In the past few months, I have made the Psalms feature much more prominently in my daily Scripture reading by working them through each month. As I got around to the end of last month, I came to one of my favourites, Psalm 119. It always strikes me that David's longest Psalm is an extended reflection on how much he loves God's law.

This time around, I spent some extra time thinking about verses 97-104. What stood out to me was David's perception that wisdom and understanding were given to those who loved God's law and feared him. Sometimes Christians find themselves on edge when they are confronted by some of Christianity's highly intelligent detractors, who have seemingly well-thought out and sophisticated objections to the faith. Indeed, dealing with these arguments can be troubling.

But that is why David's words here provide so much comfort, because it is not about how sophisticated your arguments are, or how airtight your logic is, or how knowledgeable you are. Wisdom and understanding, David says, come from following God's Word. And because he submits himself to God's revelation, he writes, David is now 'wiser than my enemies... I have more insight than all my teachers... I have more understanding than the elders.'

This is not to say, of course, that Christianity is something that defies all logic and reason. It makes sense, and provides the most coherent framework for understanding the nature of reality. We have apologists who have gone to great lengths to provide us with reasoned and sound defenses of our faith.

But if you have trouble making sense of all arguments and debates that take place on more academic levels, don't be discouraged by the seemingly intelligent and sophisticated criticisms that people level against Christianity. The truth is that by fearing the Lord and meditating on his Word, we gain the fullness of wisdom and understanding. All the knowledge in the world means nothing if you do not confess Jesus as Lord.

One of the most interesting chapters so far in the book I've been reading, Urban Ministry: The Kingdom, the City, and the People of God, has been the chapter on the role of the city in the Old Testament. In the previous post, I quoted a portion of Harvie Conn and Manuel Ortiz's discussion on the role religion played in the city, where they made the point that like anything else, the life of the city is either lived in service to or in rebellion to God.

In the Ancient Near East and in the Old Testament this was no different. Conn and Ortiz write, "The lifestyle of the city is religion made visible, faith reflected either toward God or against him" (93). Today, if you live in a city that does not honour the God of Scripture, you do not necessarily need to expect that life will be exceedingly difficult, but this was not the case in the cities of the Ancient Near East. Conn and Ortiz note that "in these ancient city-states with their autocratic territorial gods, the ruler or king interpreted the will of the gods. And the people served as slaves of the gods and of their earthly, royal regents" (94). When the ruler was convinced that he was an agent of the gods, then it was total obedience to his rule that became the highest virtue, naturally resulting in tyranny against the people he ruled over.

In this context that Israel was called to be radically different. Already before they took possession of the Promised Land, God instructed them regarding what type of king they should have to reign over them, giving them a portrait of a king that was the polar opposite of the kings of the Ancient Near East (Deut. 17:14-20). And further, it was not just Israel's kings that were to be different, but her entire society and culture. Her cities were to be places where justice and mercy reigned and life was to be found in abundance for all who lived in fidelity to the covenant Lord.

In dramatic contrast to all this, Yahweh called his people to a new model for urban life. Israel was to be the exhibition place for God's redemptive grace in the city and the empires that formed around God's people in history. At the heart of the model was a new theological vision, a covenant relationship between the suzerain God and his servant community. At the core of that vision was a concept of divine kingship new to the ancient world, and to demonstrate it, a new sociopolitical organization (95).

It is not insignificant that the Promised Land God gave to the Israelites was at the very heart of the Ancient Near Eastern world. He called Israel to be examples to the nations surrounding her of justice and righteouness. "Israel's social and political identity as a people of righteousness was to mirror the righteousness of God" (97). And what's more, their covenantal commitment to God meant that they would reject loyalty to the gods of the surrounding city-states, and would also reject how those societies were ordered. "Out of the covenant notion that Yahweh is king and Israel is Yahweh's kingdom (Is. 43:15) was to come a new social and political order of rule" (97).

