Author: Curt Hinkle

I am a practical theologian. A theology that doesn't play out in one's everyday life is impractical, or of no real use. A simple definition of theology is the attempt to understand God and what he is up to, allowing us to join him in his work.

The Visited Planet*

Once upon a time…

…a very young angel was being shown round the splendours and glories of the universes by a senior and experienced angel. To tell the truth, the little angel was beginning to be tired and a little bored. He had been shown whirling galaxies and blazing suns, infinite distances in the deathly cold of inter-stellar space, and to his mind there seemed to be an awful lot of it all.

Finally he was shown the galaxy of which our planetary system is but a small part. As the two of them drew near to the star which we call our sun and to its circling planets, the senior angel pointed to a small and rather insignificant sphere turning very slowly on its axis. It looked as dull as a dirty tennis-ball to the little angel, whose mind was filled with the size and glory of what he had seen. 

“I want you to watch that one particularly,” said the senior angel, pointing with his finger. 

“Well, it looks very small and rather dirty to me,” said the little angel. “What’s special about that one?” 

“That,” replied his senior solemnly, “is the Visited Planet.” 

“Visited?” said the little one. “You don’t mean visited by —–?

“Indeed I do. 

That ball, which I have no doubt looks to you small and insignificant and not perhaps overclean, has been visited by our young Prince of Glory.” And at these words he bowed his head reverently. 

“But how?” queried the younger one. “Do you mean that our great and glorious Prince, with all these wonders and splendours of His Creation, and millions more that I’m sure I haven’t seen yet, went down in Person to this fifth-rate little ball? Why should He do a thing like that?” 

“It isn’t for us,” said his senior a little stiffly, “to question His ‘why’s’, except that I must point out to you that He is not impressed by size and numbers, as you seem to be. But that He really went I know, and all of us in Heaven who know anything know that. As to why He became one of them – how else do you suppose could He visit them?” 

The little angel’s face wrinkled in disgust. “Do you mean to tell me,” he said, “that He stooped so low as to become one of those creeping, crawling creatures of that floating ball?” 

“I do, and I don’t think He would like you to call them ‘creeping, crawling creatures’ in that tone of voice. For, strange as it may seem to us, He loves them. He went down to visit them to lift them up to become like Him.” 

The little angel looked blank. Such a thought was almost beyond his comprehension. 

“Close your eyes for a moment,” said the senior angel, “and we will go back in what they call Time.” 

While the little angel’s eyes were closed and the two of them moved nearer to the spinning ball, it stopped its spinning, spun backwards quite fast for a while, and then slowly resumed its usual rotation. 

“Now look!” 

And as the little angel did as he was told, there appeared here and there on the dull surface of the globe little flashes of light, some merely momentary and some persisting for quite a time. 

“Well, what am I seeing now?” queried the little angel. 

“You are watching this little world as it was some thousands of years ago,” returned his companion. 

“Every flash and glow of light that you see is something of the Father’s knowledge and wisdom breaking into the minds and hearts of people who live upon the earth. Not many people, you see, can hear His Voice or understand what He says, even though He is speaking gently and quietly to them all the time.” 

“Why are they so blind and deaf and stupid?” asked the junior angel rather crossly. 

“It is not for us to judge them. We who live in the Splendour have no idea what it is like to live in the dark. We hear the music and the Voice like the sound of many waters every day of our lives, but to them – well, there is much darkness and much noise and much distraction upon the earth. Only a few who are quiet and humble and wise hear His Voice. But watch, for in a moment you will see something truly wonderful.” 

The Earth went on turning and circling round the sun, and then quite suddenly, in the upper half of the globe, there appeared a light, tiny but so bright in its intensity that both the angels hid their eyes. 

“I think I can guess,” said the little angel in a low voice. “That was the Visit, wasn’t it?” 

“Yes, that was the Visit. The Light Himself went down there and lived among them; but in a moment, and you will be able to tell that even with your eyes closed, the light will go out.” 

“But why? Could He not bear their darkness and stupidity? Did He have to return here?” 

“No, it wasn’t that” returned the senior angel. His voice was stern and sad. “They failed to recognise Him for Who He was – or at least only a handful knew Him. For the most part they preferred their darkness to His Light, and in the end they killed Him.” 

“The fools, the crazy fools! They don’t deserve ——” 

“Neither you nor I, nor any other angel, knows why they were so foolish and so wicked. Nor can we say what they deserve or don’t deserve. But the fact remains, they killed our Prince of Glory while He was Man amongst them.”

“And that I suppose was the end? I see the whole Earth has gone black and dark. All right, I won’t judge them, but surely that is all they could expect?” 

“Wait, we are still far from the end of the story of the Visited Planet. Watch now, but be ready to cover your eyes again.” 

In utter blackness the earth turned round three times, and then there blazed with unbearable radiance a point of light. 

“What now?” asked the little angel, shielding his eyes. 

“They killed Him all right, but He conquered death. The thing most of them dread and fear all their lives He broke and conquered. He rose again, and a few of them saw Him and from then on became His utterly devoted slaves.” 

“Thank God for that,” said the little angel. 

“Amen. Open your eyes now, the dazzling light has gone. The Prince has returned to His Home of Light. But watch the Earth now.” 

As they looked, in place of the dazzling light there was a bright glow which throbbed and pulsated. And then as the Earth turned many times little points of light spread out. A few flickered and died; but for the most part the lights burned steadily, and as they continued to watch, in many parts of the globe there was a glow over many areas. 

“You see what is happening?” asked the senior angel. 

“The bright glow is the company of loyal men and women He left behind, and with His help they spread the glow and now lights begin to shine all over the Earth.” 

“Yes, yes,” said the little angel impatiently, “but how does it end? Will the little lights join up with each other? Will it all be light, as it is in Heaven?” 

