Holy Week: When Jesus died.

Today is Palm Sunday, the start of what we Christians call Holy Week. Various Christians also call it Great Week, Greater Week, Holy and Great Week, Passion Week, and Easter Week (particularly by those people who consider Easter the end of the week). It remembers the week Jesus died, which took place 9–15 Nisan 3793 in the Hebrew calendar. In the Julian calendar that’d be 29 March to 4 April of the year 33. Here, have a handy infograph:

Of course Jesus rose on 16 Nisan (or Sunday the 5th), the day Christians now designate as Easter.

Different Christians observe Holy Week in different ways, depending on church and local custom. The churches I grew up in, usually had a somber service on Good Friday, and a just-as-somber service on Easter Sunday, ’cause they usually held some sort of passion play where most of the service was focused on Jesus getting killed. Lots of weeping. Lots of repentance and conversions. Happy ending, ’cause Jesus is alive, but the focus was more on him dying for our sins. Lots of churches tend to focus on the sad bits, ’cause we humans get depressing like that.

But many churches—properly—spend Holy Week on the sad bits, and Easter Sunday and the weeks thereafter rejoicing. Because Jesus is alive.

Quoting Job’s friends.

Years ago a pastor gave me a daily devotional, and this year I decided to actually use it. It consists of 366 really short, three-paragraph excerpts from E.M. Bounds’s writings. Edward McKendree Bounds (1835–1913) was a Methodist preacher and Confederate chaplain whose sermons on prayer were collected into a number of books, and once the books got into the public domain, Christian publishers have been cranking ’em out like he’s the best writer on prayer there ever was. Meh; he’s unnecessarily wordy (as was the popular style in public speaking in the 1800s), and he’s made too many problematic statements about meriting God’s favor before he’ll answer prayer. If Bounds were legitimately good at communicating with God he wouldn’t’ve joined the Confederates in their godless white supremacist crusade. But enough about him.

The devotional starts with a bible verse or two, gives the Bounds passage, and ends with a short written prayer. Made in China, printed in brown ink, bound in fake leather, with a built-in ribbon for a bookmark. The sort of devotional they sell in bible bookstores for $4.99 and stash by the checkout. It’s not very good, but you get what you pay for.

Anyway, I was flipping ahead a few pages and noticed a verse for the day came from Job, chapter 5. Who’s speaking in Job 5? It’s not Job; it’s his friend Eliphaz from Teymán, Jb 4.1 who’s giving Job unsolicited advice which the LORD later denounces:

Job 42.7-9 CSB

7After the LORD had finished speaking to Job, he said to Eliphaz the Temanite, “I am angry with you and your two friends, for you have not spoken the truth about me, as my servant Job has. 8Now take seven bulls and seven rams, go to my servant Job, and offer a burnt offering for yourselves. Then my servant Job will pray for you. I will surely accept his prayer and not deal with you as your folly deserves. For you have not spoken the truth about me, as my servant Job has.” 9Then Eliphaz the Temanite, Bildad the Shuhite, and Zophar the Naamathite went and did as the LORD had told them, and the LORD accepted Job’s prayer.

Eliphaz’s advice is bad advice. Untrustworthy. Unreliable. Slanderous. Blasphemous.

So what’s it even doing in the bible? It’s there to warn us how not to think about God. It’s there as a representative of the popular thinking, of what passed for “wisdom,” in Job’s day. Stuff which sounded good to like-minded people, but betrayed a lack of understanding about God’s character and grace. Bad advice like Eliphaz’s exists throughout human history, in every culture, including cultures which imagine themselves predominantly Christian like ours. The reason the author of Job included it, was to warn us away from it. Do not think like Eliphaz—nor Bildad, nor Zophar—no matter how much it resonates with you. That resonance is not the Holy Spirit confirming the truth. That’s your flesh.

Here’s the problem: People don’t read. And of course they don’t read Job either. The few times they do, they read the beginning, when Satan destroys all Job’s stuff, and the end, when God gives it back, and largely skip the middle—the parts we were meant to read, and learn how not to think.

