The Old Testament is relevant for the Christian life because it is Christian Scripture. We are children of Abraham by faith, so the earlier covenants and redemptive acts of God are part of our history. We need the warnings and exhortations of the Old Testament. We need its songs and proverbs. We need to know about its prophets and kings. The Old Testament tells of saints before the cross, and they form a cloud of witnesses as we run the race after the cross.

The New Testament proclaims the arrival of the Messiah. With the coming of Jesus, God has kept Old Testament promises and prophecies. And with four Gospels, Acts, twenty-one letters, and Revelation, we have twenty-seven books pertaining to the advent of Christ and the mission of his church.
So let’s ask ourselves a question: how many Christian books are in the Bible? Only twenty-seven? No, not just twenty-seven. We do not have a Bible that’s divisible into Jewish and Christian books. Don’t think of the Old Testament as thirty-nine Jewish books and the New Testament as twenty-seven Christian books.
The whole Bible is Christian literature. Both the Old and New Testaments are for our discipleship. Followers of Jesus have sixty-six books because the Old Testament is Christian Scripture. Consider these seven truths:
First, the New Testament did not arise in a vacuum but within a theological and historical storyline that had been unfolding for many centuries. The New Testament is not beginning a new story from scratch. Rather, the New Testament is continuing the Old Testament story.
Second, the New Testament books are filled with Old Testament background. The teachings, parables, and miracles of Jesus are laden with this background. The titles, mission, and death of Christ must be understood in light of earlier Scripture. The New Testament authors use language of prophetic fulfillment that fuse their accounts with the Old Testament. As my friend Josh Philpot once said, “The single most important literature for understanding the New Testament is the Old Testament.”
Third, Jesus claimed that the Old Testament was about him.
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Dear believer, how does Christ look upon you?
Do you fear that in his heart, Jesus secretly despises you and is frustrated with you and has just agreed to put up with you? Do you fear that when Jesus looks at you, he must be full of disappointment? Do you wonder whether he rolls his eyes in heaven when you open your mouth to pray?
Do you think you’re too sinful, too broken, for Christ? Have you convinced yourself that while Jesus may be merciful, your sin has exceeded his mercy?
Thomas Goodwin was a Puritan who wrote a book called The Heart of Christ, and in it Goodwin says that your “misery can never exceed his mercy.”
As an example of what I’m talking about, let’s look at the worst moment of Peter’s life that’s recorded in the New Testament. He denies Jesus three times in the courtyard of the high priest while Jesus is inside the residence being interrogated after the Gethsemane arrest. All four Gospels tell of Peter’s denials.
After Luke reports the three denials (Luke 22:56-60), his account adds a unique statement about Jesus: “And the Lord turned and looked at Peter. And Peter remembered the saying of the Lord, how he had said to him, ‘Before the rooster crows today, you will deny me three times.’ And he went out and wept bitterly” (22:61-62).
The Lord turned and looked at Peter. The verb for “turned” is used seven times in the Gospel of Luke, and Jesus is the subject of the verb in every case. Five of these occasions are before 22:61, and the final one occurs after it.

In 7:9, Jesus turned to a crowd and said, “I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith.”
In 7:44, Jesus turned toward a woman and said to host of the home, “Do you see this woman? I entered your house; you gave me no water for my feet, but she has wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair.”

We can consider Noah a type of Christ. Follow G. K. Beale’s reasoning: “Nowhere in the NT, however, does it say that Noah is a type of Christ. Nevertheless, if Noah is a partial antitype of the first Adam but does not fulfill all to which the typological first Adam points, then Noah also can plausibly be considered a part of the Adamic type of Christ in the OT.” To put it another way: since Noah has literary resonances with Adam and since Adam is an identified type of Christ, we can put forward the argument that Noah also points forward as a type of Christ.