His senior shook his head. “We simply do not know,” he replied. “It is in the Father’s hands. 

Sometimes it is agony to watch and sometimes it is joy unspeakable. 

The end is not yet. But now I am sure you can see why this little ball is so important. He has visited it; He is working out His Plan upon it.” 

“Yes, I see, though I don’t understand. I shall never forget that this is the Visited Planet.” 

* J.B. Phillips, 1957. New Testament Christianity

Gabriel, Mary, and Zechariah

In the last post, I mentioned that the prophetic songs of Mary and Zechariah are well worth pondering. With that in mind, here are the full texts of the Magnificat and the Benedictus. I’ve also included Gabriel’s Annunciation – his announcement to Mary of the Incarnation, a pivotal moment in salvation history. These passages have become regular Advent texts for me this year. Enjoy!

Gabriel to Zecharaiah…

“Do not be afraid, Zechariah; your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you are to call him John. He will be a joy and delight to you, and many will rejoice because of his birth, for he will be great in the sight of the Lord… he will be filled with the Holy Spirit even before he is born. He will bring back many of the people of Israel to the Lord their God.  And he will go on before the Lord, in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the parents to their children and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous – to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.” (Luke 1:13-17, NIV)

Annunciation, Jan van Eyck, circa 1435

Gabriel to Mary…

“Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you… Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. 31 You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus. 32 He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, 33 and he will reign over Jacob’s descendants forever; his kingdom will never end.” (Luke 1:28-33, NIV)

Mary’s Song (The Magnificat)…

46My soul glorifies the Lord
47     and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
48 for he has been mindful
    of the humble state of his servant.
From now on all generations will call me blessed,
49     for the Mighty One has done great things for me—
    holy is his name.
50 His mercy extends to those who fear him,
    from generation to generation.
51 He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;
    he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.
52 He has brought down rulers from their thrones
    but has lifted up the humble.
53 He has filled the hungry with good things
    but has sent the rich away empty.
54 He has helped his servant Israel,
    remembering to be merciful
55 to Abraham and his descendants forever,
    just as he promised our ancestors. (Luke 1, NIV)

Zechariah’s Benedictus…

68Praise be to the Lord, the God of Israel,
    because he has come to his people and redeemed them.
69 He has raised up a horn of salvation for us
    in the house of his servant David
70 (as he said through his holy prophets of long ago),
71 salvation from our enemies
    and from the hand of all who hate us—
72 to show mercy to our ancestors
    and to remember his holy covenant,
73     the oath he swore to our father Abraham:
74 to rescue us from the hand of our enemies,
    and to enable us to serve him without fear
75     in holiness and righteousness before him all our days.

76 And you, my child, will be called a prophet of the Most High;
    for you will go on before the Lord to prepare the way for him,
77 to give his people the knowledge of salvation
    through the forgiveness of their sins,
78 because of the tender mercy of our God,
    by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven
79 to shine on those living in darkness
    and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the path of peace. (Luke 1, NIV)

The First Advent Songs: The Magnificat and the Benedictus

The Advent season is upon us, and as is my habit, I’ve returned to the birth narratives in Matthew and Luke. Every time I read Luke’s account, I’m struck by both the parallels and the contrasts of the angel Gabriel’s visits – first to Zechariah, John the Baptist’s father, and then to Mary.

When we enter the stories of John’s and Jesus’ births, we sometimes move too quickly, missing the richness woven into the details. Luke is doing more than giving us two birth stories – he’s showing us how God breaks into human history, not once, but twice, through two very different people. Gabriel’s visit to Zechariah and his visit to Mary sit side by side, and I think for a reason. Together, they paint a picture of God’s faithfulness in surprising ways.

Zechariah’s story begins in the center of Israel’s religious life. He is an elderly priest, serving in the Temple, standing at the altar of incense. Everything about the scene is steeped in holiness, memory, and sacred tradition. This is the place where you would expect God to act. And God does. Gabriel appears with astonishing news: Zechariah and Elizabeth – long past the age when children were possible – will have a son. He will be named John, a child filled with the Spirit from his mother’s womb, a child destined to prepare the people for the Lord’s coming.

Mary’s story could not feel more different. Far from the Temple courts and priestly garments, we find a young, betrothed girl in the quiet obscurity of Nazareth. No incense. No crowds. No liturgy. Just the daily simplicity of a Galilean village. And yet, here too, Gabriel appears. God steps not only into the sacred space of the Temple, but also into the ordinary space of a teenage girl’s life. The message is even more astonishing: Mary will conceive a child by the Holy Spirit, and this child will be Jesus – the Son of the Most High, the One whose kingdom will never end.

We must note that God moves in both the center and the margins. He speaks in Jerusalem’s Temple and in Nazareth’s simplicity. The priest in sacred robes and the young girl with no social status both find themselves swept up in God’s redemptive work. We learn that God is not contained by our expectations. He is as present in the quiet places as He is in the holy places.

We should also note that Zechariah and Mary respond differently, and Luke invites us to reflect on that, too. Zechariah asks, “How shall I know this?” His question, borne out of years of disappointment, carries the weight of doubt. Mary also questions, but her “How will this be?” is a question of wonder, not unbelief. She wants to understand, not to resist. And while Zechariah is rendered silent for a season, Mary is invited to step deeper into God’s mystery. Her final posture – “I am the Lord’s servant” – remains one of the most beautiful responses in Scripture.

But Luke doesn’t leave us with the announcements alone. He gives us the songs – the Spirit-inspired utterances that reveal what these events mean for the world.

Mary’s Magnificat  is the first to rise – a song that proclaims the upside-down nature of God’s kingdom:

He has brought down rulers…
but has lifted up the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things…
but has sent the rich away empty.

