Matthew often speaks of Christ as fulfilling the Scriptures (e.g., Matt. 1:22; 2:23; 8:17). When the Scripture referenced is a promise or a prediction, the idea of fulfillment is relatively straightforward (as in Matt. 21:4–5). But what can Matthew mean by saying that Christ fulfills the Scripture when the Old Testament passage in question was a historical notice? Consideration of one passage, Matthew 2:13–18, where this is the case may shed some light on the general meaning.

This pericope contains two episodes, each ending with a fulfillment formula (Matt. 2:15, 18). These two episodes relate how Joseph took the child Jesus to Egypt to escape the wrath of Herod, who wound up destroying all the young children in the environs of Bethlehem. In this brief section, there are allusions to Genesis and Exodus, as well as quotations from Hosea and Jeremiah, which will be considered in turn.

Genesis 46

The patriarch Israel and his sons have been summoned to go into Egypt by Joseph, the betrayed brother who has risen to be ruler of the land. This news came as a shock to his father (Gen. 45:26), who had previously refused to be comforted for Joseph’s non-existence (Gen. 37:35; 42:36). As the journey reached its first stage, Jacob/Israel was confirmed in his purpose by speech with God “in visions of the night” (Gen. 46:2).

God promised to go with them into Egypt, and bring them out again, as well as the note that Joseph would be present at Jacob’s deathbed (Gen. 46:4). It was thus by faith in God’s promised presence and restoration that Jacob left the land of promise to sojourn in the land of Egypt.

These thematic echoes make this a suitable passage for Matthew to allusively incorporate into the fabric of his narrative of the early life of Jesus. The question of presence is important for Matthew’s account of Jesus. He is God with us (1:23), he is present wherever two or three gather in his name (18:20), and he is with his disciples as they pursue his commission until the very end of the age (28:20). Thus the promise of God’s presence in Egypt in the text of Genesis was likely to attract Matthew’s attention. Furthermore, Matthew relates the descent of Joseph, Mary, and Jesus into Egypt with a view to explaining that they came out: that juxtaposition of entrance and exodus is also found in Genesis 46.

Although God addresses the patriarch as “Jacob, Jacob” (Gen. 46:2), the text itself speaks of Israel as journeying, and God speaking to Israel (Gen. 46:1–2). There is a certain ambiguity to the name, because it can refer to Jacob as an individual, or to the whole clan and nation springing from him. This ambiguity creates room in which Matthew can present Jesus as Israel, the one who finally recapitulates and encapsulates what is true of God’s people. Jacob went into Egypt, but only his embalmed corpse came out (Gen. 50:2, 13). Jesus went down into Egypt and returned, because God was with him, as the original promise given to Jacob in Genesis 46 guaranteed. How could it be otherwise when Jesus is the locus of God’s presence with his people (Matt. 1:23)?

Exodus

There are multiple allusions to the events of Exodus in this part of Matthew. There are at least tacit comparisons between Jesus and Moses on the score of being infants threatened with death by tyrannical monarchs (Matt. 2:13 and Exod. 2:3).[i] The fact that other infants die when the one special named infant does not is another point of similarity between the two narratives. There is also an echo of God’s words to Moses in Exodus 4:19 when Joseph is told that “those who sought the child’s life are dead” (Matt. 2:20).[ii]

In the text of Exodus itself, it is clear that the experience of Moses the deliverer and Israel the delivered contain parallels. Both left Egypt in haste (Exod. 2:15; 12:39). Both were in a manner drawn out of water (Exod. 2:9; 14:22). Later revelation points out that ultimately both spent forty years in the wilderness (Acts 7:30; Num. 14:33).

The dialectic of individual and people again allows an ambiguity where Matthew can represent Christ as the new Moses, as well as the new Israel.[iii] For instance, when Christ spends forty days fasting in the wilderness and being put to the test (Matt. 4:1–2) this inevitably reminds the reader both of Moses’ extended fast on Sinai (Exod. 34:28) and of Israel’s long years of trial (Deut. 8:2). This dual presentation is not an inconceivable stretch, because Moses was the representative and mediator of Israel as they were constituted a nation.

It should also be noticed that in both Genesis and Matthew, Egypt is a place of safety and provision, whereas in Exodus it is the place of danger and bondage. Herod’s rule, then, makes Bethlehem into an analogue of Egypt, returning the promised land to the state it was in before God’s promises to Abraham were fulfilled through Joshua. The deliverer is born as promised in Bethlehem (Matt. 2:6), but as far as his safety went, pagan Egypt was a better place than the city of David. It is hard to imagine a more stinging indictment of the national condition at the time of Christ’s birth: the only way it could get worse is if they were to succeed in killing Christ…[iv]

The importance of Exodus as a source of Matthew’s portrayal of Jesus is further confirmed by his explicit quotation of Hosea, since he chooses a passage in which Hosea remembers the events of Exodus.

Hosea 11:1

The prophet Hosea addressed an impassioned appeal to the disobedient kingdom of Israel (i.e., the northern ten tribes which had broken away from allegiance to the house of David). As part of that appeal he reminded them of the great watershed event of Exodus – their deliverance from Egypt.

Thus God speaks of his love for Israel as a child, a love which was exhibited in calling his son out of Egypt. Here Hosea himself is alluding to the terms of God’s word to Moses in Exodus 4:22, as well as to the successful departure from Egypt recorded in the following chapters. The affectionate terms as well as the historic facts bore witness to the depth of God’s love for his people. And yet that people did not respond in kind, but were constantly unfaithful (Hosea 11:2).