Or they read it when they’re gonna preach a sermon about a particular topic. (Like prayer, which makes sense for a prayer devotional.) So they get out their Nave’s Topical Bible and read all the bible verses, pulled out of context, which are either about prayer, or are about people praying. Or they get out their computer bible and look up every verse which has “pray” and “prayer” in it. And rather than double-check the context of every verse, to make sure it actually says something valid about the topic, they just quote it if it sounds good.

That’s exactly what this devotional did. Quoted Elphaz like he knew what he was talking about. Doesn’t Eliphaz say he knew what he was talking about?

Job 5.27 CSB

“We have investigated this, and it is true!

Hear it and understand it for yourself.”

Yeah, you “investigated” it like those people who “investigated” vaccines on the internet. It’s just as full of rubbish.

The Lᴏʀᴅ created humans.

Genesis 1.26-31.

Day six in the creation story of Genesis 1 started with God creating the land animals. After that, on the same day, he created humans. Then he gives us humans the planet he created, tells us—and the animals—we get the plants for food, and basically wraps up the whole of creation by recognizing the whole thing as ט֖וֹב מְאֹ֑ד/tov meöd, “good in abundance.” Or as the KJV put it, “very good,” but maybe very isn’t quite superlative enough. God considered it profoundly good. So that’s how I translated it.

Genesis 1.26-31 KWL

26God said, “We will make humanity in our image,

like our likeness.

They’ll have dominion over the sea’s fish,

over the heavens’ bird,

over the beast,

over all the land,

over every creeper creeping on the land.”

27God created humanity in his image;

he created it in God’s image;

he created them male and female.

28God blessed them.

God told them, “Bear fruit. Be many.

Fill the land and take it over.

Rule over the sea’s fish,

over the heavens’ bird,

over every life which creeps on the land.”

29God said, “Look, I give you

every seeding plant on the face of the land,

every tree, every seeding fruit in it.

It’s for food.

30To every life in the land,

to the heavens’ bird,

to everything creeping in the land

with a living soul in it,

every green plant is food.”

It was so.

31God saw everything he did.

Look, it was profoundly good.

It was dusk, then dawn.

Day six.

I remind you: The pagan myths had the gods shape the earth for themselves. Humans were kind of an afterthought: “Oh yeah, we’re gonna need slaves. Let’s make humans.” Their humans are then instructed to get to work on the gods’ behalf—and don’t annoy them, or the gods will plague them. Maybe kill them and send them to a really bad afterlife. But for loyal slaves, a really good afterlife—and then they got to work on the afterlife.

In Genesis God does no such thing. There’s nothing here about God ruling the earth. (Yes, there is stuff about that elsewhere in the bible. But not in this story.) In this creation story, God doesn’t make the earth for himself, but for us. He creates humans and tells us to run the place. It’s our planet. It’s our duty to sort it out and keep it functioning properly. Not his.

He doesn’t even warn us to run the planet properly, lest we suffer consequences. (And as we’ve seen in various environmental catastrophes, there are consequences. Neither does God threaten us with a bad afterlife if we muck things up—God doesn’t even make an afterlife.

Yeah, think about that. There is no afterlife in the ancient Hebrew creation stories. Because why would you need one? Sin and human death weren’t part of God’s ecosystem. (Plant death yes; animals and fungi gotta eat! Possibly some animal death too; God doesn’t address what sea creatures were meant to eat, and usually that’d be each other. Anyway.) Humans were meant to live forever—and still are. So why create an afterlife?

Whereas ancient pagan religions—especially the Egyptians!—were obsessed with the afterlife. Every single thing they did was for the sake of a good afterlife. Annoyingly, many Christians get the very same way about “heaven,” because they’ve fallen for our popular culture’s myths about dying and going to heaven—which aren’t at all consistent with what the New Testament teaches about resurrection and New Jerusalem.

Yeah, after we humans mucked up God’s profoundly good creation in Genesis 3, God had to create more stuff, like the afterlife. Which still isn’t really part of God’s ecosystem. It exists, but it’s purely temporary. Eventually God’s throwing it into the burning lake of sulfur. Rv 20.11 It’ll be gone.

Preach the gospel. And use words.