Over against an urban world where justice and righteousness could mean oppression and disregard for the weak and the poor, hesed (compassionate, merciful) love forbade taking advantage of others in the name of law (Matt. 23:23). In God's new social order it was not simply justic that must be maintained; it was love and justice (Hos. 12:6). Yahweh's delight was 'kindness, justice and righteousness on earth' (Jer. 9:24; Is. 16:5)...Israel's identity was established by the doing of justice, righteousness and love to the cosmic God and to the Israelites' neighbors.

The Torah pointed to the social reflection of that calling. Israel was to be a benevolent and just society embodying the exclusive kingship of Yahweh, its benevolent and just Lord. As a people, Israel was to be the image of God, exhibiting the glory of God in love toward God and human beings. (98-99)

Living according to God's law would mean that Israel lived in a way that was diametrically opposed to the surrounding nations. In her cities she would show concern for the weak and the poor and would make no economic or class distinctions. Justice and compassion would transcend not just these barriers, but even the divisions of ethnicity. The alien and stranger would be invited into the community that worshiped Yahweh as the sovereign Lord. Under the covenant law, all were equal. Kings too were subject to keeping the law. The people did not serve the kings, but all of Israel served the high King of heaven. The majestic temple of her capital city, Jerusalem, would demonstrate this in a very real and tangible way.

The parallel with us as the new Israel is clear, I hope. Just as God placed his people in the middle of the world, as it were, so he places his church in the midst of the world as well. As his covenant people, called to live according to his rule, we are to demonstrate through our words and our actions that the Kingdom of God has arrived. We are to invite those around us, in our cities, towns and villages, into the beauty of this life lived in service to the sovereign Lord, for it is here that a new societal order is found. It is here that life is found in abundance, life that is richer and fuller than anything that the world can offer. It is a life of true freedom and blessing, where true justice and righteousness are found. And it is our task to work to bring this peace and this prosperity to our cities.

I found the chart you see below in an essay by Walter C. Kaiser, Jr., in the first volume of Readings in Christian Ethics, edited by David Clark and Robert Rakestraw. Kaiser's essay focuses on how Christians can derive contemporary ethical principles from the specific commands of the Old Testament law. This, of course, has always been quite a debated issue among Christians. Well some are eager to argue that the Old Testament law is no longer binding on us, Kaiser rightly argues that "Old Testament law is not so esoteric or so culturally bound that it cannot aid contemporary Christians with their [ethical] problems" (198).

The laws of the Old Testament, he writes, derive their moral and theological principles from the Ten Commandments, summed up in the two greatest commandments (Matt. 22:36-40). As a result, "the interpreter of Scripture must search for that legal principle, usually embodied in a text like the Ten Commandments, before applying this principle to a new and contemporary situation" (199). His example is that which you see below, Paul's argument that preacher's are worthy of their pay (1 Cor. 9:11-12), derived from the Old Testament prohibition on muzzling an ox (Deut. 25:4). Kaiser writes that the original intention of this specific law in the Mosaic administration was not just to be kind to your oxen, but to recognize the duties moral beings have to each other.

Kaiser employs the term "ladder of abstraction" to refer to this process of working from a low level of generality to greater degrees of specificity. He recognizes the need to exercise a great deal of caution in applying this methodology. To begin with the general principle may be profitable on a theoretical level, but it will leave people wanting in terms of concrete applications. To start from either end of the ladder, however, may cause us difficulty in determining the general principle. Nonetheless, the process of working through an ethical issue in this way, though often difficult, is beneficial—and, I would add, essential.

The book of Ezra does not really end on a positive note. In the last few chapters, Ezra finds himself dealing with Israel's infidelity in the form of intermarriage, something God had explicitly forbid them to do. Initially expecting he could deal with the problem in about a day (Ezra 10:13), it eventually took two months to set things right. The focus seems to shift from the problem of intermarriage itself to just how widespread the problem actually was.

While the whole tenor of the last few chapters is negative, I find Ezra 10:18-44 the most disturbing. You might find that odd considering it is just a list of the names of those who had married foreign women, but you have to do some math to discover why it is troublesome. The proportion of men who had intermarried was significantly higher among the priests and Levites—the religious leader—than among the rest of the people.

