Waters of Chaos and Rivers of Life: The Bible’s Story Told by Water

The stuff of earth is the stuff of life—and also the stuff of the biblical story. Trees, mountains, water, and food all figure prominently in the slowly unfolding drama of the Holy Scriptures. Now the fact is, there are lots of prisms for viewing the storyline of the Bible, many built from big theological concepts like covenant and kingdom. But it’s also possible to over-theorize the Bible, turning it into a collection of abstractions. But the Bible itself doesn’t do this. The Bible keeps its story close to the ground, making sure we remember it’s fundamentally a down-to-earth saga.

So, following the lead of the Scriptures themselves, we want to give you some takes on the big story from the perspective of four earthly elements of redemption. These windows into the Bible’s narrative of renewal are all the stuff of life. We’ve already looked at the story of trees and mountains. Today we’re diving into the deeps, to see how the Bible’s drama flows like an unstoppable river toward the ocean of God’s redemption. In the next and final entry, we’ll explore how the bread of heaven nourishes this narrative.

A Sacred Story in Search of Living Water

In the beginning, the water under the darkness was wild and uncontrollable. But the Spirit was hovering there, contemplating a different and better future. Then God went to work in a series of good, good days. The essence of it was to bring order, consistency, and beauty out of the chaos.

This meant putting unruly water in its place, first creating a vault to hold the water up high away from the water down low. Next he told the water down low to settle in and stay within its proper bounds. Water, left to its own devices, tends run roughshod over everything, which only begets bedlam.

Bedlam is not what God intends for his new world.

So God separated what was all run together, and then he filled those newly created spaces with all kinds of living, flying, running, swimming, growing things. Life. When it’s working like it’s supposed to, life operates with a simplicity on the other side of complexity. Living things working together for mutual benefit. This is the flourishing vitality God wants. He wants rich, strong, ongoing life in all the spaces and places of his creation.

And in the water, now duly tamed, he generated the great creatures of the deep and all manner of living, teeming things and in an inordinate number of shapes and sizes and colors.

And about this thing called life God stepped back and said, “This is of an exceptional quality—marvelous actually—and I fully approve.” God loved life. The story of the Bible is really nothing more than the outworking of this great love of God’s, despite all the obstacles that will arise.

The thing about life is, it’s always tied closely to water. All the creatures, not just the sea creatures, need water. This is why in God’s garden, even before there was rain, God was watering everything with surface streams bubbling up from the waters under the earth. It’s why the garden was the epicenter of fertility, the source of life flowing out to the wider world.

In the Bible’s founding story, the Garden of Eden was the equivalent of the Most Holy Place in the Temple, that is, God’s throne room. (Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say the Most Holy Place is the equivalent of the Garden of Eden, which is the first temple in the narrative.) As in other ancient near eastern stories, life-giving water flows from the deity’s throne spreading health and vivacity wherever it goes. Eden’s four rivers—the Pishon, Gihon, Tigris, and Euphrates—could all just as well be named Life.

So there you have it. The two big ideas about water that run through the entire narrative focus on the threat of chaotic, uncontrolled water and the absolute necessity of the running, streaming, flowing water of life. The struggle between these two opposing expressions of water is the battle at the center of the Bible.

Tragically, evil grew in the human heart—all the human hearts—so that the inclination toward wrongdoing became pervasive. And all that good, good life that God loved is now constantly threatened. God sees and knows and his own heart becomes more troubled than he can take. What will he do?

Remember, it was God himself who made the water stand down at the beginning of the story. But when Adam’s children go from bad to worse, not long after that glorious beginning, he decides to un-create the world by letting loose the wild water once again. He opens the vault and the crazy waters fall and flood and destroy his world.

What is this? God regrets that he even made the human race in the first place? Really? Regrets the whole thing? Is this biblical drama to be merely a short story about a very temporary world? Yes, yes, and yes, but then thankfully, no.

God preserves a precious few representatives of life on earth, seeds of a second chance. The story lives to see another day. As a sign that God will at least not flood the stage again, he makes a firm promise and hangs his bow (the same Hebrew word as is used in bow and arrow) in the sky as a reminder of his pledge.