There’s this really popular quote Christians use. It’s attributed to St. Francis of Assisi, but we’ve no evidence he ever said it. Kinda like the St. Francis prayer, which Francis didn’t write either. People really like putting words in Francis’s mouth, don’t they?… but I digress. The saying is, “Preach the gospel [at all times]—use words if necessary.” Which sounds profound and nice, doesn’t it?

How Christians typically interpret it is, “We preach the gospel through our actions. Not just our words; not just with sermons and literature, but being kind to others, doing good deeds, loving our neighbors, and otherwise demonstrating our faith isn’t dead by doing good works.” And isn’t good works a fruit of the Spirit anyway? Shouldn’t we already be doing them?—and in so doing, we follow the Holy Spirit and Jesus?

But here’s the thing: Words are necessary.

I’ve met many a pagan who’s seen Christians do good works. Who’s seen us be kind to people, seen us create and run charities, seen us actively get out and help the needy. But when you ask ’em why these Christians are doing good deeds, their answers are always, always, “Oh they’re just trying to get to heaven.” They think we think we’re saved by good karma.

Heck, I’ve seen many a Christian who says the very same thing. “Oh those Christians are practicing ‘faith righteousness.’ You know we’re not saved by works though; we’re saved by faith.” Of course when these people say “saved by faith,” often what they really mean is “saved by the Christian faith,” i.e. saved by believing the right things, saved by orthodoxy. Which is a good work! So we’re not saved by that either. We’re saved by God’s grace. Get it right, folks.

God’s grace is a huge part of the gospel: God’s kingdom has come near, so let’s repent, and trust God to save us, and he will. Grace is central to Christianity, central to forgiveness, and what God’s kingdom runs on. Yet these people watching us Christians do our good works—both pagan and Christian—have somehow not picked up on the grace thing. Even when we’re actively demonstrating grace by doing good things for people who don’t deserve it, can’t earn it, and in some cases don’t even appreciate it.

Grace went over their heads. Hey, they don’t practice it, so it stands to reason they won’t recognize it.

And this is why, when we proclaim the gospel, we have to use words! Actions are open to interpretation, and people typically interpret things based on themselves, based on their own prejudices and biases. They see us doing good deeds, unconsciously think, “Why might I do those good deeds?” and conclude all sorts of self-serving ulterior motives. By the way, some of these motives are downright evil. It’s why some people get extremely suspicious of Christian charities: “Oh, you must be doing this for the same reasons I’d do it. You’re trying to get tax breaks. You’re trying to get good public relations to make up for something really vile you’ve done, or are secretly doing. You’re trying to look good and virtuous. You’re trying to feel better about yourselves. I know what you’re really about.”

No, they really don’t. Not unless we tell them. So we gotta tell them. With words.

It’s why the bible is written in words. Why Jesus uses words to share parables, make statements, reveal God, and describe his kingdom. He didn’t leave it up to guesswork; he didn’t expect us to watch what he was doing and come to our own conclusions. You might recall some of his observers, working wholly on their own, reached the conclusion he used Satan’s power to do his miracles. Clearly they weren’t listening to his words—and again, Jesus used words to rebuke them.

So when Jesus sends out his followers to go make him more followers, he expects us to use words. To teach people, not just with actions and good deeds, but with words, “to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you” Mt 28.20 KJV —and how’d he command his students? With words.

Your next fast.

Weeks ago I casually mentioned to a coworker that Mardi Gras (also known as Shrove Tuesday, the day before Lent begins) was next week, and of course Ash Wednesday is the next day. His eyes grew wide: “Lent already? I don’t even know what I’m giving up!”

He’s Catholic, so he always participates in Catholic-style Lenten fasting: No meat but seafood, no alcohol, plus one extra thing he’s gotta go without until Easter. (Plus his bishop gives him an exception for St. Patrick’s Day. He’s not Irish, but he still wants a Guinness.) He was stunned some years ago when I informed him Sundays are an exception to Lent—he wouldn’t believe me till he double-checked with his priest, who confirmed it’s true, but warned him, “Don’t go nuts with this knowledge”—don’t binge to make up for the days you abstained. He advised it’s probably a good idea to continue abstaining, even though it’s Sunday, just to keep your momentum going. Gotta admit there’s something to that.