This is the kingdom we’ve been tracing in recent posts – the kingdom that arrives not with power but with humility, not in the halls of Caesar but in the heart of a young Jewish girl. Mary’s song proclaims a God who sees the lowly, remembers His covenant, and upends the world’s value systems. She interprets her own story through the larger story of Israel: this is Abraham’s God, keeping His promise to bless the nations.

Later, when John is born and Zechariah’s tongue is finally loosed, the Benedictus flows out of him – a priestly blessing shaped by Scripture and steeped in hope:

Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel,
for He has visited and redeemed His people.

Zechariah sees clearly now: John will be the forerunner, the one who prepares the way for God’s inbreaking of the kingdom. The whole song is saturated with kingdom imagery – redemption, forgiveness, covenant mercy, and the breaking of darkness by light. He speaks of God’s mercy and love (hesed), the sunrise from on high, the guidance into peace. This is kingdom language. This is God restoring what has been fractured since Eden.

New Creation!!

Taken together, Mary’s Magnificat and Zechariah’s Benedictus give us two lenses on the same kingdom: one from the margins, one from the priesthood; one celebrating the Great Reversal, the other celebrating the Great Rescue. Both declare that God is acting decisively, faithfully, graciously – just as He promised.

And perhaps that is the heartbeat of Luke. God is not merely delivering babies; He is delivering His people. He is inaugurating His kingdom, one that lifts the lowly, fulfills ancient promises, confronts darkness with light, and invites ordinary people into extraordinary grace.

So, ponder the messages of Mary and Zechariah. They are certainly “ponder-worthy” during Advent!

Thanksgiving 2025

Happy Thanksgiving!!

This will be a short read. About sixty-five years ago, I received my third-grade King James Bible. There were a few hoops to jump through, one of which was the memorization of Psalm 100.

A few weeks ago, nudged by my friend Angie Polejewski, I committed to reading Psalm 100 every day – each day in a new translation. As Thanksgiving (in the United States) arrives, I’m grateful for how rich and meaningful the experience has been.

For the sake of posterity – and your enjoyment – I’m sharing a few translations of Psalm 100 that I found particularly edifying…

1Make a joyful shout to the Lord, all you lands!
2 Serve the Lord with gladness;
Come before His presence with singing.
3 Know that the Lord, He is God;
It is He who has made us, and not we ourselves;
We are His people and the sheep of His pasture.

4 Enter into His gates with thanksgiving,
And into His courts with praise.
Be thankful to Him, and bless His name.
5 For the Lord is good;
His mercy is everlasting,
And His truth endures to all generations. (NKJV)

1Shout joyfully to the Lord, all the earth.
2 Serve the Lord with gladness and delight;
Come before His presence with joyful singing.
3 Know and fully recognize with gratitude that the Lord Himself is God;
It is He who has made us, not we ourselves [and we are His].
We are His people and the sheep of His pasture.

4 Enter His gates with a song of thanksgiving
And His courts with praise.
Be thankful to Him, bless and praise His name.
5 For the Lord is good;
His mercy and lovingkindness are everlasting,
His faithfulness [endures] to all generations. (AMP)

1Let the whole earth shout triumphantly to the Lord!
2 Serve the Lord with gladness;
come before him with joyful songs.
3 Acknowledge that the Lord is God.
He made us, and we are his—
his people, the sheep of his pasture.
4 Enter his gates with thanksgiving
and his courts with praise.
Give thanks to him and bless his name.
5 For the Lord is good, and his faithful love endures forever;
his faithfulness, through all generations. (CSB)

1Shout out praises to the Lord, all the earth!
2 Worship the Lord with joy.
Enter his presence with joyful singing.
3 Acknowledge that the Lord is God.
He made us and we belong to him,
we are his people, the sheep of his pasture.
4 Enter his gates with thanksgiving,
and his courts with praise.
Give him thanks.
Praise his name.
5 For the Lord is good.
His loyal love endures,
and he is faithful through all generations. (NET)

John at the Jordan: A Familiar Act, a Radical Message

As we discovered in the previous post, when John appeared along the Jordan River, calling people to be baptized, he wasn’t inventing something new. Ritual washing was already woven into Jewish life. From the Temple mikva’ot in Jerusalem to the purifying baths found in nearly every Galilean village, immersions were familiar acts of cleansing – acts that symbolized a person’s desire to approach God with purity.

But John’s baptism was different. He took a familiar ritual and reoriented it – not around the Temple, not under priestly oversight, but around a message: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near” (Matthew 3:2). What had long been an act of purification became a call to transformation.

A Baptism Outside the System

In the first century, ritual washings were part of the rhythm of faith. These washings – tevilah in Hebrew – were repeated again and again as needed. They prepared one externally for worship, but didn’t change the heart.

John’s setting was the first sign that something new was happening. He wasn’t at the Temple. He wasn’t officiating under the watchful eye of priests. He was out in the wilderness – at the Jordan, the river that once marked Israel’s entry into the Promised Land. There, at the symbolic border of new beginnings, he called people not to repeat a ritual, but to prepare for a divine encounter.

“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand!” — Pieter de Grebber, “St. John the Baptist Preaching Before Herod,” 17th century )

Repentance: More Than Regret

John’s call was simple yet seismic: “Repent.” The Greek word metanoia literally means “to change one’s mind,” but it carries far more than intellectual reconsideration. In Hebrew thought, repentance – teshuvah – means turning around.

There is an order to repentance. Before one can turn around and change direction, they must first come to a realization that they might, in fact, be going the wrong way – a change of mind.. What did the people have to change their minds about? About God? About His nature? About their role as God’s kingdom people? About justice and mercy?

Turns out, the first-century Jewish people had a lot to change their minds about. Likely that’s why John (and later, Jesus) called the religious leaders a brood of vipers (Matthew 3:7, Matthew 12:34). The religious leaders (priests, Pharisees, Sadducees, zealots, etc.) were actually leading people away from God by misrepresenting his character, relying on their own national ideologies.

