Friday, January 24
Matthew 10.16-31: Four animals are mentioned in the first verse, all of them for their symbolic value. Although this initial mission is only to “the lost sheep of the house of Israel,” it is significant that the “nations” are mentioned in 10:18; again, this foreshadows the Great Commission given at the end of Matthew.
These verses make it clear that the proclamation of the gospel by the Church will be met with resistance, just as we saw to be the case in chapters 8 and 9. Like Jesus, the disciples will be “handed over” to “councils” (synedria). This description, contained here in prophecy, was very much the experience of the Christians whom Matthew knew when he was writing these words. Similar experiences are recorded in the Acts of the Apostles.
Matthew continues to portray the resistance with which the proclamation of the Gospel will be met. In His exhortation to confidence in the face of such adversity, the Lord takes up an image from the Sermon on the Mount, God’s care of the birds (verses 29-31).
Hebrews 9:23-28: According to Leviticus (4.4-14), the altar and the curtain fronting the Holy of Holies were consecrated with the blood of the sin offering. That is to say, the physical place of the worship—the place where God and man were reconciled—needed to be sanctified by this expiatory blood.
If this was true of the Tabernacle in the time of Moses, says the author of Hebrews, why should we imagine it not to be true of the true Tabernacle, the eternal model in heaven? Consequently, as the blood of the ancient sin offering purified and consecrated the ancient Tabernacle, so the sacrificial blood of Jesus had to purify and consecrate the heavenly sanctuary, that which was made without hands: “Therefore was it necessary that the copies of the things in the heavens should be purified with these, but the heavenly things themselves with better sacrifices than these.”
The application of this imagery, to elaborate the theology of redemption, is based on the prior understanding of Jesus’ death as a “sin offering.” This term, in Hebrew, is ’attata’t, literally “sin.” The LXX translation is literal: hamartia,.
In Leviticus the verb used to “make” this sin offering is ‘asah (three times in Leviticus 4:8-9), which is a normal verb connoting the performance of many sacrifices (cf. 5:10; 6:15; 8:34; 9:7,16,22; 14:19; 15:15,30; 16:9,15,24; 19:9; 22:23; 23:12,19). In the Greek text of the Septuagint this ‘asah was translated as poiein. This is the same verb used by St. Paul in 2 Corinthians 5:21, where he says that God “made [Jesus] a sin offering” (hamartian epoiesen).
This latter text is concerned with man’s reconciliation with God through the sacrifice of Christ: “Now all things are of God, who has reconciled us to Himself through Jesus Christ . . . God was in Christ reconciling the world to Himself, not imputing their trespasses to them” (5:18-19). This is the context in which Paul wrote, “He made Him, who knew no sin, a sin offering for us, that we might become the righteousness of God in Him” (5:21).
That is to say, while St. Paul used the theology of the sin offering to interpret the sacrificial death of Christ, the Epistle to the Hebrews extends that theology to describe the glorification of Christ in the heavenly sanctuary.
Saturday, January 25
Genesis 25: In the divine choice of Isaac over Esau the Apostle Paul saw a paradigm of God’s election of the Gentiles when the Jewish people, taken as whole, rejected the messianic identity of Jesus. Several sources in the New Testament addressed this thorny problem in some form. In most of these sources the New Testament writers recognized that Israel’s failure, its “falling away,” had itself been prophesied in the Old Testament, chiefly Isaiah. This approach to the problem is clearest in John (12:37-41), but we find it in other authors as well (Matthew 13:10-15; Mark 4:10-12; Luke 8: 10; Acts 28:23-28).
Paul went further. Israel’s failure, he said, was not only prophesied but also providential. God, foreknowing Israel’s defection, made use of that defection; He prepared ahead of time to make it serve as the occasion and the impulse for the justification and salvation of the Gentiles. He did this by His mysterious, unfathomable, providential guidance of history. Such is the argument of Romans 9-11.
Although the verb “predestine” does not appear in these chapters (nor is the noun “predestination” to be found anywhere at all in the New Testament), the development of Paul’s thought Romans 9-11, his treatment of problem of the divine election surely extends his teaching on predestination in Romans 8. In order not to misunderstand Paul’s meaning about divine election, therefore, it is important to consider what Paul says, and does not say, about predestination.