Of course my coworker wasn’t prepared for Lent. Many aren’t.

Now if you’re a regular at a church which has an upcoming fast, they’ll usually give you a heads-up. (At one church I went to, many, many heads-up. Pastor really wanted all of us to participate. Misery loves company, I joked.) On the other hand if you’re not regular at all—if you’re a once-a-month attendee, or only do the holidays—they won’t get a chance to warn you, so you gotta mark your calendar. Which is tricky with “moving fasts” like Lent, ’cause it’s the 40 days (plus six Sundays) before Easter, and Easter moves all over the calendar, and if you can’t keep tabs on when Easter is, good luck with Ash Wednesday. It’s gonna blindside you like it did my coworker.

And you’ll notice for many people, when they’re not mentally prepared for an unexpected situation, they just won’t do it. They’re not the “fight” or “flight” type; they’re the “freeze” type, and just shut down. Drop a last-minute dinner party on them, and nope, they’re not going: “Oh, but I was planning to binge-watch [NETFLIX SHOW THEY’VE BEEN PROCRASTINATING THE LAST SIX YEARS, AND HONESTLY WEREN’T PLANNING TO WATCH TONIGHT, BUT HERE’S AS GOOD AN EXCUSE AS ANY TO START], and I’m in my sweatpants already, and… yeah, I’m gonna pass.” You could already tell they were gonna pass from the panicked look on their face.

It’s hardly a ne phenomenon. I imagine the people in Jesus’s Dinner Party Story, who likewise came up with pathetic excuses for why they weren’t coming, had a similar freaked-out look on their faces: “Oh I’m so not in the mood for this.” But then again, they weren’t in the mood for this when they got their first invitation.

The same is true for most people who know a fast, any kind of fast, is coming. They don’t wanna. So when you spring a fast upon them—“We have a major problem and we need you to pray about it, and if you can, maybe you could fast too?”—they’re gonna scramble for any reason to do no such thing. They’ll pray; that’s not the problem. They’re not gonna fast. They were really looking forward to eating that lasagna in the freezer. Yeah, it’s been there for the past six months, but suddenly, inexplicably, they have a raging desire for lasagna.

If any of this sounds like you: It sounds like me too. So here’s a wild thought: What if we don’t approach fasting with a bad attitude?

Jesus’s pre-trial trial before Annas.

John 18.12-14, 19-24.

In the synoptic gospels, right after Jesus’s arrest, the Judean police and their posse took Jesus to the head priest’s house. But in John they didn’t. John’s the only gospel in which they first take a little side trip… to the former head priest’s house. That’d be Khánan bar Seth, whom historical records call Ananus, and whom the KJV calls Annas. John relates Simon Peter also denounced Jesus in Annas’s courtyard.

Backstory time. Shortly after the time of the Maccabees, the head priests became the kings of Judea. And Israelis called their kings Messiah. (Yep, that title.) The priests’ dynasty ended with Herod 1, who took the throne from his father-in-law Antigonus Mattathias in 37BC. Herod became king, but because he was Edomite not Aaronite, he couldn’t be head priest; only descendants of Aaron could be head priest, y’know. Lv 6.22 So Herod claimed the right to appoint the head priests. In fact he appointed a bunch of head priests, ’cause he kept firing them when they wouldn’t do as he wished.

Once the Romans took Judea from the Herods, they did the same thing. Annas was the 11th appointed head priest since Herod took over. (He’s actually the ninth guy to hold the job. Some previous head priests had non-consecutive terms.) Annas was appointed by the Syrian legate Publius Sulpicius Quirinius in the year 6, and stayed in office till the year 15. He’s a descendant of King John Hyrcanus, and while he was still in the royal family, he wasn’t actually a contender for the throne.