The next major water event in the Bible is another ark story. The life of Israel’s still-tiny first liberator is preserved in an also tiny papyrus boat. Providentially, it is royalty that recovers the basket and is immediately enamored with the baby boy. The saga of Moses, as it turns out, will be about water at several key moments. In his face-off with Pharaoh water will figure in three of the plagues to fall on Egypt—water turns to blood, swarms of frogs come up out of the Nile, and finally hard water shreds the land in a vicious hail storm.

The plagues finally work and Pharaoh decides to free the Israelites, but then reverses course and chases them. Moses and the Israelites are trapped between the troops and the sea. But the Lord who put water in its place at the start of the story can do it again. He drives the waves back and creates a path for his people. When they are stuck in the desert, thirsty and despairing, he brings them to the springs and palm trees of Elim, and even squeezes water from a rock. One way or another, God is going to provide for his people.

From this point on we see water flowing alongside the story at every turn. It’s in the great basin in the Tabernacle, cleansing those who will enter into the presence of God. The Psalms celebrate God’s Spirit going forth to renew the face of the earth, bringing water with him for the beasts of the field and the plants on the ground. Sometimes, though, the water comes in the form of tears, signs of longing and pain. Exiled people sit by a river in Babylon and add to its volume with their weeping.

In the end, he will lead his children beside quiet waters

God’s goal is always life and renewal. He pushes water aside when he needs to, for he is Lord over the deep. But in the end, he will lead his children beside quiet waters. It is the more gentle gift of the water of life that will settle things once and for all.

This is precisely what the prophets foresee: a coming time when streams will run in the desert of Israel’s life, in the wilderness of its discontent. The Lord’s word is like rain and snow that fall from heaven, watering the hope of healing and restoration.

The Messiah enters the drama by joining in a baptism of repentance for Israel. Just as the nation crossed the Jordan River when they first entered the land, so now Israel launches the time of renewal in the Jordan with John the Baptizer. Jesus, too, came up out of that water, the agent of Israel’s rebirth. The Spirit descends on him like a dove, and the Father speaks his approval. The time has surely come, and we know because of what’s happening in the water.

Jesus too is Lord of the waters, acting like Yahweh, walking on seas and calming fierce tempests with a word. He even turns water into wine, signaling that the promised time of plenty exists wherever Jesus is. But the best word he ever spoke—best and most essential—he actually spoke twice.


First he said it to a foreign, ostracized woman at a well, and then again on the last and greatest day of the Festival of Tabernacles in Jerusalem. “Thirsty?” Thirsty for something more, something lasting, something deeply transformative? Then come to me. Come and drink and truly, I’m telling you, rivers of living water will now flow within you. The Spirit who renews life will renew your life.

This Jesus-river will grow and flow from the Temple of God, freely and far and wide, covering the whole earth with the knowledge and love of God. It will heal all things, grow all things, restore all things. It will be like the Garden of Eden all over again, but now a garden in a city, the New Jerusalem. This is the future the story of the Bible yearns for, this story which is really an invitation.


Part 4: The Bible’s Story Told by Food >>>

From Sinai to Zion: The Story of the Bible, Told by Mountains

The stuff of earth is the stuff of life—and also the stuff of the biblical story. Trees, mountains, water, and food all figure prominently in the slowly unfolding drama of the Holy Scriptures. Now the fact is, there are lots of prisms for viewing the storyline of the Bible, many built from big theological concepts like covenant and kingdom. But it’s also possible to over-theorize the Bible, turning it into a collection of abstractions. But the Bible itself doesn’t do this. The Bible keeps its story close to the ground, making sure we remember it’s fundamentally a down-to-earth saga.

So, following the lead of the Scriptures themselves, we want to give you some takes on the big story from the perspective of four earthly elements of redemption. These windows into the Bible’s narrative of renewal are all the stuff of life. We’ve already looked at the story of trees. Today we’re scaling the heights, to see what mountains can tell us about the ever-advancing drama of the Scriptures. Next, we’ll explore how living water and the bread of heaven also play their parts.

