ve always signified.
They’re no longer required for covenant access (that’s obsolete). But they remain instructive for covenant living (that continues).

13B: “But Galatians Condemns Returning to Observance”

The objection: Galatians 4:9-10 says “How can you turn back again to the weak and worthless elementary principles of the world, whose slaves you want to be once more? You observe days and months and seasons and years!” Doesn’t this condemn keeping biblical calendar?

The response: Context is everything. What is Paul fighting in Galatians?

Galatians 2:16: “We know that a person is not justified by works of the law but through faith in Jesus Christ”
Galatians 3:1-3: “Did you receive the Spirit by works of the law or by hearing with faith?… Having begun by the Spirit, are you now being perfected by the flesh?”
Galatians 5:2: “Look: I, Paul, say to you that if you accept circumcision, Christ will be of no advantage to you”
Galatians 5:4: “You are severed from Christ, you who would be justified by the law”

The issue in Galatians is soteriological; it’s about how one enters and maintains right standing before God. The Galatian agitators were teaching that faith in Christ was not sufficient for justification; you also needed circumcision and Torah observance.

Paul’s response is absolute: Adding anything to Christ for justification means Christ “will be of no advantage to you.” If you think you’re justified by keeping Torah, you’ve “fallen from grace” (Galatians 5:4).

But notice what Paul does NOT say:

“Observing Sabbath”, or “Keeping festivals”, or “Following biblical wisdom about food” is

sinful
wrong
inappropriate

What he DOES say: These things don’t justify you. They don’t save you. They don’t maintain your standing before God. Making them criteria for salvation is to abandon the gospel.

This is why Paul could:

Circumcise Timothy (Acts 16:3) – because it wasn’t for salvation
Take a Nazirite vow (Acts 18:18) – because it wasn’t for justification
Undergo temple purification (Acts 21:26) – because it wasn’t to earn right standing

The distinction:

Using practices to justify yourself = abandoning grace
Engaging practices from secure identity = legitimate discipleship

Galatians condemns the former. It says nothing about the latter.

When Paul says the Galatians were returning to “weak and worthless elementary principles” (Galatians 4:9), he’s not critiquing Torah practices themselves. He’s critiquing the attempt to use any system; whether pagan philosophy or misapplied Torah, to achieve standing before God apart from Christ.

The question is never “Can Torah practices save you?” The answer to that is definitively no.

The question is “Can Torah practices teach you wisdom for holy living as a saved person?” That’s an entirely different question, and Galatians doesn’t address it, because that wasn’t the Galatian problem.

13C: “But Romans 14 Says Each Person Should Be Fully Convinced”

The objection: Romans 14:5-6 says “One person esteems one day as better than another, while another esteems all days alike. Each one should be fully convinced in his own mind. The one who observes the day, observes it in honour of the Lord.” Doesn’t this mean these practices are optional, a matter of personal conscience?

The response: Romans 14 uses the exact same logic as Colossians 2. Once you see this, the objection dissolves.

The situation: The Roman church had both Jews (who had grown up keeping Torah) and grafted believers (who came from different backgrounds). They disagreed about:

Whether to eat meat that might have been offered to idols (14:2)
Which days to regard as special (14:5)
Whether to drink wine (14:21)

Paul’s instruction: Don’t break fellowship over these matters. Don’t judge one another. Each person should act according to their own conscience, doing everything from the right motivation; to honour the Lord.

What this passage is NOT saying:

“God’s commandments are now optional”
“There’s no wisdom in following biblical practices”
“All days are objectively the same”

What it IS saying:

In a mixed community with different backgrounds, don’t make these matters tests of fellowship
Each person should be convinced they’re honouring the Lord in their practice
Mutual acceptance matters more than uniformity in these areas

Notice Paul’s actual words: “The one who observes the day, observes it in honour of the Lord” (Romans 14:6). He affirms the practice as legitimate worship. He’s not saying “days don’t matter”, he’s saying “don’t judge each other about them.”

If we compare this passage with Colossians 2, both passages:

Address judgment, not the validity of practices
Affirm the practices themselves (“observes it in honour of the Lord”)
Defend freedom from condemnation, not freedom from obedience
Protect people keeping practices against those who would judge them

The problem is NOT the practices themselves
The problem is JUDGMENT about the practices

Colossians: Don’t let ascetics judge you for keeping biblical practices (they claim these are spiritually inferior)

Romans: Don’t let anyone judge each other about these matters (some keep them, some don’t, both can honour the Lord)

Both passages defend people from condemnation.
Neither passage says the practices are obsolete or meaningless.

Paul is saying “keep these practices free from condemnation and judgment; whether from ascetics who despise material practices or from legalists who make them salvific.”

The traditional reading makes both passages say: “You’re free to abandon these practices.”

But Paul’s actual words say: “Don’t let anyone put you back under condemnation about these things; whether you keep them or not, do it to honour the Lord, according to your conscience.”

This is pastoral wisdom for maintaining unity, not a declaration that God’s appointed times and wisdom have become obsolete.

Section 14: The Missing Framework – Already But Not Yet

This isn’t just an academic debate about one passage. The way we read Colossians 2 depends on a foundational question the traditional view never adequately addresses:
Are we living in the full consummation of Christ’s work, or are we still waiting for it?

14A: The Eschatological Reality Paul Operates Within

Throughout his letters, Paul consistently operates within an “already but not yet” framework:

Already:

Christ HAS died and risen (Romans 6:9-10)
We HAVE been justified (Romans 5:1)
We HAVE received the Spirit (Romans 8:9)
The new creation HAS begun (2 Corinthians 5:17)
We HAVE been seated with Christ (Ephesians 2:6)

Not Yet:

“We await a Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our lowly body” (Philippians 3:20-21)
“Creation waits with eager longing… we wait for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies” (Romans 8:19, 23)
“Your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with Him in glory” (Colossians 3:3-4)
“Now we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face” (1 Corinthians 13:12)

The kingdom has been inaugurated, but not consummated.
The age to come has broken into this present age, but hasn’t fully arrived.
We have the firstfruits, but we’re still awaiting the full harvest.

This tension is not incidental to Paul’s theology, it’s fundamental to it.

14B: Why This Matters for Understanding “Shadows”

The traditional view assumes: Christ came → shadows fulfilled → shadows obsolete

But Paul’s actual framework is: Christ came → the kingdom has been inaugurated → we await its full consummation → shadows still point forward (and therefore relevant)

Think about it this way:

Christ IS our resurrection and life (John 11:25). His work secured our resurrection bodies. But do we have resurrection bodies now?

No. We’re still in mortal bodies that decay, get sick, grow tired, and die.

So what do we do? We care for our bodies. We watch what we eat. We get proper rest. We don’t overwork ourselves. We may even seek medical care when sick.

Why? Because even though our resurrection is secured in Christ, we’re not living in the full reality of it yet.

Nobody says: “Christ is our resurrection, so caring for our physical bodies now implies He’s insufficient.”

We understand: We live between inauguration and consummation. The full reality is secured but not yet experienced.

The same principle applies to shadows.

14C: Passover as a Test Case

Christ IS our Passover (1 Corinthians 5:7). Paul states this explicitly. The sacrifice has been made. The lamb has been slain. This is accomplished, finished, complete.

But here’s the question: Has everything Passover pointed to been fully realised?

Look at what Passover signifies:

Redemption from slavery – We’ve been redeemed from sin (already), but creation still groans in bondage awaiting liberation (Romans 8:21, not yet)
The blood that protects – We’re protected by Christ’s blood (already), but we await the day when death itself is destroyed (1 Corinthians 15:26, not yet)
The exodus journey – We’ve begun our journey (already), but we’re still traveling toward the promised inheritance (Hebrews 4:1-11, not yet)
The feast of celebration – We celebrate Christ’s sacrifice (already), but we await the marriage supper of the Lamb (Revelation 19:9, not yet)

So does Passover still have something to teach us?

Absolutely. It’s a yearly reminder that we live between:

Egypt (slavery) – which we’ve left
Promised Land (full rest) – which we’re journeying toward
Wilderness (in-between) – which is where we currently are

When believers observe Passover, they’re not denying that Christ has been sacrificed. They’re rehearsing the redemptive story they’re living within:

Remembering the deliverance that’s already happened
Celebrating the freedom that’s already secured
Anticipating the consummation that’s still coming
Teaching their children God’s redemptive timeline
Living as wilderness people who’ve been redeemed but aren’t yet home

The practice doesn’t compete with Christ being our Passover – it trains us to live in the story of redemption while we await its consummation.

Or consider Firstfruits (Leviticus 23:10-14):

Paul explicitly calls Christ “the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep” (1 Corinthians 15:20). His resurrection is the firstfruits, the guarantee and preview of the full harvest.

But do we have resurrection bodies yet? No. We’re still waiting.

So what does Firstfruits teach?

The harvest has begun (Christ’s resurrection)
The harvest is guaranteed (if the firstfruits are raised, the full harvest will follow)
The harvest is not yet complete (we’re still waiting for our resurrection)

The feast doesn’t deny Christ’s resurrection. It celebrates it as the firstfruits while anticipating the full harvest we’re still awaiting.

This is exactly what shadows are supposed to do in the “in-between” time.

14D: The Traditional View’s Unspoken Assumption

The traditional interpretation quietly assumes: When Christ accomplished His work, all realities became fully present.

But Paul never teaches this.

Paul teaches:

Christ’s work is finished (accomplished, complete, sufficient)
But we’re waiting for its full manifestation (Romans 8:23, Philippians 3:20, Colossians 3:4)
We have the guarantee (the Spirit) but not the fullness (2 Corinthians 1:22, 5:5)

If the consummation isn’t here yet, shadows haven’t completed their function yet.

They continue pointing us toward realities that are:

Inaugurated (begun in Christ)
Guaranteed (secured by His work)
Not yet consummated (still awaited)

14E: How This Resolves the Colossians 2 Question

The traditional view says: Shadows pointed to Christ. Christ came. Shadows are now obsolete.

Paul’s actual framework says: Shadows pointed to realities inaugurated in Christ’s first coming and consummated at His return. We live between the two. Shadows still function(in their fullness) to teach us about and point us toward the coming fullness.

Examples:

Passover: Points to Christ’s sacrifice (already) AND the marriage supper of the Lamb (not yet)

Firstfruits: Points to Christ’s resurrection (already) AND our resurrection (not yet)

Sabbath: Points to Christ’s finished work (already) AND eternal rest in new creation (not yet)

The shadows don’t become obsolete when the first part is accomplished. They keep pointing toward the full reality we’re still waiting for.

14F: Why We Still Need Instruction About Physical Life

Even though Christ secured our resurrection, we still need wisdom about caring for our current bodies.

The same applies to all of life:

Even though:

Christ is our true food (John 6:35)
We still need wisdom about what to eat

Even though:

Christ gives eternal life (John 10:28)
We still need instruction about how to live now

Even though:

Christ sanctified us (Hebrews 10:10)
We’re still commanded to pursue holiness (Hebrews 12:14)

Even though:

Christ is our peace (Ephesians 2:14)
We’re still taught how to maintain peaceful relationships (Romans 12:18)

The pattern is consistent: Christ’s work is complete, but we’re not yet living in its full consummation, so we still need wisdom and practices that teach us how to live in light of what’s coming.

Torah’s wisdom about time, rest, food, relationships, justice, and holiness doesn’t compete with Christ. It teaches us how to live as His people between the inauguration and the consummation.

14G: The Core Difference

Traditional view:
Christ’s coming = full reality present now = shadows obsolete = practices no longer needed

Biblical framework:
Christ’s coming = kingdom inaugurated = awaiting consummation = we live in the “in-between” = shadows still teach us about coming realities

The first view assumes we’re living in the fully consummated kingdom.

The second view recognises we’re living between the ages – already saved, not yet glorified; already justified, not yet perfected; already in Christ, not yet in resurrection bodies.

This isn’t a minor theological detail. It’s the framework within which the entire New Testament operates.

And once you see it, the question “Do shadows still matter?” answers itself:

If we’re not yet living in the full consummation, yes, shadows still point us toward what’s coming. They train us. They teach us. They shape our hope. They pattern our lives around God’s redemptive timeline.

They’re not required for access to God (that’s what became obsolete with the Mosaic covenant administration).

But they remain instructive for living as God’s people while we await the fullness of what Christ accomplished.

Section 15: A Pastoral Word

15A: Why This Matters

This isn’t about winning theological debates. It’s about:

Honouring the whole counsel of Scripture – not forcing Paul to contradict Moses, Jesus, James, and John
Understanding what Christ accomplished – freedom from condemnation, not from obedience
Knowing how to live as His people – from secure identity, not anxious striving
Maintaining unity – not creating divisions where God hasn’t

15B: What We Should Agree On

Regardless of our interpretation of Colossians 2, all Bible-believing Christians should affirm:

Christ’s atoning work is finished and sufficient
We are saved by grace through faith, not works
No practice earns or maintains salvation
Love is the fulfilment of the law (Romans 13:10)
The Holy Spirit empowers obedience we couldn’t achieve by effort
Our standing before God is secure in Christ alone

These are not negotiable. These are gospel essentials.

15C: Where We Differ

The disagreement is not about salvation. It’s about:

Whether God’s wisdom for holy living changes between covenants
Whether “shadow” means obsolete or prophetic pointer
Whether “fulfilled” means discontinued or given full meaning
Whether grafted believers are truly incorporated into Israel’s story or join something entirely separate
Whether freedom means autonomy or security for obedience

These are important questions, but they’re not the gospel itself. We can disagree about these matters while affirming our unity in Christ.

15D: The Invitation

Rather than declaring one side definitively right and the other definitively wrong, here’s what I invite:

Read Colossians 2:8 through 3:17 as a unified argument. Ask yourself:

Does Paul sound like someone dismantling God’s commandments?
Or does he sound like someone protecting them from human additions?
Does his argument flow naturally from chapter 2 into chapter 3?
Does his teaching match his documented practice in Acts?

Consider the historical context:

Why would former pagans keep these practices if they were obsolete?
Does the heresy described fit Jewish legalism or ascetic mysticism?
Which interpretation creates fewer contradictions?

Examine your assumptions:

Have you assumed “shadow” means “obsolete”?
Have you assumed “fulfilment” means “discontinuation”?
Have you tested whether the traditional interpretation actually fits the text?

The goal here is to understand what Paul actually said and let that shape our theology rather than forcing our theology onto Paul.

CONCLUSION

The Bottom Line

Solberg’s claim: Paul told believers to abandon biblical practices because they were shadows now obsolete in Christ.

What Paul actually says: Don’t let ascetics judge you for engaging biblical practices that point to Christ, because:

You are complete in Him (2:10) – not incomplete, needing their system
The condemnation is cancelled (2:14) – not the instruction
Christ is the substance to which these shadows point (2:17) – not needing their embellishments
Their ascetic system has no power (2:23) – while God’s wisdom does

The Practical Difference

Under the traditional reading:

The gospel frees us from obedience to God’s patterns
Following biblical practices implies Christ isn’t sufficient
Freedom means autonomy – live as your conscience directs
Chapter 2 and chapter 3 have an awkward logical break

Under the contextual reading:

The gospel frees us for obedience from love, security, and wisdom
Following biblical practices means letting them point to Christ
Freedom means security – obey without fear of condemnation
Chapter 2 and chapter 3 flow seamlessly

The Final Question

Which reading better honours:

Christ’s sufficiency?
Scripture’s internal consistency?
Paul’s documented practice?
The unity of God’s character across covenants?
The text’s actual flow and logic?

I’ve presented the evidence as fairly as I can. The contextual interpretation resolves contradictions, explains historical puzzles, preserves eschatological tension, matches Paul’s behaviour, and flows naturally through the passage.

The traditional interpretation requires:

Separating the heresy into convenient categories
Explaining away Paul’s practice
Creating a logical break between chapters 2 and 3
Making Paul contradict the rest of Scripture’s witness
Assuming “shadow” means “obsolete” without biblical warrant

The Invitation (Closing)

Read the passage again. Read it slowly. Read it as Paul’s unified argument from 2:8 through 3:17. Ask yourself: Does this sound like someone telling believers to abandon what God established? Or does it sound like someone protecting God’s wisdom from human corruption?

What Colossians 2 actually teaches:

Paul wasn’t telling believers to stop keeping God’s commandments. He was telling them to stop letting false teachers weaponize them.

The problem was not Sabbath. It was asceticism.
The problem was not the feasts. It was human judgment and spiritual intimidation.
The problem was not Torah. It was the counterfeit that claimed to improve on it.

Paul doesn’t abolish God’s rhythms – he protects them from distortion.
The Messiah is the substance.
The Torah’s rhythms are the shadow.
And the shadow still points forward until the day dawns and the Morning Star rises in our hearts.

“For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.” (2 Corinthians 4:6)

Colossians 2:16–17: A Bible Study

Colossians 2 vs Hebrew Roots – Transcript

PROJECT GERAR

The Disciple's Path

Walking Out a Torah-Observant Faith In the first century, when someone decided to follow a rabbi, they weren’t signing up for a belief system. They were signing up for a way of life. ...

The Hebrew Lens

Recovering a First-Century View Seeing Scripture through a Hebraic lens is about returning to the native framework of Scripture itself. It’s the difference between reading the text and actually understanding it...

The Textual Dig

Unearthing the Hebrew Substrate There’s a misconception that gets repeated so often it’s become almost universally accepted: the New Testament is a different kind of book from the Old Testament. We tend to ...

FIELD REPORTS

Field Reports

Judgment No One's Talking About Colossians 2 is often used to dismiss Sabbath and feast days as obsolete. But what if that popular reading misses the very point? Could Paul ...

Field Reports

The Hebrew Hidden in Your Bible We assume our English Bible is a direct window into God's Word, but ancient Hebrew concepts are funnelled through different cultural expressions and our ...

Field Reports

Immanuel: More Than A Pardon We say we’re “under grace, not law” as if grace, as 'unmerited favour' means that God expects nothing from us in return. But what if ...

Field Reports

Recovering Hebrew Holiness What does it mean to be holy? Is it a spiritual checklist or moral standard we must achieve? Most of us carry a definition that feels heavy ...

Field Reports

Shalom: A Covenant of Wholeness We call Jesus the "Prince of Peace," especially at Christmas. But the Book of Revelation presents us with a radically different image; a Warrior-King. How ...

Field Reports

Beyond Belief: The Heart of Faith How many times have you heard someone say, ‘I just don’t have enough faith,’ or perhaps you've even thought it yourself? We’re told that ...

LIVING WORD

Trust in Yehovah

The Hebrew word batach means “to cling to, to lean on completely.” Trusting God isn’t passive, it’s an active reliance, refusing to depend on your own limited understanding (binah – insight). He makes your path (orach) straight, guiding you with precision….