Bible commentators aren’t always aware Herod and the Romans kept swapping out head priests, and assume Annas was the hereditary head priest, like all the head priests before Herod. So they aren’t so surprised when Annas’s five sons, son-in-law, and grandson become head priest after him: Isn’t it supposed to be a hereditary job? And yeah, originally it was… but in Jesus’s time it wasn’t, and hadn’t been for decades. So the fact Annas managed to keep his family in power for nearly 60 years is mighty impressive.

Annas’s successors include:

• Eleazar, his son (16-17CE)
• Joseph bar Caiaphas, his son-in-law (18-36)
• Jonathan, his son (36-37)
• Theophilus, his son (37-41)
• Matthias, his son (43)
• Jonathan again (44)
• Annas 2, his son (63)
• Mattathias, his grandson (65-66)

Annas wasn’t the only guy with a political dynasty though. Four sons and a grandson of Boethus, another descendant of Aaron, were also head priest. Including Joazar bar Boethus, Annas’s direct predecessor.

Since Annas’s family kept holding the office of head priest, clearly Annas had a lot of influence in Judea. The Judeans certainly thought so. Not for nothing do two of the gospels treat Annas kinda like he’s still head priest. John straight-up calls him the head priest in verse 19 of today’s passage, and Luke also calls him the head priest when he’s nailing down the time John the baptist’s ministry began:

Luke 3.2 KJV

Annas and Caiaphas being the high priests, the word of God came unto John the son of Zacharias in the wilderness.

The bible indicates there’s only one head priest (and currently it’s Jesus, He 3.1) but Annas wielded enough power behind the scenes that everyone basically acknowledged yeah, Annas was still head priest. Any time one of his kids was head priest, he was back in power, and even though he didn’t personally wear the ephod and go into the Holiest Place during Yom Kippur, functionally he was head priest too.

And even though the head priest wasn’t king anymore, he was still functionally Judea’s head of state. The Roman emperors were off in Rome having orgies (no seriously; Cæsar Tiberias was a big orgy guy), and the Roman procurators only worried about keeping down insurrections. So the actual running of Judea was left to the Judean senate, and the head priest was the senate president. He ran the country. Not necessarily well, nor with the best interests of Judeans in mind: He wanted to keep the Romans from clamping down on his his nation’s freedoms, remain in power, and feather his own nest.

So if Jesus is Messiah, this was an utter threat to his power. So naturally Annas wanted to check out this reported Messiah for himself. After all, what if he was Messiah? What if he actually, suddenly called down 12 legions of angels Mt 26.53 and took his kingdom by force? Annas may have already made up his mind about Jesus, but he wasn’t stupid; he still needed to meet the man.

Judas Iscariot turns Jesus in.

Mark 14.42-46, Matthew 26.46-50,
Luke 22.47-48, John 18.1-3.

In St. John Paul’s list of stations of the cross, the second station combines Judas Iscariot’s betrayal and Jesus the Nazrene’s arrest. ’Cause they happened simultaneously—they, and Simon Peter slashing one of the head priest’s slaves. There’s a lot to unpack there, which is why I want to look at them separately. Getting betrayed and getting arrested, fr’instance: That’s two different kinds of suffering. Psychological and physical.

Right after Jesus prayed in Gethsemane (the first station), this happened:

Mark 14.42-46 KWL

42“Get up so we can go:

Here comes the one who turns me in.”

43Next, while Jesus is still speaking,

Judas Iscariot approaches the Twelve.

With him, a crowd with machetes and sticks,

coming from the head priests, scribes, and elders.

44The one who turns Jesus in

had given the crowd a signal,

saying, “Whomever I might show affection to, is him.

Grab him and take him away carefully.”

45Next, coming to Jesus, he tells him, “Rabbi!”

and kisses him hello.

46So the crowd lays their hands on Jesus

and arrests him.

Matthew 26.46-50 KWL

46Get up so we can go:

Here comes the one who sold me out.”

47While Jesus is still speaking, look:

Judas Iscariot, one of the Twelve, comes.

With him is a great crowd with machetes and sticks,

coming from the head priests, elders, and people.

48The one who turns Jesus in gives them a sign,

saying, “Whomever I might show affection to, is him. Grab him.”

49Immediately coming to Jesus, he says, “Hello, rabbi!”

and kisses him hello.