John’s message of repentance wasn’t merely to feel sorry or guilty. It meant rethinking about God, His character, and especially the nature of His kingdom…

…because it was breaking in!

Preparing the Way

John’s ministry echoed the words of Isaiah:

“A voice of one calling in the wilderness, ‘Prepare the way for the Lord, make straight paths for him’” (Isaiah 40:3).

To “prepare the way” meant to ready the heart for God’s arrival. Just as ancient workers leveled roads for a coming king, John’s preaching cleared the inner landscape – removing obstacles of pride, hypocrisy, and indifference.

His baptism was a symbol of readiness. Those stepping into the Jordan weren’t simply washing away ritual impurity; they were acknowledging their need for renewal and pledging themselves to hear a new narrative.

This is why tax collectors and soldiers came, confessing their sins (Luke 3:10–14). It’s why Pharisees, used to controlling religious access, bristled at John’s independent authority (Matthew 3:7–9). John’s message cut through social boundaries and religious assumptions. He was leveling the ground for the coming King.

The Wilderness as God’s Classroom

I suspect the wilderness wasn’t accidental. Throughout Israel’s story, God met His people in desolate places – calling them out of comfort to confront their need. From Moses’ encounter at the burning bush to Israel’s forty years of wandering, the wilderness was where God stripped away illusion and invited trust. 1

By situating his baptism there, John was signaling a return to dependence on God. The wilderness was a place of renewal and recalibration – a spiritual reset for those willing to leave old thinking behind.

And the Jordan itself carried deep memory. This was the river Joshua crossed when Israel finally entered the land of promise (Joshua 3). To stand in those waters again was to reenact a moment of covenant renewal – to step forward in faith toward God’s future.

A Radical Message in Familiar Waters

So when John called Israel to the Jordan, he wasn’t rejecting tradition – he was fulfilling it. He transformed an external practice into an internal awakening, a ceremonial act into an ethical summons, and a repeated ritual into a watershed moment.

John’s baptism didn’t cleanse in order to make one fit for Temple sacrifice; it cleansed to make one ready to meet the Lamb of God who would take away the sin of the world (John 1:29).

And that was radical.

The Heart of the Matter

Repentance, then, was not a demand to do better but an invitation to be changed. It was not a self-improvement program but a surrender to God’s transformative work.

The act of entering the water symbolized death to the old self and emergence into new life. It prefigured the deeper baptism Jesus would later offer – baptism with the Holy Spirit (Mark 1:8), an inner renewal only God could accomplish.

John’s message pressed toward that truth. “I baptize you with water for repentance,” he said, “but after me comes one who is more powerful than I… He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire” (Matthew 3:11).

The familiar act pointed beyond itself – to a greater cleansing, a truer renewal, a living relationship with the King Himself.

A Call That Still Echoes

John’s voice still echoes across the centuries. In a world that often substitutes religious performance for heart change, his message calls us back to the Jordan – to the place of turning, of release, of preparation.

Repentance remains the doorway to encounter. It is the act of aligning our hearts with God’s kingdom and making room for His reign.

  1. I think of a statement credited to Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel: “It took one day to take the Israelites out of Egypt, but forty years to take Egypt out of the Israelites.” ↩︎

John the Baptist Didn’t Invent Baptism

Before John the Baptist ever called people to the Jordan, the Jewish world already knew something of water and washing. Immersion wasn’t a novelty. It was woven into daily life, into rhythms of purity, preparation, and belonging. John didn’t invent the idea — he simply took it out of the Temple courts and into the wilderness.

The Mikveh: Ritual Purity and Readiness

The Hebrew word mikveh means “a gathering” — often of water — and it came to describe a pool used for ritual immersion. These baths, carved into stone and fed by “living” water (rain or spring), appear throughout first-century Israel. Archaeologists have uncovered mikva’ot (plural) near the Temple Mount, around Qumran, and in Galilean villages — evidence of how normal immersion had become by the time of Jesus.

In Jewish life, immersion in the mikveh wasn’t about moral guilt but ritual status. It restored purity so one could reenter worship or communal life after contact with impurity — things like childbirth, disease, or death (see Leviticus 15; Numbers 19). Priests immersed before serving; ordinary people did so before festivals or Sabbath meals. It was familiar, repeatable, expected.

In other words, the mikveh wasn’t about forgiveness. It was about fitness — being fit to approach God’s presence.

A mikveh near the base of the Southern Steps of the Temple Mount in Jerusalem

Proselyte Immersion: From Outsider to Insider

By the first century, another form of immersion had emerged: that of Gentiles converting to Judaism. A convert underwent three steps — circumcision (for men), immersion, and a temple sacrifice. The immersion symbolized a transition from impurity to purity, from outsider to member of God’s covenant people.

Rabbinic writings later summarized, “By three things did Israel enter into the Covenant — by circumcision, immersion, and sacrifice.” The convert, it was said, became “like a newborn child.” It was a fresh start — but again, a ceremonial one.

Prophets, Purity, and the Promise of Cleansing

Long before mikva’ot were carved in stone, the prophets had used washing language symbolically:

“Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean,” Isaiah pleaded (1:16). “I will sprinkle clean water on you,” promised Ezekiel, “and you shall be clean … I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit within you” (36:25–27).

Water had always hinted at something deeper — not just the washing away of dust, but the cleansing of the heart.

Groups like the Essenes took this seriously. The Dead Sea Scrolls describe daily immersions tied to covenant faithfulness and inner purity. For them, water symbolized moral renewal — a visible act expressing invisible obedience.

A Familiar Form, a Coming Shift

So when John began calling Israel to the Jordan, he wasn’t performing a strange ritual. He was using a symbol everyone already understood. Immersion was a language his hearers spoke fluently.