Proverbs 3:5-6

THE LIVING WORD

Trust in Yehovah
The Hebrew word batach means "to cling to, to lean on completely." Trusting God isn’t passive, it’s an active reliance, refusing to depend on your own limited understanding (binah – insight). He makes your path (orach) straight, guiding you with precision....
Proverbs 3:5-6

The Guarded Heart
"Above All Else, Guard Your Heart" The Hebrew natsar means "to guard, to keep, to preserve." Solomon’s command is a military term. Our lev (heart), the wellspring of life, emotion, and decision—is under constant assault. Active guarding (natsar) means curating what enters and diligently protecting what dwells within, for every action of life flows from this sacred centre.
Proverbs 4:23

Delight in Yehovah
The Hebrew anag* means "to be delicate, to take exquisite delight." This is more than enjoyment; it is a focused, tender affection. When we make the Lord our soul's deepest delight (*anag), our very desires begin to align with His. He then plants within us mish'alot (petitions, desires) that reflect His will, turning our path into a journey of fulfilled purpose.
Psalm 37:4

Your Word is a Lamp
The Hebrew 'ner' is a small, handheld lamp that illuminates only the next step in a dark, rocky place. God's Word is not a blinding spotlight revealing the entire distant future; it is a faithful 'ner' for our regel (foot). This promises guidance for the immediate next step, requiring active trust to step into the circle of light before the path ahead is revealed.
Psalm 119:105

Like a Tree Planted
The Hebrew shatal means "to transplant," a deliberate act of a gardener. The blessed person is not a wild sapling, but one deliberately moved by streams of water, by God's presence and Torah. Their roots (shorashim) reach deep into constant sustenance. The result is not the absence of heat or drought, but resilience, continual fruit, and leaves that do not wither.
Psalm 1:3

Colossians 2:16–17: A Bible Study

Colossians 2 vs Hebrew Roots – Transcript

PROJECT GERAR

The Disciple's Path

Walking Out a Torah-Observant Faith In the first century, when someone decided to follow a rabbi, they weren’t signing up for a belief system. They were signing up for a way of life. ...

The Hebrew Lens

The Textual Dig

FIELD REPORTS

Field Reports

Judgment No One's Talking About Colossians 2 is often used to dismiss Sabbath and feast days as obsolete. But what if that popular reading misses the very point? Could Paul ...

Field Reports

The Hebrew Hidden in Your Bible We assume our English Bible is a direct window into God's Word, but ancient Hebrew concepts are funnelled through different cultural expressions and our ...

Field Reports

Immanuel: More Than A Pardon We say we’re “under grace, not law” as if grace, as 'unmerited favour' means that God expects nothing from us in return. But what if ...

Field Reports

Recovering Hebrew Holiness What does it mean to be holy? Is it a spiritual checklist or moral standard we must achieve? Most of us carry a definition that feels heavy ...

Field Reports

Shalom: A Covenant of Wholeness We call Jesus the "Prince of Peace," especially at Christmas. But the Book of Revelation presents us with a radically different image; a Warrior-King. How ...

Field Reports

Beyond Belief: The Heart of Faith How many times have you heard someone say, ‘I just don’t have enough faith,’ or perhaps you've even thought it yourself? We’re told that ...

LIVING WORD

Trust in Yehovah

Proverbs 3:5-6

THE LIVING WORD

Comments

Lost in Translation

Julian Kinkaid — Mon, 05 Jan 2026 16:33:49 +0000

Lost in Translation

The Hebrew Hidden in Your Bible

Introduction: The Illusion of the Perfect Translation

In 1987, KFC entered the Chinese market with their famous slogan: “Finger-lickin’ good.” The translation that appeared on billboards across China read: “Eat your fingers off.” Pepsi’s “Come alive with the Pepsi Generation” became “Pepsi brings your ancestors back from the grave.” These aren’t isolated incidents, Clairol’s “Mist Stick” curling iron flopped in Germany when they discovered “mist” is German slang for manure.

If multinational corporations with professional translators, focus groups, and native speakers make these mistakes with modern languages, imagine the challenge of translating a 3,000-year-old text from a radically different culture and worldview into modern English.

We often assume that translation is a simple process of swapping one word for another. Yet language is far more than a collection of labels; it is the architecture of a culture’s reality. Consider a few words from modern languages that have no single, perfect equivalent in English:

Hygge (Danish, pronounced HOO-guh): A feeling of cozy, comfortable conviviality that creates a sense of contentment and well-being.
Saudade (Portuguese, pronounced sow-DAH-jee): A deep, melancholic longing for an absent person or thing, tinged with the knowledge that it may never return.
Schadenfreude (German): The distinct feeling of pleasure derived from witnessing another person’s misfortune.
Komorebi (Japanese, pronounced ko-mo-REH-bee): The specific image of sunlight as it filters through the leaves of trees.

If we struggle to find perfect equivalents for concepts between modern, living cultures that we can visit and verify, what happens when we try to translate a 3,000-year-old text from a culture and mindset profoundly different from our own?

This is the central challenge of translating the Hebrew Bible. But this exploration is not meant to uncover flaws in Scripture. Rather, understanding these translation gaps doesn’t reveal weaknesses in the Bible; it reveals the reader’s invitation into a three-dimensional world of meaning that English can only gesture towards. The journey begins with the most fundamental difference of all: how different cultures perceive reality itself.

1. The First Great Divide: Greek Abstraction vs. Hebrew Concreteness

To understand why biblical translation is so challenging, we must first grasp a profound truth: Ancient Hebrew and modern English don’t just use different words, they operate from fundamentally different frameworks for understanding reality itself.

The Greek Philosophical Inheritance

Western civilization, including the English language, has been profoundly shaped by Greek philosophical thought. Plato taught us to think in terms of abstract “forms” or “ideals”; perfect versions of concepts that exist in a realm beyond the physical. When we speak of “justice,” “love,” or “truth,” we instinctively treat them as abstract concepts that can be defined, categorized, and contemplated independently of any physical manifestation.

Aristotle refined this further, teaching us to think in categories and essences. We ask, “What is the essential nature of X?” We create hierarchies of abstraction. We’re comfortable discussing ideas divorced from action. This Greek philosophical heritage is so deeply embedded in Western thought that we don’t even notice it; we assume everyone thinks this way.

The Hebrew Concrete Reality

Ancient Hebrew operates from a completely different foundation. It is a concrete, action-oriented language that builds its meaning from the tangible, physical world. Where Greek thought abstracts upward toward ideals, Hebrew thought remains grounded in the visible, touchable, experiential world.

Hebrew is a “verb-centric” language, deeply rooted in the senses. Its structure is more akin to languages like Navajo, which are rich in descriptive action and physicality. In the ancient Hebrew mind, reality was not something to be contemplated in the abstract but something to be experienced and acted upon. You didn’t define love, you showed it. You didn’t philosophise about justice, you enacted it.

This fundamental difference creates translation challenges at the most basic level. When a Hebrew writer uses a word, they’re describing an observable phenomenon. When that word enters English through a Greek filter, it often becomes an abstract concept. Let’s see how this works in practice.

Davar (דָּבָר): The Concrete Word

In English, davar is almost always translated as “word.” But in Hebrew, davar also means “thing,” “matter,” or “event.” This is not linguistic confusion, it’s the Hebrew worldview. A “word” was not an abstract symbol for a thing; it was the thing itself, in audible form. Words had substance and power because they were events, not just sounds.

When Genesis 11:1 speaks of humanity having “one language” (literally “one davar“), it implies a shared reality and purpose, not just vocabulary. When God speaks the “ten davarim” (Ten Commandments) in Exodus 20:1, these are not abstract moral principles but world-shaping events released into creation. The Greek-influenced English reader thinks “words about things.” The Hebrew thinks “words as things.”

Why This Matters Theologically: This concrete understanding of davar is crucial for understanding the opening of John’s Gospel. “In the beginning was the Word (Greek: Logos, Hebrew concept: Davar), and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” John, a Hebrew thinker writing in Greek, is bridging two worldviews. To the Greek reader, Logos means rational principle or abstract reason. To the Hebrew reader hearing davar, this means God’s creative, powerful, substantial word that accomplishes what it says; not just a concept, but active reality itself.

Lev (לֵב): The Thinking Heart

We translate lev as “heart,” and in English, this word primarily signifies the seat of emotion. We “love with all our heart” or feel “heartbreak.” It’s where feelings live.

In Hebrew, lev is the centre of a person’s entire being; the control room of human existence. It encompasses not only the emotions but also the intellect, will, moral decision-making, and consciousness. The lev thinks, plans, understands, and decides. When Proverbs 23:7 says “As a man thinks in his heart (lev), so is he,” it’s not about feelings, it’s about the very core of his reasoning and character.

When the Bible commands one to ‘love God with all their lev‘ (Deuteronomy 6:5), it is a call to align one’s thoughts, decisions, feelings, and very essence toward Him; a far more comprehensive idea than our modern emotional concept of “heart.”

Why This Matters Theologically: Misunderstanding lev has led to a false dichotomy between “head knowledge” and “heart knowledge” in modern Christianity. This Greek-influenced split wasn’t in the original Hebrew. The lev includes both. Loving God with your lev means your intellect, emotions, and will functioning in unified devotion. It’s not about choosing between thinking and feeling, it’s about integrating them.

Nephesh (נֶפֶשׁ): The Embodied Self

The translation of nephesh as “soul” is one of the most significant examples of the Greek abstraction effect. Influenced by Platonic philosophy, Western thought often imagines the soul as an immaterial, spiritual entity separate from and superior to the body; a ghost in the machine that can exist independently.

The Hebrew nephesh refers to the whole “living being.” It is life, breath, the throat, appetite, and the essence of a person as a physical, living entity. It includes their desires, passions, and hungers. When God breathes into Adam in Genesis 2:7, he becomes a “living nephesh“, not a body that receives a soul, but a living person, an integrated unity. Leviticus 17:11 states that the “life (nephesh) of the flesh is in the blood.” Nephesh is not a disembodied soul, but the tangible, breathing, desiring, feeling life force of a creature.

Why This Matters Theologically: The Greek soul/body dualism has profoundly shaped; and in some cases distorted, Christian theology. It contributed to Gnostic heresies that viewed the body as evil and the soul as good. It makes us think salvation is about “souls going to heaven” rather than the Hebrew concept of resurrected bodies on a renewed earth. Understanding nephesh as “whole person” restores the biblical emphasis on bodily resurrection and the goodness of physical creation.

Ruach (רוּחַ): The Breath You Can Feel

Perhaps no Hebrew word better demonstrates the concrete-versus-abstract divide than ruach. This word can mean “wind,” “breath,” or “spirit”, and Hebrew speakers understood these as interconnected realities, not separate concepts.

In English, “spirit” has become thoroughly abstract; a disembodied, ethereal, ghostly presence. The Greek pneuma similarly meant “spirit” in an increasingly abstract sense. But the Hebrew ruach never lost its connection to the physical experience of wind and breath. When Ezekiel 37 describes the valley of dry bones, the same word ruach appears as “breath” (v. 5), “wind” (v. 9), and “Spirit” (v. 14). These aren’t three different things, they’re one reality experienced in different manifestations.

Why This Matters Theologically: Translating ruach as the abstract “Spirit” creates a false separation between the spiritual and physical worlds. The Hebrew concept is far more dynamic and immanent. The Holy Spirit is not a wispy, invisible force, it’s as real and powerful as the wind that fills your lungs and moves the trees. This understanding should transform how we think about the Spirit’s presence and work. When Genesis 1:2 says the ruach of God was “hovering over the waters,” ancient readers felt the rush of divine breath across creation—not an abstract concept, but tangible power.

This divide between concrete Hebrew thinking and abstract Greek philosophy extends beyond individual words into entire conceptual frameworks that shape how we read Scripture.

2. The Widening Gulf: When One Word Is an Entire World

Beyond the concrete-versus-abstract divide lies an even greater challenge: many key Hebrew words do not have a single definition but represent a vast conceptual territory, a rich semantic range. These words function like spotlights illuminating different facets of a complex reality, while English words function more like labelled boxes with defined boundaries.

Translating these words forces an impossible choice: the translator must select one facet of a multi-faceted diamond while the others remain hidden in English translation. This is where one-to-one equivalence becomes a fantasy, and the reader must trust the translator’s difficult; and often totally inadequate, decision.

Chesed (חֶסֶד): Covenant Love in Action

No single English word can capture chesed. It has been translated as “mercy,” “loving-kindness,” “steadfast love,” and “grace,” yet it is all of these and more. Chesed is a fusion of love, loyalty, compassion, and covenant faithfulness. It is not mere feeling or obligation; it is an active, enduring commitment rooted in relationship.

The word carries immense theological weight, describing the foundational nature of God’s unbreakable, loyal love for Israel. But English forces us to choose, and “mercy” suggests pity, “loving-kindness” sounds sentimental, “steadfast love” misses the loyalty dimension, and “grace” loses the covenant context.

Why This Matters Theologically: Understanding chesed as covenant-loyalty transforms how we read the Old Testament. When God shows chesed, He’s not just being nice, He’s keeping His promises with rugged faithfulness even when His people break theirs. This reframes debates about law versus grace. God’s chesed doesn’t replace His justice; it’s His loyal commitment to work through both justice and mercy to fulfil His covenant promises. The entire book of Hosea becomes a drama of chesed; God’s stubborn, loyal love pursuing an unfaithful partner.

Emet (אֱמֶת): Truth You Can Stand On

In English, “truth” often refers primarily to factual accuracy; propositions that correspond to reality. The Hebrew emet carries far deeper connotations. Its root letters (aleph, mem, tav) are the first, middle, and last letters of the Hebrew alphabet, suggesting completeness and stability.

Emet means trustworthiness, reliability, faithfulness, and stability. It’s not just something that is correct; it’s something that is solid, dependable, and unshakeable, a foundation you can build your life upon. It combines truth with faithfulness.

Why This Matters Theologically: When the Bible speaks of God’s emet, it refers not just to His factual statements but to His absolute faithfulness and the reliable nature of His promises. Truth, in Hebrew thought, isn’t primarily philosophical or propositional; it’s relational and covenantal. Jesus saying “I am the way, the truth (emet), and the life” (John 14:6) means more than “I speak accurately.” It means “I am utterly reliable, completely trustworthy, the solid foundation for existence itself.”

Chokmah (חָכְמָה): Wisdom as Skilful Living

The English word “wisdom” often suggests abstract philosophical knowledge or intellectual understanding. The Hebrew chokmah is far more practical and embodied. It refers to skill, expertise, and the art of living well.

Chokmah is the wisdom that enables a craftsman to build the Tabernacle (Exodus 31:3), the discernment to govern justly (1 Kings 3:28), and the practical knowledge to navigate relationships successfully (Proverbs). It combines intellectual, moral, and practical dimensions, it’s wisdom you can see demonstrated, not just discussed.

Why This Matters Theologically: The biblical emphasis on chokmah challenges the Greek tendency to separate knowledge from practice. James echoes this Hebrew concept when he insists that “faith without works is dead” (James 2:26). Wisdom isn’t about accumulating correct information, it’s about skilfully living in alignment with God’s created order. The book of Proverbs isn’t abstract philosophy; it’s a manual for skilful living in God’s world.

Derek (דֶּרֶךְ): The Way You Walk

English translates derek as “way” or “path,” which sounds simple enough. But derek carries rich connotations that our translation masks. It doesn’t just mean a road or direction—it encompasses a manner of life, a pattern of behaviour, a comprehensive approach to living.

When the Psalmist speaks of God’s derek (Psalm 25:4), he’s not asking for GPS directions but for instruction in a whole way of living. When Proverbs warns about the derek of the wicked versus the derek of the righteous, it’s contrasting entire life orientations, not just moral choices.

Why This Matters Theologically: Jesus’s claim to be “the way (derek), the truth, and the life” takes on deeper meaning. He’s not just showing a path to follow but embodying a comprehensive way of being human; a whole life orientation, a pattern of existence, a manner of relating to God and others. Early Christianity was called “The Way” (Acts 9:2) because it was understood as a complete lifestyle, not just a set of beliefs.

These individual words carry entire worlds of meaning, but that meaning becomes even more precarious when it depends on the unspoken assumptions of an ancient culture—a context almost completely lost to most modern readers.

3. Lost in Context: The Invisible Framework of an Ancient Culture

Every word is an artefact of its culture. To truly translate a word, one must somehow translate the cultural framework that gives it meaning, an often-impossible task. Many Hebrew concepts are embedded in a system of social, ethical, and religious assumptions that are completely foreign to a modern Western reader. When these invisible frameworks are lost, the word’s original power is diminished or distorted.

Honour-Shame vs. Guilt-Innocence Cultures

Perhaps the most foundational cultural gap lies in the difference between honour-shame cultures (like ancient Israel) and guilt-innocence cultures (like the modern West). Western readers approach the Bible through a guilt-innocence lens: we focus on rule-breaking, individual conscience, and personal responsibility. We ask, “Did I break a rule? Do I feel guilty?”

Ancient Mediterranean culture, including Israel, operated primarily on honour-shame dynamics. The central questions were: “Have I brought honour or shame to my family/community? What do people think of me? Have I acted in a way worthy of respect?” Honour wasn’t pride, it was having a good reputation and fulfilling social obligations. Shame wasn’t guilt, it was loss of face and social standing.

Why This Matters for Reading Scripture: This framework reinterprets countless passages. When Jesus addresses tax collectors and sinners, he’s not just dealing with “guilty people” but with those who’ve lost honour and been socially marginalised. When he restores them, he’s not just forgiving guilt, he’s restoring honour and community standing. The parable of the Prodigal Son isn’t just about a guilty son but about a son who has shamed his family and then experiences remarkable restoration of honour.

Understanding honour-shame dynamics transforms how we read the Sermon on the Mount, Paul’s letters, and virtually every social interaction in Scripture.

Communal vs. Individual Identity

Modern Western culture is fiercely individualistic. We think in terms of “my personal relationship with God,” “my individual salvation,” “my faith journey.” This lens is so pervasive we assume it’s universal.

Ancient Hebrew culture was fundamentally communal. Identity was corporate. You were, first and foremost, part of a family, a tribe, a people. Individual identity was inseparable from group belonging. When God makes a covenant, it’s with a people, not just individuals. When judgment falls, it affects families and communities, not just isolated persons. The concept of “Israel” as God’s corporate son precedes any individual relationship with God.

Why This Matters for Reading Scripture: This changes how we understand election, covenant, sin, and salvation. When God calls Abraham, He’s not just saving one man’s soul, He’s creating a people through whom all nations will be blessed. When Paul talks about being “in Christ,” he’s describing corporate identity and belonging to a new humanity, not just individual salvation. The Western question “What must I do to be saved?” already reveals our individualistic bias. The biblical question is more like “How do I become part of God’s covenant people?”

Tzedakah (צדקה): When Justice Requires Generosity

Translating tzedakah as “charity” is one of the most common and significant cultural mistranslations, revealing both linguistic and cultural gaps. In English, charity is a voluntary act of kindness or generosity; something extra, optional and praiseworthy.

But tzedakah is fundamentally about justice and righteousness. It’s the same root as tzedek (justice). In the ancient Hebrew worldview, caring for the poor and vulnerable was not optional generosity but a moral and legal obligation rooted in covenant community. It was an act of restoring fairness and balance, rooted in the belief that everything ultimately belongs to God and we’re merely His stewards.

Why This Matters Theologically: Understanding tzedakah as justice rather than charity transforms the prophetic literature. When Amos thunders against Israel, he’s not asking them to be nicer, he’s exposing their injustice. When Proverbs praises those who give to the poor, it’s describing righteousness, not charity. This reframes modern debates about social justice and personal generosity. From a Hebrew perspective, these aren’t separate categories. Justice includes economic equity; righteousness includes caring for the vulnerable. It’s not optional benevolence, it’s our covenant obligation.