In order to get the most from this article, consider first reading earlier ones on the nature of Scripture, a text’s spiritual sense, a brief introduction to typology, and whether we should imitate the hermeneutic of the apostles.
Now to the point of this article: we can identify unidentified christological types in the Old Testament. By “unidentified” I’m referring to the fact that New Testament authors didn’t identify them. These types, however, may have been identified by many uninspired interpreters after the apostolic era.
Identified types include Adam, marriage, Melchizedek, Moses, the exodus, the Passover lamb, the tabernacle, David, Solomon, the temple, the priesthood, the bronze serpent, Jerusalem, Jonah’s fish experience, and the manna in the wilderness.
Unidentified types include Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Joseph, Phinehas, Joshua, Samson, Samuel, the cord of Rahab, the ark of the covenant, Boaz, Elijah, Cyrus, Job, the three friends in the fiery furnace, Daniel’s deliverance from lions, and the rebuilt temple.
In chapters 17 through 24 of 40 Questions About Typology and Allegory, I explore 100 biblical types.
The easiest way to recognize a type is if the New Testament authors identify it. Such identification is an authoritative and inerrant claim about an Old Testament person, office, place, thing, institution, or event.
What about identifying unidentified types? Ask whether what you’re considering shares parallels with an Old Testament type that is identified. When types are identified by a New Testament writer, interpreters will notice that there are correspondences and escalation between the type and the antitype. You will probably also notice some kind of covenantal significance that the potential type bears.
Here’s an example of what I mean. We can consider Noah a type of Christ. Follow G. K. Beale’s reasoning: “Nowhere in the NT, however, does it say that Noah is a type of Christ. Nevertheless, if Noah is a partial antitype of the first Adam but does not fulfill all to which the typological first Adam points, then Noah also can plausibly be considered a part of the Adamic type of Christ in the OT.”
To put it another way: since Noah has literary resonances with Adam and since Adam is an identified type of Christ, we can put forward the argument that Noah also points forward as a type of Christ.
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In my book 40 Questions About Typology and Allegory, I offer a longer definition of typology that I hope encompasses the kinds of types that are discernible in the Old Testament. A biblical type is a person, office, place, institution, event, or thing in salvation history that anticipates, shares correspondences with, escalates toward, and resolves in its antitype. In Luke 24, Jesus taught that the Old Testament pointed to him. 

An ancient way of reading the Old Testament involves discerning how various people, institutions, and events point forward to what God does later in redemptive history. Throughout church history, Christian interpreters have insisted that God designed earlier things recorded in Scripture to correspond to and escalate toward later things recorded in Scripture.
Welcome to the subject of typology. The word “type” refers to an impression or shape of something. Christological types are Old Testament people, institutions, or events that are shaped by God in a certain way for the purpose of anticipating the person and work of the Messiah. Think of a type as a kind of outline that’s filled in later. Or think of it as a shadow that’s cast by christological light shining into the Old Testament era.
Let’s get to some examples.
In Matthew 12, Jesus said, “For just as Jonah was three days and three nights in the belly of the great fish, so will the Son of Man be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth” (Matt. 12:40). Jesus is drawing a comparison with correspondences, and he himself is the escalation of Jonah’s descent and ascent. Jonah is a type of Christ.
In John 3, Jesus said, “And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life” (John 3:14-15). In this case, the bronze serpent in the wilderness is a type of Christ. All who look to the serpent lived physically, and all who look to Christ live spiritually (and ultimately physically at the resurrection). Correspondences and escalation.
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The Father’s words in Matthew 17:5 were a mouthful! Jesus is the promised king, servant, and prophet. He fulfilled those Old Testament expectations, and the Father himself claimed that it was so.

When Jesus shone on a mountain and a cloud overshadowed the disciples, the Father said, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him” (Matt. 17:5). The transfiguration was glorious because glory was there.
But did you hear what the Father said about his Son? There is glory in what was heard as well as what was seen. I want to look at the Father’s words in three parts. First, “This is my beloved Son.” Second, “with whom I am well pleased.” Third, “listen to him.”
When the Father said “This is my beloved Son,” the language alluded to Psalm 2. In Psalm 2:7, the Father said, “You are my Son.” The recipient of those words was the Davidic king, the promised descendant who fulfilled the Davidic covenant (2 Sam. 7:12-13). In the context of Psalm 2, the promised king was God’s Son, and this sonship would envelop a royal rule. The Son would rule the nations with a rod of iron (Ps. 2:9). When would this king come? The Father declared on the mountain that Jesus was this king. Jesus was the promised royal Son.
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The Christian life is spiritual warfare. Put on the whole armor of God, Paul says, to stand against the devil’s schemes (Eph. 6:11). We fight against cosmic powers and this present darkness (6:12). Following Jesus means resisting principalities. By the Spirit, we “put to death the deeds of the body” (Rom. 8:13), which is the practice called mortification. The story of David is not a mere moral lesson for disciples, but it is relevant for discipleship because of our union with Christ Jesus the Head-Crusher.