Otherwise we run the risk of regarding Paul’s historical illustrations, such as Esau and Pharaoh, as examples of eternal loss. This would be not only an unwarranted inference but also a mammoth distortion of Paul’s thought. It may be the case, of course, that both Esau and Pharaoh have been condemned to hell, but there is nothing about this question in the writings of Paul. Esau and Pharaoh serve as examples, rather, of God’s mysterious ability, based on His foreknowledge, to bring good out of evil in the course of history.
Thus, the moral obtuseness of Esau, which we have seen in Genesis, and the hardened heart of Pharaoh are predestined, were foreseen and are “arranged ahead of time,” to be the occasions of grace for Jacob and Israel, before any of these had been born or had performed any good or evil act (Romans 9:11). Jacob and the Israelites are made vessels of elections, recipients and containers of God’s blessing, while Esau and Pharaoh become “vessels of wrath prepared for destruction” (Romans 9:22). All of this, says Paul, was predestined, was arranged ahead of time, by God in His wisdom and mercy.
Sunday, January 26
Hebrews 10.18-39: What the Jewish high priest could do only once a year—enter the Holy of Holies—the Christian can do every day, by reason of the blood of Christ. It is the blood of Christ that gives the believer intimate access to God.
The author begins by speaking of boldness—parresia, an expression of which he is fond: “having boldness to enter the Holiest by the blood of Jesus.”
In context, this boldness comes from the full certainty of faith: en plerophoria pisteos: “having boldness to enter the Holiest by the blood of Jesus, . . . let us draw near with a true heart in full certainty of faith.”
This word for “certainty,” plerophoria, is found four times in the New Testament, two of them in Hebrews. The other place is 6:11—“and we desire that each one of you show the same diligence to the full certainty of hope (plerophoria elpidos) until the end.”
And what does “full certainty” bring? Boldness—parresia. The full certainty of faith finds expression in boldness of the heart.
Whereas the Acts of the Apostles had used this word, parresia, to describe the proper tone in Christian preaching (Acts 4:13,28,29,31), St. Paul used the expression to speak of our relationship to God. He wrote that in Christ, “we have boldness (parresia) and access with confidence by the faith of Him” (Ephesians 3:12).
This is the normal sense of the word also in Hebrews, which is similar, in this respect, to Ephesians. Thus, our author says that we are the house of Christ, “if we hold fast the boldness (parresia) and the rejoicing of the hope firm to the end” (3:6). Again, he exhorts his readers, “Let us therefore come boldly to the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (4:16). And somewhat later in the present chapter, he further exhorts, “Therefore do not cast away your boldness (parresia), which has great reward” (10:35).
This attitude of boldness in the Epistle to the Hebrews is not limited to the four times when the word is used in this book. The boldness of the Christian soul in approaching God is, rather, a presupposition of the whole book. We find it later, in chapter 12, where the author contrasts Mount Sinai with Mount Zion. Mount Sinai, he says, “burned with fire, and . . . blackness and gloom and tempest, and the sound of a trumpet” (12:18). It was a very scary place, of which Moses said, “I am exceedingly afraid and trembling” (12:21). This was the kind of place where no one could safely feel bold.
It is not to Mount Sinai, however, that Christians are called, but to a gentler mountain: “But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, to an innumerable company of angels, to the general assembly and church of the firstborn who are registered in heaven, to God the Judge of all, to the spirits of just men made perfect, to Jesus the Mediator of the new covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling that speaks more eloquently than that of Abel” (12:22).
Monday, January 27
Genesis 27: The shrewdness of Rebekah (verses 1-13) was a family trait, which we have already seen in Jacob’s snatching of Esau’s birthright. Very shortly we will find Jacob matching wits with Rebekah’s brother, Laban. If we are disposed to judge Rebekah’s favoritism too harshly, it will be useful to bear in mind that the Lord had already given her a special insight into the matter: “Two nations are in your womb. Two peoples will be separated from your body; one people shall be stronger than the other, and the older shall serve the younger” (25:23).
Rebekah knew which son was which, so she knew which son would do the serving and which would be served. If such was God’s plan, Rebekah saw no harm in moving things in the right direction, as it were. Moved by a mixture of both faith and anxiety, Rebekah decides to take the fulfillment of prophecy into her own hands. (We recall that Sarah also did that, when she gave Hagar to Abraham as a second wife.)