Mitzvah (מִצְוָה): Commands as Connection

While mitzvah does mean “commandment,” the English word carries a cold, authoritarian tone; rules imposed from above that constrain our freedom. In its Hebrew cultural context, a mitzvah is much warmer and richer.

A mitzvah is also a good deed, an act of kindness, a connection point with God. Performing a mitzvah wasn’t primarily about avoiding punishment for disobedience, it was about participating in God’s work in the world, maintaining covenant relationship, and bringing goodness into creation. It was an opportunity for connection, not just a constraint on behaviour.

Why This Matters Theologically: This reframes the entire law-versus-grace debate. When modern Christians read about “keeping the commandments,” we often hear legalism and earn-your-salvation works-righteousness. But ancient Jews heard “opportunities to connect with God and participate in His purposes.” Paul’s critique wasn’t of mitzvot themselves but of the belief that performing them could earn covenant status rather than express it.
Understanding mitzvah as relational rather than legal language helps us read both testaments more faithfully.

Yirah (יִרְאָה): When Fear Means Awe

The phrase “fear of God” can be unsettling for modern readers, evoking images of terror before a divine tyrant. The Hebrew word yirah holds a much richer and more complex meaning that our cultural context fails to capture.

Yirah encompasses fear, yes, but also awe, reverence, wonder, and deep respect. It’s the overwhelming feeling of standing in the presence of something infinitely greater than oneself, like standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon or in the presence of royalty. It combines recognition of power with wonder at majesty, awareness of danger with delight in beauty. It’s what you feel when you realise you’re dealing with something vast, holy, and utterly beyond you.

Why This Matters Theologically: Translating yirah simply as “fear” has distorted how Western Christians understand their relationship with God. Many believers swing between two extremes: either they’re terrified of God (unhealthy fear) or they’ve domesticated Him into a cosmic buddy (no fear at all). The Hebrew concept of yirah provides the biblical balance: God is not safe, but He is good. He should inspire awe, not terror; wonder, not casual familiarity. The “fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom” (Proverbs 9:10) isn’t about being scared into compliance; it’s about recognising the awesome reality of who God is as the foundation for understanding anything else.

Covenant as Kinship, Not a Contract

Perhaps no cultural framework is more fundamental; or more lost in translation, than the Hebrew understanding of covenant. Modern Western readers, steeped in legal contracts and business agreements, naturally read “covenant” as a formal legal arrangement between parties who maintain separate identities. It’s transactional: “I do this, you do that, we both agree to these terms.”

Ancient Hebrew covenant was far closer to kinship bonds than legal contracts. Covenant created family relationship, not just mutual obligations. When God makes covenant with Abraham or Israel, He’s not entering a business deal, He’s creating familial bonds. Covenant was how unrelated parties became family. It was more like adoption or marriage than a commercial agreement.

Why This Matters Theologically: This transforms our entire understanding of the Old and New Testaments (literally “covenants”). God’s covenant isn’t primarily a legal agreement we keep or break, it’s a family relationship He establishes and maintains. When Israel breaks covenant, it’s not a contract violation, it’s a family betrayal. When Jesus institutes a “new covenant,” He’s not replacing one contract with another; He’s inaugurating a new way of being part of God’s family. Understanding covenant as kinship helps us grasp why God’s commitment persists through Israel’s unfaithfulness; it’s not a business relationship He can simply terminate. It’s family, and God doesn’t abandon His children.

These invisible cultural frameworks shape meaning in ways that resist translation. But the challenge compounds when we recognise that the biblical text itself has travelled through multiple languages, each narrowing the original meaning further.

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4. The Great Translation Funnel: From Hebrew to Greek to English

The journey of the biblical text from its original language to our hands can be pictured as a great funnel. It began in Hebrew, with its rich, concrete, and culturally embedded words. It was then poured into the Greek of the Septuagint (the Greek Old Testament, translated around 250 BCE) and the New Testament (written in Greek but by predominantly Hebrew-thinking authors). Finally, it was poured from Greek into Latin, then into early English, and into our modern translations.
At each stage, some of the original breadth and nuance was inevitably narrowed, filtered, or altered. The funnel effect is cumulative and, in many cases, theological.

Case Study 1: The Funnelling of Shalom

Hebrew (Shalom): The starting point is a vast concept encompassing wholeness, well-being, harmony, prosperity, safety, completeness, and flourishing in every dimension of life, physical, relational, spiritual, and communal.

Greek (Eirēnē): When translated into Greek as eirēnē (εἰρήνη), the meaning narrows significantly. Eirēnē primarily means “peace” in the sense of absence of conflict or war. It can carry positive connotations of tranquillity, but it loses the holistic, multi-dimensional flourishing inherent in shalom. Greek eirēnē is more political and less relational than Hebrew shalom.

English (“Peace”): The English word “peace” solidifies this narrower meaning, almost exclusively referring to the cessation of hostility or internal calm. The positive, active dimensions of wholeness and prosperity are completely lost. An abusive relationship can come to an end and with it the conflict but both parties remain broken and in need of shalom.

Theological Impact: This progressive narrowing has profound consequences. When Isaiah prophesies the coming of the “Prince of Shalom” (Isaiah 9:6), Hebrew readers understand a king who will bring complete restoration and flourishing. Greek readers hear “Prince of Eirēnē“, a peacemaker who stops wars. English readers hear “Prince of Peace”; often in a Christmas context, where the Messiah is a baby in a manger, and then struggle when this same prince returns as a warrior-king in Revelation 19, ready to do battle..

But there’s no contradiction in the Hebrew. To bring true, lasting shalom; complete wholeness and harmony, may require forceful confrontation with everything that opposes it. Evil, injustice, and chaos must be defeated for shalom to be established. The narrow English “peace” makes this seem paradoxical; the broad Hebrew shalom makes it perfectly coherent.

Similarly, when Paul writes about “the peace of God which surpasses understanding” (Philippians 4:7), English readers think of inner calm; a subjective emotional state that soothes their anxiety. However, the original concept is far richer. Paul acknowledges that the Philippians’ anxiety makes sense given their current circumstances; the threats, uncertainty, and pressure are very real. But he’s inviting them to change their perspective. To see that their circumstances don’t have the final word; God’s kingdom reality does.

When they turn toward God through prayer and thanksgiving, they’re not performing religious coping techniques, they’re re-aligning themselves with the new-creation order inaugurated in Messiah: a kingdom focused on wholeness, completeness, and restoration, where creation flourishes, justice and mercy rule, and everything works in harmony with His purposes. In that alignment, God’s shalom; not a feeling but a cosmic order made personal, stands guard over their hearts and minds, not by explaining away their troubles but by relocating them within a larger kingdom narrative where they can see beyond their present circumstances and trust in His goodness and faithfulness.

Case Study 2: The Funnelling of Kavod

Hebrew (Kavod): The original word for “glory,” kavod (כָּבוֹד), carries crucial, tangible connotations. Its root meaning is “weight” or “substance.” When used of God, kavod refers to His manifest, weighty presence—glory so real and substantial it’s almost physically heavy. In Exodus 40:34, the kavod of the Lord filled the Tabernacle so overwhelmingly that Moses could not enter. The people could see it as a cloud by day and fire by night. This was visible, palpable, weighty divine presence.

Greek (Doxa): The Greek translation, doxa (δόξα), captures the idea of “glory,” “honour,” or “splendour,” but it loses the physical sense of weight and substance. Doxa focuses more on reputation, opinion, or abstract majesty. While it can describe God’s brightness or magnificence, the concrete, weighty, filling-a-space quality is diminished.

English (“Glory”): Our English word “glory” reinforces this abstract sense. We think of glory as praise, honour, brightness, or ethereal radiance. The Hebrew physical dimension; the idea of a presence so substantial it has weight, is entirely lost. Glory becomes something you give (praise) or see (brightness), not something that weighs on a place.

Theological Impact: The shift from the weighty presence of kavod to the abstract splendour of “glory” subtly changes how believers perceive God’s immanence. The Hebrew concept anchors God’s presence in perceivable, awesome reality, something that changes the atmosphere, something you can feel. The Greek and English concepts allow glory to remain more distant, more metaphorical; something to contemplate or praise but not something that makes you physically unable to enter a space.

This affects our worship, our theology of God’s presence, and our expectations of divine encounter. When the Bible speaks of God’s glory filling the temple or the earth, Hebrew readers expected (and experienced) a tangible manifestation. While modern English readers may think of it as poetic language for God’s general awesomeness.

Case Study 3: The Funnelling of Ruach

Hebrew (Ruach): As we’ve seen, ruach means wind, breath, and spirit as interconnected realities; the tangible force you feel on your face, the air in your lungs, and the life-giving presence of God. These aren’t metaphors; they’re different manifestations of the same substantial reality.

Greek (Pneuma): The Greek pneuma (πνεῦμα) also means breath, wind, and spirit, but Greek philosophical tradition increasingly abstracted pneuma toward the spiritual realm, separating it from physical breath and wind. By the time of the New Testament, pneuma could mean the immaterial part of a person or divine spiritual reality, distinct from the physical.

English (“Spirit”): In modern English, “spirit” has become thoroughly abstract. We think of spirits as non-physical entities; ghosts, essence, the opposite of matter. “Spirit” and “wind” seem like completely unrelated words. The Holy Spirit becomes an invisible, ethereal presence rather than the breath of God rushing through creation.

Theological Impact: This abstraction contributes to an unbiblical split between “spiritual” and “physical” realities. It makes the Holy Spirit seem ghostly and distant rather than immediate and powerful. It loses the Hebrew understanding that God’s Spirit is as real and forceful as the wind that fills your lungs; not abstract, but dynamically present. When Jesus tells Nicodemus that “the wind (pneuma) blows where it wishes” and “so it is with everyone born of the Spirit (pneuma)” (John 3:8), the original wordplay connecting physical wind and spiritual birth is lost in English, where they seem like different concepts.

These case studies reveal a consistent pattern: the Hebrew concrete action becomes a Greek abstract concept that becomes an English distant idea. The cumulative narrowing has shaped theology in ways we often miss entirely.

5. Beyond Words: When Every Translator Becomes an Interpreter

Even with a perfect understanding of Hebrew vocabulary, grammar, and culture, translation requires thousands of interpretive decisions that are invisible to the final reader but can significantly alter the meaning of a passage. Revealing these critical decision points shows that no translation can be purely “objective”, every translation is already an interpretation.

The Challenge of a Voweless Text

Ancient Hebrew was written without vowels, using only consonants. Vowel markings (called “pointing” or “niqqud”) were added by Jewish scribes called Masoretes between the 6th and 10th centuries CE, over a thousand years after much of the text was written.

This means that a single string of consonants can sometimes be read in multiple ways, depending on which vowels you supply. For example, the consonants DVD could be read with vowels as “David” (דָּוִד), the name of the king. But with different vowels, it could also be read as “beloved” (דּוֹד). This isn’t mere academic curiosity—it creates genuine ambiguity in certain passages.

Example: Psalm 22:16 contains one of the most debated cases. The Hebrew consonants are K-R-V. The Masoretic tradition vowelizes this as ka-ari, meaning “like a lion” (“like a lion, my hands and feet“). But many ancient manuscripts and the Septuagint suggest it should be vowelized as ka-aru, meaning “they have pierced” (“they have pierced my hands and feet”).

The theological stakes are obvious: Christians have traditionally read this as a prophecy of crucifixion. The alternate reading doesn’t support that interpretation. Modern translators must make a choice based on manuscript evidence, context, and theological understanding—but it’s an interpretive choice nonetheless.

Why This Matters: Readers need to understand that some translation decisions involve genuine ambiguity in the original text, not translator incompetence or bias. The consonantal nature of Hebrew means multiple readings are sometimes possible, and footnotes in study Bibles that mention “alternate readings” aren’t minor technicalities—they’re pointing to real uncertainty about the original meaning.

The Power of a Comma

Greek manuscripts didn’t have punctuation marks, verse divisions, or even spaces between words. All of these were added centuries later by translators and editors. A single comma can change theology.
Example: In Luke 23:43, Jesus speaks to the criminal on the cross. Where should the comma go?

“Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.” This reading suggests the man would enter paradise that very day—implying immediate conscious existence after death.

But “today” (sēmeron) could be part of the oath formula: “Truly I tell you today, you will be with me in paradise.” This second reading implies the promise was made today, but its fulfilment comes later, at the resurrection.

The Hebrew idiom “I tell you today” appears throughout Scripture as a solemn emphasis formula (see Deuteronomy 4:26, 8:19, 30:18). The translator’s punctuation choice directs the reader’s entire theological understanding of the afterlife, resurrection, and intermediate state.

Why This Matters: Punctuation seems minor, but it embeds theological interpretation into the text itself. Modern readers rarely realize these aren’t original features but translator decisions. When two translations differ on a comma, they’re making different theological judgments; and both may be legitimate possibilities.

Choosing a Translation Philosophy

Translators align with different philosophies that represent fundamentally different approaches:
Formal Equivalence (Word-for-Word): Sticks as closely as possible to the original sentence structure and word order (e.g., ESV, NASB, NKJV). The advantage is precision and ability to see the original text structure. The disadvantage is sometimes awkward English and missed idioms.

Dynamic Equivalence (Thought-for-Thought): Prioritizes conveying the original meaning in natural-sounding English, even if it requires restructuring sentences (e.g., NIV, NLT, CSB). The advantage is readability and capturing the intended impact. The disadvantage is more interpretation baked into the translation.

Paraphrase: Rephrases meaning in contemporary language with significant freedom (e.g., The Message). The advantage is immediate accessibility. The disadvantage is distance from the original text.

Example: Consider 1 Kings 20:11’s Hebrew idiom:
Formal (ESV): “Let not him who straps on his armour boast himself as he who takes it off.”
Dynamic (NIV): “One who puts on his armour should not boast like one who takes it off.”
Paraphrase (The Message): “Think about it—it’s easier to start a fight than end one.”

Each captures something true, but they give readers very different experiences. The ESV preserves the metaphor but requires interpretation. The NIV clarifies the metaphor while keeping it. The Message extracts the principle and applies it directly.

Why This Matters: There is no “best” translation for everyone. Formal equivalence is better for detailed study; dynamic equivalence is better for reading comprehension; paraphrase is better for grasping the big picture. The wisest approach is using multiple translations in dialogue with each other, allowing them to triangulate the meaning the original conveys.

Deciding “Who Is Speaking?”

Quotation marks didn’t exist in ancient Greek manuscripts. This creates significant ambiguity about where quotations begin and end.

Example: The most famous case is John 3:16. Where do Jesus’s words to Nicodemus end?
In some translations (NIV, NRSV), the quotation marks end at verse 15. This makes verse 16:”For God so loved the world…” a commentary by John, not words spoken by Jesus.

In other translations (NKJV, ESV), the quotation continues through verse 21, attributing all these words, including verse 16, directly to Jesus.

Both are legitimate interpretations of the punctuation-free Greek text. But it matters! If John 3:16 is Jesus speaking, we’re hearing the Son explain the Father’s love. If it’s John narrating, we’re hearing the apostle’s theological reflection.

Why This Matters: Readers should know that quotation marks are editorial decisions, not original features. When translations differ on who’s speaking, they’re making interpretive calls about the structure and flow of the original text. Neither is necessarily “wrong”, they’re highlighting the ambiguity inherent in translating ancient manuscripts into modern conventions.

The Compounding Effect

These challenges compound. A translator must:

Decide what the consonants mean
Choose which facet of a multi-faceted word to emphasise
Determine cultural context
Apply or resist their own theological framework
Follow a translation philosophy consistently
Make punctuation and quotation decisions

Each decision closes off other possibilities. By the time we read an English Bible, we’re reading the result of thousands of interpretive choices, most of which are invisible to us. This doesn’t make translation unreliable, but it does mean translation can never be neutral or purely mechanical.

Conclusion: Reading the Bible with New Eyes

Understanding these immense challenges of translation; the gap between concrete and abstract thought, the vastness of single words, the invisible cultural frameworks, the historical “funnel” effect, and the thousands of interpretive choices, does not diminish the value of our English Bibles. On the contrary, it should fill us with a profound appreciation for the incredible scholarship they represent and the remarkable accessibility they provide.

The goal of this exploration is not to create anxiety or undermine confidence in Scripture. Rather, it’s to invite you into a richer, more three-dimensional engagement with the biblical text. Translation gaps don’t reveal weakness in the Bible, they reveal depths of meaning waiting to be discovered.

This is not a checklist for finding errors but a map for finding treasure. When you see a footnote about a Hebrew word, you’re standing at the doorway to a richer conceptual world. When you compare translations and notice differences, you’re not finding mistakes, you’re triangulating the position of an idea far bigger than any single English phrase can contain.

Practical Steps Forward

This journey can continue through a few simple practices:

Read the footnotes. Many study Bibles include notes that explain difficult translations, mention alternate renderings, or point to the original Hebrew or Greek word. These aren’t distractions, they’re windows into the depths behind the English surface.
Compare translations. Place a formal equivalence translation (like the ESV or NASB) next to a dynamic equivalence one (like the NIV or NLT) when reading a favourite passage. Notice the differences and ask what each choice reveals about the possible meanings. The differences aren’t problems—they’re different angles on the same reality.
Use accessible tools. Online resources like Blue Letter Bible, Bible Hub, or BibleProject allow anyone to look up the Hebrew or Greek word behind an English translation, revealing its range of meanings and how it’s used elsewhere in Scripture. These tools democratize access to the original languages.
Study cultural context. Read introductions to biblical books that explain the historical and cultural setting. Understanding honour-shame dynamics, covenant relationships, or ancient Near Eastern customs will transform how passages land on your heart and mind.
Embrace the complexity. Don’t be discouraged by ambiguity or multiple possible meanings. The Bible’s depth is a feature, not a bug. Wrestling with translation questions often leads to richer understanding than if everything were simple and flat.

The Invitation

Recognising these hidden layers transforms Bible reading from a simple act into a profound journey of discovery. It invites us to slow down, ask questions, and marvel at the depth and complexity of a text that has travelled across millennia, through multiple languages and cultures, to reach us today.

We’re not just reading words on a page. We’re encountering ancient Hebrew prophets, poets, and storytellers who thought in pictures, spoke in actions, and lived in a world profoundly different from ours. We’re hearing Greek-speaking apostles trying to capture the explosive reality of a Hebrew Messiah in the philosophical language of the Roman Empire. We’re receiving the faithful work of countless translators who’ve wrestled with impossible choices to give us access to this text in our native tongue.

The fact that so much meaning survives the journey; that we can still encounter God through these translated words, is itself a kind of miracle. But we honour that miracle most when we read with eyes wide open to both what translation gives us and what it can’t fully capture.

Read with curiosity. Read with humility.
Read with new eyes, greater wonder, and a deeper sense of invitation.

The worlds within these words are waiting to be discovered, one Hebrew concept at a time.

Comments

The Presence of Grace

Julian Kinkaid — Sat, 03 Jan 2026 12:32:11 +0000

The Presence of Grace

Immanuel: More Than A Pardon

Under Grace, Not Law

“We’re not under law, we’re under grace.”