What was new was the location — outside the Temple system — and the message behind it. But we’re not there yet. For now, it’s enough to see that John’s work grew out of a long Jewish conversation about cleansing, belonging, and readiness before God.

In an earlier post, Baptism, Pickles, and Steel Poles, we compared baptism to both the preserving of cucumbers and the strengthening of steel. Ordinary materials — transformed by immersion. That’s what was happening in Israel’s ritual life long before John: familiar practices pointing toward deeper transformation.

John didn’t invent baptism; he reinterpreted it. He stood in a long tradition of washing and readiness — but instead of pointing people to the Temple, he pointed them toward repentance and the coming King (and His kingdom).

Before the new could begin, the old had to be remembered. And the old, as it turns out, had always been whispering: “Get ready.”

For those who love to learn more, some sources…

On the Mikveh:

On Proselyte Baptism:

Nazareth and the Hidden Years of Jesus

If Galilee was the wider landscape of Jesus’s early life, Nazareth was its heart. Tucked away in the hill country of Lower Galilee, this small, unassuming village became the home of the One through whom God would redeem the world. Yet for thirty years – three decades of mostly silence – Jesus lived an ordinary life in an ordinary place. The Gospels tell us almost nothing of those years, and perhaps that quiet is itself the point – an unassuming Messiah from an unassuming village.

A Village Off the Map

Nazareth barely registered on the radar of ancient historians. Josephus, who chronicled the Galilean region in detail, never mentioned it. Neither did the Hebrew Scriptures nor early rabbinic writings. It was, by all appearances, a backwater – a tiny agricultural settlement, perhaps 60 to 100 people at most, perched on the lower slopes of the Galilean hills. Archaeological excavations suggest that simple homes were constructed of stone and mudbrick, featuring small courtyards, cisterns, and terraced fields. Life there revolved around family, faith, and the daily labor required to survive.

The village lay only a few miles from Sepphoris, a bustling Greco-Roman city rebuilt by Herod Antipas as his regional capital.1 The contrast was striking: Sepphoris boasted colonnaded streets, mosaics, theaters, and trade, while Nazareth remained a rural hamlet. Yet the proximity mattered. Many scholars suggest that Joseph, described as a tekton (craftsman or builder), may have found work in Sepphoris.2 If so, Jesus likely accompanied him, learning the rhythms of labor, the smell of wood and stone, and perhaps hearing Greek spoken in the market.

Growing Up in the Margins

When Nathanael in John’s Gospel asked, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” (John 1:46), he voiced what many thought. Nazareth was small, obscure, and geographically removed from the centers of power and learning. Yet it was precisely there that the Son of God grew up – in a community of faith, humility, and hard work.

Nazareth’s people were devout Galileans. They attended the local synagogue, observed the Sabbath, kept the feasts, and recited the Shema: “Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one” (Deuteronomy 6:4). The home was the first classroom of faith. Parents taught Scripture orally, embedding the commandments of God into daily life: “Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road” (Deut. 6:7).

Jesus’s formative years, then, would have been steeped in the rhythms of Jewish life – work, worship, and family. He learned not in palaces or academies, but in the carpenter’s shop and synagogue school, where boys memorized the Torah and learned to pray the Psalms.

Young Jesus in the Temple, Heinrich Hofmann, 1881

Silence and Preparation

The Gospels are notably quiet about these years. Luke’s brief summary is all we have: “And the child grew and became strong; he was filled with wisdom, and the grace of God was on him” (Luke 2:40). A few verses later, Luke adds, “And Jesus grew in wisdom and stature, and in favor with God and man” (Luke 2:52).

That’s it – no miracles, no speeches, no recorded events – just steady growth in body, wisdom, and divine grace. The silence itself speaks volumes. The Son of God entered fully into human development, living an authentic human life. Before he taught in synagogues, he listened in one. Before he proclaimed good news to the poor, he worked among them. Before he called others to follow him, he learned obedience at home.

This long hidden season reminds us that God is often at work in obscurity. The kingdom’s story began not in spectacle but in ordinariness. Jesus’s waiting years were not wasted years. They were the years in which humility, patience, and wisdom were forged – the quiet formation before public calling.

The World Around Him

During those years, Galilee continued under Herod Antipas’s rule, marked by Roman presence, economic strain, and cultural mixture. Sepphoris became a regional hub of administration and trade. Roman roads improved communication across the Galilee, bringing both opportunity and temptation. The reach of the empire was never far. Yet Nazareth remained poor, agrarian, and pious, largely insulated from the bustle of Hellenistic cities.

The synagogue in Nazareth would have been the center of its communal life. Archaeological evidence from similar Galilean villages suggests a simple rectangular building with benches along the walls – a place for Scripture reading, prayer, and local gatherings.3 It was likely here that Jesus first stood to read Isaiah’s prophecy: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me…” (Luke 4:16-20). That later moment in his ministry was the unveiling of what had been forming in silence all along.

Faith in the Ordinary

Nazareth challenges our assumptions about significance. The Savior of the world did not grow up in Jerusalem among priests and scholars but in a village of farmers and builders. He did not attend elite schools or dine with rulers. He lived the life of a villager – working with his hands, obeying his parents, learning the Scriptures, and worshiping in the local synagogue.

When he finally stepped into public ministry, his words and actions bore the imprint of those hidden years: his parables drawn from soil and seed, his compassion for the poor, his reverence for the Father, his knowledge of the Scriptures. All of it was shaped in Nazareth’s quiet hills.

The hidden years of Jesus remind us that God’s redemptive work often begins unnoticed. Nazareth teaches that faithfulness in the small things matters – that obscurity can be sacred ground. Before the crowds and miracles, there was waiting, working, and growing. And perhaps the most astonishing truth of all is this: God Himself once lived a humble village life, sanctifying the ordinary and making it forever extraordinary.