The Story of the Bible, Told by Mountains

At over 4,300 miles in length, the Andes mountains are the western spine of all of South America and together constitute the longest continental mountain range in the world. The average height of its peaks is close to 13,000 ft. above sea level. I’ve climbed some mountains, and 13,000 is no small feet, or feat. The Andes, in a word, are imposing. They are a force, a dominating presence across seven countries.

By comparison, the mountains in my immediate neighborhood are modest. I suppose I could claim to live at the base of the mighty Rocky Mountains, a not-insignificant range of 1,900 miles running from the top of British Columbia well into New Mexico. But really, it’s more accurate to say that the rising ground out my back door makes up the foothills of the Rampart Range, which is itself merely the introduction to the Front Range, which is a small section of the Colorado Rockies.

Even so, I have to say that wandering around these unassuming hills is still awe-inspiring. There’s just something about mountains. Something about rising above everything else. Something about seeing over things. Something that’s difficult to communicate exactly. Peoples all over the world have always associated high places with heightened spirituality. Things feel different up there, especially when summits are reached. It’s the same in the Bible. Mountains, in fact, are right there at the heart of the story

God himself seems to have his favorites. “My mountain” he will say more than once, or “my holy mountain” or “the mountain of God.” He identifies with mountains. People in the story climb mountains to encounter the presence of God. Sometimes they’re met with thunder, lightning, and a certain terror, but other times it’s a soft, gentle whisper. Either way, God is there.

The biblical pattern with mountains fits into the broader setting of the ancient Near East. All across old world Mesopotamia numerous nations built ziggurats—hand-made, terraced temple-mountains with shrines and altars on top. This worldview saw the cosmos as a three-part structure: the heavens, the earth, and the dark places under the earth. The gods were believed to live in the heavens, above the high, domed shell that held back the great waters and created the open space above the ground. So mountains would be natural places to ascend closer to the gods and interact with them.

In the Bible, the biggest and best things happen on mountains. But also, as we’ll see, the hardest things. Mountains figure large in this saga.

At first, it seems all good. The ark of safety, surviving the great flood which covered the world, comes to rest on the mountains of Ararat. The first signs of earth’s renewed life come from the slopes of those peaks. And when old Jacob knew it was time to speak a good word over his sons, he told his beloved Joseph that all the blessings and gifts of the age-old mountains would surely rest on the head of this prince among his brothers.

The Bible’s poetry delights in going into great detail on God and the mountains. Eagles make their homes on rocky crags, perched there scanning far and wide for food. But birds of prey are not the only ones watching. God has his eye on the high places too, and he sees the mountain goats give birth, and the doe bearing her fawn. He knows every bird across the ranges, and even the insects are his. He is working always to make sure all of it—land, sky, peaks, clouds, rain, plants, and yes, the insects—works together for the flourishing of life.

So far, so good. But there’s more. The Bible has bigger mountains to scale, because not everything is well in the creation.

In a series of moments that will determine the redemptive pattern of the entire narrative, Moses comes to the mountain of God and meets the Holy One. The purpose of the encounter is for Moses to learn that God has surely seen the suffering slavery of his people. The Creator is the one who made the stage of history. He knows and cares about everything that happens there. He is determined that this suffering turn to singing.

The people need a new place, so he has a plan to bring them to a good and spacious land of their own, and also to a new mountain. He has a plan for bringing salvation into their story.

So Moses is enlisted in the effort, because this is a God of history and he does his work within history, through the regular means of history. God is an actor in the drama. So as soon as the new nation of Israel is marching out of Egypt, they march straight to the very same mountain of God.

Mountain climbing, however, is not for everyone. As the mountain was bellowing with smoke and fire and even trumpet blasts, God warns them, “Don’t touch it!” It’s going to take some work before the people are ready to meet God. But in a startling sign of things to come, Moses, Aaron, Nadab and Abihu, along with seventy of Israel’s elders, are invited up Sinai’s sacred hill to eat and drink with God.

Yes, to eat and drink with God.

This is exactly where God is taking the story—he wants all the people, people from everywhere, streaming to the great world-mountain of God so he can be their Rabbi. They need help. They need instruction. They need the Creator who made the world to teach them wisdom to live in the world. Then they too will feast with him.