You’ve heard it a thousand times. Maybe you’ve even said it yourself. It’s one of the most quoted ideas in Christian teaching, and it’s usually meant to communicate something beautiful: God’s acceptance isn’t based on our performance. We don’t have to earn His love. We’re saved by grace, not by keeping rules.

But somewhere along the way, this truth got twisted into something else entirely. For many believers, “under grace, not law” has come to mean that God doesn’t actually require anything of us. Grace becomes a permanent exemption from obedience. A divine free pass. Since salvation doesn’t depend on what we do, what we do must not matter. We’re free; free from obligation, free from expectation, free from any sense that following God’s commands has anything to do with living under His grace.

Ask many Christians about obedience and you’ll get an uncomfortable shuffle. “Well, I mean… we’re saved by grace, not works. I don’t want to fall into legalism. Jesus fulfilled the law so I don’t have to keep it.” The implication is clear: grace means God asks nothing of me. To suggest otherwise sounds dangerously like works-righteousness, like denying the sufficiency of Christ, like putting people back under the burden of the law that Jesus came to abolish.

But is that really what grace means? Is that what the Hebrew Scriptures present when they speak of God’s favour? When Noah “found grace in the eyes of the LORD,” did that mean God expected nothing from him? When Moses found favour before God at Sinai, did that free him from following God’s instruction? When David sang of God’s grace in Psalm after Psalm, was he celebrating exemption from God’s ways?

The problem runs deeper than we realize. Western Christianity has inherited a Greek philosophical framework that turns grace into an abstract legal concept; a change in our judicial standing before God. In this view, grace primarily answers the question: “How do I avoid punishment for my sins?” And the answer is simple: God declares you righteous through faith in Christ. Transaction complete. Your legal status has changed. You’re under grace now, not under law.

But that’s not the Hebrew understanding of grace at all. The Hebrew words; chen (חֵן) and its related verb chanah (חָנָה), reveal something entirely different. Grace isn’t primarily a legal status. It’s a relational reality. It’s not God declaring you innocent from a distance. It’s God drawing near to dwell with you. And when the Holy One takes up residence in your midst, everything changes—including, especially, what’s expected of you.

The Workshop on Via dell'Agnolo

Florence, Italy, 1466

Leonardo was fourteen years old. The illegitimate son of a notary and a peasant woman. No formal education. No prospects beyond manual labour. In Renaissance Italy, your birth determined your future, and Leonardo’s birth had determined nothing good.

But his father had connections. Ser Piero knew Andrea del Verrocchio, who ran one of the finest artist workshops in Florence. Against every social convention, Verrocchio agreed to take the boy as an apprentice. This wasn’t a scholarship. This wasn’t a mentorship program where Leonardo would visit the workshop for lessons and then return home. Verrocchio brought him into his household.

Leonardo moved into the workshop on via dell’Agnolo. He slept in the attic above the studio. He ate at Verrocchio’s table, dinner at midday, supper in the evening.

Every single day. For years.

At first, his work was menial. He ground pigments into powder. He prepared wooden panels for painting. He swept floors and washed brushes. The labour of a servant.
But he lived in the master’s presence.
He watched Verrocchio paint. He listened to Verrocchio discuss technique with Botticelli, Perugino, and Ghirlandaio, masters who gathered in the workshop. He learned not just how to mix colours but how a master saw. He absorbed not just techniques but vision.

The transformation didn’t happen over night. There was no single dramatic event where Verrocchio pronounced him “talented” and everything changed. But over ten years of being in the presence of his master, Leonardo changed. Breakfast after breakfast; conversation after conversation. Another word of correction. Another word of encouragement.
Then, in 1472, Leonardo qualified as a master in the Guild of St. Luke. His father, proud of his son’s achievement, set him up with his own workshop. Leonardo was free to leave.

But he didn’t.

Leonardo continued to live with Verrocchio. He continued collaborating with him. The relationship had become more than an apprenticeship. Being with Verrocchio every day had become his new reality.

When Verrocchio painted “The Baptism of Christ” in 1475, he invited Leonardo to paint one of the angels. Leonardo’s angel was so luminous, so alive, so superior to everything else in the painting that according to the biographer Vasari, Verrocchio said he would never touch a brush again.

The student had surpassed the master. Not through raw talent alone. Not through a single gift or lesson. But through years of dwelling with the master in his home. A daily closeness that gradually, imperceptibly, transformed everything about how Leonardo saw the world.

And this is grace.

The Field and the Marriage

Consider Ruth. A Moabite widow following her mother-in-law Naomi back to Bethlehem, Ruth had no legal claim on Israel’s God or Israel’s blessings. She was exactly the kind of person the Torah could have excluded, a foreigner, from a nation with a troubled history with Israel, coming with nothing. But when she arrived in Bethlehem during the barley harvest, she went to glean in the fields, and “as it happened” (the narrator’s way of showing God’s providence), she ended up in a field belonging to Boaz, a wealthy relative of Naomi’s deceased husband.

What Boaz did next demonstrates the Hebrew understanding of grace perfectly.

He didn’t just give Ruth a one-time gift of grain and send her away. He invited her into an ongoing relationship. “Don’t go to glean in another field, and don’t go from here, but stay here close to my maidens.” He told her, and “When you are thirsty, go to the vessels, and drink from that which the young men have drawn.” (Ruth 2:8-9). He instructed his workers to leave extra grain for her, to protect her, to make sure she was fed.

Day after day, Ruth came to Boaz’s field. Day after day, she worked under his protection, benefited from his provision, lived within the boundaries he’d set for her safety and flourishing. The text emphasizes this ongoing nature: “So she kept close to the young women of Boaz, gleaning until the end of the barley and wheat harvests” (Ruth 2:23). This wasn’t a single transaction. It was being present, daily, in the field of one who’d shown her favour.

Was Ruth free to do whatever she wanted because Boaz had shown her favour? Could she glean wherever she wished, work on her own schedule, ignore his instructions about staying close to his workers? Of course not. His grace; his chen, created expectations. But these weren’t burdens. They were the wisdom of how to flourish under his protection and guidance. “Don’t go elsewhere” wasn’t about control. It was her provision. “Stay with my workers” wasn’t a restriction. It was about safety.

And notice where this grace led: to marriage. The story doesn’t culminate with Ruth receiving a lifetime supply of grain while being single and maintaining her independence, she became Boaz’s wife. The favour he showed in his field resulted in covenant relationship. The grace that allowed her to glean led to a permanent dwelling place in his household. She went from being a foreign widow to a covenant wife, from gleaning scraps from the fields to a full membership in the family of Israel; and through her, the lineage of King David and ultimately the Messiah.

This is the Hebrew understanding of grace: not a one-time gift but a permanent invitation. It’s not a cancelled debt, that frees us from any expectation. It’s an open door. A covenant relationship that redefines who we are; turning strangers into family. Grace isn’t Boaz throwing grain at Ruth from a distance. It’s Boaz inviting her into his field, daily, and ultimately, into his home.

Chen and Chanah: The Hebrew Words for Grace

The Hebrew noun chen (חֵן) means “favour,” “grace,” “graciousness.” It describes finding yourself in someone’s favourable regard; seeing their face turn toward you rather than away, experiencing their disposition toward you as benevolent. But chen is never abstract. It’s always relational, always between persons.

Noah didn’t possess grace as a commodity. He “found chen in the eyes of the LORD” (Genesis 6:8). Moses didn’t earn grace as a reward. He pleaded, “If I have found chen in your sight, please show me now your ways” (Exodus 33:13). Ruth asked Boaz, “Why have I found chen in your eyes?” (Ruth 2:10). The favour we see in all these passages exists in relationship, in the eyes of the one showing it.

But the verb chanah (חָנָה); closely related through its root, reveals how this favour actually manifests in the world. Chanah has two primary meanings that illuminate each other: to bend down, to incline from a higher position to a lower one; and to pitch a tent, to encamp, to settle down and dwell.

These aren’t separate meanings. They are two facets of the same reality. Grace is what happens when the superior one bends down to dwell with the inferior one. When the one on-high stoops to encamp among the lowly. When, instead of choosing to help from a distance, the powerful and mighty draw near, to pitch their tent and live in the midst of the powerless.

We see this woven throughout Israel’s worship. The priestly blessing in Numbers 6:24-26 declares: “Yahweh bless you, and keep you. Yahweh make his face to shine on you, and be gracious to you. [vichuneka, from chanah]; Yahweh lift up his face toward you, and give you peace.” God’s gracious action is His face bending down, inclining toward His people, shining upon them. But it’s more than a momentary glance, chanah implies taking up residence, encamping, dwelling near.

When God reveals His essential character to Moses after the golden calf disaster, He doesn’t do it from heaven. Exodus 34:5-6 tells us: “Yahweh descended in the cloud, and stood with him there, and proclaimed Yahweh’s name…. ‘Yahweh! Yahweh, a merciful and gracious [chanun, the adjective of chanah] God, slow to anger, and abundant in loving kindness and truth“. His gracious nature is demonstrated by the very fact that He descends, rather than declaring from a distance, and by standing with Moses; by drawing near.

Grace isn’t God’s attitude toward us from heaven. Grace is God bending down to dwell with us.

The Complete Picture: Encampment, Dwelling, and Glory

Like the Hebrew words tselem (צלם – image) and tahor (טָהוֹר – clean) (see my book the Messiah’s way) chanah appears to be part of a triad; God’s fingerprint. Therefore, we need to see how God’s grace operates alongside these two other Hebrew concepts, to fully understand what it accomplishes.

When God commanded Israel, “Let them make me a sanctuary, that I may dwell among them” (Exodus 25:8), the Hebrew word for “dwell” is shakan (שָׁכַן); to settle down, to abide, to take up residence. It’s the root of mishkan (מִשְׁכָּן), the Tabernacle itself, literally “the dwelling place.” And when God’s dwelling manifests, Scripture speaks of His kavod (כָּבוֹד); His glory, His weighty, visible, transforming presence.

These three are woven together in Scripture to paint a more complete picture of what happens when God extends grace:

Chanah (חָנָה) answers where God positions Himself: He encamps, He draws near, He establishes proximity with His people.
Shakan (שָׁכַן) answers how long He stays: He doesn’t just visit; He abides, He takes up permanent residence’, He settles in.
Kavod (כָּבוֹד) answers why it matters: His presence has weight, visibility, transforming power that changes those who dwell in it.

We see all three operating together in Numbers 9:15-23, one of Scripture’s clearest presentations of God’s grace in action, after the Tabernacle is erected. The passage describes the following:
“On the day that the tabernacle was raised up, the cloud covered the tabernacle, even the Tent of the Testimony: and at evening it was over the tabernacle, as it were the appearance of fire, until morning…Whenever the cloud was taken up from over the Tent, then after that the children of Israel travelled; and in the place where the cloud remained, there the children of Israel encamped. At the commandment of Yahweh, the children of Israel travelled, and at the commandment of Yahweh they encamped. As long as the cloud remained on the tabernacle they remained encamped. When the cloud stayed on the tabernacle many days, then the children of Israel kept Yahweh’s command, and didn’t travel” (Numbers 9:15, 17-19).

There’s the complete picture. Shakan, God has taken up residence in the mishkan, dwelling consistently among them. Kavod, the cloud by day and fire by night make God’s weighty presence visible to the entire camp. And chanah, “in the place where the cloud remained, there the children of Israel encamped.” God doesn’t just dwell passively among them. He governs their proximity. He determines when they move and when they stay.

This is critical for understanding grace. God’s dwelling doesn’t remove His authority. His nearness doesn’t relax His rule. And Israel doesn’t manage the proximity, they respond to it. When the cloud moves, they move. When it stays, they stay. They live their entire lives organised around the reality of God dwelling in their midst, and that dwelling comes with both the gift of His presence and the expectation of obedience to His direction.

The whole purpose of God’s nearness is kavod; that His presence would have weight in their lives, that His glory would be visible, that they would be changed by dwelling with Him. When Western Christianity reduces grace to a legal pardon or the freedom and permission to live unchanged, it’s missing the point of God’s dwelling entirely, severing the purpose from the gift. God encamps among us and abides with us for the sake of manifesting His glory. Without that third element; without kavod, without the transforming weight of His essence making a visible difference, we turn His dwelling into an empty ritual.

God's Tent in Israel's Camp

The Tabernacle embodies everything we’ve just seen. Think for a moment about what God didn’t do. He didn’t command Israel to build a permanent temple in a distant holy city where they would make pilgrimage when they needed Him. He commanded them to build a portable tent-sanctuary that would travel with them through the wilderness.

When Israel made camp, the Tabernacle was erected in the centre, not at the edge or in a separate sacred zone, but right in the middle of the camp. The twelve tribes arranged themselves around it in divinely specified positions (Numbers 2). God’s tent of dwelling surrounded by His people’s dwellings. When the cloud lifted, they packed up God’s ‘abode’ and carried it with them. When they made camp again, they set it up again, always in the centre.

This is what grace looks like. God didn’t send blessings from heaven, choosing to keep His distance from their messy, wandering existence. He moved His dwelling to live among them. He shared their journey. He encamped in their camp. He pitched His tent so He could be with them. The presence itself was the grace.

But here’s what you must understand: God’s dwelling presence didn’t mean Israel could live however they wanted. Quite the opposite. The entire book of Leviticus; the book of instructions for living with God in your midst, flows from this reality. God’s abiding presence created expectations. Boundaries about clean and unclean had to be established. Sacrifices and offerings needed to be brought. Holiness had to be maintained. Not to earn God’s presence (He had already chosen to encamp there) but because His presence changed everything about how they were to live.

At sunrise, every morning, when Israel awoke, they saw the cloud hovering over the Tabernacle. Every day they went about their ordinary tasks; baking bread, tending flocks, settling disputes, knowing that the Holy One dwelt in their midst. Their entire camp was organised around His dwelling. Everything flowed from that central reality: God is here – Yahweh Shammah (יהוה שמה). The grace was the dwelling itself. Torah was the instruction for living faithfully in light of that dwelling.

Just as Leonardo didn’t earn his place by learning Verrocchio’s methods; Verrocchio had already brought him into the household by grace. But living in that household meant learning the master’s ways. Just as Ruth didn’t earn Boaz’s favour by following his instructions; he’d already shown her chen before she knew what he expected. But responding to his favour meant following his wisdom about where to glean and how to stay safe. The grace was the invitation. The obedience was the natural and expected response.

PROJECT GERAR

The Disciple's Path

Walking Out a Torah-Observant Faith In the first century, when someone decided to follow a rabbi, they weren’t signing up for a belief system. They were signing up for a way of life. ...

The Hebrew Lens

The Textual Dig

FIELD REPORTS

Field Reports

Judgment No One's Talking About Colossians 2 is often used to dismiss Sabbath and feast days as obsolete. But what if that popular reading misses the very point? Could Paul ...

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The Hebrew Hidden in Your Bible We assume our English Bible is a direct window into God's Word, but ancient Hebrew concepts are funnelled through different cultural expressions and our ...

Field Reports

Immanuel: More Than A Pardon We say we’re “under grace, not law” as if grace, as 'unmerited favour' means that God expects nothing from us in return. But what if ...

Field Reports

Recovering Hebrew Holiness What does it mean to be holy? Is it a spiritual checklist or moral standard we must achieve? Most of us carry a definition that feels heavy ...

Field Reports

Shalom: A Covenant of Wholeness We call Jesus the "Prince of Peace," especially at Christmas. But the Book of Revelation presents us with a radically different image; a Warrior-King. How ...

Field Reports

Beyond Belief: The Heart of Faith How many times have you heard someone say, ‘I just don’t have enough faith,’ or perhaps you've even thought it yourself? We’re told that ...

LIVING WORD

Trust in Yehovah

Proverbs 3:5-6

THE LIVING WORD

Grace Didn't Begin with Jesus

Many Christians believe grace is a New Testament concept, that the Old Testament was about ‘law’ and judgment while the New Testament dispensed with that and brought grace. They’ll quote John 1:17: “For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.” But look at what actually happened in Israel’s history. We’ve already seen how Noah “found chen in the eyes of the LORD” (Genesis 6:8), seven hundred years before Moses. Abraham was chosen by grace five hundred years before Sinai. Moses only received Torah because he’d already found favour: “I know you by name, and you have also found chen in my sight” (Exodus 33:17). The entire Torah was given after the Exodus, not before it. God didn’t say, “Keep these commands and then I’ll rescue you.” He said, “I have rescued you; now here’s how to live as my rescued people.” Grace came first. Instruction followed. The Tabernacle; the ultimate expression of God encamping among His people, was built in the wilderness. Israel lived for forty years with the visible manifestation of chanah (God positioned among them), shakan (God dwelling consistently), and kavod (God’s glory transforming them). And here’s what makes this even more remarkable: Israel hadn’t yet begun to live the full Torah life. Torah’s social, agricultural, and civic laws were designed for life in the Land, for settled communities with fields to cultivate, cities to govern, and a functioning society to maintain. The wilderness was like driving with L-plates, learning how to function as God’s people. Let’s face it, they couldn’t keep most of it even if they’d wanted to. They were sustained entirely by the miraculous. Manna appeared every morning, not because they’d earned it, but because God fed them. Water flowed from rocks, not as a reward for obedience, but because God gave it. The cloud moved, and they followed, not because they’d proven themselves worthy, but because God directed them. Their sandals didn’t wear out (Deuteronomy 29:5). Their clothes didn’t deteriorate. For forty years, they lived in a state of total, unsustainable dependence on God’s gracious presence. The wilderness wasn’t Israel successfully maintaining God’s dwelling through Torah observance. It was God sustaining Israel through sheer, unearned, daily chen so they could become a people capable of living in His presence. That’s grace. Pure, visible, undeniable grace. David sang about it in the Psalms. The prophets declared it. And it completely dismantles the idea that the Old Testament is about law while the New Testament brought us grace. If even the Mosaic covenant began with a forty-year, miracle-saturated season of pure sustaining grace; if Israel’s entire wilderness experience was God dwelling among them before they could properly keep Torah, then grace has always been first. Grace wasn’t discovered or invented in the first century AD. So what is John 1:17 actually saying?