And in this, we get a glimpse of the nature of God’s Kingdom

References

  1. Josephus, Antiquities 18.27; War 2.511.
  2. Kenneth E. Bailey, Jesus Through Middle Eastern Eyes (IVP Academic, 2008), 32–34.
  3. Lee I. Levine, The Ancient Synagogue: The First Thousand Years (Yale University Press, 2000), 40–46.

Galilee: The Area From Whence Jesus Emerged

When one imagines Galilee at the time of Jesus’s birth, we picture a land of rolling hills, small towns and villages, agricultural fields, and fishing boats on the lake – peaceful! But the region was quietly humming with political tension, social unrest, and economic strain. It was not quite the tranquil countryside one sometimes envisions, but a place with deep roots in Jewish tradition, a mixed cultural environment, and a client-kingdom relationship with Rome.

A Charged Political Climate

Galilee was under the rule of the Herodian dynasty (see the previous blog post) as a client territory of the Roman Empire. After the death of Herod the Great (4 BC), his kingdom was divided. His son Herod Antipas became tetrarch of Galilee (and Perea), ruling for more than forty years.¹ Because Galilee was under a Herodian ruler rather than a direct Roman procurator (as was Judea, the region around Jerusalem), it retained a somewhat different feel from Judea proper.

Even so, Roman influence loomed large. Taxation, censuses, and imperial oversight shaped the daily experience of Galileans. Into that climate stepped Judas the Galilean. According to the book of Acts, Judas “rose up in the days of the census and drew away many people after him” (Acts 5:37). The historian Flavius Josephus also recorded the event. He described a man named Judas – called Gaulonite or Galilean – from the town of Gamala. Together with a Pharisee named Sadduc, Judas urged the people to resist the Roman census, insisting that submission to Rome was tantamount to slavery.2

Josephus considered this movement the beginning of a “fourth philosophical sect” among the Jews, alongside the Pharisees, Sadducees, and Essenes.3 This so-called Fourth Philosophy emphasized God alone as Israel’s ruler and rejected Roman taxation. The uprising was quickly suppressed, but it left a mark: Galilee was no stranger to resistance. Beneath the apparent calm, it carried the simmering tension between Roman control and Jewish longing for deliverance.

Galilee, then, was not merely a peaceful backdrop for Jesus’s childhood – it was a politically charged region, where national identity, economic burden, and hope for God’s kingdom intertwined.

Life Beyond Jerusalem

Culturally, Galilee stood at a crossroads. Its population was predominantly Jewish, speaking Aramaic and holding fast to ancestral customs. It was surrounded by Gentile territories – the Decapolis to the east, Phoenicia to the northwest. This mixture gave Galilee a unique texture: deeply Jewish, yet more open to outside influences than Jerusalem or Judea. It was, in many ways, Israel’s frontier – viewed by some southern Jews as less pure or refined.

Villages and small towns dotted the landscape, most clustered around fertile valleys or near the Sea of Galilee. Family and kinship formed the backbone of daily life. People worked hard to survive – farmers, fishermen, tradesmen, and laborers – many living at or near the subsistence level. Archaeological and historical studies suggest that nearly nine out of ten Galileans lived close to the poverty line, burdened by taxes and rents demanded by both local elites and Roman authorities.4

The Synagogue: A People Gathered

For Jews living far from Jerusalem, the synagogue was the heartbeat of community life. In places like Galilee, the Golan, and the Decapolis, it served as the local center of worship, study, and belonging. Few could afford the long pilgrimage to Jerusalem except on major feast days, but the synagogue kept the rhythms of faith alive in daily life.

While the Temple in Jerusalem was the only place for sacrifice, the synagogue was the place for Scripture. Its roots reached back to the Babylonian exile, when the people of God—displaced and without a temple – gathered to read the Law and pray. By the first century, synagogues dotted the landscape of Palestine. Archaeologists have uncovered remains in Gamla, Magdala, and Capernaum – towns where Jesus himself would one day teach.

In Galilee, the synagogue was far more than a house of prayer. It was a schoolhouse, a meeting hall, even a courthouse. Each Sabbath, the community gathered to hear the Torah and the Prophets read aloud, followed by teaching or discussion. We see this reflected in Luke’s account of Jesus reading from Isaiah in the synagogue at Nazareth (Luke 4).

Outside of worship, it remained the place where disputes were settled, announcements made, and stories shared. For those who lived far from the Temple, the synagogue brought God near. It grounded faith not in distant ritual, but in shared life—where Scripture was heard, lived, and passed on from one generation to the next.

Synagogue at Magdala

Work and Livelihood

Economically, Galilee benefitted from its fertile soil, regular rainfall, and proximity to the lake. Agriculture formed the backbone of the economy: wheat, barley, olives, grapes, and figs were staples. Fishing was another major livelihood, particularly around towns like Capernaum, Bethsaida, and Magdala.6 The fishing industry supported not just fishermen but also boatbuilders, net weavers, and merchants who salted or dried fish for trade.

Yet despite these resources, Galileans were far from affluent. Heavy taxation, land consolidation by wealthy elites, and debts often kept small farmers in a cycle of dependence. The Roman imperial system funneled much of the region’s productivity upward, leaving many families one poor harvest away from ruin.7

A Region Ripe for Hope

Putting it all together, Galilee at the time of Jesus’s birth was a land both blessed and burdened. It was rich in soil and tradition, yet pressed under Roman taxation. It was politically restless and spiritually expectant. Synagogues kept faith alive in small communities far from the Temple, while stories of resistance – like Judas the Galilean’s revolt – whispered of freedom and God’s kingship.

And into this world – rural, devout, weary, and waiting – Jesus was born. Long before his ministry began, he was shaped by the rhythms of Galilean life: the prayers of the synagogue, the struggles of ordinary laborers, and the quiet hope of a people longing for God’s redemption.