Christians have long been bothered by Rebekah’s and Jacob’s deception of Isaac. Their discomfort is understandable, but we should bear in mind that Holy Scripture is simply telling us what happened. The cunning of the mother and the mendacity of the son are not being held up for our emulation. Ultimately this is a story about what God does, not man. This is “mystery, not mendacity,” said St. Augustine.
There is no indication that anyone but Rebekah had received that revelation of God’s plan, so we should not be surprised that Isaac is unaware of it. Thus, his physical blindness becomes a symbol of his inability to see what is going on, according to God’s plan. His favoring of Esau over Jacob already puts him outside of God’s will; that is to say, his preference between his sons is not that of God. Being outside of God’s will, therefore, he is easily deceived. Acting outside of God’s will is a sure step toward deception. On at least two levels in this account, therefore, Isaac is acting blindly.
The blessing of the promised land, then, goes to Jacob, not Esau (verses 26-29). Isaac unwittingly shifts God’s promises to his younger son, Jacob, and these promises will, in due course, pass to the latter’s descendents (Deuteronomy 7:13-14; 33:28).
The account of Esau’s return (verses 30-33) is especially dramatic. The inspired author is not so preoccupied with the underlying theology as to lose contact with the human and emotional components of this remarkable story. Isaac begins to tremble. At once he becomes aware that he has been acting in ignorance. Yet, that blessing, once given, was the instrument of the divine will. He had become the unwitting agent of God’s purposes, which were quite distinct from his own. Thus, this is one of the Bible’s great stories of those who accomplish God’s will in ignorance and even contrary to their own intentions. It is not a story about fate, but it does have some literary similarities to Greek stories about fate. (The story of blind Teiresias, in the Antigone of Sophocles, comes to mind.)
Especially poignant are the tears of Esau, thus foiled a second time. It was not that Isaac had only one blessing to give. The really big blessing, however, the blessing that handed on the promises of God, was already taken and was no longer available. Esau, the man who had earlier thought so little of his birthright, was not worthy to receive the blessing of the first-born, and Holy Scripture shows no great sympathy for him (cf. Hebrews 12:16-17).
Even acting in mistake, Isaac acted “by faith,” according to the Epistle to the Hebrews (11:20). Faith is compatible with a great deal of error, blindness, and misunderstanding.
Esau’s blessing (verses 39-40) does give some reprieve to his descendants; they will not serve Jacob’s descendants forever. Their subjection will eventually come to an end (cf. 2 Kings 8:20-22; 2 Chronicles 21:8-10).
Tuesday, January 28
Matthew 11.25-30: Several aspects of this self-description of Jesus are especially striking and worthy of reflection. First, the Greek word here translated as “gentle,” praüs, conveys the sense of humility and heartfelt meekness. Indeed, the words “gentle” and “lowly in heart,” placed together in this verse, form an adjectival hendiadys expressing a single idea.
Significantly, praüs is also the adjective that Matthew uses to speak of those meek who will inherit the earth (5:5). With respect to the gentleness of Jesus, this same evangelist cites a prophecy of Isaiah (42:2–3) that he sees fulfilled thereby:
He will not quarrel nor cry out, / Nor will anyone hear His voice in the streets. / A bruised reed He will not break, / And smoking flax He will not quench (12:19–20).
Second, the immediate context of Jesus’ invitation to “learn” from Him speaks of His communion with the Father: “All things have been delivered to Me by My Father, and no one knows the Son except the Father. Nor does anyone know the Father except the Son, and he to whom the Son wills to reveal Him.”
The gentleness of Jesus, then, is not simply a preferred psychological trait, as it were. Rather, it is revelatory of the gentleness of God. It shows forth the regard of the Father toward those who agree to “learn” from Jesus.
Third, there is nothing weak and feeble about the gentleness of Jesus. It is, rather, the gentleness of the divine strength. Those tempted to interpret the gentleness of Jesus as some sort of benign “non-judgmentalism” and general tolerance are invited to examine more closely the very context in which Matthew speaks of it. Our understanding of Jesus’ gentleness must be sufficiently energetic to include such sentiments as
Woe to you, Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida! . . . And you, Capernaum, who are exalted to heaven, will be brought down to Hades. . . . But I say to you that it shall be more tolerable for the land of Sodom in the day of judgment than for you (11:21, 23, 24).