John 1:14-18: The Triad Embodied

The confusion lies in the thinking that John is contrasting different modes of revelation (the existence of grace), but John is actually contrasting the mode of delivery (the form of its expression). John 1:17 doesn’t say that grace ‘as a divine reality’ began with Jesus. It says that grace and truth ‘came into being’ (ἐγένετο – egeneto) in a particular mode through Jesus Christ. Torah was given through (διά – dia) Moses; handed down as covenantal instruction that reveals God’s gracious and faithful character. Grace and truth became (egeneto) through Jesus; they came into being as a reality in a human life. We have already seen that grace existed as God’s nature; His disposition expressed as covenant loyalty, and now John is saying that it will be fully revealed in an embodied form. So, grace did not originate in Christ; it was actualised, completed, and made personally encounterable in Him. What was written became visible. What was commanded became lived. The instruction did not disappear; it stood up and walked among us. But John isn’t just making that point. He’s doing something far more profound. In verses 14-18, John is giving us the New Testament’s definitive commentary on the entire chanah-shakan-kavod reality we’ve been tracing through Scripture. He’s saying: What God did in the Tabernacle, He has now done in Jesus. The same pattern, the same purpose, now in human flesh. Watch how John structures it: “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us...” (John 1:14). The Greek word John uses for “dwelt” is eskēnōsen (ἐσκήνωσεν); literally “pitched his tent” or “tabernacled.” This isn’t a casual word choice. John is deliberately, unmistakably invoking the Tabernacle. He’s saying: The divine Word performed the ultimate act of chanah, He encamped in human flesh. And in doing so, He established His mishkan (dwelling) among us. The form of God’s dwelling is no longer a tent of acacia wood and linen curtains, but a body of human flesh and blood. There’s your chanah and shakan. God positioning Himself in human space, taking up residence, dwelling permanently among His people. “...and we beheld his glory...” (John 1:14). The Greek word is doxan (δόξαν), the standard Greek translation of the Hebrew kavod. John is saying: The purpose of God’s dwelling; “that I may dwell among them… and the glory of the LORD filled the tabernacle” (Exodus 40:34-35), is now fulfilled in a person. The glory is no longer a cloud confined to the Holy of Holies. It’s the visible, tangible life, power, love, and sacrifice of Jesus. The purpose of the dwelling is achieved: God’s manifest glory is beheld. There’s your kavod. The weighty, transforming presence that makes God’s dwelling visible and consequential. “…glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth” (John 1:14). That phrase; “grace and truth”, isn’t new. It’s a direct quotation from Exodus 34:6, where God reveals His character to Moses: “The LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious [chanun], slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love [chesed] and faithfulness [emet].” The Greek translation (the Septuagint) renders “steadfast love and faithfulness” with the language of mercy and truth. John condenses this revelation into its ultimate theological expression: χάρις καὶ ἀλήθεια (charis kai alētheia – “grace and truth”). He is deliberately invoking Sinai and saying: The same God who revealed Himself as gracious at the mountain, who descended in the cloud to stand with Moses, who proclaimed His character as full of chen and emet, that God has now revealed Himself in the flesh. The divine attributes that were proclaimed to Moses are now incarnate. Jesus is the walking, breathing embodiment of God’s chen and covenant faithfulness. “From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace” (John 1:16). This is the ongoing, transformative outcome of the dwelling. The glory (kavod) John and the disciples beheld wasn’t a static light show. It was a fountainhead of transforming grace. It’s the permanent seat at David’s table. It’s the daily presence in Boaz’s field. It’s the shared workshop with Verrocchio. The glory produces an unending supply of grace that reshapes those who dwell in its presence. “For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth were realised through Jesus Christ” (John 1:17). Again, John isn’t contrasting law against grace. He’s contrasting form with fulfilment. Torah (given through Moses) was the form of the covenant, the structure of the relationship, the instruction for living with God in your midst. But in Jesus, the grace (chen) and faithfulness (emet) that Torah pointed to and depended on “came into being”, they took on flesh and dwelt among us. Jesus is both the chanah (grace in motion, God drawing near) and the shakan (covenant in permanent residence) that the Mosaic form anticipated. The blueprint became the building. The instruction became incarnate. “No one has ever seen God; the only God, who is at the Father’s side, he has made him known” (John 1:18). This is the ultimate purpose of kavod: revelation. The glory we saw in Jesus is the definitive explanation of the unseen Father. The dwelling of God among us in Christ makes the invisible God knowable. As Hebrews says; “His Son is the radiance of his glory, the very image of his substance” (Hebrews 1:3)This is what God’s presence was always meant to accomplish, not just proximity, not just dwelling, but the manifestation of God’s glory in a way that transforms and reveals. So when someone says “Grace began with Jesus,” they’re missing the entire story. Grace didn’t start with Jesus. Grace took on flesh in Jesus. What was always true about God; that He is gracious, that He bends down to dwell with His people, that He shows chen to those who don’t deserve it, that His presence manifests as transforming kavod, has now become a walking, talking, flesh-and-blood human being. The pattern established in the Tabernacle is fulfilled in Christ:

Chanah (God’s gracious positioning) → The Incarnation (“became flesh and dwelt”).
Shakan (God’s abiding presence) → The Person of Christ (“the Word was God… and dwelt among us”).
Kavod (God’s manifest purpose) → The Glory Beheld (“we have seen his glory”).

And now, through the Spirit, that same triad operates in believers. God doesn’t just encamp near us, He dwells within us. The Tabernacle in the centre of the camp becomes the Spirit in the centre of our hearts. And that indwelling presence produces the same outcome it always did: transforming kavod, God’s glory made visible in and through His people. This is why any understanding of grace that separates it from God’s dwelling presence, from ongoing transformation, from visible kavod; any view that reduces grace to legal pardon or permission to live unchanged, has lost connection to what John is talking about. It’s become a doctrinal abstraction that has severed itself from the reality: God bending down, God pitching His tent, God’s glory manifesting in transforming power. That’s grace. That’s what it’s always been. And that’s what Jesus came to embody.

What Does This Change?

When grace is understood as God’s ongoing dwelling presence rather than legal exemption, everything shifts.

First, the tension between grace and obedience evaporates. If grace is a permanent free pass; “I’m under grace not law so my behaviour doesn’t matter”, then obedience feels like a contradiction. Why would I follow commands if grace has already secured my standing? Isn’t trying to obey, evidence that I don’t really understand grace?

But when grace is God’s presence dwelling with you, obedience isn’t earning the relationship. It’s living in the relationship. Israel didn’t earn God’s presence by keeping Torah; God had already chosen to encamp among them despite the golden calf. But living with the Holy One in their midst required learning how to walk in holiness. The commands weren’t conditions for God’s dwelling. They were instructions for how to live faithfully when God dwells with you.

Second, grace becomes empowering rather than permissive. Much of Western Christianity operates on a “permission paradigm.” The most extreme form (“hyper-grace”) treats grace as universal license: “God’s forgiveness covers everything, so I’m free to do as I please.” The more common form treats grace as subjective permission: “I’m free to live by the Spirit and love as I understand it.” Both centre on the believer’s liberty. The boundary shifts from external revelation to internal feeling, but the focus remains on what I am permitted to do.

The Hebrew understanding shatters this paradigm. Grace (chen) is not about permission at all. It’s about presence. It’s God’s decision to dwell (shakan) with His people. This presence isn’t neutral; it’s holy, glorious, and transformative (kavod). The result isn’t a life of navigating permissions, but a life being reconfigured by proximity to holiness. The question changes from “What am I allowed to do?” to “Who am I becoming as I dwell with the Holy One?” Grace isn’t the freedom to define my own path; it’s the power of a shared life that says; ‘This is the way. Follow my lead’.

You cannot live in daily proximity to holiness and remain unchanged. Leonardo didn’t spend a decade in Verrocchio’s workshop and emerge the same. The presence itself transformed him. The dwelling itself taught him. He became a different person because of the one he lived with.

This is why Paul says grace “instructs” us (Titus 2:11-12). Not just forgives us. Not just covers our sins. It instructs us. It teaches, disciplines and transforms. How? Because grace isn’t a legal status. Grace is a Person dwelling with us. And when that Person is the Holy Spirit; God’s ultimate chanah, God’s tent pitched within our hearts, we’re being guided from the inside out.

Third, grace becomes concrete rather than abstract. The Western view makes grace theoretical: a change in our status before God that we accept by faith but something we can’t see or touch. But Hebrew grace is as concrete as a tent in the middle of your camp. As tangible as sitting at the master’s table every morning. As real as gleaning in Boaz’s field day after day.

Israel didn’t theorise about God’s grace. They saw the cloud every morning. They smelled the incense from the Tabernacle. They heard the priests performing their duties. God’s dwelling was visible, present, undeniable reality around which their entire life was organised.

The Marriage Betrothal, Not Just a Proposal

Here’s the fundamental misunderstanding: Western Christianity treats grace like an engagement ring; a precious gift that secures the relationship, after which nothing more is required. God proposed, we said yes, we’re engaged, and now we’re just waiting for the wedding in heaven. In the meantime, we’re free to live however we determine because the relationship is already secured.

But Hebrew grace is the marriage covenant itself, the binding relationship that creates obligations, identity, and transformation. For Israel at Sinai, this meant completed marriage: “I will take you to be my people, and I will be your God” (Exodus 6:7). God didn’t propose from a distance and wait. He brought them out of Egypt, led them to the mountain, and entered into covenant relationship with them. The dwelling, the presence, the transformation, all of it was a present reality, not a future hope.

Under the New Covenant, this same grace takes the form of a betrothal. Yes, we await the bridegroom’s return (John 14:2-3). Yes, the wedding feast still lies ahead of us. But in the biblical world, a betrothal was not purely symbolic or provisional, it was binding, identity-forming, and life-altering. From the moment of betrothal, everything began to change. The bride belonged to her bridegroom. She was faithful to him even though the marriage wasn’t yet consummated. She lived under his protection, learned his ways, and was shaped by the life they would one day share together.

This is what Ruth experienced. Between her commitment to Boaz and their marriage, she wasn’t living independently with the promise of future blessing. She was gleaning daily in his field, under his protection, eating from his provision, learning his character, being transformed by proximity to him. The relationship was already real, already intimate, already obligating, even before the wedding.

This is grace under the New Covenant. We are not living on a distant promise. We are betrothed. The Spirit of Christ dwells within us. We bear His name. We live under His care. We are being shaped by His presence. We remain faithful to Him. All of these are present realities, not because we’re earning the right to be married to Messiah, but because we’re already His.

This is precisely what Jeremiah 31 and Ezekiel 36 promised: Torah written on our hearts, God’s Spirit within us, to empower us to walk in His ways. This isn’t describing heaven. This is describing covenant life now. This is chanah at its most intimate. God not just bending down to encamp among us but dwelling within us. The Tabernacle in the centre of the camp becomes the Spirit within our hearts. And that indwelling presence; even now, even in betrothal as we await its consummation, is the grace that transforms all that we are.

So when someone says “We’re under grace, not law” as if that means God requires nothing of us, they’ve misunderstood what this covenant relationship truly means. Israel at Sinai didn’t say, “God has chosen us, so we can live however we choose.” They said, “We are His people. Who bear His name. Who dwell in His presence. Who choose to walk in His ways.” A betrothed bride didn’t say, “He’s chosen me, so I can live as I see fit until the wedding.” She said, “I’m already His“.

Grace; whether experienced as a completed marriage covenant or as a betrothal, isn’t an exemption from God’s ways. Grace is God dwelling with us so closely that His ways become written on our hearts. Torah isn’t an external burden imposed despite grace. Torah is the wisdom of how to walk when you’re in covenant with the Holy One, when His Spirit lives in your midst, when you bear His name.

The question isn’t whether we are “under grace or under law.” The question is whether we are living as a covenanted people; indwelt by God’s Spirit, formed by His presence, and faithful to the One to whom we belong.

What is grace?

God bending down. God pitching His tent. God taking up residence; first in the Tabernacle with Israel, then in the flesh through His Son and now by His Spirit within us, as we await the day when we see Him face to face.

It’s not a proposal nor simply permission.

It’s a binding covenant that transforms us now.

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Set Apart or Sacred?

Julian Kinkaid — Tue, 30 Dec 2025 21:12:40 +0000

Set Apart or Sacred?

Recovering Hebrew Holiness

The Problem We’ve Inherited

When you hear the word “holy,” what comes to mind? For most Christians, holiness conjures images of moral perfection, spiritual discipline, and personal piety. It’s about being “good enough,” sinless enough, spiritual enough. We speak of holiness as if it’s a moral mountain we must climb through sheer effort and determination. And when we inevitably fall short, we feel the weight of failure pressing down on us.

But what if this entire framework misses the point?

The Hebrew Scriptures present a radically different picture. When God declares to Israel, “You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy” (Leviticus 19:2), He’s not primarily issuing a call to moral perfection. He’s announcing something far more profound: an identity, a purpose, a calling that transforms everything.

The problem is that the English word “holy” carries centuries of Greek philosophical baggage that obscures the concrete, relational reality of the Hebrew term qadosh. We’ve turned holiness into an abstract moral quality when it was always meant to be something far more tangible; a matter of purpose, presence and belonging.

The Keepers of St. Anthony's Light

Cornwall, England, 1871.

For thirty years, the merchants of Penzance had watched ships founder on the Black Rocks. The jagged reef lurked just beneath the surface at high tide, invisible in fog or darkness, waiting. Sixteen vessels had been lost there. Seventy-three souls claimed by the sea. The Board of Trade finally authorised construction of a lighthouse in the spring of 1871. Local stonemasons cut granite from the cliffs. Engineers surveyed the highest promontory overlooking the reef. Through summer and autumn, the tower rose; forty feet of dressed stone, crowned with an iron gallery and lamp room. By December, it stood complete. Just a building. Stone and iron and glass, no different from a dozen other structures along that coast. On the morning of December 18th, 1871, two men stood at the base of that tower as officials from Trinity House gathered for the dedication. Thomas Wren, forty-six, a former fisherman who knew those waters better than his own face. And young Samuel Hodge, nineteen, who’d buried his father and two brothers in the churchyard after they’d drowned on the Black Rocks five years earlier. The Deputy Master read the commission: “Henceforth this station shall be known as St. Anthony’s Light, dedicated to the preservation of life at sea.” He turned to Wren and Hodge. “You are charged with the keeping of this light. In storm and calm, in sickness and health, the light must not fail. Upon your faithfulness, lives depend.” They affixed the brass plate to the tower’s entrance. They handed Wren and Hodge the great iron key. And in that moment, everything changed. The building was no longer simply stone and glass. It was set apart for a singular purpose. The door that had stood open now bore a lock; this was not a place for casual visitors or Sunday picnics. Every item carried up those spiral stairs; oil, wicks, cleaning cloths, the leather-bound log, existed for one reason only. And Wren and Hodge? Their lives were no longer their own. When the January gales came shrieking in from the Atlantic, they could not abandon their post, could not seek shelter in the village below. When Wren’s wife fell ill that winter, he could not leave; not until his relief arrived. When Hodge’s hands cracked and bled from the cold, from the endless polishing of the great Fresnel lens, he did not stop. Their behaviour wasn’t arbitrary. It flowed from the identity of the place they inhabited, from the charge they had accepted.

On the night of February 3rd, 1872, a winter storm struck. Winds tore at the tower. Rain lashed the glass. Through the darkness, Wren and Hodge watched a schooner fighting the tempest, driven steadily toward the Black Rocks. The ship’s captain saw the light. He saw it pierce the darkness, marking the reef, showing him where death waited. He hauled the wheel hard to starboard. The schooner’s timbers groaned. She came about, missing the rocks by twenty yards. At dawn, when the storm broke, the schooner limped into Penzance harbour, all her crew accounted for. They didn’t say, “We saw a building with a lamp.” They said, “St. Anthony’s Light saved us.” The lighthouse’s very existence as a lighthouse; its set-apartness, its dedication to a singular, sacred purpose, had made it capable of saving lives. This is qadosh. Not moral perfection of the stones. Not spiritual superiority of the keepers. But designation, commission, consecration to a single purpose. The lighthouse was holy because it had been claimed for a specific function that served life. And the keepers became holy because their lives were bound to that same purpose.

The Hebrew Word: Qadosh

The Hebrew root qadosh (קָדוֹשׁ) fundamentally means “set apart,” “distinct,” “consecrated.” It’s about separation, yes, but not separation from, as much as separation for. It’s about receiving a divine assignment or commissioning.

When we look at the ancient Paleo-Hebrew pictographs that comprise this word, we glimpse something of its concrete meaning. The letters suggest a picture of a horizon (ק), a doorway or pathway (ד), and a pressing or binding (ש). Together, they evoke the imagery of a journey or passage from the ordinary realm into something distinct, a crossing of a threshold into sacred space or purpose. It’s transformative, something moves from common use into dedicated service.

But here’s what’s crucial: qadosh isn’t primarily about moral quality. A clay pot can be qadosh. The Sabbath is qadosh. The temple utensils are qadosh. These things aren’t morally pure or spiritually superior, they’re simply set apart for God’s purposes. They belong to Him. They’re designated for specific functions in His service.

The opposite of qadosh isn’t “sinful” or “unclean”, it’s chol (חֹל – pronounced kol), meaning “common” or “ordinary.” Something that is chol isn’t evil; it simply belongs to everyday, mundane use. It’s available for general purposes. But when God claims something as qadosh, He withdraws it from common use and designates it for Himself.

The Greek Shift: From Concrete to Abstract

The Hebrew concept of qadosh was concrete, relational, and vocational. But something shifted when the Hebrew Scriptures were translated into Greek, and that shift has profoundly affected how we understand holiness today.

The Greek word most commonly used to translate qadosh is hagios (ἅγιος), which does mean “holy,” “sacred,” or “set apart.” So far, so good. The semantic overlap is real. But Greek philosophy had a very different way of thinking about such categories.

Greek thought tended toward abstraction. It loved to separate concepts; body from soul, material from spiritual, physical from metaphysical. And increasingly, Greek-influenced Christianity began to think of holiness primarily in moral and spiritual terms, detached from the embodied, communal, covenant reality that the Hebrew Scriptures presented.

Where Hebrew emphasised belonging and purpose, Greek emphasis drifted toward moral purity. Where Hebrew saw holiness as a status granted by God’s claim, Greek thinking leaned toward holiness as a quality achieved through personal effort. Where Hebrew holiness was fundamentally about relationship with the Holy One, Greek categories made it increasingly individualistic and internal.

By the time we get to English, this drift has become nearly complete. When we hear “holy,” we think “morally perfect.” We think “spiritual” rather than “set apart for service.” We think “individual piety” rather than “covenant community called to embody God’s ways.”

So how do we recover the Hebrew understanding? We must return to Scripture itself and see how holiness actually functions, beginning with the holiness of God Himself.”

God's Holiness: The Foundation

Before we can understand what it means for people, objects, or times to be holy, we must grasp what it means that God Himself is holy. And here’s where we must be very careful not to import our moralistic categories back into the text.

When Scripture declares “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts” (Isaiah 6:3), it’s not primarily making a statement about God’s moral perfection; though He is certainly that. It’s proclaiming His absolute uniqueness, His transcendent otherness, His incomparability. There is no category that contains God. He is utterly distinct from everything He has made.

This is why Hannah prays, “There is none holy like the Lord, for there is none besides you” (1 Samuel 2:2). God’s holiness is bound up with His oneness, His singularity. He is not one god among many, not one being among others in His class. He is wholly other; completely set apart in His very being.

When Moses encounters God at the burning bush, he’s commanded to remove his sandals because “the place on which you are standing is holy ground” (Exodus 3:5). The soil itself hasn’t changed composition. It’s ordinary desert sand. But God’s presence has transformed its identity, it’s now a place where the Holy One has chosen to manifest Himself, and therefore it demands a different kind of approach.

God’s holiness, then, is foundational. It’s not derived from anything external, it simply is who He is. He is the source of all holiness, the reference point for all set-apartness. Nothing is holy except in relation to Him.

The Burning Coal: Isaiah's Encounter

Isaiah’s vision in the temple gives us one of Scripture’s most vivid pictures of what encountering God’s holiness actually means. The prophet sees the Lord seated on His throne, the train of His robe filling the temple, and the seraphim crying out, “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory!” (Isaiah 6:3).

Isaiah’s response is immediate and visceral: “Woe is me! For I am undone, because I am a man of unclean lips and I live among a people of unclean lips; for my eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts!” (Isaiah 6:5).