50Jesus tells Judas, “Brother, why have you come?”

Then the approaching mob throws their hands on Jesus

and seizes him.

Luke 22.47-48 KWL

47While Jesus is still speaking, look: A crowd.

And the one called Judas, one of the Twelve, leading them.

He goes to Jesus to kiss him hello,

48and Jesus tells him, “Judas,

to kiss the Son of Man,

you turn him in.”

John 18.1-3 KWL

1When Jesus says this,

he with his students go over the Kidron ravine,

where there’s a garden.

He and his students enter it.

2 Judas Iscariot, who was turning him in,

knew of the place,

because Jesus often gathers with his students there.

3 So Judas, bringing 200 men,

plus servants of the head priests and Pharisees,

comes there with torches, lamps, and arms.

The Lᴏʀᴅ created land animals.

Genesis 1.24-25.

When I’ve taught on Genesis 1 before, it created major problems with my listeners—who were raised to be young-earth creationists. There’s a lot of baggage which comes with that worldview. I grew up in it, so I know where they’re coming from.

Young-earthers are taught the earth is only 60 centuries old, give or take a few years. This, despite the evidence of our eyes and ears which tell us the earth and our universe is way older than that. Our telescopes detect light from galaxies 280 million light-years away, which means God created ’em at least 280 million years ago. That, or he deceptively made it appear the universe is more than 280 million years old when it’s not—and why would he do so? God is not a deceiver. Suggesting he is, is blasphemy.

But young-earthers are told the earth has to only be 60 centuries old; it’s the most accurate, most literal interpretation of Genesis. So you must believe it—or you don’t legitimately believe the bible. And that’s a slippery slope: It’d mean you don’t believe what the bible records about Jesus. And therefore don’t believe in Jesus. And therefore are probably going to hell.

Threatening skeptics with hell is mighty cult-like behavior. Yet it’s mighty common—and a big reason young-earth creationism persists in Evangelical Christianity as much as it does. We got a lot of Christians who think young-earth creationism is a make-or-break doctrine. And when I dare to say not only is it not, but then show you how Genesis 1 really can’t be treated as literal, and wasn’t really meant to be… well, some young-earthers get mighty freaked out by this. I’m triggering a faith crisis in ’em.

If that’s you, please believe I don’t mean for you to be miserable. I’m actually hoping you’ll be thrilled to know it’s not just okay to believe in both Jesus and science; you should believe in both Jesus and science. Too many Evangelicals think it’s simply impossible. So much so, some of ’em think they have to choose one or the other, and either choose to fight science, or choose to quit Jesus so they can study science. It’s a false dilemma, and you can reject it! Please do.

Okay, enough housekeeping. Back to Genesis 1.

I’ll say it again: Genesis wasn’t written to teach science. It supports neither evolution nor young-earth creationism. That’s a debate which started in the mid-1700s. (It actually predates Charles Darwin and On the Origin of Species. Darwin simply gave an explanation for why evolution might work, i.e. natural selection.) So if you see verses which appear to support evolution from a common ancestor, like the passage about fish and birds, or today’s passage about land animals: No it doesn’t. The writer of Genesis wasn’t trying to explain what specifically happened; only that ancient middle eastern pagans got it wrong. Their myths claim their gods conquered the universe, and that’s why they rule it. Genesis states the LORD created it, and everything in it, and that’s why he rules it.

He created the fish and birds on day five; he created the land animals, including humans, on day six. I’ll get to the humans next time. Today, the animals.

Genesis 1.24-25 KWL

24God said, “Land: Bring forth living soul by its species.

Beast and creeper and life in the land, by their¹ species.”

It was so.

25God created the life in the land by its species,

the beast by its species,

and every creeper in the ground by its species.

God saw how good it was.

Strong numbers. Or Strong’s numbers. Whichever.

From time to time I refer to Strong numbers or Strong’s numbers. I suppose I need to explain what they are lest people get the idea I’m introducing them to numerology.