References

  1. Josephus, Antiquities 17.188–189.
  2. Ibid, 18.4–10.
  3. Ibid, 18.23–25.
  4. Justin K. Hardin, “The Socio-Economic World of Jesus,” HTS Theological Studies 72(4), 2016.
  5. Lee I. Levine, The Ancient Synagogue: The First Thousand Years (Yale University Press, 2000), 40–46.
  6. Sean Freyne, Galilee, Jesus and the Gospels (Fortress Press, 1988), 55–63.
  7. Richard Horsley, Archaeology, History, and Society in Galilee (Trinity Press, 1996), 102–104.

Between Testaments: Israel’s Tumultuous Path to the First Century

The Maccabean Revolt marks one of the most dramatic turning points in Jewish history. It was a period charged with both tragedy and triumph, when faith and identity collided with political power and cultural assimilation. The revolt began in 167 BC under the oppressive rule of Antiochus IV Epiphanes, but its ripples extended far beyond the immediate battles. From the courageous uprising of the Maccabees to the eventual Roman conquest in 63 BC, this chapter of Israel’s history illustrates how God’s people navigated the tension between devotion to Him and the pressures of empire.

Sparks of Revolt

The Seleucid ruler Antiochus IV Epiphanes had attempted to stamp out Jewish religious practice by desecrating the Temple, outlawing Torah observance, and forcing pagan sacrifices (see the previous blog post). These acts lit the fuse of resistance. When the king’s officials demanded that Mattathias, a priest in the Judean town of Modein, offer sacrifice to Zeus, he refused – and struck down the apostate Jew who was willing to comply. His defiance launched an armed movement.

Mattathias’ sons, especially Judas Maccabeus, carried forward the cause. Judas earned the nickname Maccabeus – “the Hammer” – for his ferocity in battle. Using guerrilla tactics, he and his followers struck Seleucid garrisons, routed larger forces, and reclaimed Jewish towns. What drove them was not only national pride but also a holy zeal to preserve covenant faithfulness.

“Machabeusze”, a depiction of the revolt by 19th-century Polish artist Wojciech Korneli Stattler.

Cleansing and Rededication

By 164 BC, Judas and his men retook Jerusalem and cleansed the desecrated Temple. The altar, defiled by pagan sacrifices, was rebuilt, and the Temple rededicated to the worship of the Lord. This moment is remembered in the Jewish festival of Hanukkah, the Feast of Dedication, commemorating the miracle of God’s provision and the victory of His people.

The restoration of the Temple was not just about reclaiming a building. It was about reasserting that Israel’s identity flowed from her covenant relationship with Yahweh, their God. To lose the Temple was to lose the visible sign of God’s presence. To rededicate it was to declare that He was still faithful and that His people would be faithful in return.

Expansion and Struggles

The Maccabean movement did not end with Judas. His brothers, Jonathan and Simon, continued the fight. Jonathan took on both religious and political roles, serving as high priest while leading military campaigns. Simon later secured greater independence for Judea and was hailed as both leader and priest.

This family’s leadership inaugurated what became known as the Hasmonean dynasty. For the first time in centuries, the Jewish people experienced relative self-rule. The dynasty expanded territory, reclaimed lands once held under David and Solomon, and even forced neighboring peoples to adopt Jewish customs. Apparently turnabout was fair play.

But with success came new challenges. The blending of priestly and political authority raised questions about legitimacy. Some Jews, especially the later sects like the Pharisees and Essenes, resisted the Hasmoneans, criticizing their corruption and compromises. What had begun as a fight for purity of worship risked being entangled in political power struggles.

Sects and Partisanship

It was during this period that Judaism began to splinter into recognizable sects. The Pharisees emphasized strict observance of the Law and oral tradition, hoping to safeguard Israel’s holiness. The Sadducees, largely from priestly and aristocratic families, were more aligned with the Temple and political elite. The Essenes, disillusioned by corruption, withdrew into desert communities, awaiting God’s intervention. The Zealots, later on, embodied the revolutionary spirit of the Maccabees, insisting on violent resistance to foreign domination. Partisanship dominated the scene.

These divisions reflected deeper questions: What does it mean to be God’s people under empire? How do you remain faithful when rulers are hostile, or when your own leaders falter?

The Shadow of Rome

The Hasmonean dynasty’s growing ambitions drew the attention of larger powers. Civil strife between rival claimants to the throne created an opening for Rome, the newly rising empire in the Mediterranean world. In 63 BC, the Roman general Pompey entered Jerusalem. According to ancient sources, he even walked into the Holy of Holies – an act of sacrilege that left deep scars in Jewish memory.

From that point forward, Judea existed under Roman oversight. Though the Hasmoneans still held nominal authority for a time, true power resided in Rome’s hands. Eventually, Rome installed client kings, like Herod the Great, who reigned with splendor but also cruelty.

Between Revolt and Hope

The period from the Maccabean revolt to Rome’s conquest was one of paradox. On one hand, it was an age of heroic faith: ordinary men and women risking everything to keep God’s law and worship Him alone. On the other hand, it exposed how fragile human leadership can be, how quickly zeal can become corrupted by political power.

Yet, within this turbulent story, God was preparing the stage for something greater. The Temple had been cleansed, but it pointed beyond itself to a greater cleansing to come. The dynasty had restored independence, but it revealed the limits of self-selected human kingship.

As Roman control solidified in Judea, messianic expectations intensified. Many anticipated a divinely appointed leader who would reestablish Israel’s sovereignty and expel its foreign oppressors.

The story from the Maccabees to Rome is not just political history; it is spiritual history. It shows a people struggling to remain God’s people in the face of foreign oppression, internal corruption, and cultural pressures. It shows the high cost of faithfulness and the dangers of compromise. And most importantly, it set the stage for Jesus, who would enter a world of divided sects, Roman rule, and longing hearts to announce: The kingdom of God is at hand.