Notice what happens next. One of the seraphim takes a burning coal from the altar, coal that has been set apart for service in God’s presence, coal that has been near the very throne of the Holy One. This coal has been transformed by its proximity to God. It’s no longer ordinary fuel. It carries something of the nature of its source.

The seraph touches Isaiah’s lips with this coal and declares, “Behold, this has touched your lips; your iniquity is taken away, and your sin forgiven” (Isaiah 6:7).The burning coal is a perfect picture of functional holiness. It’s not inherently different from other coals in its chemical composition. But because it has been set apart for use in God’s presence, because it has been claimed for sacred service, it becomes an instrument of transformation. It carries something of the fire it came from. It’s dangerous if mishandled. And when it touches the prophet, it doesn’t defile him, it purifies him.

This is the direction holiness flows. Not from moral achievement upward to God, but from God’s nature outward to what He claims. The coal became holy by being in the holy place. And being holy, it could accomplish holy purposes in this case, the cleansing and commissioning of a prophet.

Strange Fire: When Common Meets Holy

Before we look at what happened with Nadab and Abihu, we need to confront how we naturally read this story. When we hear that “fire came out from the presence of the Lord and consumed them” (Leviticus 10:2), our immediate assumption is that they did something morally wrong, they broke the rules, and God harshly punished them.

Here’s the test: When you hear something described as “unholy,” what do you think? Be honest. You think “wicked,” “evil,” “sinful.” We’ve made “unholy” the opposite of moral purity. And if that’s what unholy means, then naturally holy must mean morally pure, and Nadab and Abihu must have committed some moral offense deserving of severe judgment.

But remember what we established earlier: the opposite of qadosh isn’t wicked, it’s chol. And that affects everything about what actually happened here.

Nadab and Abihu “offered unauthorized fire before the Lord, contrary to his command” (Leviticus 10:1). The Hebrew word translated “unauthorized” is zar (זָר) – meaning foreign, strange, outside the boundary. They brought chol fire; common, ordinary fire from an everyday source, into the holy space where only fire from the altar was authorised.

This wasn’t a moral failure. The fire wasn’t “evil fire” or “wicked fire.” It was just… regular fire. Fire from the chol realm, perfectly fine for cooking or warming or light – but not fire that had been set apart for ministry in God’s presence.

What Moses tells Aaron reveals the actual issue: “By those who come near me I will be treated as holy; in the sight of all the people I will be honoured” (Leviticus 10:3). The violation wasn’t breaking a moral rule – it was collapsing the distinction we’ve been exploring. They treated as chol what God had designated as qadosh.

They presumed they could make something holy by their own authority. They decided common fire was good enough for sacred service. They treated the boundary as negotiable, the distinction as unimportant, the set-apartness as arbitrary.

Aaron’s response? Silence (Leviticus 10:3). Not protest. Not grief-stricken questioning of God’s justice. Silence. Because Aaron understood. His sons hadn’t been punished for moral failure , they had crossed a boundary that God Himself had established, and crossing that boundary had inevitable consequences.

The holiness of God isn’t safe to trivialise. Not because God is harsh or petty, but because reality itself is structured around the distinction between the Holy One and what He has made. When that boundary is treated as negotiable, when chol is substituted for qadosh, when human authority presumes to override divine designation, the collision is catastrophic.

This isn’t about God being a stern judge demanding perfect rule-following. It’s about the inherent danger of confusing categories when one of those categories is the presence of the Holy One Himself.

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Functional Holiness: Being Set Apart

If God’s holiness is who He is in His very nature, functional holiness is what happens when God claims something or someone for His purposes. This is the main emphasis we need to recover.

When God tells Israel at Sinai, “You shall be to me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation” (Exodus 19:6), He’s not saying, “Try really hard to be morally perfect.” He’s declaring their identity and purpose. Israel has been set apart from the nations to represent God’s character to the world, to embody His ways, to demonstrate what it looks like when a people live under the rule of their Creator.

Notice the sequence: God doesn’t say, “If you become holy, then you’ll be my kingdom of priests.” He says, “You are a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.” The identity comes first. The calling precedes the behaviour. They are holy because God has claimed them, consecrated them, set them apart for His purposes.

This is why priests are anointed before they perform any service. The oil doesn’t make them morally superior, it marks them as designated for sacred duty. The high priest wears a plate on his forehead engraved with “Holy to the Lord” (Exodus 28:36). Not because he’s achieved moral perfection, but because he’s been appointed to stand in God’s presence on behalf of the people. His holiness is functional, vocational, purposeful.

The same principle applies to objects. The tabernacle furnishings are holy not because gold is spiritually superior to copper, but because they’ve been dedicated to God’s service. The Sabbath is holy not because Saturday has different molecular properties than Thursday, but because God has set it apart as sacred time, a weekly reminder that all time belongs to Him.

This functional understanding of holiness removes it from the realm of impossible idealism and places it squarely in the realm of identity and calling. You’re not holy because you’ve achieved some mystical state of sinlessness. You’re holy because God has claimed you for His purposes.

Moral Holiness: The Fruit, Not the Root

Now, having said all of this, we must be clear: God does care about how His people live. The moral dimension of holiness is real and important. But; and this is crucial, it’s the fruit, not the root. It flows from our identity; it doesn’t create it.

Leviticus 19 provides a perfect example. Right after declaring “You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy” (v.2), God doesn’t give Israel a list of spiritual exercises to achieve holiness. Instead, He gives them detailed instructions about how holy people live: don’t harvest the corners of your fields, pay your workers promptly, don’t curse the deaf or put stumbling blocks before the blind, use honest weights and measures, love your neighbour as yourself.

These aren’t conditions for becoming holy. They’re descriptions of how holy people; people who belong to the Holy One, conduct themselves. The sequence matters profoundly. You’re not holy because you do these things. You do these things because you’re holy, because you’ve been set apart to reflect God’s character.

Think of it this way: the lighthouse keepers don’t maintain the light in order to become lighthouse keepers. They maintain the light because they are lighthouse keepers. Their identity shapes their behaviour. Their calling determines their conduct. If they stopped maintaining the light, they wouldn’t cease to be keepers, they’d be unfaithful keepers, keepers who have abandoned their post. But their identity flows from their commission, not their performance.

Peter grasps this perfectly when he writes to scattered believers: “But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for God’s own possession, that you may proclaim the excellence of him who called you out of darkness into his marvellous light” (1 Peter 2:9). Notice the sequence: you are these things, chosen, royal, priestly, holy. Why? So that you may live accordingly, proclaiming God’s excellence. Identity first, behaviour second.

When Jesus says “Therefore you shall be perfect, just as your Father in heaven is perfect” (Matthew 5:48), He’s not introducing a new, impossible standard of sinless performance. He’s echoing the Levitical call to holiness, be complete, whole, consistent with your Father’s character. Live as His image-bearers. Let your lives display His nature. Not to earn acceptance, but because you’ve already been accepted, claimed, set apart.

Holiness and Community

One of the most significant losses in our individualistic, moralistic understanding of holiness is the communal dimension. In Hebrew thought, holiness is never purely individual. Israel is called to be a holy nation. The priesthood is a corporate body. Even individual holiness always exists within the context of covenant community.

This means that your holiness and mine are interconnected. We’re not isolated individuals trying to achieve personal spiritual superiority. We’re members of a body, stones in a temple, branches in a vine, all set apart together for God’s purposes. Your faithfulness encourages mine. My failure affects you. We bear one another’s burdens, confess our sins to one another, build one another up.

The lighthouse isn’t holy in isolation, it’s holy as part of a network of beacons that together make the coastline navigable. Each keeper’s faithfulness serves not just their own station but the entire maritime community.

This has enormous pastoral implications. If I’m struggling, if I’m failing to live up to my calling, I don’t need to pretend I’m fine or hide in shame. I need the community that God has set apart alongside me. I need fellow keepers who can help me maintain the light when my strength fails. I need the body functioning as it was designed to, with each member contributing to the others

The Pastoral Crisis and the Path Forward

The loss of this Hebrew understanding of holiness has created a genuine pastoral crisis in much of Western Christianity. When holiness becomes primarily about moral performance, several devastating consequences follow.

First, believers live in perpetual anxiety, never quite sure if they’re “holy enough”. They measure themselves against an impossible standard, constantly finding themselves wanting, condemned by their own failures. But when we grasp that holiness is about being claimed by God for His purposes, we embrace our identity. We’re not people trying to become holy through spiritual disciplines and moral effort. We’re holy people; already set apart, already claimed (1 Peter 2:9), learning to live consistently with who we are. Just as lighthouse keepers embrace their commission and let it shape their daily rhythms, we embrace our calling as God’s royal priesthood. The anxiety lifts because our identity no longer depends on our performance.

Second, this performance pressure creates either crushing legalism or despairing antinomianism. Either we double down on rules and regulations, trying to manufacture holiness through sheer effort, or we give up entirely, concluding that holiness is impossible and therefore irrelevant. But when we understand that holiness is fundamentally about designation and purpose, we ask different questions. Why has God set us apart? To represent His character to a watching world. To embody His ways in our communities. To demonstrate what human flourishing looks like under His rule. To be agents of His kingdom, lights in the darkness, salt that preserves and flavours (Matthew 5:13-16). Our purpose isn’t self-improvement, it’s mission, service, representation as ambassadors for Christ (2 Corinthians 5:20). The legalism and despair vanish because we’re not trying to earn what’s already been given or to achieve the impossible.

Third, we lose sight of our true identity. Instead of knowing ourselves as God’s chosen people, set apart for His purposes, commissioned to represent Him in the world, we see ourselves as moral projects in need of constant improvement. Our identity becomes performance-based rather than grace-based. But when we recover the Hebrew framework, we pursue consistency not to become God’s people but because we are God’s people. Because we belong to the Holy One, because we carry His name, because we’re marked as His possession, our lives should reflect His character. Not from fear of losing His favour, but from love for the One who claimed us. The burning coal from the altar doesn’t try to become hot, it simply is hot because of where it’s been. We don’t try to manufacture holiness, we live out what God has already made us. As Peter writes: “But just as he who called you is holy, so be holy in all you do; for it is written: ‘Be holy, because I am holy'” (1 Peter 1:15-16).

Fourth, we miss the point of the moral commands entirely. God’s instructions about how to live become arbitrary hoops to jump through or tests to pass, disconnected from the wisdom they were meant to convey. But when holiness is understood as covenant identity, we walk in community. We’re not isolated individuals but a holy nation, a corporate priesthood, a body set apart together (1 Corinthians 12:12-27). We support one another, challenge one another, bear one another’s burdens, celebrate one another’s faithfulness. The lighthouse keepers worked in pairs for good reason, the task was too demanding, the stakes too high, for anyone to carry alone. God’s commands stop being arbitrary rules and start being the wisdom of the Creator about how image-bearers flourish together, about what it looks like when holy people embody the character of the Holy One.

And when we fail; and we will all fail, we don’t lose our identity. A lighthouse keeper who falls asleep on watch doesn’t cease to be a keeper; they’re simply an unfaithful keeper who needs to wake up and return to their post. Our calling remains. God’s claim on us stands firm. We confess, we repent, we return to our purpose (1 John 1:9). The coal that falls from the altar can be placed back in the fire. We rest in grace, knowing that our status as holy people doesn’t depend on perfect performance but on God’s unchanging claim on us.

The shift isn’t from one theological system to another. It’s a change in the very soil of our identity. It moves us from the anxious, isolated striving of the individual; forever condemned by failure, to the grateful, corporate calling of a people. Our focus turns outward, from self-improvement to the divine mission.

Conclusion: When You Change the Meaning, You Lose the Message

The English word “holy” has drifted so far from the Hebrew qadosh that it often obscures rather than illuminates the biblical reality. We’ve turned a concrete, relational, vocational term into an abstract moral ideal. We’ve made holiness about what we achieve rather than what God declares. We’ve focused on individual performance rather than corporate calling.

But the Hebrew concept remains clear: holiness is about being set apart for divine purpose. It’s about God claiming people, places, times, and things for Himself and designating them for service in His kingdom. It’s about identity before behaviour, calling before conduct, grace before effort.

When we recover this understanding, everything changes. The crushing burden of impossible moral achievement lifts. The anxiety about whether we’re “good enough” dissolves. The confusion about our identity clears. We find ourselves not as moral projects in need of constant improvement, but as commissioned servants, set-apart people, chosen instruments in the hand of the Holy One.

The lighthouse stands on its rocky promontory not because it’s morally superior to other buildings, but because it’s been commissioned for a purpose. Its very existence saves lives. The keepers maintain the light not to earn their position but because of it. And when storms rage and darkness falls, that steady beam cuts through the chaos, offering hope and direction to all who see it.

This is what God has made His people to be. Not perfect performers, but set-apart witnesses. Not given to anxious striving, but confident servants. Not isolated, independent individuals, but a holy nation, claimed by the Holy One, commissioned to reflect His character, called to be a light in the darkness.

Holy to the Lord.

Set apart for divine purpose.

This is who you are.

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Prince of Peace & Warrior King

Julian Kinkaid — Sat, 27 Dec 2025 18:19:13 +0000

Prince of Peace & Warrior King

Shalom: A Covenant of Wholeness

‘Consider this troubling paradox’.

We call Jesus the “Prince of Peace,” especially at Christmas. We picture Him as the gentle baby in the manger, meek and lowly, the embodiment of tranquillity and non-violence. The angels announced His birth with the declaration, “Glory to God in the highest, on earth peace, good will towards men” (Luke 2:14).

But the Book of Revelation presents us with a radically different image; a Warrior-King returning to make war, leading the armies of heaven on a white horse, His robe dipped in blood. John writes: “I saw the heaven opened, and behold, a white horse, and he who sat on it is called Faithful and True. In righteousness he judges and makes war” (Revelation 19:11).

How do we reconcile these two images? Is one of them wrong? Should we favour the gentle Jesus of the Gospels over the warrior of Revelation, or accept that God is somehow inconsistent, loving in one moment, violent in the next?

The answer isn’t about choosing between these images. It’s about understanding what the Hebrew word for peace; שָׁלוֹם (shalom), actually means. Our English word “peace” has led us badly astray, narrowing a rich, comprehensive biblical concept into something far too small. We’ve reduced peace to mean merely the absence of conflict, the opposite of war, a state of calm and quietness.

But that’s not shalom. That’s not even close!

The Window of Saint-Denis

Chartres, France, 1194.

The Cathedral of Notre-Dame de Chartres possessed what many considered the finest stained glass window in all of Christendom. Master Guillaume de Sens had spent seven years creating it, 847 individual pieces of coloured glass displaying the majesty of Christ. When the morning sun struck the rose window, the entire cathedral blazed with light. Pilgrims travelled from across Europe to see it and they wept when the light poured through.

This was shalom.
Completeness. Wholeness. Everything as it should be.

On the night of September 17th, 1194, fire consumed the cathedral’s wooden roof. In the chaos, looters broke in. They smashed treasure chests, tore down tapestries…and they hurled stones at the rose window. Seven years of work was destroyed in moments. Glass shattered across the stone floor. Some pieces scattered into darkness, lost forever. Others lay in fragments, their edges jagged and sharp. By the morning, the fire was out. The stone walls had survived. Many townsfolk gathered, exhausted and grateful that the worst was over. Some were heard saying, “Thank God the violence has ended. Now we have peace, once more.” But the Bishop stood before the shattered window; gaping holes where there should have been glory, empty sky where there should have been the face of Christ. “This is not peace,” he said quietly. “This is simply silence after the destruction.” He sent word across France. Six weeks later, master glazier Pierre de Montfort arrived from Rouen. He was seventy-three, with gnarled hands and failing eyes, but there was no finer craftsman in the land. Pierre did not pray for a miracle. He got to work, searching the cathedral floor on his hands and knees, collecting every fragment he could find. Then he began the painstaking restoration; examining each piece, cleaning away soot, cutting new glass where originals were lost, grinding down edges for a perfect fit. Months became a year. A year became two. Then, in the spring of 1196, word came that the looters had been spotted nearby, moving from town to town. The Bishop called the council: “Pierre cannot complete his work if this wanton destruction continues. We cannot complete the work while this vandalism goes unchecked.” So, they posted guards. They reinforced the doors. And Pierre continued his work. On Easter morning, 1197, the rose window caught the dawn light once more. Not every piece was original, but the image was complete. Christ in glory, radiant and whole…and the pilgrims wept again. This, too, was shalom. Not the passive absence of conflict, but the active work of restoration. Making whole what was broken. Returning beauty to its intended glory. And the guards remained at their posts. True peace; true shalom, requires both the restoration of what was broken and the confrontation of what seeks to break it again.

The Hebrew Word: Shalom

The Hebrew word שָׁלוֹם (shalom) comes from the root שָׁלֵם (shalem), which means to be complete, whole, sound. At its most basic level, shalom describes something in a state of completeness; nothing missing, nothing broken, everything functioning as it should.

We see this active, comprehensive meaning of shalom in an unexpected place: a terrified farmer cowering in a winepress, hiding from raiders, convinced his nation is under God’s judgment. When the angel of the LORD appears to Gideon in Judges 6, the young man is certain he’s about to die. “I have seen the angel of the LORD face to face!” he cries in terror (Judges 6:22). But the LORD’s response is reassuring: “Shalom to you. Do not fear; you shall not die” (Judges 6:23). And Gideon builds an altar there, naming it Yahweh-Shalom, “Yahweh is Peace.”

Here’s what makes this passage remarkable, when seen through our Western Greek lens: Gideon isn’t receiving peace as an alternative to conflict. He’s receiving it as the foundation for entering conflict. In the very same encounter, God commissions him as a warrior to deliver Israel from Midian’s oppression. Israel’s circumstances haven’t changed, they’re still hiding in caves, still being raided, still living in fear and brokenness. The shalom God gives Gideon isn’t the absence of trouble; it’s the presence of God Himself in the midst of the calling to restore what’s broken. The peace comes first. The warfare follows. Because true shalom; comprehensive wholeness and right relationship with God, is what enables the warrior to do the work of restoration. Gideon doesn’t fight instead of having peace; he fights from the peace God has given him, bringing God’s declared word of restoration into reality.

When we look at the ancient Paleo-Hebrew pictographs that form this word, we see something very interesting. The letters suggest: teeth (destruction), a shepherd’s staff (guidance or control), and water (chaos or might). Read together, they paint a picture of bringing order and wholeness through guidance and control over chaos and destruction. Shalom isn’t achieved through passive avoidance; it’s accomplished through active restoration.

Remarkably, shalom functions not just as a noun but as a verb. To “shalom” something literally means to make it complete, to restore it. When Solomon completes the temple that David left unfinished, he brings shalom to it; he makes it whole. When your animal accidentally damages your neighbour’s field, you shalom them by making complete restitution. You take what was damaged and restore it to wholeness.

This helps us understand biblical passages that might otherwise seem confusing. When David visits his brothers on the battlefield and asks about their shalom (1 Samuel 17:18), he’s not simply asking if they’re experiencing an absence of conflict. He’s enquiring about their comprehensive well-being, is everything right with them in all respects? When Job speaks of his tents being in shalom (Job 5:24), he means everything is accounted for, nothing is missing, all is complete.

