Why Isn’t It Called the Tree of Death?
Why is it called the tree of the knowledge of good and evil — and not, simply, the tree of death? Two trees at the center of the garden, and their names don’t match the way you’d expect.
Why is it called the tree of the knowledge of good and evil — and not, simply, the tree of death? Two trees at the center of the garden, and their names don’t match the way you’d expect.
You can know a voice on the phone before a single word means anything. What if Scripture could be heard the same way?
Concordances and lexicons: the right tool for one job, the wrong tool for another. One Greek word — epithumia, rendered both “desire” and “lust” — shows why.
I picked up the first English dictionary, printed in 1604, and couldn’t read half of it. One word stopped me cold — and it’s all over the Bible.
A wedding runs out of wine. Jesus says “not yet” — then does it anyway. Two odd snags in one short story. What if they were put there on purpose?
Strip the familiarity off a baptism and it’s a strange thing to do to someone — laid all the way back until the water closes over the face, held under, then lifted out. A staged death, with a rising on the end of it. And the claim underneath it is stranger still: that it’s his death, and we’re joined into it — even those of us who weren’t there.
We keep waiting to wake up one morning with it all finally figured out. No one ever does. We learn this the way we learned to walk — by hitting the floor, repeatedly, and getting back up. Turns out the floor has a few things to teach that staying upright never could.
For three years they had the closest seat in the room — the miracles, the private explanations, every day at his side. And the Gospels are oddly honest that they understood almost none of it. Not before the cross. Not even after the empty tomb. So when did they finally understand — and where does that leave the rest of us?
The word translated “repentance” in English points to guilt, remorse, a promise to do better. The Greek word it translates — metanoia — points somewhere else entirely. And the difference is the whole game.
The Bible can feel like a table full of dumped puzzle pieces — scattered, mixed up, and salted with fake pieces we mistake for real ones. So how does anyone ever see the picture? And what is the picture? It has a name.