A concordance is a list of every single word in a book. In the past, people made concordances for the bible, and you could use them as kind of a bible index. In those pre-internet days, if you remembered there’s a verse about “the meek shall inherit the earth,” but couldn’t remember it’s in the beatitudes, couldn’t remember where it is, and obviously couldn’t ask Siri or Google where it was, you’d go to your bookshelf and pull out that big, massive, 20-pound concordance, flip to “meek,” and find out where it’s hiding.

Seems it appears 17 times in the King James Version:

Nu 12.3	the man Moses was very m., above all the men	H 6035
Ps 22.26	The m. shall eat and be satisfied	H 6035
Ps 25.9	The m. shall he guide in judgment	H 6035
Ps 25.9	and the m. shall he teach his way.	H 6035
Ps 37.11	But the m. shall inherit the earth	H 6035
Ps 76.9	to save all the m. of the earth.	H 6035
Ps 147.6	The LORD lifteth up the m.	H 6035
Ps 149.4	he will beautify the m. with salvation	H 6035
Is 11.4	reprove with equity for the m. of the earth	H 6035
Is 29.19	The m. also shall increase their joy	H 6035
Is 61.1	to preach good tidings unto the m.	H 6035
Am 2.7	and turn aside the way of the m.	H 6035
Zp 2.3	Seek ye the LORD, all ye m. of the earth	H 6035
Mt 5.5	Blessed are the m.: for they shall inherit	G 4239
Mt 11.29	for I am m. and lowly in heart	G 4235
Mt 21.5	Behold, thy King cometh unto thee, m.	G 4239
1Pe 3.4	even the ornament of a m. and quiet spirit	G 4239

So check it out: The meek inheriting the earth actually comes up twice. In Psalm 37.11, and in Christ Jesus’s “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.” Mt 5.5

Some bibles have a mini-concordance in the back, to be used as just this sort of index. They don’t include every word. Really, not even an exhaustive concordance does: There are 64,040 instances of “the” in the KJV. (More instances of “the” than there are verses.) But when people are trying to track down a verse, seldom are they looking for the word “the.” Or “but,” or “and,” or “he,” or other all-too-common words.

Anyway. Dr. James Strong wasn’t the first guy to produce an exhaustive concordance of the KJV, but his was powerfully useful for one reason: His numbers. When you looked up any word in his 1890 concordance, you’d find he provided a number. In the back of the book are his Hebrew and Chaldee Dictionary of the Old Testament, and Greek Dictionary of the New Testament. Don’t even have to know the Hebrew or Greek alphabets: You look up the word by its number, and there you go: It’s the proper original-language word behind the KJV’s translation.

Wanna know the original word for “ass” in 2 Peter 2.16? Strong’s concordance will point you to number 5268, and once you look up that number in the Greek dictionary, you find this:

5268. ὑποζύγιον hupozugion, hoop-od-zoog'-ee-on; neuter of a compound of 5259 and 2218; an animal under the yoke (draught-beast), i.e. (specially), a donkey: ass.

Nice, huh? Wanna know the original word for “buttocks” in Isaiah 20.4?

8357. שֵׁתָה shethah, shay-thaw'; from 7896; the seat (of the person):—buttock.

Yes, I’m twelve.

Juvenile words aside, the number idea was just plain brilliant. Yeah, Strong could’ve only given people the original-language word, then turned ’em loose to fumble around for it. But I know way too many people who are totally wierded out by foreign languages. Even Spanish scares ’em. Throw a foreign alphabet in there and they’re wholly lost—how are they to know Hebrew alphabetical order? (Yeah, Psalm 119. But still.) Anyway, anybody can look up a number. So instead of trying to figure out how on earth you’re gonna find ὑποζύγιον or שֵׁתָה in the bible, you look up the numbers 5268 and 8357. Simple.

Nope, Strong’s system isn’t perfect. Some of the numbers are redundant: Different forms of the same word sometimes got different numbers. Syriac words (which Strong called “Chaldee”) got mixed up with the Hebrew words, and people can mix up the Hebrew definition with the Syriac definitions and get some strange interpretations. Pronunciation is way off ’cause it’s not taken from native speakers, who’d pronounce ὑποζύγιον as i.poʊ'dzi.gi.oʊn not hup.ɑd'zug.i.ɑn. And if you wanna use Strong’s Greek dictionary to look up words from the Septuagint, he didn’t write it for the Septuagint, so good luck. (For that you’ll need a Liddell and Scott’s Greek-English Lexicon… and maybe a semester of ancient Greek.