There are many well-known narratives connected with David in 1 and 2 Samuel. David gets a spear thrown at him, he flees from Saul, he eats bread from the Table of Bread, he becomes king over all Israel, he receives covenant promises from the Lord, etc.
But perhaps the most famous story with David is his defeat of Goliath the Philistine. David is a young man, Goliath is a mighty warrior, and no one in Israel is brave enough to respond to the warrior’s taunts. Except David. He’s not even a soldier in the battle when he steps forward. He defies Goliath’s defiance, picks up five stones for his sling, and begins to run toward the Philistine warrior.
“And David put his hand in his bag and took out a stone and slung it and struck the Philistine on his forehead. The stone sank into his forehead, and he fell on his face to the ground” (1 Sam. 17:49).
How might interpreters understand David’s victory over Goliath? More specifically: who is David in this story? Is David (a) David, (b) Christ, or (c) You? The answer is (d)—all of the above.
David Is David

When we read about David killing Goliath in 1 Samuel 17, we’re reading about the victory of a historical figure. There really was a David who really slung that stone against that warrior who really dropped dead.
But there’s more to say.
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Judas kissed the Son, but not the way Psalm 2:12 envisioned. His kiss was deceptive, insidious, wicked. The imagery of the Psalm 2 kiss was never to be disconnected from a heart of trust and submission. The kiss of Judas was rebellious and thus an act of disobedience. In Psalm 2:1–2, people were described as plotting together against the Anointed One. And Judas was numbered among them. He’d agreed to kiss the Son, but only as a ploy, an identifying signal.

In the second psalm of the Bible’s inspired hymnbook, the wicked receive fair warning about the Lord’s righteous indignation if they continue their defiance. What the raging nations and plotting peoples should do is submit to the Lord’s authority instead of trying to cast it off (Ps. 2:1–3).
The rebellious leaders should be terrified by God’s wrath and by his installation of the Messiah, whose reign will overcome his enemies (Ps. 2:5–6, 9). They don’t fear the Lord, but they should. They don’t serve him, but they should. The psalmist says, “Now therefore, O kings, be wise; be warned, O rulers of the earth. Serve the LORD with fear, and rejoice with trembling” (2:10–11).
The psalmist gives a closing command in the closing verse of Psalm 2: “Kiss the Son, lest he be angry, and you perish in the way, for his wrath is quickly kindled. Blessed are all who take refuge in him” (2:12). Kiss the Son.
The Son in verse 12 is God’s Son (v. 7), and he’s the same figure as the Anointed One (v. 2) and God’s King (v. 6). To kiss the Son is an act expressing allegiance, deference, submission. This isn’t a polite greeting between relatives or friends after a time of undesired distance.
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Heritage is about inheritance. The Son is the heir of the nations. He is a new Adam, whose dominion will be to the ends of the earth. This is the Father’s promise to the Son, who will be the Son of David—Messiah—to reign forever. If Psalm 2:8 is a pledge to the Son of global dominion, then we can discern the deceptive words of Satan when he tempted Jesus in Matthew 4. 