History moves at the pace of real human lives. So God starts with Abraham’s family and one mountain.

But God isn’t doing everything all at once in this story, because that’s not how history works. History moves at the pace of real human lives. So God starts with Abraham’s family and one mountain. He brings Moses up for a time of extended teaching. He gives Moses all kinds of plans and instructions, including the design for something called a tabernacle. This is a kind of miniature model of the entire universe, a symbol of the whole creation, and it’s going to be God’s new home right in the midst of his people.

Turns out mountains are not only for people going up, but also for God coming down.

Next, God brings his people to that promised land of valleys and mountains, and it drinks in rain from heaven. It is a good place, set apart just for Israel. So God makes his home here with them, founding his holy Temple on a holy mountain. He rules over all the earth, but he rules from Zion.

Israel, however, quickly goes wrong in this would-be paradise. The people are climbing mountains now, but rather than meeting God they’re making idol-places on the hills and under every spreading tree. Those gods-that-aren’t-really-gods have captured their attention and their hearts. God has committed himself to Israel in a covenant bond, but he can’t have this.

So he pleads with the people, urges them, warns them—but to no avail. So the Lord has to prophesy against the mountains: “I will make the land a desolate waste, and her proud strength will come to an end, and the mountains of Israel will become desolate so that no one will cross them. Then they will know that I am the Lord.”

After devastation, the question still looms: Who may ascend the mountain of the Lord? Who can stand in his holy place? What of God’s longtime plan to save all peoples by saving Israel?

The answer is that God sends another mountain climber.

Many of the most significant events in the life of Jesus take place in the high places. First we read of Jesus regularly going up into the mountains, alone, when he needs to get away from the crowds and even his friends. Mountains are rest and sanctuary for him, and he prays there.

It is from a mountainside that Jesus appoints the Twelve to be his core group of followers. Moses-like, Jesus scales a mountain to deliver his own instructions for the renewing of Israel. He climbs again to actually meet with Moses and Elijah (representing the Law and the Prophets) about the culmination of his mission in Jerusalem.

Then, in three great mountain scenes, we see the anguish of Jesus on the Mount of Olives as he anticipates his suffering and death, followed by his brutal execution on a hill just outside of Jerusalem (the historian Eusebius identifies Golgotha as being just north of Mount Zion and the Temple), and then the joy of reunion when the resurrected Jesus meets his disciples on a mountain in Galilee.

Jesus has walked through the time of trial on behalf of Israel, on behalf of the world. Now he has emerged from the other side of exile into the life of the age to come. A new covenant is established. And it all happens on mountains!

When Jesus then travels back to the Mount of Olives with his disciples for the last time, he commissions them to extend his own mission. They are to be his witnesses. For Jesus the Messiah has descended from the highest heaven in order that he would ascend again and fill all things. He is the rock that smashes the world’s idols and calls all people to himself. All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to him, and the good news must be announced from the mountaintops.

Finally, John of Patmos shows us a vision of a day yet to come. An angel carries him away in the Spirit to a mountain great and high, and he sees the Holy City, Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God. And in this new heavens and new earth, the home of righteousness, there will undoubtedly be mountains, for God loves them—heights for us to climb, to rest, to worship.

Part 3: The Story of the Bible Told by Water >>>

Why We Created ChangeMakers

Earlier this year, our team gathered together in Colorado Springs and met with a friend of ours who has been deeply involved in Christian publishing for decades. He had been loosely following our work and our story, but was interested in hearing what we are up to these days.

So in the private room of a local coffee shop looking out across the Rocky Mountains and Pikes Peak in the distance, we began unpacking our big vision of what “Changing the Way the World Reads the Bible” really looks like. Our friend sat back in his chair, listening intently.

We talked through the various elements of how we want to reshape people’s understanding and use of the Bible: Creating easier ways for them to read at length and “feast” on whole books; giving them the tools they need to understand the Bible’s big, overarching Story; helping them understand the ins and outs of different literary genres; showing them what good improvisation of the Story looks like in our modern lives today; inviting them to fresh, communal experiences reading the text together; and more.