Jesus discoursed of His communion with the Father and His gentleness toward men, Matthew informs us, at the very time (en ekeino to kairo—11:25) that He spoke these very harsh words to the unrepentant cities of Galilee. Evidently the gentleness of Jesus is not something incompatible with a generous measure of brimstone.
Fourth, Jesus’ gentleness has special reference to His suffering and death. The other time when Matthew uses the adjective praüs to describe our Lord is found in the story of His dramatic entry into Jerusalem to inaugurate His Passion. Matthew quotes a prophecy of Zechariah (9:9), which Jesus thus fulfills: “Tell the daughter of Zion, ‘Behold, your King is coming to you, / Lowly (praüs), and sitting on a donkey’” (21:5).
The gentleness of Jesus is the humility of the Cross, that obedience by which He emptied Himself and took upon Himself the form of the Suffering Servant, whose redemptive suffering and death is so graphically described in the Book of Isaiah.
Finally, the gentleness of Jesus is not simply the context in which we learn from Him. It also pertains to the substance of what we learn.The Father does not reveal His Son to “the wise and prudent” of this world, but to the “babes” or “little ones” (nepioi, Matthew 11:25). These “little ones” are those who, because the Father reveals His Son to them, are able to recognize the King who comes to Jerusalem, gentle and sitting on a donkey. It is of them that this King, in that very context, declares, “Out of the mouths of babes (nepioi) and nursing infants You have perfected praise” (21:16). To learn from the gentle Christ, then, is to become like Him and thus find rest for our souls.
Wednesday, January 29
The Prophecy of Malachi: The Book of Malachi, the last of the books to be included in the prophetic section of the Hebrew Bible, seems to come from the mid-fifth century BC. Thus, the prophetic ministry of its author at Jerusalem was roughly contemporary to the mission of Ezra and the government of Nehemiah. It was also the period of Artaxerxes I in Persia and of Pericles in Athens.
The preoccupations of Malachi, in fact, are very much those of Ezra and Nehemiah. Jerusalem’s temple had been rebuilt at the end of the previous century, and the sacrifices and ritual were once again routine parts of the worship of the people. Indeed, everything had become a little too routine, it seemed to Malachi, and void of deep commitment.
Above all, Malachi detected a disturbing skepticism manifested in the religious questions that people were asking. The very foundation of faith was being called into doubt. “It is useless to serve God,” the Israelites were saying, “What profit is it that we have kept His ordinance, / And that we have walked as mourners / Before the Lord of hosts?”
This widespread skepticism had led to spiritual indifference, stinginess, and apathy, it seemed to Malachi, not only among the people themselves, but also in their priestly leadership. Instead of offering God their best, the people were insulting Him by the poor quality of their offerings (1:6–9), bringing Him what was blemished and imperfect (1:14) and thus defiling His table (1:12).
In addition, the people were failing to place their own domestic economies on the firm foundation of the tithe, a sin that Malachi describes as “robbing” God (3:7–10). No wonder that their service to God was experienced as a “weariness” (1:13). Moreover, because of widespread intermarriage with unbelievers, an offense equally deplored at that time by Ezra and Nehemiah, family life itself was no longer based on devotion to the true God.
Malachi believed that the lack of respect and reverence towards the practices and integrity of worship were but symptoms of the deep skepticism that was deadly to the spirit. But skepticism is also deadly to the intellect, the prophet knew, because undisciplined questioning tends to eviscerate the processes of thought. Ironically, however, skepticism is a malady best answered by being questioned within a disciplined discourse.
One thinks of those other skeptics of that same fifth century, the Sophists, and how their antagonist, Socrates, kept pressing them with the proper questions calculated to put structure into their thought.
Malachi, too, was a great asker of questions, much given to argument and challenging discourse. A contemporary of that great Athenian philosopher, Malachi has even been called “the Hebrew Socrates,” by reason of a certain similarity of tone and style. Like Socrates, Malachi is fond of dialectics, the question and counterquestion method of getting at the meat of things.