But the popularity and utility of Strong’s concordance means you’ll find Strong numbers in a whole lot of reference materials.

St. Patrick’s Confession.

Pádraig of Ireland, whom we know as St. Patrick or St. Paddy, died 17 March 493. Old Christian custom is to celebrate saints’ days not on their birthday (which sometimes even they didn’t know), but on the day they died and went to paradise. So, happy St. Patrick’s Day.

In the United States, Irish Americans (and pretty much everyone else, ’cause the more the merrier) treat the day as a celebration of Irish culture. Thing is, Americans know bupkis about actual Irish culture. We barely know the difference between an Irish, Scots, or Yorkshire accent. What we do know is Guinness and Jameson—though we’ll settle for anything alcoholic, including beer filled with green food coloring. Me, I used to love McDonald’s “shamrock shakes,” though the last time I had one I found it way too sweet to enjoy. (It’s because they take an already-sugary vanilla shake, then add sugary green mint stuff.) Oreos help, but I still much prefer adding mint and vanilla to a Starbucks Frappuccino.

Most American customs consist of drinking, eating stereotypical Irish food like corned beef and potatoes, parades in which the religious participants express varying degrees of outrage at all the irreligious participants, and all sorts of Irish distortions—some of ’em unknowingly offensive or racist. British Americans used to treat Irish Americans like crap, bringing over their prejudices from the old country, and some of that hatred is still around. I have a few Irish ancestors myself (although way more of ’em are German, Dutch, and Scots), so I’ve not experienced that prejudice firsthand. But I have witnessed it.

Oh, and wearing green. American custom is to wear green, lest someone pinch you. But the color actually comes from the political struggle between Protestant monarchists and Catholic socialists. Much like Americans use red and blue to signify party affiliation, the Irish use green and orange. And whenever we Americans wear green, we unwittingly declare we’re in favor of socialism and Catholicism. Now, as Americans you would think this is because we’re anti-monarchy (even though some Americans are perfectly happy to anoint their favorite candidate as king), but really it’s because we don’t know any better and the socialists were very successful in publicizing green. If I gotta pick a color though, it’d be orange; I’m Protestant. No I’m not monarchist; no I have nothing against my Roman Catholic sisters and brothers! Like I said it’s if I gotta pick a color. I risk getting pinched over it, but I still prefer an informed choice over unthinkingly following the crowd.

If you’re Catholic, six years out of seven, St. Patrick’s Day custom is to beg your local bishop for a day off from Lenten fasting. Since you don’t fast on Sunday, back in 2024 you automatically had a day off from Lent. But other years, saint’s days aren’t automatically feast days, so you just gotta hope your bishop hasn’t had it up to here with all the Catholics-in-name-only who are gonna take the day off regardless, and misbehave.

In any event, for Americans our holidays aren’t really about serious remembrance, but having a good time. Which really annoys our veterans every Veterans Day. Now imagine how Patrick feels, with people celebrating his day by puking into moonroofs.

The very, very little which popular culture knows about Patrick, is…

• He drove snakes out of Ireland. (He actually didn’t.)
• He liked to use shamrocks to explain trinity. (Badly.)
• He once turned his walking stick into a tree. (Actually, people don’t know that story so well.)
• He’s “a Catholic saint.” (Patrick predates Roman Catholicism by about 250 years, which is why Patrick’s also a saint in the Orthodox Church, same as St. Nicholas.)

And that’s about it. Some stories about Patrick are also borrowed from the life of Bishop Palladius—whom the bishop of Rome, Celestine 1, sent to evangelize Ireland a few decades before Patrick came to Ireland. So those aren’t legit Patrick stories. People tell ’em anyway.

When in doubt, go to the historical sources. So below, I’ve provided the Confession of St. Patrick, his testimony. Comes from James O’Leary’s translation. Scripture references and minor edits were added by me.