The New Covenant vs. The “Scythe of Scofield”

This article interacts with and develops themes presented in the YouTube presentation, “The Scythe of Scofield.” While the structure and argument below are my own, the video served as a catalyst for this reflection. The argument below reflects my own theological engagement and does not necessarily represent the presenter’s full position. I encourage readers to watch the original presentation here: THE NEW COVENANT vs. SCYTHE OF SCOFIELD: Why the Church IGNORES Galatians & Romans 11.

The New Covenant Is a Verdict, Not a Vibe

What if the modern church’s confusion over Israel and covenant identity is not accidental, but structural? What if the interpretive grid, which many inherited, quietly reshapes how Galatians and Romans 11 are read before we ever open the text? The moment Galatians and Romans 11 are taken seriously, the Scofield system almost certainly collapses. And that’s exactly why most churches never teach them.

The new covenant is a verdict, not a vibe. Let’s start with the uncomfortable reality. Most churches speak about the new covenant like it’s an inspirational theme—something you feel during worship—rather than the apostolic verdict that reorganizes everything. And that’s exactly where Scofield wins. Because Scofield’s entire framework depends on the new covenant being treated as spiritual but not structural, comforting but not controlling, poetic but not final.

Paul doesn’t write Galatians like a man offering another perspective. He writes like a man watching the gospel get hijacked in real time. The pressure in Galatia wasn’t merely legalism. It was identity. Who counts as covenant family? Who inherits the promises? Who stands at the center of God’s story?

And here’s the point: Scofield’s system survives by keeping that question open-ended—by treating covenant identity like a puzzle you solve with prophecy charts instead of a truth you receive through Christ. Paul refuses that delay.

Galatians is the letter that destroys the idea that covenant membership is protected by bloodline boundary markers or religious badges. He goes straight for the heart of the argument. Abraham’s promise wasn’t a nationalistic trophy. It was the foundation of a faith-defined people. And the seed promise is not an ethnic pipeline to future privilege. Paul argues it converges in Christ—one seed—meaning the inheritance is anchored in union with him, not proximity to a genealogy.

This is where Scofield quietly teaches people to read around Paul—not by deleting the verses, but by domesticating them. The Scofield reflex turns Galatians into a “freedom from rules” sermon series instead of the covenant-level earthquake. Because if Galatians is allowed to speak plainly, it becomes impossible to keep Israel and the church as two parallel covenant tracks with two separate destinies. Scofield needs separation. Paul proclaims fulfillment.

And let’s talk about why this matters right now. In 2025 to 2026, churches are experiencing a public credibility crisis on multiple fronts: polarization, politics, and most explosively, how Christians interpret Israel, Gaza, end-times rhetoric, and the moral authority of the pulpit. You don’t have to agree with every critique to see the trend. Younger believers are far more likely to question inherited systems—especially systems that feel like they turn the Bible into a political loyalty test.

Surveys and reporting have highlighted a generational drop in pro-Israel sentiment among younger evangelicals and growing internal conflict about Israel theology in the church. Scofield’s method thrives in moments of confusion because it offers certainty. It gives people a simple key: Israel means Israel. Church means church. Promises are postponed. And the end-times map explains it all. It feels clean. It feels ordered. It feels like control.

But Paul’s new covenant message is the opposite of control. It is completion. It says the dividing wall is down. Inheritance is by faith, and the people of God are defined by Christ. That’s why Galatians becomes a battleground.

Paul doesn’t merely say we’re saved by grace. He says if you rebuild the old system—if you restore boundary markers as identity proof—you’re not being conservative. You’re being apostate in slow motion. Scofield systems rarely present themselves as rebuilding the wall. They present themselves as honoring God’s plan. But Paul’s standard is blunt: anything that makes covenant identity depend on something other than Christ is a rival gospel.

Scofield didn’t just explain the Bible. He rewired how people read it. Scofield’s genius wasn’t that he invented every idea. His genius was that he packaged an interpretive grid so effectively that it felt like the Bible itself. That’s the secret power of a study Bible. People don’t experience it like commentary. They experience it like clarification. And once your brain is trained to read through a grid, the grid becomes invisible. You don’t say, “I’m reading Scofield.” You say, “I’m reading the Bible.”