Thus, Malachi’s is a book of questions and counterquestions. Ten times in these four chapters he begins with “you say,” followed with some question put by a supposed interlocutor. Questions addressed back to these questioners by Malachi himself are found fifteen times, so that a considerable portion of the book is composed of this extended questioning process. This method of arguing by counterquestion eventually became a standard rabbinical device much evidenced in both the New Testament and the Talmud. One can hardly fail to notice, for instance, how very often in the Gospels Jesus answers a question with another question.
Malachi, however, for all his interest in provoking people to disciplined thought, was more a prophet than a philosopher. Abstract speculation was the furthest thing from his mind, and his opposition to skepticism was inspired by his moral intensity and earnestness. These are among Malachi’s major characteristics. Whatever his likeness to Socrates, then, Malachi really stands closer to Elijah. Indeed, it was Malachi himself who clearly foretold a kind of reappearance of Elijah, that “Messenger of the covenant” (3:1) who would come to prepare “the great and dreadful day of the Lord” (4:5).
Malachi’s prophecy of Elijah’s return was taken up with enthusiasm by Sirach three centuries later (48:10–11) and was interpreted in the New Testament as a reference to John the Baptist (Matthew 17:1–13; Luke 1:13–17).
As Malachi was the last of the books added to the prophetic section of the Hebrew Bible, he had an influence on Jewish expectations far beyond what one might expect from the brevity of his work. Indeed, the early Christians seem to have been very much preoccupied with the message of Malachi (e.g., Romans 9:13), especially with his prophecy of the “pure offering” that the Gentiles would offer to God “from the rising of the sun, even to its going down” (Malachi 1:11; Didache 14:3; Justin Martyr, Dialogue 28, 41, 116, 117; Irenaeus of Lyons, Adversus Haereses 4.17.5; Clement of Alexandria, Stromateis 5.14; Tertullian, Adversus Marcionem 3.22; 4.1)
Thursday, January 30
Matthew 12.9-14: This story continues the theme of the Lord’s relationship to the Sabbath. Rabbinical theory permitted acts of healing on the Sabbath only in danger of death; otherwise such actions had to be postponed. In this text, and generally throughout the gospels, Jesus ignores this distinction. In the present instance His enemies are completely frustrated, because Jesus does not do anything with which they can accuse Him. He does not touch the afflicted man; He does not speak one word that could be interpreted as an act of healing. He simply tells the man to extend his impaired hand, and immediately the hand is healed!
In their frustration the Lord’s enemies take the action to which most of the narrative has been building up to this point — they resolve that Jesus must die. That is to say, they resolve to do what Herod had failed to do in the second chapter of Matthew.
Genesis 30: This chapter describes two tests of wills: between Rachel and Leah, and between Laban and Jacob. In fact, this is an important chapter in the mounting tension and conflict of the Genesis story. We began with the conflict between Sarah and Hagar. Then came the conflict of Isaac’s household, between Esau and Jacob. After the present chapter it will continue in the accounts of Jacob’s family, eventually leading to Joseph’s being sold by his brothers into slavery. Among the patriarchs there seems to have been precious little domestic tranquility. If one is looking for something along the lines of “The Secret to a Happy Family Life,” Genesis is generally not much help.
At the end of Genesis 29 the competition between Leah and Rachel was going strongly to the favor of the former. She has four sons to Rachel’s none, as Genesis 30 begins. Growing rather desperate (verses 1-2), Rachel resorts to a tactic earlier employed by Sarah; this legal fiction is well attested in the extant literature of that time and period, specifically the Nuzi Tablets from excavations near the Tigris River.
Rachel’s plan, which effectively gives Jacob a third wife, works to her advantage (verses 3-8). Two can play that game, thinks Leah, who promptly follows the same tack (verses 9-12). Now Jacob has four wives and eight sons. Very quickly, however, the two sisters go beyond the niceties of the law. Leah resorts to a fertility drug (verses 13-21) and bears two more sons and a daughter. At last Rachel has a son (verses 22-24), whose story will dominate the final chapters of Genesis.
The relationship between Laban and Jacob has been something of a domestic business arrangement all along. For all legal and practical purposes, Jacob has become Laban’s son and heir. Meanwhile, however, everything still belongs to Laban. When Jacob asks to have a little something for himself (verses 25-34), he appears to be requesting a mere pittance, because in the Middle East the sheep are normally white and the goats normally black. Speckled and spotted animals are the exception. Laban, however, takes steps to eliminate even that pittance (verses 35-36).