He absorbed our vision and thought for a minute, half-watching the gliders lazily coasting over the Air Force Academy in the distance. “You know, the Bible industry right now is an incremental industry. They make relatively small updates, small improvements, small tweaks. What you guys are doing is kind of nuts.” Um, thanks?

“Today’s Bible world reminds me of Microsoft,” he said, “They have this huge empire that has, arguably, built the modern world. But what are they doing right now? Relatively small software updates, minor improvements, pretty low innovation.” He looked at us. “What you’re doing sounds more like Elon Musk.”

Elon Musk? The somewhat-off-the-rails billionaire launching electric cars into space? The guy who believes humans have so destroyed the Earth that the only viable option is to abandon our planet and populate Mars?

“Whatever you think of his personal beliefs and philosophies,” our friend explained, “Elon Musk is a man who sees industries that are stuck in stagnation – the auto industry, the space industry, the city transportation and mass transit industry – says, ‘this isn’t acceptable’ and goes to work challenging assumptions, redefining norms, and creating new technology that facilitates what he believes is a better way forward. Sounds a lot like you guys.”

We believe that change is necessary in the Bible world. Which isn’t to say that we think everything in the current system is broken – indeed, people are still meeting God and encountering the Gospel through his written Word. But is the Church fluent in the Story? Is it what captivates their imaginations that defines their lives? The recent data that 64% of young people leave the church after high school suggests that there’s a disconnect. Something isn’t working.

“Whenever I open a regular Bible, I get tense. I don’t really know what to do with it,” one high school student told us. A woman who had read the Bible for years finally admitted, “If you’ve been a student for most or all of your Christian life, it can become rote. You can lose a sense that this has something new for me this time.” We met a woman who is an ordained minister and told us a secret she’d carried for years: she really didn’t care to read the Bible unless she had to. We have dozens of these stories. These people are out there, and the challenges they face are becoming more and more widespread.

We believe there’s a better way forward, and we created ChangeMakers for people who share in that belief. By participating in ChangeMakers with a monthly gift, you’re not just supporting our ministry, you’re joining a movement. You’re linking arms with people who believe in a better future for the Church, and it starts with helping our brothers and sisters become immersed in our Story.

This fundamentally different approach to reading and engaging with the Scriptures, which has already begun to impact so many lives, won’t take hold just because our organization hopes for it. It will take hold through people like you, advocating for Bible book clubs in your church, handing a copy of Immerse: Messiah to a friend who’s struggling to read the Bible, and helping your kids and grandkids see the beauty not just of the Bible’s stories, but of its Story. It’ll take hold because a growing community across the country and around the world, in each of their individual churches and unique contexts, says, “We can do better.”

Interested? Click here to learn more.

The Story of the Bible, Told by Trees

The stuff of earth is the stuff of life—and also the stuff of the biblical story. Trees, mountains, water, and food all figure prominently in the slowly unfolding drama of the Holy Scriptures.

Now the fact is, there are lots of prisms for viewing the storyline of the Bible, many built from big theological concepts like covenant and kingdom. But it’s also possible to over-theorize the Bible, turning it into a collection of abstractions. But the Bible itself doesn’t do this. The Bible keeps its story close to the ground, making sure we remember it’s fundamentally a down-to-earth saga.

So, following the lead of the Scriptures themselves, we want to give you some takes on the big story from the perspective of four earthly elements of redemption. These windows into the Bible’s narrative of renewal are all the stuff of life. First up, those uniquely shaped, taken for granted, yet completely necessary partners in the creation, the trees. Next, we’ll explore how high places and mountains, free-flowing water, and moveable feasts each play their own part.

The Bible: A Story in Trees

From Dying Branches to Leaves of Healing

Humanities professor Alan Jacobs, who’s written a bit about the gospel of trees, says “If you understand the trees, you understand the story.” And it’s true, the trees are there from start to finish, and one tree in particular is at the very center of the entire narrative. Trees can be both strange and beautiful, common and magnificent. Trees, apparently, are aptly made for playing key roles in the performance.

In the beginning, God said let there be a world filled with light and dark, turning from day to night and back again. Let there be earth and sky and land. And right in the midst of it all, let there be trees—of the seed-bearing fruit kind in particular.