The priestly blessing captures this beautifully: “The Lord bless you, and keep you. The Lord make his face to shine on you, and be gracious to you. The Lord lift up his face towards you, and give you peace” (Numbers 6:24-26). The shalom invoked here is the culmination of God’s blessing; comprehensive well-being that flows from being in right relationship with Him.

Nehemiah: Shalom in Action

If we want to see what pursuing shalom actually looks like in practice, we need look no further than Nehemiah rebuilding Jerusalem’s walls.The city lay in ruins. The walls Jerusalem’s protection, its dignity, its very identity, had been broken down for decades. The gates had been burned. The people lived in “great trouble and disgrace” (Nehemiah 1:3). This wasn’t merely a building problem; it was a shalom problem. Jerusalem was incomplete, broken, vulnerable. The city could not fulfil its calling. The image was shattered.

When Nehemiah heard this report, he didn’t respond with contemplation or passive prayer alone. He wept, he mourned, he fasted, he prayed, but then he acted. He approached the king, secured resources, travelled to Jerusalem, and began the work of restoration. “Come, let’s build up the wall of Jerusalem, that we won’t be disgraced” (Nehemiah 2:17).

Notice what happens next. The moment Nehemiah begins rebuilding; the moment he starts pursuing shalom, opposition arises. Sanballat, Tobiah, and Geshem mock the work, then threaten it, then conspire to attack. The pursuit of wholeness provokes confrontation with those who profit from brokenness.

Nehemiah’s response is instructive. He doesn’t abandon the work. He doesn’t try to negotiate with the vandals. He doesn’t pretend that the absence of actual fighting means they have peace. Instead, he does both things simultaneously: he builds and he defends.

“Those who built the wall, and those who bore burdens loaded themselves; everyone with one of his hands did the work, and with the other held his weapon. Amongst the builders, everyone wore his sword at his side, and so built” (Nehemiah 4:17-18).

This is the biblical picture of peacemaking. One hand builds. The other holds a sword. Not because Nehemiah is violent or aggressive, but because restoration cannot happen whilst destruction continues. The work of shalom requires both construction and confrontation, both restoration and resistance.

The enemies try everything, mockery, threats, conspiracy, deception, intimidation. But Nehemiah persists: “I am doing a great work, so that I can’t come down. Why should the work cease whilst I leave it and come down to you?” (Nehemiah 6:3). The restoration of shalom was too important to be distracted by those who wanted the city to remain broken.

And in the end? “So the wall was finished” (Nehemiah 6:15). Shalom was restored. Not through avoiding conflict, but through persisting in restoration despite conflict. Not through passive waiting, but through active rebuilding. Not by making peace with the vandals, but by completing the work they tried to prevent.

This is what it means to pursue shalom. This is what peacemakers do.

PROJECT GERAR

The Disciple's Path

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The Hebrew Lens

The Textual Dig

FIELD REPORTS

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Judgment No One's Talking About Colossians 2 is often used to dismiss Sabbath and feast days as obsolete. But what if that popular reading misses the very point? Could Paul ...

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The Hebrew Hidden in Your Bible We assume our English Bible is a direct window into God's Word, but ancient Hebrew concepts are funnelled through different cultural expressions and our ...

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Immanuel: More Than A Pardon We say we’re “under grace, not law” as if grace, as 'unmerited favour' means that God expects nothing from us in return. But what if ...

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Recovering Hebrew Holiness What does it mean to be holy? Is it a spiritual checklist or moral standard we must achieve? Most of us carry a definition that feels heavy ...

Field Reports

Shalom: A Covenant of Wholeness We call Jesus the "Prince of Peace," especially at Christmas. But the Book of Revelation presents us with a radically different image; a Warrior-King. How ...

Field Reports

Beyond Belief: The Heart of Faith How many times have you heard someone say, ‘I just don’t have enough faith,’ or perhaps you've even thought it yourself? We’re told that ...

LIVING WORD

Trust in Yehovah

Proverbs 3:5-6

THE LIVING WORD

The Greek Narrowing: From Wholeness to Quietness

When the Hebrew Scriptures were translated into Greek in the Septuagint (LXX), the translators faced a significant challenge. How could they capture the rich, comprehensive meaning of shalom in Greek? The primary word they chose was εἰρήνη (eirēnē), which does mean “peace” or “harmony.”

But here’s the problem: eirēnē tended to emphasise the absence of conflict rather than the presence of wholeness. Greek thought often worked in negatives; peace as the opposite of war, rest as the opposite of labour. The concrete, active, restorative dimension of shalom began to fade.

By the time we reach English translations, this narrowing has become nearly complete. When we hear “peace,” we think of quietness, calm, the cessation of hostilities. We think of something passive, something static. A peaceful scene is one where nothing is happening, where everything is still and silent.

But shalom is never static. It’s dynamic, active, robust. It’s not the stillness after destruction—it’s the vigorous work of restoration. It’s not the silence of oppression; it’s the thriving of comprehensive flourishing.

This matters enormously when we read the New Testament. When Jesus says, “Peace I leave with you. My peace I give to you; not as the world gives, I give to you” (John 14:27), He’s not offering a feeling of inner calm. He’s offering shalom, the comprehensive wholeness that comes from being rightly related to God and to one another. The peace the world gives is thin, temporary, surface-level. The shalom Jesus offers addresses root causes, restores what’s broken, completes what’s lacking.

When Paul writes that Christ “made peace through the blood of his cross” (Colossians 1:20), he’s not saying Christ simply stopped a fight. He’s declaring that through the cross, God is reconciling all things to Himself, restoring comprehensive wholeness to all creation. The cross was the means by which broken relationships; between God and humanity, between people, and between humanity and the created order itself, was made whole again.

This is why Jesus guarantees His followers will have trouble in this world (John 16:33). The presence of conflict doesn’t mean the absence of shalom. His disciples can have shalom; wholeness, completeness, confident trust in God’s ultimate restoration, even whilst experiencing the struggle. Because shalom isn’t about our circumstances; it’s about God’s faithful work to make all things whole.

Nothing Missing, Nothing Broken, Nothing Taken Away

Perhaps the clearest way to express the full meaning of shalom is this phrase: nothing missing, nothing broken, nothing taken away.

Think of the stained glass window again. When it’s complete; when every piece is in place, when no fragment is missing, when no crack mars its surface, when no section has been stolen, that’s shalom. It’s the state God intended from the beginning, the flourishing He designed into creation.

The Psalmist captures this: “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall lack nothing” (Psalm 23:1). Nothing missing. “He restores my soul” (Psalm 23:3). What was broken is made whole. “Goodness and loving kindness shall follow me all the days of my life” (Psalm 23:6). Nothing taken away, God’s favour pursues us, sustains us, keeps us.

Or consider the vision in Revelation 21: “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; neither will there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain any more. The first things have passed away” (Revelation 21:4). This is ultimate shalom; everything that mars human flourishing removed, everything that was lacking restored and everything that was broken made whole.

But here’s the crucial point: we live between the “already” and the “not yet.” Christ has secured shalom through His death and resurrection. The decisive victory is won. The new creation has begun. But the fullness of shalom still awaits. We live in the restoration period, like Nehemiah’s workers, building the walls whilst the rubble still surrounds us, holding our tools in one hand and our defence in the other.

This is why shalom-making is such hard work. We’re not simply waiting for God to zap everything so it’s all fixed. We’re participating in His restoration project. We’re searching for the scattered pieces. We’re fitting them back together. We’re defending the work against those who would vandalise it again. And we’re trusting that the Master Craftsman will complete what He started.

Why the Prince of Peace Must Be a Warrior

Now we can return to our original question: How can the Prince of Peace return as a warrior?

The answer is that He must. Because true, lasting shalom cannot coexist with the forces that actively destroy it. You cannot restore the window whilst vandals keep smashing it. You cannot heal the body whilst the disease continues to spread. You cannot make peace whilst evil wages war against everything good.

When Revelation 19 shows us Christ returning as a warrior, it’s not contradicting His mission as Prince of Peace, it’s completing it. The cross was the decisive battle where Christ absorbed the violence of sin and death into Himself and rose victorious. His return is the enforcement of that victory, the final removal of everything that vandalises shalom.

Consider what happens after the warfare of Revelation 19. Chapter 21 shows us the New Jerusalem, where “God’s dwelling is with people, and he will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God” (Revelation 21:3). Complete shalom. Comprehensive wholeness. Nothing missing, nothing broken, nothing taken away. The image fully restored.

The warfare serves the peace. The confrontation enables the restoration. The judgment removes the vandals so the Master’s work can be completed without further interference.

This is why Isaiah could prophesy about the coming Messiah: “For to us a child is born. To us a son is given; and the government will be on his shoulders. His name will be called Wonderful, Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Of the increase of his government and of peace there shall be no end” (Isaiah 9:6-7).

The titles aren’t contradictory. He’s the Mighty God precisely because He’s the Prince of Peace. His peace; His shalom, is powerful, active, uncompromising with evil. It’s not the fragile peace of negotiated truces. It’s the robust wholeness that comes when everything opposed to God’s good creation is finally defeated.

Living as Shalom-Makers

So what does this mean for us, caught between the already and the not yet, living in the time of restoration?First, it means we recognise that peacemaking is active, not passive. Jesus calls peacemakers blessed (Matthew 5:9) not because they avoid conflict, but because they pursue restoration. Like Nehemiah, we build with one hand and hold our weapon with the other. We work for healing in relationships, justice in communities, wholeness in systems, and we resist the forces that seek to keep things broken.

Second, it means we understand that pursuing shalom will often bring us into conflict.
When we stand against injustice, when we challenge systems that exploit the vulnerable, when we insist that broken relationships must be restored rather than simply papered over, we’ll face opposition. That’s not a sign we’re doing it wrong. It’s a sign we’re doing it right. Nehemiah faced mockery and threats precisely because he was rebuilding what others wanted to keep in ruins.

Third, it means we trust that God is the ultimate restorer of shalom. We’re not ultimately responsible for completing the work, Christ is. Our calling is faithfulness, not success. We build. We defend. We persist. And we trust that the Master Glazier will complete His window, that the Prince of Peace will finish what He started.

Paul puts it beautifully: “If it is possible, as much as it is up to you, be at peace with all men” (Romans 12:18). We pursue shalom “as much as it is up to us,” recognising that sometimes, despite our best efforts, conflicts will remain. But our calling stands: work for restoration, resist destruction, trust God’s ultimate victory.

And we remember that we’ve been given the ministry of reconciliation (2 Corinthians 5:18-20). We’re ambassadors of the Prince of Peace, announcing that through Christ, shalom is possible, that broken relationships can be healed, that what was shattered can be restored, and that comprehensive wholeness is God’s design and His ultimate promise.

Conclusion: When You Change the Meaning, You Lose the Message

When we reduce shalom to merely “the absence of conflict,” we lose the transformative power of what God promises and what Christ accomplished. We end up with a thin, anaemic peace that asks nothing of us except that we avoid rocking the boat. We tolerate injustice because confronting it would disturb the calm. We leave wounds unhealed because addressing them might create tension. We settle for silence when we should pursue restoration.

But when we recover the true biblical meaning; when we understand that shalom means comprehensive wholeness, active restoration, nothing missing, nothing broken, nothing taken away, everything changes.

We see that the Prince of Peace and the Warrior-King are not two different Saviours but one Lord on a single mission: to restore all things, to make creation whole again, to defeat everything that vandalises God’s good world.

We understand why pursuing peace so often requires entering into conflict, not because we love fighting, but because we love wholeness more.

We grasp that ‘peacemaking’ is not a passive calling but an active one, requiring both the builder’s trowel and the defender’s sword, both the restorer’s patience and the protector’s courage.

The stained glass window awaits its final restoration. The Master Glazier is at work. Some pieces have already been fitted into place. Others are still being searched for, cleaned, prepared. The image is beginning to emerge again, though the work is far from complete.

And one day; on the day when the Prince of Peace returns as the Warrior-King, when every vandal has been stopped, when every opposing force has been defeated, the final piece will be placed. The light will stream through unhindered. The image will be complete in all its glory. And we will see what we were always meant to see: comprehensive shalom and perfect wholeness.

This is the peace that passes understanding. This is the shalom for which we were made.

Shalom.

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The Faithful One

Julian Kinkaid — Tue, 23 Dec 2025 21:00:26 +0000

The Faithful One

Beyond Belief: The Heart of Faith

‘I just don’t have enough faith.’

How many times have you heard someone say this or even thought it yourself? Perhaps you’ve prayed for healing or asked for guidance that didn’t come, or wrestled with doubts about doctrines you’re supposed to believe without question. And in those moments, the whisper comes: If only I had more faith.

We’re told that faith can move mountains, that without faith it’s impossible to please God, that we’re saved by faith. Yet for many believers, faith feels perpetually insufficient; a fragile commodity that must be manufactured through sheer force of will, constantly measured and found wanting. We imagine faith as a substance we must somehow produce in greater quantities, believing harder, pushing away doubts, mustering conviction we don’t truly feel.
But what if this entire struggle is built on a misunderstanding?

What if the very word we translate as ‘faith’ never meant what we think it means?

Niagara Falls, 1859

In the summer of 1859, the great tightrope walker Charles Blondin announced he would cross Niagara Falls on a tightrope. When the day came, 10,000 people gathered on the Canadian side to watch this impossible feat.

Blondin walked across the churning waters below, balancing himself on a rope stretched 1,100 feet across the gorge, 160 feet above the falls. The crowd held their breath. When he reached the Canadian side safely, 10,000 people erupted in applause, shouting his name.

‘Blondin! Blondin! Blondin!’ they yelled.

He quieted the crowd, and with an air of showmanship, he asked: ‘Do you believe in me?’

The crowd roared back: ‘We believe! We believe! We believe!’

He silenced them again. ‘Do you believe that I can go back across this tightrope carrying someone on my shoulders?’

Again, the crowd shouted: ‘We believe! We believe! We believe!’

Blondin looked out at the 10,000 faces and asked the formidable yet revealing question:
‘Which of you will be that man?’

…Silence!

The difference between shouting ‘We believe!’ from the safety of solid ground and actually climbing onto the shoulders of a man about to walk across a tightrope above Niagara Falls is immense. And this is precisely the difference we need to understand if we are going to recover the Scriptural meaning of faith.

The Hebrew Foundation: Steadfastness, Not Mental Agreement

The Hebrew word for faith is אֱמוּנָה (emunah), derived from the root אָמַן (aman), which means to be firm, established, steady, or trustworthy. This etymology reveals something significant: the Hebrew concept of faith is not about the strength of your beliefs, but about how steadfast your trust is.

When God is described as faithful, the word is emunah. God isn’t ‘believing harder’, this speaks of God’s character. He is unshakably reliable, steadfast and utterly dependable. When Moses’ hands were held steady during the battle with Amalek, the text says his hands remained emunah; firm, unwavering, supported by Aaron and Hur. This is the same word, the same concept.

Emunah isn’t about the measure or quantity of your belief; it’s about the quality of your response to God’s trustworthiness. It’s not about mustering the mental conviction that God can or will do something; it’s about demonstrating covenant loyalty, reliant on His faithfulness.

We find this concept embedded in a word we use all the time, at the end of a prayer: Amen. When we say ‘Amen,’ we are using this same Hebrew root. But it’s become a religious punctuation mark, a passive ‘I agree’. In its original context, ‘amen’ was an active pledge. It meant: ‘This is firm, reliable, and trustworthy. Therefore, I will now organise my life and actions around the truth of this statement, relying on God’s faithfulness to make it a reality’.

But ancient Hebrews understood faith as faithfulness; the covenant commitment to remain loyal, to trust God’s character regardless of the circumstances. It is the confidence to lean one’s full weight upon Him in the certain knowledge that He will support you; like a football player who consistently shows up for training despite doubting their ability or run of poor performance, or like a spouse who remains faithful to their partner through the ups and downs of their marriage.

The Two Footballers: Making the Abstract ‘Concrete’

Imagine two players being signed by Manchester United on the same day. Both put on the famous red shirt for the press photos. Both sign their contracts. And both are now, officially, Manchester United players.

But here’s where their stories diverge dramatically.

Player A: The Believer:

Player A holds up the jersey with total conviction. He signs the contract with certainty. He genuinely, intellectually believes he is now a Manchester United player. He’s learnt the club’s history and studied their tactics flawlessly. He has extreme confidence in the team and their manager, Rúben Amorim and is certain that this season Man. United will win the Premier League.
But he never goes to training. He doesn’t run drills, doesn’t show up for practice sessions and isn’t there to hear the manager’s instructions. When match day comes, he’s cheering from the stands, still confident in his team, but not actually playing.

Player B: The Faithful:

Player B was a surprise signing. He has moments of self-doubt, wondering if he’s good enough for the famous red shirt. He’s still learning the formations and makes mistakes in practice. He doesn’t feel like a superstar every day. Some mornings he wakes up questioning whether he really belongs.
But he shows up for every training session, rain or shine. He listens to the coach. He sweats on the pitch. He gives 100% in every match, even when they’re losing. He’s learning, growing, struggling, but he’s there, doing the work, showing his commitment to the team.

Which player is truly a Manchester United player?

Player B.

Player A has a contractual agreement and perfect unwavering conviction, but no one would consider him a true part of the team. His ‘belief’ is irrelevant because he isn’t faithful to the daily reality of being a player.

This is the difference between the Greek pistis and the Hebrew emunah.

The contract signing is just the start. But it’s only the beginning of the relationship, not the entirety of it.

Player A is like a fan, shouting ‘I believe we can win!’ from the safety of the stands. Player B is someone committed to winning, prepared to defend, tackle and even score the winning goal; trusting enough to participate and dedicated enough to risk and to follow through.

The Marriage Covenant: Israel and Yahweh

To understand emunah even more deeply, we need to explore how Scripture itself describes the relationship between God and His people: as a marriage covenant.

God Initiates the Covenant

Moses reminds Israel:
‘Yahweh didn’t set his love on you nor choose you because you were more in number than any people; for you were the fewest of all peoples; but because Yahweh loves you, and because he desires to keep the oath which he swore to your fathers.’ (Deuteronomy 7:7-8)
Israel didn’t earn their covenant. God chose them—pure grace. They were slaves in Egypt with absolutely no bargaining power. God’s choice was pure, unmerited grace, like a proposal made entirely from love.

Israel Enters Through Emunah

At Sinai Israel didn’t respond with a simple statement of belief, but with a vow of action:
‘All the words which Yahweh has spoken will we do…All that Yahweh has spoken will we do, and be obedient.’ (Exodus 24:3, 7)
‘We will do.’ ‘We will be obedient.’ This is emunah; a commitment to steadfast covenant faithfulness. They’re saying, ‘We commit ourselves to this covenant relationship. We will be faithful…to do all that You ask of us.’

The Marriage Imagery Made Explicit

The prophets consistently describe this relationship as marriage:
‘I will betroth you to me for ever. Yes, I will betroth you to me in righteousness, in justice, in loving kindness, and in compassion. I will even betroth you to me in faithfulness [emunah]. You shall know Yahweh.’ (Hosea 2:19-20)

The Critical Distinction

Could Israel ‘earn’ marriage to God by keeping Torah beforehand?
No. They were slaves. God chose them freely.

Once married, was Torah obedience optional?
Absolutely not. That’s what covenant faithfulness means.