When Matthew took up that great word that God called his son out of Egypt, the quotation is from Hosea, but that quotation includes the allusion to Exodus 4:22. Thus the affectionate term for Israel, “my son” was applied to Jesus. He is truly God’s Son, the firstborn. The terms of Exodus and Hosea apply most fully and properly to him. The process of inner-biblical exegesis which led Hosea to reflect on Exodus 4 is continuing, with ever-increasing clarity.

The faithlessness of corporate Israel (or “Ephraim” as Hosea says in 11:2, 8–9) placed an enormous question mark over its status as God’s son. Can it be that this is how the son of God behaves? The answer is no; but the full solution of this dilemma awaited the appearance of God’s ultimate Son, who fulfills all righteousness (Matt. 3:15).

Blomberg argues for seeing in Matthew’s usage of Hosea an instance of “pure typology,” that is to say, “divinely intended ‘coincidence’” discerned in “striking parallels between God’s actions in history.”[v] This is not quite strong enough. The striking parallels are present because God is gradually making clear over time the ultimate referent of all these events. It is not that the Exodus was similar to the life of Jesus because God repeats himself. Rather, the meaning of the Exodus was Jesus. The deliverance of Israel from Egypt was a model meant to point to the greater deliverance of God’s true and natural Son, and of all God’s people in and through him. It is thus not sufficient to say that Exodus or Hosea can be appropriated to explain Christ: rather, Christ was the point all along (see Vos on Christology and Hermeneutics).[vi] As Ulrich Luz put it: “It is true for Matthew and for all of early Christianity that the OT alone makes it possible to proclaim and understand the risen Jesus.”[vii]

This was made clear in the unfolding of revelation not only by successive recapitulations and the individual-corporate dialectic already mentioned, but also by the failures of the people which are so strongly emphasized in the context of Hosea 11:1. The deliverance of the people from Egyptian bondage was not an ultimate deliverance; in no small measure, they carried their bondage with them. That was why Herod could recreate Egypt in Bethlehem.

The types necessarily looked forward. Their good features suggested categories within which God’s great work on behalf of his people and presence with them could be understood. But their very imperfections highlighted their prospective nature. Because of this future orientation, it is not the case that God did again with Jesus what he did before through Moses. Moses was just a preparatory prologue.

Because Christ was not just another in a series of parallels, but the culmination and goal of the whole redemptive-history, fulfillment of prophetic utterance comes to its height in him. Matthew shows this by highlighting that even the surroundings of Christ are fulfilling prophetic words, in this case those of Jeremiah.

Jeremiah 31:15

As Blomberg points out, this verse contains one note of sorrow “that reflects the current grief surrounding the Assyrian and Babylonian exiles” in a chapter that is otherwise full of glorious promises.[viii] The sorrow of mothers bereaved of their children is personified as Rachel weeping for her children. As pointed out above, the language here may draw on Jacob’s grief over Joseph’s loss.

Rachel is mentioned only three times in the Hebrew Bible outside of Genesis. There is reference to the location of her grave in 1 Samuel 10:2; her name is linked with Leah’s as a term of blessing in Ruth 4:11; and there is Jeremiah 31:15. The citation of this text in Matthew 2:18 provides the only New Testament reference to her.

It is thus an interesting question why Jeremiah chose to speak of Rachel weeping for her children. The Genesis narrative reveals her as envious (Gen. 30:1), and as seeing herself in conflict with her sister Leah (Gen. 30:8). Her sorrow over her initial barrenness was perhaps only partially alleviated by Joseph’s birth (cf. Gen. 30:22–24). As she died giving birth to her second son and named him “Son of my sorrow”, she was a sufficiently natural choice as a type of grief (Gen. 35:16-19). It seems likely that the text was suggested to Matthew’s mind because of the association of Rachel’s burying place with Bethlehem (Gen. 35:19; 48:7).

She weeps in Ramah because this was “a stopping-off point for the captives from Judah and Jerusalem on their way to exile in Ramah.”[ix] This last point can be verified by a reference to Jer. 40:1, which shows that Jeremiah was taken with other captives of the Babylonians as far as Ramah before being released. Perhaps the sight of the other captives who were not so fortunate added a very immediate pathos to Jeremiah’s composition of these words.

In the sorrow of bereaved mothers, Matthew sees a point of contact between Jeremiah’s words and the aftermath of Herod’s massacre. It is as though all the sorrows of loss in the long record of Israel’s oppressions were now revealed in the desolation surrounding the unsuccessful attempt on the life of Jesus. Perhaps this fulfillment also suggested some comfort. Jesus would return from his time in Egypt, as Matthew goes on to narrate: just as Jeremiah had prophesied that the children who were not would return (Jer. 30:16).[x] Rachel ultimately need not weep for her non-existent children when Jesus has come in fulfillment of the prophetic word, as the presence of God with us, and as the one who saves his people from their sins.

However that may be, it is clear that all kinds of prophetic words are finding their fulfillment in and around Christ. It is not the occasional messianic prediction only that he fulfills, but the meaning of the prophets taken quite broadly.

Conclusion

The preceding discussion leads to the conclusion that Matthew thinks of the prophetic word as something that required fulfillment, even when that word was not obviously predictive. Neither the quotations nor the allusions found in the section considered have any obviously future connotation in their original contexts, but are historical remarks. Even the quotation from Jeremiah, which does come from a context of promise, refers to the sorrow as a past or present event, not as something to be looked for in the future.