Here are the numbers—roughly 10% of the Israelite people as a whole were priests and Levites. Yet their names at the end of chapter ten account for 25% of the offenders (I owe the mathematical work here to Charles Dobbie, the pastor at Holy Trinity Lyonsdown in north London, who spelled it out in a sermon I found online). It does not take a mathematician to realize that the religious leaders were far more susceptible to falling into sin than the rest of the Israelites.

There are two things we should take from this, I think. First, this should be a sobering revelation for us who find ourselves in leadership in the Church. If the statistics are true—and I suspect few would argue that what we see in Ezra is an exception, rather than the norm—we are far more likely to fall away than the people in our churches. All of God's people are called to pursue holiness, to be sure, but the reality these statistics present should especially press upon those in leadership the need to always be seeking after the Lord. It is no secret that the challenges of ministry often greatly inhibit one's pursuit of godliness. The posture of ministry really must be the posture of prayer.

However, it should also be remembered, as someone once quipped, that "as goes the pulpit, so goes the church." Leaders in the church bear an enormous responsibility in guiding the flock in righteousness and holiness. The Old Testament is rife with examples of Israel's unfaithful leaders bringing the people down with them. In a very real sense, God places upon the leaders of the Church a responsibility not only for their own holiness, but for those whom they lead as well.

All this makes that final portion of Ezra 10 a little hard to swallow. The temptation is to look at it through a lens of discouragement. The challenge is to learn from the mistakes of those who have gone before us. The reality is that the dangers still exist for us today. The comfort is that in the power of the Spirit we can overcome.

When exploring the relationship between the Old and New Testament, we tend to pay lip service to the idea of continuity, while in reality we conceive of it more in terms of discontinuity. That modern evangelicalism tends to be one-dimensional does not help, nor does the great chronological distance between the era of Old Testament Israel and our own time.

But there are many important parallels to draw between then and now. Andy Crouch, in his recent book, Culture Making: Recovering Our Creative Calling, explores the significance of place in terms of the location God chose Israel to occupy. The nation of Israel was at the center and heart of the Ancient Near East and was surrounded by a number of different larger and more powerful nations, each of which had direct contact and interaction with Israel. Crouch points out that

Israel's location...ensured that its unique cultural vocation would be lived out in 'public,' we might say, among the great nations of its day. As much as Israel might have been tempted to withdraw from the larger cultural currents over the centuries of its history, it simply never had that option (128-129).

To complicate matters, these larger, stronger, pagan nations exerted a great amount of cultural pressure on Israel, which found its faith constantly put to the test. God could have chosen to isolate them instead, Crouch says, perhaps in a remote valley of the Swiss Alps or the Brazilian rainforest, "but in such a location, neither would have Israel's extraordinary claim to worship not just its own local god, but the world's very Maker and Lord, made much of a difference in the wider course of history" (129). God's design and purpose for Israel required it to be center stage, for

it was only in 'public,' in the context of tremendous political and economic pressure, that Israel's cultural creativity could be made available to the neighboring nations big and small: its legal code with its keen sense of justice and responsibility toward the weak; its poetry of praise, thanksgiving and lament; its Scriptures bearing witness to the character of the one true God. Indeed, without those cultural pressures Israel's culture might have been substantially less creative in the first place. The exile into Babylon was the most devastating blow Israel suffered, an attempt at cultural eradication comparable to the Holocaust of the twentieth century. But the exile forced Israel to grapple with the implications of its faith beyond its borders, to ask what faithfulness looked like in a diaspora where neither kings nor priests had majority power, to cry, 'How could we sing the Lord's song / in a foreign land?' (Ps. 137:4) and begin to find an answer (129).

The implications and parallels for us are clear; Crouch has a way of stating the obvious without ever actually saying it. Although God's people find themselves in a radically different time and place today, our calling and purpose remains the same as Old Testament Israel's—to bear witness to the sovereign King of the Universe, and bring His rule to bear on all of life. Our place, living in the midst of this world and its various cultures, does not allow us to passively withdraw.

No less than Israel, we are to be a light to the nations. We live our lives in public.