If Israel committed adultery (idolatry), did that mean they’d never been married? No, the prophets describe it as covenant breaking, not covenant never-existing.

The works don’t earn the covenant. The works express the covenant.

The James Solution: The Misunderstood Epistle

This is where recovering the Hebrew understanding becomes absolutely crucial. The Epistle of James has confused Christians for nearly 2,000 years, but it’s only confusing if you’re reading it through a Greek abstract lens.

The Setting

James writes to Jewish believers scattered throughout the Greco-Roman world. He sees a dangerous shift: the Hebrew concept of emunah is being replaced by the Greek concept of pistis as intellectual belief. Faith is becoming an abstract mental state divorced from behavioural reality.

A Note on Doubt and Divided Loyalty

James briefly addresses doubt in 1:6-8, describing the doubter as ‘double-minded’ (dipsychos) and ‘unstable in all his ways.’ This concept of divided loyalty; of trying to serve two masters simultaneously, is crucial to understanding biblical faith.

However, the relationship between doubt, divided loyalty, and unbelief deserves its own thorough exploration. We’ll examine this more fully in a separate article. For now, what matters is recognising that James is defending faithfulness as demonstrated loyalty, not belief as mental certainty.

Doers, Not Just Hearers

‘But be doers of the word, and not only hearers, deluding your own selves.’ (James 1:22)

Greek framework allows: ‘I can know the truth intellectually without being a doer. I have faith in my head; what I do with my body is a different matter.’
Hebrew framework insists: ‘If you’re not doing it, you don’t actually have emunah. You’re just deceiving yourself.’

Player A is the ‘hearer only’: knows all the tactics.
Player B is the ‘doer’: learning through practice, training, playing.

Faith and Works: The Famous Confrontation

‘What good is it, my brothers, if a man says he has faith, but has no works? Can faith save him?…Even so faith, if it has no works, is dead in itself…You believe that God is one. You do well. The demons also believe—and shudder.’ (James 2:14-19)

James says: what you’re calling ‘faith’ is just verbal agreement. That’s not emunah at all.

Demons believe in God’s existence, power, and truth. They have perfect intellectual conviction, they even shudder at the reality. But demons don’t have emunah. They’re not faithful, loyal, or in covenant relationship with God.
Player A is like the demons, he believes all the right things about Manchester United but he’s not on the team because he never shows up.

Abraham’s faith wasn’t intellectually agreeing that God’s promise was true. His faith was signing the contract AND showing up for training; leaving his homeland, living as a nomad, offering Isaac. His emunah was visible in his actions, not hidden in his thoughts.

James and Paul Reconciled

Paul: ‘You don’t earn covenant entrance through Torah observance. You enter through emunah; trusting what God has done in Christ and committing to covenant faithfulness.’
James: ‘If you claim to have emunah but there’s no covenant faithfulness visible in your life, you’re lying to yourself. That’s not emunah; that’s just intellectual agreement.’

Both are defending the same Hebrew concept: – Paul fights those who think works earn the covenant (legalism) – James fights those who think faith can exist without works (dead orthodoxy)

Emunah in the New Testament

Hebrews 11:1 — The Nature of Faith

‘Now faith is assurance of things hoped for, proof of things not seen.’ (Hebrews 11:1)
This verse is often understood as defining faith primarily in terms of believing in the invisible or future; having confidence about things you can’t verify. But when we understand pistis here as faithfulness (the Greek word that translates Hebrew emunah), the meaning shifts dramatically.

The Greek word ὑπόστασις (hypostasis), translated as ‘assurance’, doesn’t merely mean mental confidence. In legal and practical Greek usage, it meant a title deed, a foundation, something that gives concrete reality to a promise. The word ἔλεγχος (elegchos), translated as ‘proof’, means demonstrable evidence, conviction, a convincing argument.

Through the lens of emunah, the verse means:
Faithfulness is the concrete foundation that gives substance to what we hope for. It’s the demonstrated conviction; the living proof, of the unseen spiritual realities. In other words: our loyal, persistent trust in God’s promise acts as the title deed, that makes future hopes a present reality in how we live.

Our faithful actions are the evidence that we are convinced of what we cannot yet see.

This isn’t about believing harder in the invisible. It’s about living NOW as if God’s promises are already true, because you’re leaning your full weight on the proven character of the Faithful One.
Consider the heroes who follow in Hebrews 11. They didn’t just believe God would act; they acted themselves based on trust in God’s promises, often long before those promises were visibly fulfilled:

Noah built an ark on dry ground, not because he had meteorological certainty about an upcoming flood, but because he trusted God’s character enough to stake everything on His word. He spent decades building whilst his neighbours mocked him. His faithfulness gave substance to the promised deliverance that hadn’t yet arrived. That’s emunah.

Abraham left his homeland for a destination unknown. He didn’t have a roadmap. He didn’t have certainty about how things would work out. But his faithfulness—his willingness to go—was the title deed to the inheritance he hadn’t yet received. His actions gave concrete reality to God’s promise.

Moses chose to be mistreated with God’s people rather than enjoy Egypt’s fleeting pleasures. His faithfulness to the covenant people, even in suffering, was the proof of his conviction about God’s future redemption.

They didn’t have perfect intellectual certainty. They had God’s proven trustworthiness to lean on—and their faithful response to that trustworthiness became the substance, the foundation, the title deed of what God had promised.

Ephesians and Faith

‘For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves; it is the gift of God, not of works, that no one would boast. For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared before that we would walk in them.’ (Ephesians 2:8-10)

Verses 8-9: Covenant Entry

You don’t earn your way into covenant. God initiates—pure grace. You enter through emunah, trusting what God has done in Christ.

Verse 10: Covenant Living

Once you’re in covenant, faithfulness is what covenant IS. You’re not saved BY your faithfulness; that would be works-righteousness. But you’re saved INTO a life of faithfulness, because that’s what being married means.

The works don’t earn salvation. The works demonstrate that salvation has genuinely occurred.

PROJECT GERAR

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Proverbs 3:5-6

THE LIVING WORD

The Identity Crisis: When Covenant People Forget Who They Are

Here’s where we arrive at the heart of the problem many Christians face, a crisis of identity that goes deeper than intellectual doubt or divided loyalty.

The Unworthiness Trap

When I examine my own struggle with faith, the real issue isn’t “Do I believe God can heal?” The deeper questions that threaten to paralyze me are: “Who am I that God would use me? Who am I that God would heal through me?”
On the surface, this sounds like we’re being humble; appropriate modesty. But in a covenant framework, it’s actually a rejection of what God has established.

The question “Who am I?” is the wrong question because the Hebrew answer would be: “You are covenant people. That’s who you are. That’s all the qualification you need.”

But we’re asking a Western, individualistic, merit-based question: “What have I done to deserve this? What makes me special enough?” We’re unconsciously operating in a system where God’s response depends on our own personal worthiness rather than being rooted in covenant identity.

Biblical Examples: Identity vs. Unworthiness

Moses at the burning bush: “Who am I that I should go?” God’s answer isn’t “You’re special, Moses.” It’s “I AM will be with you.” The qualification isn’t Moses; it’s covenant presence.
Gideon: “My clan is the weakest, I am the least.” God doesn’t argue. He just says: “I’m sending you.” Gideon’s unworthiness is irrelevant. His covenant positioning is what matters.
David before Goliath: Everyone else sees an unqualified shepherd boy. David sees covenant reality: “Who is this uncircumcised Philistine that he should defy the armies of the living God?” He’s not saying “I’m brave” or “I’m skilled.” He’s saying “We’re covenant people. This is our standing.”
Contrast with Saul: Saul constantly needs validation, worries about his standing, makes fearful decisions. David acts with breath-taking confidence. Same covenant, different understanding of identity. David knows who he is; the Lord’s anointed, covenant king. Saul never grasps his identity, so he always struggles with insecurity.

Unworthiness as Covenant Denial

Unworthiness feelings often masquerade as humility, but they’re actually a denial of the covenant. If God has brought you into covenant, declared you His own, given you standing, then to say “I’m not worthy” is to reject the work He’s done. It’s not humble; it’s functional unbelief in covenant reality.
that’s not to say that you’re perfect or that you’ve earned anything. Covenant was never about earning. Abraham wasn’t worthy. Moses wasn’t worthy. David definitely wasn’t worthy. But they were covenant people, and that gave them standing.
“Who am I that God would use me?” is refusing to rest in your covenant identity and furthermore, it’s about trying to work your way into being qualified.

This Also Explains the New Covenant Reality

Most Christians misunderstand this structure:

The misunderstanding:
Old Covenant = works to earn standing
New Covenant = no works needed, just believe

The actual structure:
Old Covenant = God positions Israel → they live as covenant people
New Covenant = God positions us in Christ → we live as new creation

The framework never changed. Position FIRST, then works flow FROM that position.

Ephesians 2:10 says it explicitly: “For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus FOR good works.”

Sequence: Grace → Position → Works

We’re not saved BY works (trying to work into position). We’re saved FOR works (positioned so we can function).
Christians have turned the New Covenant into “believe the right things and you’re done” instead of “you’ve been positioned—now live accordingly.” This is why they’re paralyzed in prayer and ministry. They think covenant means “God won’t judge me” rather than “I’m positioned to function as His representative.”

The Pastoral Implications: Liberation Through Emunah

When faith is misunderstood as intellectual belief, it becomes a crushing burden instead of liberating truth.

The Burden of Misunderstood Faith

If faith is intellectual conviction, then whenever you have doubts; and all humans have doubts, you feel like you’re failing at faith. When prayers seem unanswered, when God feels distant, the whisper comes: You don’t have enough faith.

People who desperately need healing pray with all their might, and when healing doesn’t come, they wonder if their insufficient faith was the problem. This is spiritual abuse. It makes faith into a work we must perform.

The Liberation of Emunah

Emunah isn’t about the intensity of your beliefs; it’s about the direction of your trust. It’s not about never having doubts; it’s about remaining loyal even when doubts arise.

Think about Player B. Do you think he never wonders if he’s good enough? Do you think he has perfect certainty?
Of course not. But he shows up anyway. His questions don’t disqualify him.

The Woman with the Issue of Blood

She came up behind Jesus and touched His garment, saying, ‘If I just touch his garment, I will be made well.’ (Matthew 9:20-22)
Was her faith perfect certainty? No. Look at what she said: “IF I just touch…” There’s uncertainty in that ‘if.’ She had hope, but not certainty. Was her faith divorced from action? Absolutely not. Her emunah compelled her to push through the crowd, to reach out despite her ritually unclean state, to take the risk.

Her faith wasn’t in her head, it was in her feet, in her hands, in her willingness to act on trust despite uncertainty. That’s emunah.

Honest Doubts vs. Divided Loyalty

Honest doubts:

Questioning how God’s ways work whilst remaining committed
Wrestling with theology whilst continuing to pray, worship, serve
Like the father who cried, ‘I believe; help my unbelief!’

Divided loyalty:

Asking God for wisdom on Sunday, then living by worldly values all week
Praying for provision, then trusting entirely in money and manipulation
Claiming relationship with God, but choices revealing you’re serving yourself

The first is wrestling within covenant. The second is covenant betrayal.
Emunah allows for questions, struggles, and intellectual wrestling. What it doesn’t allow is divided loyalty; trying to serve two masters.

The Faithful One: Trust Rooted in Character

Here’s the beautiful truth at the heart of emunah: it’s not ultimately about us at all. It’s about God.

Emunah is possible not because we’re capable of manufacturing sufficient belief, but because God is utterly, unshakably faithful.
‘It is because of Yahweh’s loving kindnesses that we are not consumed, because his compassion doesn’t fail. They are new every morning. Great is your faithfulness.’ (Lamentations 3:22-23)
When we waver, He remains faithful…because He cannot deny Himself (2 Timothy 2:13).
‘Know therefore that Yahweh your God himself is God, the faithful God, who keeps covenant and loving kindness to a thousand generations.’ (Deuteronomy 7:9)

Think about Player B one more time. His faithfulness to the team isn’t ultimately about his own psychological state. His faithfulness is a response to the manager’s proven character, the club’s demonstrated history, the team’s reliable support system.

That’s what emunah is: showing up faithfully in response to the proven character of the Faithful One. And God’s track record is unimpeachable.

He created the universe and sustains it by His word. He made promises to Abraham and kept every one. He delivered Israel from Egypt. He sent His Son, who proved faithful even unto death, and vindicated that faithfulness through resurrection.

When you feel you ‘don’t have enough faith,’ you’re revealing that you’ve misunderstood what faith is. It’s not a substance you must produce in greater quantities. It’s not psychological certainty you must manufacture through effort. Emunah is choosing, despite your doubts and questions, to show up faithfully. It’s covenant loyalty that remains even when feelings fluctuate. It’s steadfast trust that endures because it’s rooted in God’s character, not your certainty.

We’re not saved by believing hard enough; we’re saved by trusting the Faithful One. The strength of saving faith isn’t measured by the firmness of our conviction but by the reliability of the One we’re trusting.

And He is utterly, completely, eternally reliable.

Conclusion: Which One Are You?

Let’s return to Niagara Falls, to the tightrope, to Blondin and the crowd of 10,000.‘Which of you will climb on my shoulders?’

…Silence!

Finally, one man stepped forward. He walked up to Blondin. The great tightrope walker bent down, and the man climbed onto his shoulders. The crowd held its breath as Blondin straightened, turned toward the tightrope, and stepped out over the falls.

One foot in front of the other. The rope swaying. The wind blowing. The waters churning 160 feet below. And on Blondin’s shoulders, a man who had staked his entire life on proven character.
They reached the American side safely. The crowd erupted in applause. Ten thousand people had shouted ‘We believe! We believe! We believe!’ But only one really believed.

This is emunah.

This is what James was defending: genuine emunah cannot exist as simple words. This is what Paul was proclaiming: you cannot earn your way onto God’s shoulders through your own efforts. This is what the marriage covenant reveals: God chose you, not because you earned it, but because He loves you.

When you change the meaning, you lose the message.

When we reduced emunah to intellectual belief, we lost the rich, transformative power of what Scripture actually calls us to. We created anxious believers constantly measuring their faith, wondering if they believe hard enough, feeling condemned for honest questions, like Player A, who owns the jersey but never plays the game.

But when we recover the true meaning of biblical faith, we discover that the Faithful One is calling us not to belief-intensity but to covenant loyalty. Not to psychological certainty but to steadfast trust. Not trying to manufacture conviction that we don’t have but to showing up faithfully…like Player B. The one who has plenty of doubts but trains anyway, demonstrating his commitment by his faithfulness.

The question was never ‘Do I believe strongly enough?’
The question was always ‘Will I climb on His shoulders? Will I show up for training? Will I live true to this covenant?’

God is standing there, the Faithful One, proven trustworthy through millennia. He’s demonstrated His character through creation, through covenant, through the cross, through resurrection. His track record is unimpeachable. And He’s offering to carry you across.

Not because of who you are, or what you can offer, but because He is faithful, because He is trustworthy. It’s because His character has been proven and His love is steadfast.

Ten thousand people stood on the ground shouting their agreement, certain they believed, convinced they had faith.
One man crossed the falls on Blondin’s shoulders, his life staked entirely on proven reliability.

Which one are you?

The crowd, shouting ‘We believe!’ from the safety of distance?

Or the one who shows up, who steps forward, who stakes everything on the proven character of the Faithful One?

This is not a question about how strongly you believe. It’s a question about whether you’ll trust yourself completely; your life, your future, your security, into the hands of the One who has proven Himself utterly faithful.

That’s emunah…That’s faith.
Will you?

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Field Reports Archive - Project Gerar

Shadow and Substance

Shadow and Substance

Shadow and Substance

Colossians 2 and the Judgment Nobody's Talking About: A Direct Response to Rob Solberg

A Note on Framework and Terminology

PART 1: WHAT PAUL ACTUALLY ARGUES (2:8 → 3:17)

Section 1: The Colossian Context – Who and What

1A: Who Are the Colossians?

1B: What Was the Colossian Heresy?

Section 2: Paul’s Argument Flow (2:8-15) – The Setup

2A: The Warning (v.8)

2B: Christ’s Sufficiency (vv.9-10)

2C: What Christ Accomplished (vv.11-15)

A Note on Paul’s Language: Alienation and Reconciliation

What Exactly Did Christ Cancel?

Section 3: The Pivot – “Therefore, Let No One Judge You” (vv.16-17)

3A: The Logical Connection

3B: The Practices Paul Names (v.16)

3C: What Paul Actually Says (and Doesn’t Say)

3D: The Reason – Shadow and Substance (v.17)

Section 4: Understanding “Shadow” in Paul’s Polemic

4A: The Ascetics’ Claim

4B: Paul’s Counter

4C: Biblical Shadow Typology

4D: Paul’s Point in Context

Section 5: The Nature of the Judgment (vv.18-23)

5A: The Profile of the Judges

5B: Testing the Interpretations

5C: The Critical Question

5D: Torah’s Character vs. Ascetic Character

Section 6: Why This Makes Paul’s Argument Coherent

6A: The Internal Consistency Test

6B: The “Therefore” Actually Works

6C: The Chapter 2 → Chapter 3 Flow

6D: The Argument’s Unity

Section 7: What Paul Actually Means by Freedom

7A: The Question That Must Be Answered

7B: Why It Can’t Be Option A (Autonomy)

7C: What Freedom Actually Means in Context

7D: The Practical Difference

PART 2: WHY THIS READING RESOLVES PROBLEMS

Section 8: The Question Solberg Never Answers

8A: Why Were the Colossians Keeping These Practices?

8B: The Traditional View’s Problem

8C: The Contextual View’s Answer

8D: The Evidence Test

Section 9: The Grammatical Support

9A: The “Things to Come” (τῶν μελλόντων)

9B: Paul’s Eschatological Framework

9C: The Grammatical-Theological Fit

9D: Supporting Evidence from Paul’s Usage

Section 10: The Coherence Test – Seven Ways This Reading Works

1. Why Believers from the Nations Kept These Practices

2. The Profile of the Heretics

3. The V.16 + V.21 Relationship

4. The Use of the Jewish Triad

5. The Chapter 2 → 3 Flow

6. Paul’s Own Documented Behaviour

7. The “Already/Not Yet” Eschatology

PART 3: WHERE ALTERNATIVE READINGS BREAK DOWN

Section 11: The Traditional Reading’s Internal Contradictions

11A: The V.16 vs. V.21 Problem

11B: The Colossians 3 Problem (Revisited)

11C: Paul’s Behaviour Problem

Section 12: The Theological Problems

12A: Making Paul Contradict the Rest of Scripture

12B: The “Forever” Problem

12C: The Covenant Inclusion Problem

Section 13: Addressing Anticipated Objections

13A: “But Hebrews Says the Old Covenant Is Obsolete”

13B: “But Galatians Condemns Returning to Observance”

13C: “But Romans 14 Says Each Person Should Be Fully Convinced”

Section 14: The Missing Framework – Already But Not Yet

14A: The Eschatological Reality Paul Operates Within

14B: Why This Matters for Understanding “Shadows”

14C: Passover as a Test Case

14D: The Traditional View’s Unspoken Assumption

14E: How This Resolves the Colossians 2 Question

14F: Why We Still Need Instruction About Physical Life

Colossians 2 and the Judgment Nobody's Talking About:
A Direct Response to Rob Solberg