For Matthew, however, these historical notices are not mere statements of fact, nor even (as might have been expected from the Hosea reference) the basis for strong exhortation or rebuke. Rather, they have a referent ultimately beyond the boundaries of the historical events considered in themselves. History can be fulfilled only if it had a meaning, a goal whose character was in some sense sketched out in the events leading up to it.

In other words, Matthew’s typology is not simply a question of repeating patterns, but involves the whole concept of redemptive-history. It is a very clear lesson of the fulfillment formula that God is in control of the events. And in the events of the life of Jesus, the plan of God which was adumbrated in the past experiences of Jacob, Rachel, Moses, Israel, and Jeremiah is coming to its culmination.

This has implications for Matthew’s hermeneutical method. If he is interpreting the Scriptures typologically within a redemptive-historical framework, it is not possible to say that he twists the Scriptures[xi] except by rejecting his presupposition of a genuine advance in the progress of redemption that is focused on the coming of Christ. “The concept of fulfillment is at the heart of biblical theology.”[xii] On Matthew’s presuppositions, then, the genuine twisting of the Scriptures would be by trying to understand them without reference to Jesus Christ. He is the fulfillment of all the prophetic word.

For Further Reading

Apart from the books mentioned in the endnotes—Commentary on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament and the collection of essays, The Right Doctrine from the Wrong Text?—readers may find these studies of particular interest.

• R.T. France, Jesus and the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1971)
• Hugh Martin, The Abiding Presence (Fearn, Ross-Shire: Christian Heritage, 2009)
• “Fulfillment in Matthew as Eschatological Reversal” and “The Last Adam: A Theology of the Obedient Life of Jesus in the Gospels”—two interviews with Dr. Brandon Crowe.

[i] Noted by Craig L. Blomberg, “Matthew” in G.K. Beale and D.A. Carson, eds., Commentary on the New Testament Use of the Old Testament (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2007), 7.

[ii] Both parallels are mentioned by Ulrich Luz, Matthew 1–7: A Commentary on Matthew 1–7 (Minneapolis: Fortress Press, 2007), 119.

[iii] Cf. the explanation of corporate solidarity in terms of “the interchange between the nation and its representative, with the Messiah being the embodiment of Israel’s hopes and the ultimate recipient of God’s promises to his people” by Richard N. Longenecker, “Who Is the Prophet Talking About? Some Reflections on the New Testament Use of the Old,” pp.375–386 in G.K. Beale, ed., The Right Doctrine from the Wrong Texts?: Essays on the Use of the Old Testament in the New (Grand Rapids: Baker Books, 1994), 377.

[iv] Luz, Matthew, 121 is right in saying that “What we have here, however, is not a merely biographical interest in documenting the various stations of Jesus’ vitafrom the OT but a christological statement made with geographical statements.”

[v] Blomberg, “Matthew,” 8.

[vi] Cf. the comment of Douglas A. Oss, “The Interpretation of the ‘Stone’ Passages by Peter and Paul: A Comparative Study,” (JETS1989), 182: “Primary to the approach of the New Testament is a pronounced Christocentric perspective that resulted in interpretations being conducted along Christological lines in a very consistent manner.”

[vii] Luz, Matthew, 131.

[viii] Blomberg, “Matthew,” 9.

[ix] Gerald L. Keown, Pamela J. Scalise and Thomas G. Smothers, Jeremiah 26–52 (Dallas: Word Books, 1995), 119

[x] So Blomberg, ”Matthew,” 10.

[xi] As does S.V. McCasland, “Matthew Twists the Scriptures,” pp. 146–152 in The Right Doctrine from the Wrong Texts, when he says (147–148): “As only Matthew records the flight to Egypt, there is a strong possibility that the entire episode is an inference from the misunderstood Hosea 11:1.”

[xii] Longenecker, “Prophet,” 376.

The Westminster Larger Catechism defines justifying faith as

a saving grace, wrought in the heart of a sinner by the Spirit and Word of God, whereby he, being convinced of his sin and misery, and of the disability in himself and all other creatures to recover him out of his lost condition, not only assenteth to the truth of the promise of the gospel, but receiveth and resteth upon Christ and his righteousness, therein held forth, for pardon of sin, and for the accepting and accounting of his person righteous in the sight of God for salvation (72).

Faith is not merely the intellectual assent of the mind to the redemptive revelation of God, it is also a receiving and resting upon the person of Christ. By this definition the Reformed go beyond Rome’s demand for nothing more than an historical assent to the truth by including a heartfelt trust of the whole person. This personal and active dimension of faith is evident in the words used throughout the Old Testament to express the concept of believing. We’ll turn to Geerhardus Vos’ survey of these words in the fourth volume of his Reformed Dogmatics on soteriology (the doctrine of salvation) to see this.

אמן (“To Believe”)

The first and most often used word is אמן. Vos notes that in the hiphil form the word is best rendered as “demonstrating faithfulness,” “generating faithfulness,” or “establishing oneself.” It has to do with “an active disposition of the soul, an action that produces change” (72).

The word also takes on certain nuances depending on the preposition connected with it. With the preposition לְ (“to”) it generally has to do with holding something to be true. This is seen in Deuteronomy 9:23, which speaks of Israel’s failure to actively believe: “you rebelled against the commandment of the Lord your God and did not believe him…”

With the preposition בְּ (“by,” “in”) it usually denotes a trustful resting in a person or in a truth. This is used of Abraham in Genesis 15:6, “And he believed the Lord, and he counted it to him as righteousness.” Now Abraham’s faith was more than just his holding the promise of God to be true. “As this promise was a matter of life for Abraham, so this promise was also a living testimony for him, and his faith was not merely concerned with the truth in the abstract but with the God of the truth. A personal relationship came about between the consciousness of Abraham and God. Thus we may already say in general that [Abraham’s believing here] is the trustful acceptance of the testimony of a person that becomes a basis for certainty for us through the conscious conception of that person” (73).