Between Testaments: From Persia to Antiochus Epiphanes

We have been journeying through the Hebrew Scriptures, following the story of God and the people he called to participate in his new creation project. Now we come to the close of the Old Testament, with the Persian Empire in control. The temple had been rebuilt, the walls of Jerusalem restored, and life in Judea had some semblance of normalcy.

Yet even then, the people of God were waiting. Malachi’s voice lingered in the air: “Behold, I will send my messenger, and he will prepare the way before me” (Malachi 3:1). Then, the long silence began. No prophet arose. No fresh word from the Lord was recorded. And yet history marched on – for 400 years it marched on. These so-called “silent years” were filled with upheaval, empires, and longing.

Persia and the Seeds of Stability

Persia’s rule was relatively kind compared to the Babylonian captivity that preceded it. Cyrus the Great had allowed the exiles to return home. By the time Malachi’s ministry ended (around 430 BC), the Jewish people were a small but distinct community within a vast empire. The temple was functioning, priests led worship, and the high priest served as the de facto leader of the people.

It was during this time that Aramaic spread as a common language. The synagogue became increasingly important as outposts of teaching, prayer, and Scripture reading, especially for Jews scattered throughout the empire. These developments would shape Jewish life for centuries.

But the Persian Empire would not last. To the West, a young Macedonian general was gathering power.

Enter Alexander the Great

In 332 BC, Alexander the Great stormed through the Near East, defeating Persia and bringing Judea under Greek control. With him came Hellenism – the spread of Greek language, culture, and thought. At first glance, this seemed a gift. Greek opened doors of communication across the known world. Trade, ideas, and learning flourished. For the Jewish people, however, Hellenism was both opportunity and threat.

On one hand, the Greek language made possible the Septuagint, the Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures. Jews living far from Jerusalem could hear the Word of God in a language they understood. Even later, the apostles would quote from this translation as they preached the gospel across the Roman world.

On the other hand, Greek culture pressed against Jewish identity. Gymnasiums, theaters, and Greek philosophy all carried values foreign to the covenant. Some Jews eagerly embraced these innovations, seeking to fit in with their neighbors. Others resisted, determined to keep the law of God intact. The seeds of division between “Hellenizers” and “traditionalists” began to sprout.

3rd century BC bust of Alexander from Alexandria, Egypt

Ptolemies and Seleucids

After Alexander’s sudden death in 323 BC, his empire fractured. Two dynasties battled for control of Judea: the Ptolemies in Egypt and the Seleucids in Syria. For roughly a century, the Ptolemies held sway. Life under them was generally peaceful, and the Jewish people enjoyed a degree of autonomy.

But in 198 BC, everything changed. The Seleucid king Antiochus III (sometimes called “the Great”) defeated the Ptolemies and took Judea under his control. At first, he treated the Jews favorably, even granting privileges to the temple. But the Seleucid grip tightened with his successors, and cultural tensions grew sharper.

The Rise of Antiochus IV Epiphanes

By 175 BC, the Seleucid throne passed to Antiochus IV, a man who gave himself the title Epiphanes – “manifest one,” as if he were a god revealed. To many Jews, however, he was nicknamed Epimanes—“the madman.”1

Antiochus was determined to impose Greek culture on all his subjects. To him, unity meant uniformity, and local traditions, including Jewish worship, were obstacles to be eliminated.

The pressure was immense. Some within Jerusalem’s priesthood compromised, even bribing their way into the high priesthood and introducing Greek customs into temple life. Josephus records bitter disputes between Jewish leaders, with some willing to Hellenize and others clinging to the covenant. Division tore at the fabric of Israel.

The Temple Crisis

The breaking point came in 167 BC. Antiochus issued decrees outlawing circumcision, Sabbath observance, and Torah reading. Sacred scrolls were burned. Mothers who circumcised their sons were executed. The covenant itself was under attack.

Worst of all, Antiochus desecrated the temple. He set up an altar to Zeus in the holy place and sacrificed swine upon it – an unthinkable act of defilement.2

In the Hellenistic world, rulers like Antiochus sought to unite their subjects under Greek religion and culture. The pig sacrifice was his way of saying, “Your God is powerless. Your distinctiveness is finished.” But history would prove otherwise. What he meant for humiliation became a spark of holy defiance. Josephus would later call this the breaking point – the moment when desecration provoked devotion, when unclean blood on the altar stirred a people to cleanse the sanctuary once more.

Waiting in the Silence

For centuries, Israel had waited for God’s promises to be fulfilled. Now, in the face of Antiochus’ brutality, many must have wondered: Had God abandoned them? Why had the prophetic voice gone quiet? Where was the Lord who once shook Mount Sinai and split the Red Sea?

And yet, even in the silence, God was preparing. The crisis under Antiochus would awaken a fierce zeal for the covenant and spark a revolt that changed the course of Jewish history. It would also deepen the longing for deliverance, the ache for the Messiah.

The intertestamental period reminds us that even when God seems silent, He is never absent or powerless. It’s a reminder that Yahweh is the King [capital “K”] of kings. Though other kings might want to capitalize on their kingship, they are in fact [small “k”] kings in God’s economy.

Next time: We’ll turn to the Maccabean revolt, the Hasmonean dynasty, and Rome’s eventual conquest – a turbulent path that sets the stage for the coming of Christ.

¹ Polybius, Histories 26.10 (fragment); cf. Athenaeus, Deipnosophistae 5.193, who notes that contemporaries mockingly called Antiochus Epimanes (“the madman”) instead of Epiphanes (“the manifest one”). See also Josephus, Antiquities of the Jews 12.5.4 (§239–241), and 2 Maccabees 9:5–10 for accounts of his deranged conduct and divine punishment.

2 1 Maccabees 1:47–50; cf. 2 Maccabees 6:4–5; Josephus, Antiquities of the Jews 12.5.4 (§252–253).