Psalm 2 was written by David about the Son of David (Acts 4:25–27). We read about the raging and plotting nations (Ps. 2:1–3), the Lord who sits enthroned and laughs at their vain plans (2:4–6), the Father’s words to the royal Son (2:7–9), and the closing warning to the rulers of the earth (2:10–12).
I want us to think about part of the Father’s words to the Son, the Davidic king. He says to the Son, “Ask of me, and I will make the nations your heritage, and the ends of the earth your possession” (Ps. 2:8).
Heritage is about inheritance. The Son is the heir of the nations. He is a new Adam, whose dominion will be to the ends of the earth. This is the Father’s promise to the Son, who will be the Son of David—Messiah—to reign forever.
If Psalm 2:8 is a pledge to the Son of global dominion, then we can discern the deceptive words of Satan when he tempted Jesus in Matthew 4. The third and final temptation in that chapter took place like this: “Again, the devil took him to a very high mountain and showed him all the kingdoms of the world and their glory. And he said to him, ‘All these I give you, if you will fall down and worship me’” (Matt. 4:8–9).
Luke’s parallel account gives us this language from the devil to Jesus: “To you I will give all this authority and their glory, for it has been delivered to me, and I give it to whom I will” (Luke 4:6).
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We are doing biblical theology when we attentively read and understand a biblical passage or theme in light of the progressive revelation, redemptive-historical trajectory, and canonical context of Holy Scripture. Each of these phrases could be unpacked and defended, but that description will suffice for our purposes. In a cyclical way, keeping the Big Story in mind will help us study and understand Scripture’s many parts, and studying these individual parts will help us discern how they serve the overall message and theological contours of Scripture.

Biblical theology—what is it, and what are people doing who claim to practice it? Answering these questions is important not only for the purposes of this substack (after all, it’s called Biblical Theology) but for Christian interpreters in general, for we should care about reading Scripture well.
But definitions differ. One way to define biblical theology is by borrowing from the expression itself. “Biblical theology is theology of the Bible.” That definition is rather vague, but it’s getting us in the right direction. Biblical theology derives from the Text itself. Let’s build on that.
The Bible contains the writings of human authors, so biblical theology is based on attentively reading those writings so that we can understand what those authors meant. We pay attention to intention. Let’s go a bit further.
The writings of the biblical authors are inspired, and the Spirit’s inspiration establishes a coherent and united corpus of texts. The canon of Scripture is the result of the progressive composition and collection of the Spirit-inspired writings. The biblical interpreter, then, is reading Spirit-inspired texts written over a long period of time. Since God does not contradict himself, the inspiration of biblical texts ensures that later biblical authors have rightly understood, interpreted, and expounded upon earlier biblical authors.
The coherent and progressive nature of biblical revelation will enable readers to trace biblical themes and teachings, to notice development of earlier texts and concepts, and to situate the passage in question within the redemptive-historical arc of Scripture.
Given the previous sentences and assertions, we can say the following: we are doing biblical theology when we attentively read and understand a biblical passage or theme in light of the progressive revelation, redemptive-historical trajectory, and canonical context of Holy Scripture. Each of these phrases could be unpacked and defended, but that description will suffice for our purposes.
In a cyclical way, keeping the Big Story in mind will help us study and understand Scripture’s many parts, and studying these individual parts will help us discern how they serve the overall message and theological contours of Scripture.
Consider some other descriptions of what biblical theology is. These are from some of my favorite biblical theologians, in alphabetical order.
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By meditating on the Word, we are orienting our hearts to heavenly glories and eternal truths. We are willingly subjecting our fickle selves to what stabilizes and roots us. Meditation is our unhurried pursuit of knowing God through what God has said. Let us, then, delight in the Word through meditation on the Word.

Nobody wants to have stale devotional times in the Scripture. So let me tell you a secret that’s not really a well-kept secret at all (and nor should it be). If you want your heart to be stirred with delight in the Word, meditate on the Word.
Meditate sounds strange to some ears, because the Eastern practice of meditation involves emptying your mind. That’s not what I mean, and that’s not what the Bible means, by the term “meditate.”
In Psalm 1:2, the blessed man’s delight is in the Torah, and on God’s law “he meditates day and night.” The verb doesn’t mean trying not to think. It’s to deliberately think about what one reads. It’s to ponder, to mull over.
Sometimes you may wake up ready to read the Scripture because delight has led you there. But other times (even most times?) you come to the Scripture by discipline in search of delight. As we reflect on what God has said in his Word, our souls are being nourished by the truth and wisdom of God.
Meditation requires us to slow down. We live in a hurried age, a busy cultural atmosphere. But a hurried and hectic life will not cultivate a healthy spiritual life. Attention spans are undermined by a TikTok way of thinking. The role of the Word in our lives is not meant to be sporadic, occasional, or peripheral.
The blessed man in Psalm 1 meditates “day and night” (v. 2), which highlights the occupying role that the Word has in his mind and life. Meditation requires sustained attention, and sustained attention requires time.
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