בטח (“To Trust”)

A second word that is used in the Old Testament is בטח which means “to be sure,” and so with the preposition בְּ (“in”) it means to trust in someone. So Psalm 28:7, “The Lord is my strength and my shield; in him my heart trusts, and I am helped.” Vos comments, “Here, too, the personal relationship comes out. Depending on the testimony is accompanied by and derives its strength from this personal relationship” (74). The imagery of the Lord being the psalmist’s personal shield is a helpful picture of what it means to trust in him.

חסה (“To Take Refuge”)

We find a third word used in Psalm 57:1, “Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me, for in you my soul takes refuge; in the shadow of your wings I will take refuge, till the storms of destruction pass by.” The Hebrew word here is חסה, which means “to hide” or “to take refuge in.” This trust of the psalmist’s soul is not a mere intellectual assent to the truth, but an active trusting in God. The intense imagery of taking refuge in the midst of a destructive storm would be incongruous with a mere acceptance of the truth with the mind. The whole trusts in the Lord and so seeks refuge in him.

קוה (“To Wait”)

A fourth, and final, word used is קוה—an intense, active word that can mean “focusing the mind on something.” At times it might carry the sense of “hoping” in the biblical sense that carries certainty and conviction or “an intensive focusing of the intellect that definitely expects the realization of what is desired” (74). It is usually translated as “wait”: “Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!” (Ps. 27:14). “They who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength” (Isa. 40:31). “This waiting … is not a passive state, depleted of all expression of life. Rather, it is an extending and securing of the heart, a reckoning on Jehovah connected with the inner strength of the soul” (74).

Summary and Conclusion

Vos summarizes the various elements that belong to the concept of believing in the Old Testament (pp. 74-75):

1. Faith is an activity of the intellect as it accepts the testimony of another.
2. Faith can be much more than an activity of the intellect. As trust it is that deeply moral action by which, in order to have stability, man, as it were, puts himself into another.
3. As such, faith does not have a passive but an active, dynamic form.
4. As trust, faith is accompanied to a greater or lesser degree by a sense of security. Faith not only seeks certainty but finds it and also produces certainty. It knows itself to be certain and safe and lives in a reality with its conceptions that is not yet present.

Faith is a free gift from God that is kindled in our hearts by the Holy Spirit. All of the benefits we have spoken of are not true of faith in the abstract—our faith is not in faith itself—but because of the concrete object of our faith, namely, Jesus Christ. By faith we are united to him (you might say with Paul we are put in him) as our living and personal Savior, in whom we have died and in whom we have also been raised to new life. Today he not only supplies us with a place of security and rest as we navigate the tempestuous waters of this present age, but also works in us faith by his Spirit so that we do not fail to arrive on the shores of the crystal waters flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb (Rev. 22:1).

I have been working through the third volume of Geerhardus Vos’ Reformed Dogmatics on Christology and have appreciated the implications he draws throughout for properly understanding the Old Testament revelation. This, however, should come as no surprise: our doctrine of Christ should impact our reading of Scripture since it was written about him (Luke 24:44). So, for example, Vos makes some keen observations regarding the various names of the Mediator in chapter two and the three offices of prophet, priest and king on pp. 11, 85, 90, 93, etc.

But what I found of particular interest was the implication he drew from the personal unity between the human nature and the Logos. But before disclosing that insight, it will help us to consider briefly what exactly he means by this.

Simply understood, the Logos is the divine person (see p. 50). It is the Logos who assumes a human nature into the unity of the person. The hypostatic union is not the union of two persons, one divine and one human, but the union of two natures in one divine person, in the Logos. Appealing to Junius, Thesis 27:16, Vos writes, “The divine assumes, the human is assumed—not so that from these two a sort of third is forged together, but the human nature, at the outset [anhypostasis or impersonal], was assumed by the Logos into the unity of the person, and thus made [enhypostasis or in-personal]” (43).

What follows from this union is that “one may no longer separate [Christ’s human nature] from his deity” (48). So when we worship and pray to Christ, we do not abstractly worship and pray to his divine nature, in exclusion of his human nature. Rather, our worship and prayers are directed concretely to his divine person, which has assumed a human nature. In other words, we worship and pray to the Word become flesh, the Logos enfleshed. Christ is venerated as the God-man, “possessing human nature in the unity of the person” (48). So Vos writes,

That Christ the Mediator may no longer be prayed to and worshiped exclusively as God, apart from his humanity. As the Word become flesh, He is the object of our worship. His human nature is personally united to Him; it is taken into his hypostasis; one may no longer separate it from His deity. Just as the Triune Being of God exists only as triune being, and we do not worship an abstract Godhead but the triune God, even so the Logos may not be venerated in His abstract deity but in his concrete personality, which is both God and man (48).

We are now in a position to understand the implication of all this for the Old Testament revelation. Vos goes on to say that “even before his incarnation, it was only possible to believe in Him as the one who would become flesh” (48). This is grounded in the eternal counsel of peace (or covenant of redemption), in which the Son assumed his role as Mediator and Surety of the covenant of grace (see pp. 1-4) “not as the Logos in the abstract, but as the Logos who would become flesh in time. He did this as Logos incarnandus [to be incarnate]…” (84). He was anointed in his person to be Mediator from eternity (p. 90).