God then gave the trees to all the beasts, and all the birds, and all the creatures that move along the ground—everything that had the breath of life in it. The trees were a gift from the Creator for the flourishing of life on his newly-made earth.

And it was so. And it was good.

Therefore, there are trees everywhere in the story. They are sign and symbol of the existence of life itself, which should be unsurprising since they are the longest living organisms on earth. Methuselah, a Great Basin bristlecone pine in California’s White Mountains, comes in at over 4,800 years old. The longevity of trees gives us a picture of the endurance of life.

But trees, of course, do much more. They provide food and shelter and shade. They lower temperatures, filter water, sequester carbon dioxide, and continually pump out the very oxygen the rest of us breathe.

In the Bible trees are often signposts and gathering places, and they provide images of both the blessing and the judgment of God. You can tell how the story is going based on what’s happening with the trees.

In the time of Noah, still early in the narrative, the fate of the whole earth was itself already in jeopardy, and all the trees were flooded. But God was not quite done with this whole shebang, and Noah sent out a dove to search for some sign of life in the aftermath of deluge. When it came back with the leaf from an olive tree in its beak, Noah knew there was a chance. A chance for the story to move forward, however tentatively, toward some kind of better resolution.

Then Abraham, chosen as God’s answer to Adam’s failure, was brought to a new land to help the story get a new start. After surveying the length and breadth of this unfamiliar place, he decided to settle in the vicinity of the great trees of Mamre, a place he did not own. He was a sojourner at this point, someone living off a promise-not-yet-turned-reality.

The Bible’s story is always a story of promises. It does get to some “Alreadys”, but there are always more “Not Yets.” Abraham was staking his future on that place of great trees, believing against the evidence that great things would be done by his own as-yet-non-existent family. And it would all be for the sake of the life of the world.

When Abraham’s family turns into a nation of slaves, God sends a man with a wooden staff to rescue them. God’s power flares from that staff, and the road to freedom is opened. When the liberated people are stuck in a mostly lifeless desert, God leads them to camping places like Elim, home to twelve springs and seventy palm trees. Islands of trees, proof of water nearby, are lifelines to a new land.

Trees end up being the barometer of the blessings of the covenant bond between Israel and God. When Israel celebrates how God rescued them, the festival begins with the people taking “branches of luxuriant trees—from palms, willows, and other leafy trees” to build temporary shelters as they remember the Exodus and rejoice before the Lord for seven days.

Covenant faithfulness means that Israel’s good life in a good land will be marked by thriving crops and trees, with the harvest of produce and fruit lasting all the way through to the next growing season. And around the edges of the orchard there is enough for the poor to be fed too.

Powerful empires are characterized as trees—large and strong, with their tops touching the sky (as Nebuchadnezzer’s Babylon is described). But sometimes empires must be brought low and proud kings humbled, so a mere shepherd and keeper of sycamore-fig trees, like Amos, might be brought in to deliver the unpopular word of the Lord. It is the Maker of trees who can cut down the tall tree and replant the low one to make it grow. With a God like this, trees are not always what they seem.

It is the Maker of trees who can cut down the tall tree and replant the low one to make it grow

God’s people are like a tree and they are therefore judged and pruned, sometimes severely, but never outright destroyed. Cut back and even burned, there is a life within them that persists. And it is onto this besieged and wavering remnant that God will graft a new people, fulfilling that old oath to Abraham. His family will be what it was meant to be after all. The forests will be filled and the earth will find its own exodus story. The story of trees is inexorably tied to our story.

One thing about this story of trees in the Bible is that it is inevitably a story for the long term. Trees are mostly slow-growers, but are all the more enduring for their deliberate pace. And this is exactly how God’s plans for his world also go. Slow, but steadily onward and upward. Trees sometimes turn into weapons and siege ramps, or are fashioned into tools for idolatry. But out of the cut stumps and smoldering ashes, God patiently nurtures life. The trees live on, and from the trees new growth will emerge. Hope, symbolized by the trees, does not die.