Meanwhile, Jacob, having grown a great deal smarter, has plans of his own (verses 37-43). In putting three days distance between his own herds and those shepherded by Jacob, Laban intends to keep the speckled goats and the dark sheep away from him. This plan backfires, because it permits Jacob to have a three-days jump on Laban when it came time to leave!
Friday, January 31
Psalm 78: Just as the early Christians saw the Passover and other events associated with the Exodus of the Old Testament as types and prophcies of the salvation brought by Jesus (cf. 1 Cor. 5:7; John 19: 36, etc.), so they interpreted the forty years of the Israelites’ wandering in the desert as representing their own pilgrimage to the true Promised Land.
Thus, the passage through the Red Sea became a symbol of Baptism, the miraculous manna was a foreshadowing of the Eucharist, and so forth. In particular did they regard the various temptations experienced by the Israelites in the desert as typical of the sorts of temptations to be faced by Christians. This deep Christian persuasion of the true significance of the desert pilgrimage serves to make the Books of Exodus and Numbers necessary and very useful reading for serious Christians.
In the New Testament there are two fairly lengthy passages illustrating this approach to the Israelites’ desert pilgrimage. One is found in 1 Corinthians 10:1–13. In this text the Apostle Paul begins by indicating the sacramental meanings of certain components in the Exodus story: “All our fathers were under the cloud, all passed through the sea, all were baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea, all ate the same spiritual food, and all drank the same spiritual drink” (vv. 1–4).
The Apostle’s chief interest, however, is moral; by way of warning to the Corinthians he points to the sins and failures of the Israelites in the desert: “Now these things became our examples, to the intent that we should not lust after evil things as they also lusted. And do not become idolaters as were some of them. . . Nor let us commit sexual immorality, as some of them did, . . . nor let us tempt Christ, as some of them also tempted, . . . nor complain, as some of them also complained” (vv. 6–10). For Saint Paul the entire story of the Israelites in the desert is a great moral lesson for Christians: “Now all these things happened to them as examples, and they were written for our admonition, upon whom the ends of the ages have come” (v. 11).
The second New Testament text illustrating this theme is even longer, filling chapters 3 and 4 of Hebrews. The author of this book was much struck by the fact that almost none of those who had departed from Egypt actually arrived in the Promised Land. And why? Because of unbelief, disobedience, and rebellion in the desert: “For who, having heard, rebelled? Indeed, was it not all who came out of Egypt, led by Moses? Now with whom was He angry forty years? Was it not with those who sinned, whose corpses fell in the wilderness?” (3:16, 17). Here, as in 1 Corinthians, the story of the desert pilgrimage is remembered as a moral warning for those in Christ.
Psalm 78 (Greek and Latin 77) is largely devoted to the same theme, which provides its proper interpretation. This psalm, which is a kind of poetic summary of the Books of Exodus, Numbers, Deuteronomy, and even some of Joshua, Judges, and 1 Samuel, concentrates on the Chosen People’s constant infidelity and rebellion, but especially during the desert pilgrimage: “But they sinned even more against Him by rebelling against the Most High in the wilderness. . . . How often they provoked Him in the wilderness, and grieved Him in the desert! Yes, again and again they tempted God, and limited the Holy One of Israel. They did not remember His power: The day when He redeemed them from the enemy.”
Quite a number of hours are required to read the whole story of the people’s infidelity in the desert as it is recorded through several books of the Bible. Psalm 78, however, has long served as a sort of meditative compendium of the whole account. Its accent falls on exactly those same moral warnings that we saw in 1 Corinthians and Hebrews—the people’s failure to take heed to what they had already beheld of God’s deliverance and His sustained care for them. They had seen the plagues that He visited on the Egyptians, they had traversed the sea dry-shod, they had been led by the pillar of cloud and fire, they had slaked their thirst with the water from the rock, they had eaten their fill of the miraculous bread, they had trembled at the base of Mount Sinai, beholding the divine manifestation. In short, they had already been the beneficiaries of God’s revelation, salvation, and countless blessings.
Still, “their heart was not steadfast with Him, nor were they faithful in His covenant.” And just who is being described here? Following the lead of the New Testament, we know it is not only the Israelites of old, but also ourselves, “upon whom the ends of the ages have come.” The story in this psalm is our own story. So we carefully ponder it and take warning.