So the revelation of the Logos in the Old Testament was never speculative or abstract. Instead, it was entirely concrete as it disclosed his person to be incarnate. You could say the Old Testament draws its significance and meaning from what was to come in Christ. (Note it does not obtain a new meaning with the coming of Christ, but always had Christ as its center and goal). Vos makes a similar point earlier in his Reformed Dogmatics regarding the three offices under the old covenant: “Now, we must not derive from their offices what Christ was, but must rather infer from Christ what their offices were. They were anointed because He would be anointed; He was not anointed because they had been” (11; see also p. 90).

We can now come to Vos’ implication for understanding the Old Testament:

[O]ne prays directly only to the Son as Mediator, since the humanity assumed in the unity of His person can no longer be separated from his person. It is for that reason that all revelation of the covenant of grace under the old dispensation had to point forward; that [which was] presented was not the Logos qua talis [as such], as Head of the covenant who had secured it from eternity, but always the Logos who over the course of the centuries was to come and was to become flesh (49).

Notice three things. First, the revelation of the old covenant was not concerned with the Logos in the abstract, but concretely in his work of redemption, which he would accomplish in his incarnation. Vos assumes here the redemptive focus of revelation, which is reflected in his mention of the covenant of grace. In his Biblical Theology, he writes, “Revelation is the interpretation of redemption” (6).

Second, the shadows of Christ in the Old Testament—such as the offices of prophet, priest and king, Adam and Israel as sons of God, the angel of the Lord, Joshua, Melchizedek, etc.—pointed forward to the Logos who was to become flesh. These old testament types were never to be speculated about, but through them, in action and power, the eternal Logos worked redemption for the people of God, in anticipation of his coming in the flesh to accomplish final, eschatological salvation.

Third, and implied from our first two points, the Old Testament revelation had to point forward. The anticipatory nature of the old covenant revelation was founded upon the coming incarnation of the Logos in history to work salvation. Through the types and shadows, the old covenant believers looked forward to the Logos enfleshed, the God-man. In fact, as Vos said earlier, the Christ could not be believed upon except as the One who would become flesh.

Herman Bavinck, reflecting on the all-important impact of Christ on history, writes in The Philosophy of Revelation,

“[R]evelation gives us a division of history. There is no history without division of time, without periods, without progress and development. But now take Christ away. The thing is impossible, for he has lived and died, has risen from the dead, and lives to all eternity; and these facts cannot be eliminated,—they belong to history, they are the heart of history. But think Christ away for a moment, with all he has spoken and done and wrought. Immediately history falls to pieces. It has lost its heart, its kernel, its centre, its distribution. … It becomes a chaos, without a centre, and therefore without a circumference; without distribution and therefore without beginning or end; without principle or goal; a stream rolling down from the mountains, nothing more” (p. 141).

From this we can draw two vital principles for understanding the relationship of Christ to the history of special revelation in the Old Testament.

First, Christ is at the center of the Old Testament. We see this confirmed when the risen Christ declares in Luke 24:44 that Moses, the Prophets and the Psalms (which is a way of speaking of the 3 parts that comprise the entirety of the Old Testament) spoke of him. He is its supreme subject matter—not moral principles, geo-political conflict, societal progress, or the evolution of religion, but Christ himself. History draws its lifeblood from him.

Second, Christ is the goal of the Old Testament. The history of the Old Testament does not arbitrarily unfold, nor is its movement in time the product of chance or mere happenstance; rather, Christ is the guiding principle of the Old Testament and upon him they consummate. If the Old Testament were an arrow, Christ would be its intended target—and God didn’t miss. For “he has appeared once for all at the culmination of the ages to do away with sin by the sacrifice of himself” (Heb. 9:26).

At Reformed Forum we have been committed from the beginning to seeing Christ as the center and goal of all of Scripture. This is evident in the very name of our program, Christ the Center. I’ve compiled twelve of our top episodes in which we try to explain and apply this hermeneutic. We have had the privilege of interviewing some of the top thinkers and writers in the church today on this subject, and we hope that you will take advantage of them. If this topic sparks your interest, you could even develop a 6-week course for yourself or a group of friends by listening to 2 episodes each week and assigning 2 or 3 books to work through on the topic.

1. Seeing Christ in All of Scripture w/ Vern Poythress and Iain Duguid
2. Jesus on Every Page w/ David Murray
3. Walking with Jesus Through His Word w/ Dennis Johnson
4. Redemptive-Historical Hermeneutics w/ Lane Tipton
5. Redemptive-Historical Hermeneutics, Divine Authorship, and the Christotelism Debate w/ Lane Tipton
6. Vos Group #32: Symbols and Types w/ Lane Tipton
7. Seeing Jesus in Old Testament History w/ Nancy Guthrie
8. Christ in the Old Testament w/ Nancy Guthrie
9. Seeing Jesus in the Old Testament w/ Nancy Guthrie
10. Seeing Jesus in the Prophets w/ Nancy Guthrie
11. Sacrifices and Festivals in the Old Testament w/ Ben Shaw
12. Typology and Jehoiachin w/ Matthew Patton

Hezekiah is one of the handful of “good” kings that ruled over Judah. The book of Kings speaks of him in superlative terms: “He did what was right in the eyes of the Lord, according to all that his father David had done. … He trusted in the Lord, the God of Israel, so that there was none like him among all the kings of Judah after him, nor among those who were before him” (2 Kings 18:3-5). The short biography of Hezekiah in 2 Kings 18 and 19 pictures him as a godly warrior, fighting the battle of the Lord.