So it is that we find the heart of God’s drama with the world in the story about the Messiah. He himself was like his people, at first sight a man of no apparent consequence. Merely a branch coming up out of the old stump of Jesse. But the Lord’s Spirit rested on him and he did what he had come to do. He eventually used a tree to rescue the story of trees. And the story of us.

It is a strange story indeed, this tale of the Tree of the Curse that must be faced in order for the long-lost Tree of Life to reappear. This Branch of David came and did much good, healing and feeding and teaching the people. So when he entered Jerusalem as king, they cut branches from the trees and lay them out to honor and celebrate him. They thought they knew what victory looked like. But Jesus said this is a hard time, a time you neither expect nor understand. And the decisive deed was done not with a waving of branches but with a hanging upon a tree.

No doubt it looked like merely another dead man upon some dead pieces of wood. This happened plenty enough with the Romans. But this time was different, because all along Israel’s warrior had been fighting a different kind of battle. The spiritual forces of evil cannot be fought by killing Roman soldiers.

When the Creator vindicated his work and raised him from the dead, this unusual Messiah was mistaken for a gardener, which was just right since he really is the crafter of Life. Indeed, he is a New Temple, the place where God dwells with us, except now it isn’t just carvings of trees and fruit upon doors and walls, but rather life itself brought back to earth. That ancient Life Tree had been found, tended, and strengthened, so it can now restore everything. It is right there, in the middle of the city which is to come.

The Scriptures tell us that to walk with Jesus is to walk back into God’s garden. It is to be with God in the cool of the day. And the leaves there are for the healing of the nations—their trees, their people, everything.

From Genesis to Revelation, to understand the trees is surely to understand the story. It is perfectly appropriate that in the end, it is the trees themselves that will sing the true song of this story:

Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad;
    let them say among the nations, “The Lord reigns!”
Let the sea resound, and all that is in it;
    let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them!
Let the trees of the forest sing,
    let them sing for joy before the Lord,
    for he comes to judge the earth.

Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good;
    his love endures forever.

Part 2: The Story of the Bible Told by Mountains >>>

What We’re Reading: September 2019

From time to time we’ll share some of the interesting and thought-provoking content from around the Internet that we come across during our work.

Have you come across any great Bible-related content lately? Leave a link in the comments below!

*Note: Sharing doesn’t necessarily imply agreement with the article or endorsement of the author.

Phil Vischer Wants More Gospel in the Veggies by Kara Bettis, Christianity Today

VeggieTales creator Phil Vischer wants to help kids understand the meta-story. Just as we have lamented that kids are usually taught the Bible as isolated stories with a moral takeaway, Vischer sees kids running to the Avengers and Harry Potter for their founding story. “They want to be a part of a big story, and we’ve lost the ability to excite them that the gospel is a big story. That’s what I’ve been trying to do with my most recent projects: Let’s tell the big story of the Bible and get kids excited about it again.”

The books of today have nothing on the scrolls of 2,300 years ago by Evan Nicole Brown, Fast Company

The discovery of the Dead Sea Scrolls in 1947 has been one of the most important finds of modern archaeology. But how were the scrolls even able to survive for over two thousand years? Scientists at MIT are studying the makeup of the scrolls to gain a better understanding of ancient parchment making and preservation techniques.

Introductions to the Books of the Bible by FULLER studio

This brand-new project from Fuller Seminary in partnership with the Grace & Mercy Foundation features more than 30 Fuller faculty introducing books of the Bible from their various areas of expertise. These well-produced short videos help set the table for reading Scripture by looking at the unique themes embedded within each book. The four Gospels are available now, with more videos coming soon.

Why it matters if your Bible was translated by a racially diverse group by Rev. Dr. Esau McCaulley in the Washington Post

Wheaton College New Testament professor Esau McCaulley explores the importance of using language in our Bible translations that faithfully communicates meaning and truth in ways the reader will understand. Since translation is much more complex than 1:1 correlations between Hebrew or Greek and modern-day English, faithful interpretation of the passage is essential. Dr. McCaulley argues that we must pursue diversity within translation committees that uses gifts and insights from a variety of backgrounds, rendering a Bible that speaks to all people.