But then the book of Kings has two additional stories about Hezekiah in chapter 20. They speak especially to the significance of this great king of Judah as a shadow of the coming Messiah. He is both a positive type, prefiguring the glory of Jesus Christ; and a negative foil, bringing out the need for a greater Son of David.

Hezekiah’s Illness and Recovery (2 Kings 20:1-11)

In the first story, Hezekiah is seriously ill and about to die. This illness is not merely a personal crisis in the life of the king. Much more is at stake. First of all, as the Davidic king, Hezekiah functions as the mediator between the Lord and his people. His physical ailment expresses the disease of God’s people; they are spiritually sick beyond reasonable hope. The king’s illness and imminent death also signify the divine judgment. Because of her continued unfaithfulness, Judah deserves to be wiped out. The approaching Assyrian army and the ill king in Jerusalem are two channels through which the Lord metes out judgment.

But second, Hezekiah’s illness threatens to end the dynasty of David. There is some debate about the chronology, but it appears that Hezekiah was without an heir at this time. (His son Manasseh began to reign when he was 12 years old, and this supposedly happened 15 years after Hezekiah’s illness. Thus, Manasseh was not yet born.) If Hezekiah were to die, the Davidic line would be broken off, and the glorious covenant God had made with David in 2 Samuel 7 would fail.

Hezekiah’s prayer and Isaiah’s message of restoration are, therefore, gospel, good news for all of Judah. Note the double reference to the Davidic covenant, and the accompanying promise of the deliverance of the city (2 Kings 18:5-6). In this light we must also understand the sign of the receding shadow (v. 8-11): the shadow of God’s judgment is pulled back from his people; the approaching night of captivity is taken away, at least for now.

Reading this story as Christians, we cannot escape the similarities between Hezekiah and Jesus Christ. In Jesus’ suffering, he took upon himself the spiritual disease of his people. As the greater Son of David, he was crushed and put to grief by the Lord himself (Is. 53:10). This time the shadow of judgment was not retracted, but a thick darkness came over Calvary at midday. In Hezekiah’s time, the Assyrians were turned away from the gate of Jerusalem; but Roman soldiers were allowed to drag Jesus outside of the holy city and murder him there.

And when Isaiah promises Hezekiah that he will be able to worship again after three days, we are reminded of Jesus’ resurrection after three days, when he is restored and glorified to full fellowship with his Father.

Hezekiah and the Babylonian Envoys (2 Kings 20:12-21)

But 2 Kings 20 does not stop there. The second story recounts the grievous fall of Hezekiah. His miraculous recovery made him famous, and Hezekiah was tempted by earthly, political pride and arrogance. God’s gracious forbearance had turned the Assyrians away; but when Hezekiah welcomes other pagans, the Babylonians, into the consecrated city and treasuries, they become the new instruments of divine judgment.

Hezekiah, though the anointed of the Lord, was a fallible man. For all his zeal, he could not turn the hearts of Judah toward the Lord. With all his piety, he could not escape falling into sin. He was unable to raise his son to continue his project of spiritual reform; on the contrary, Manasseh would turn out to be the most wicked king of Judah yet, making the exile of God’s people irrevocable.

Hezekiah could be no more than a shadow of a complete Redeemer. In 2 Kings 20 we see God’s grace displayed in the nation of Judah, and a type of the King who was to come. But the narrative is also quick to underscore the need for a better reality, a final Son of David.

We all wish we could have been one of the two disciples who walked with the resurrected Christ on the road to Emmaus in Luke 24. We know that beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, Jesus interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself—but what exactly did he say to them? Thankfully, the New Testament authors, inspired by the Spirit of Christ, have not left us wondering as they interpret the Old Testament in light of the person and work of Christ. In continuity with the view of Jesus and the New Testament writers, then, the books listed below look to help you read the Old Testament so that you too discover Christ and have your heart burn within you as well.

1. David Murray, Jesus on Every Page: 10 Simple Ways to Seek and Find Christ in the Old Testament

Murray walks through the various parts and genres of the Old Testament, teaching us how to read them to discover Christ. I particularly found his discussion on seeing Christ in Proverbs helpful as that is often a seemingly difficult task and not something most other books address. He writes, “The Old Testament leaves us looking and longing for the Wise One who would fulfill the Law and Proverbs. No surprise then that Jesus Christ exactly fit that profile. Time and again, Jesus is not only portrayed as the wise man but also identified with the wisdom of God. Truly, a greater than Solomon is here” (184).

2. Dennis E. Johnson, Walking with Jesus through His Word: Discovering Christ in All the Scriptures

I found that Johnson’s book in many ways complements Murray’s in that it focuses more on particular themes instead of genres per say. He sees Christ at work within the covenantal framework of the Old Testament as the “strong and faithful Lord,” but also “the submissive, suffering Servant.” Furthermore, he sees Christ at work in the Old Testament in his threefold mediatorial office as the final Prophet, our great High Priest, and the King of kings. This is a finely written and engaging book with useful examples at the end of each chapter.

3. Edmund Clowney, The Unfolding Mystery: Discovering Christ in the Old Testament

Clowney’s book is a classic on seeing Christ in the Old Testament. He takes us on a seven-mile journey through the Old Testament stopping at key redemptive-historical episodes, revealing Christ in these places that we may otherwise overlook. “The Bible is the greatest storybook,” writes Clowney, “not just because it is full of wonderful stories but because it tells one great story, the story of Jesus” (9).

4. Vern Poythress, The Shadow of Christ in the Law of Moses

On the back cover of this book the question is asked: What does the Old Testament have to do with Jesus Christ? Answer: Everything. “Poythress explores Genesis through Deuteronomy, demonstrating how the sacrifices and traditions of the Hebrews graphically foreshadow Christ’s relationship with his people.”

5. David E. Holwerda, Jesus & Israel: One Covenant or Two?

When my Old Testament professor assigned this book for his Messianic Revelation in the Old Testament class, I (probably like you) had never heard of it before. But a few chapters in, I realized I had been missing out on a gem. Poythress endorsed the book as “a first-rate presentation of a Reformed, covenantal understanding of promise and fulfillment.” It focuses on major themes of the Old Testament that are picked up in the New Testament and ultimately fulfilled in Christ. These themes include Israel, temple, land and law.

6. S. G. De Graaf, Promise and Deliverance (4 vols.)

S. G. De Graaf (1889-1955), a minister in the Reformed Churches of the Netherlands, noticed a tendency in Sunday school lessons to present the characters of the Old Testament as mere moral examples to imitate: have a heart like David or dare to be a Daniel. This led him to write this 4-volume work as an aid for these teachers to show that the events in the Old Testament point ahead to the Christ, who was already moving among his people long before his incarnation, working in their hearts and showing them a better future.

PDFs of this work can be found online for free: v. 1: From Creation to the Conquest of Canaan; v. 2: The Failure of Israel’s Theocracy; v. 3: Christ’s Ministry and Death; v. 4: Christ and the Nations.

7. Gerard Van Groningen, Messianic Revelation in the Old Testament

Van Groningen (1921-2014) observed that “books by evangelical scholars on messianism in the Old Testament are either outdated, too brief, or lack balance.” He looked to correct these issues in his rather comprehensive work that traces the messianic expectation as it is progressively revealed throughout redemptive-history. According to Van Groningen, his study “reveals that the messianic concept refers to a royal-priestly-prophetic person … and his work.”

8. Christopher J. H. Wright, Knowing Jesus Through the Old Testament

Wright shows how Jesus himself and the New Testament authors understood and explained his identity, mission, and significance in the light of the whole of the Old Testament. His focus especially on the mission-mindedness of Christ was particularly illuminating. The book is also a smooth read with well-crafted sentences and containing not a single footnote—apparently a minor life’s ambition for Wright!

9. Graeme Goldsworthy, The Son of God and the New Creation

This book by Goldsworthy is more limited in its scope than the other books in this list as it is concerned only with the “Son of God” title in Scripture. However, while many may be quick to simply read this title as a divinity claim when applied to Jesus in the New Testament, Goldsworthy properly shows the Old Testament, messianic content that fills the title. He “traces the theme of divine sonship from Adam, through the nation of Israel and King David, and ultimately to Jesus Christ—the ‘Son of God’ par excellence.”

10. Jonathan Edwards, A History of the Work of Redemption

In 1739 Edwards sought to impress upon his New England congregants in a thirty-sermon series the truth that “everything in human history from start to finish is subservient to Christ’s work of redemption.” A History of the Work of Redemption is a compilation of those sermons since Edwards did not live to carry out his intention of writing a book that expounded the same theme. One of my favorite passages from the book is the opening words of Part 1: “As soon as ever man fell, Christ entered on his Mediatorial work. Then it was that Christ first took on him the work and office of a Mediator. … As soon as ever man fell, Christ the eternal Son of God clothed himself with the Mediatorial character, and therein presented himself before the Father” (21).

Bonus: Nancy Guthrie, Seeing Jesus in the Old Testament series

What books have you found helpful on seeing Jesus in the Old Testament? Let us know in the comments below. 

Recently the faculty of Westminster Theological Seminary in Philadelphia released a book entitled Seeing Christ in All of Scripture. The book’s intent is to help people understand the beautiful, Christ-centered structure of the Bible—certainly something to be commended for.

Recognizing this “Christ-centered structure,” though, is often a challenge for us when it comes to the Old Testament. How do we see Christ there in his saving power and grace? One way is through typology. A few years ago we sat down with Dr. Matthew Patton in an episode of Christ the Center on this topic. Dr. Patton elaborated on the presuppositions and rationale for typology and then employed King Jehoiachin (2 Kings 24-25) as a fascinating example of a type of Christ. We’ll look to summarize some of what he had to say below, but before we get there it might be helpful to first define “typology.”

What is Typology?

In his helpful book on this topic, The Unfolding Mystery: Discovering Christ in the Old Testament, Edmund Clowney has this to say about “typology”:

… [T]he Old Testament gives us types that foreshadow the New Testament fulfillment [i.e., the antitype]. A type is a form of analogy that is distinctive to the Bible. Like all analogies, a type combines identity and difference. David and Christ were both given kingly power and rule. In spite of the vast differences between David’s royalty and Christ’s, there are points of formal identity that make the comparison meaningful.

Yet it is just this degree of difference that makes biblical types distinctive. The promises of God in the Bible do not offer a return to a golden age of the past. David’s Son to come is not simply another David. Rather, He is so much greater that David can speak of Him as Lord (Ps. 110:1).[1]

In more technical terms, typology relates “the past to the present in terms of a historical correspondence and escalation in which the divinely ordered prefigurement finds a complement in the subsequent and greater event.”[2] Types, then, have to do with persons (e.g., Moses and David), institutions (e.g., tabernacle and sacrificial system) or events (e.g., the flood and the Exodus).

What is Typology Presupposing?

In order to make these typological connections, we presuppose something about the nature and authorship of Scripture. The Scriptures are divinely inspired by God (2 Tim. 3:16), which means they have a fundamental unity with God as their author. For this reason the entire canon of Scripture is so crucial for interpretation. Dr. Patton rightly states, “It’s a whole canon pursuit to understand any individual text.”

Does a Type have to be Explicitly Stated in the New Testament to be Valid?

Dr. Patton answers this question, No. And he does so for two reasons.

First, we need to ask where are we getting our method for understanding the Scriptures, if not from the Scriptures themselves? If we want to understand how to read the Old Testament then we need to look to the method of the New Testament authors. Dr. Clowney once wisely remarked, “The New Testament is the answers in the back of the book to the odd number problems.” By using its method, then, we can answer the even number problems in the same way.

Second, Dr. Patton makes the point that it’s not eisegesis (reading something into the text) to read the New Testament into the Old as though it were something foreign that you were reading back into it. Since the New and the Old Testament have fundamentally the same author, it’s not an intrusion to bring the New back into the Old or to have the New shed light on the Old.

Geerhardus Vos would agree with this conclusion:

The mere fact that no writer in the New Testament refers to a certain trait as typical, affords no proof of its lacking typical significance. Types in this respect stand on a line with prophecies. The New Testament in numerous cases calls our attention to the fulfillment of certain prophecies, sometimes of such a nature that perhaps we might not have discerned them to be prophecies. And yet we are not restrained by this from searching the field of prophecy and looking in the New Testament for other cases of fulfillment. … The instances of typology vouched for by the New Testament writers have nothing peculiar to themselves. To recognize only them would lead to serious incompleteness and incoherency in the result.[3]

King Jehoiachin as a Type of Christ

Jehoiachin reigned only three months in Jerusalem before he was carried away in exile to Babylon (2 Kings 24:6ff). He didn’t put up any resistance, but simply consigned himself to Old Testament “hell,” that is, exile. According to Jeremiah, he goes bearing a curse over him. In the next and final chapter of 1-2 Kings, Jehoiachin reappears as one who is graciously dealt with by the king of Babylon. He’s released from prison, given new garments to wear and for the remainder of his life dines at the king’s table—a partial restoration has taken place (2 Kings 25:27-30).

What is fascinating about him though is that each of the major prophets of his day say to Israel, “If you want to know the future of the people of God, then you need to look to Jehoiachin.” In Ezekiel 17 a sprig is taken from the top of a cedar—a symbol of Jehoiachin—which God brings to Mt. Zion where it grows into this noble cedar. So as far as Ezekiel is concerned the future of the Davidic line is through this cryptic figure, Jehoiachin. The paradox that this exiled king with a curse looming over him would be the future is at the heart of the prophet’s message. Dr. Patton says, “Only once you have gone through judgment can you become an heir of restoration.” This too is at the heart of Jeremiah’s message. In fact, Jeremiah has no good words to speak to Israel until after they have been exiled. Right after Jehoiachin is exiled, Jeremiah 24 is penned which speaks of the good figs, which symbolize those who have gone through exile and yet have a future because God will graciously restore them.

We then come to the New Testament and the rhetorical words of Christ himself, “Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory?” (Luke 24:25-26). Of course it was! And one place you could’ve gone to learn this was Jehoiachin. He first undergoes the punishment of the curse of the covenant (exile) and then goes on to become the future as a type of Christ. This redemptive-historical pattern (especially as it is lived out in a kingly sense) points forward to Jesus who must go to the cross and suffer the curse first. For this reason Peter’s rebuke—”this shall never happen to you” (Matt. 16:22)—is satanic. For Christ not to go would rip apart the very fabric of redemptive-history and the subsequent restoration and accompanying blessings would remain locked and inaccessible. No other king in Israel’s history so clearly shows this pattern of “suffering unto glory” or “judgment unto restoration” like Jehoiachin, a type of Christ.

[1] Edmund Clowney, The Unfolding Mystery: Discovering Christ in the Old Testament, 14-15.

[2] Dictionary for Theological Interpretation of the Bible, gen. ed. Kevin J. Vanhoozer, 823.

[3] Geerhardus Vos, Biblical Theology, 146.

Welcome to Theology Simply Profound: a Podcast of Westminster Presbyterian Church, an Orthodox Presbyterian Church, serving the western suburbs of Chicago.

Theology Simply Profound is where simple Christians discuss the profound things of God.

On episode 15, your hosts Rob McKenzie and Bob Tarullo, discuss questions like, What is the story of Cain and Abel about? Is really just about two brothers? Or is there more to it? And, what do these two brothers have to do with Christian today? We’ll discuss these and other related (and sometimes unrelated) topics in this episode of Theology Simply Profound.

Music credit: pamelayork.com. Thank you, Pamela York, for the use of your beautiful jazzy rendition of “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God.” We encourage our listeners to check out her website and consider purchasing some of her music.

Participants: Rob McKenzie, Robert Tarullo

Panel Members

• Jim Cassidy
• Jeff Waddington
• Camden Bucey

Links

• D.A. Carson on the use of the Old Testament in the New Testament:
  • Lecture 1
  • Lecture 2
  • Lecture 3

Participants: Camden Bucey, Jeff Waddington, Jim Cassidy