This accounts for the title, "The Scythe of Scofield." A scythe doesn’t burn the field. It doesn’t erase it. It simply cuts it into the shape you want.

Scofield didn’t remove Galatians or Romans 11. He cut the storyline into segments and trained readers to think, “That doesn’t apply the same way right now.” He created distance between the apostolic conclusion and the believer’s conscience. And you see it everywhere once you know what to look for.

When Paul speaks covenant finality, Scofield introduces covenant postponement. When Paul teaches one people, Scofield insists on two peoples. When Paul presents fulfillment in Christ, Scofield redirects hope to future geopolitics.

This is not a small difference. It changes the emotional center of Christianity. Instead of the new covenant being the climax—Christ and his finished work—the emotional climax becomes Israel events, prophecy alignment, and end-time sequencing. That’s why entire churches can preach weekly sermons that sound biblical but orbit around modern statehood narratives rather than apostolic covenant logic.

Now pair that with the current moment. Since 2023’s Israel–Hamas war and the ongoing fallout, the church’s Israel theology has become one of the most publicly visible fault lines in modern Christianity. Major media coverage and polling have shown shifting public opinion on Israel across U.S. groups, including cracks on the political right and especially among younger generations.

That pressure doesn’t stay outside the church. It moves into the pews, into family group chats, into youth ministries, and into the credibility of pastors who speak with certainty about prophecy while sounding evasive about ethics. And what’s the Scofield response? Double down on the grid. Retreat into the map.

It’s not primarily because people are evil. It’s because the grid offers refuge from complexity. Scofield is comforting when the world is messy. He gives you a script: don’t question—just interpret.

But Paul does the opposite. Paul demands moral clarity and covenant clarity. Faith defines belonging. Unbelief breaks off branches. Boasting is forbidden. Mercy is the only ground.

Scofield’s framework also spreads because it is simple to teach. You can put it on a timeline. You can market it. You can build conferences around it. You can sell charts, books, tours, and prophecy updates. And in today’s algorithm economy, simplicity spreads faster than nuance. The internet rewards the hot take. It rewards the “here’s the secret they don’t want you to know.”

That’s why debates about Christian Zionism, dispensationalism, and Israel theology have become so viral, and why the Scofield system is suddenly being challenged by voices across the spectrum—from pastors to podcasters to commentators.

You can see leaders responding to this pressure directly, organizing events aimed at reinforcing evangelical support for Israel amid reported decline among younger evangelicals. And whether you agree with those efforts or not, the fact that such efforts are happening signals a major shift. Something that used to feel automatic in church culture now needs active reinforcement.

But here’s the real issue. Scofield’s grid doesn’t merely influence politics. It influences how Christians read Paul. It trains the church to treat the apostolic covenant message as a temporary “church age” footnote rather than the final covenant identity. It teaches believers to treat the new covenant like a spiritual add-on instead of the organizing center of reality.

Galatians is the letter Scofield can’t survive. If you want to know why Galatians is quietly minimized, watch what happens when you preach it straight. Galatians doesn’t merely say faith matters. It says faith is the covenant boundary. That’s lethal to any framework that needs ethnicity to remain a permanent covenant category. Scofield can tolerate “faith saves.” Scofield struggles with “faith defines the covenant people.”

Paul’s conflict with Peter in Galatians is not an academic disagreement. It’s a warning siren. Peter, under pressure, pulled back from table fellowship. He didn’t deny Jesus. He didn’t preach atheism. He simply reintroduced a boundary between Jewish believers and Gentile believers—subtle separation, social separation, identity separation.

And Paul treats that separation as gospel treason because it implies that Christ is not enough to form one family.

Think about that. Paul says you can affirm Jesus, but if you rebuild identity hierarchy, you are not walking in step with the truth of the gospel.

Scofield-based Christianity has often done exactly that, but with a more sophisticated mask. It says, “We are one in Christ,” while still building a prophecy-based hierarchy that elevates ethnic Israel as the central covenant actor and treats the church as a temporary parenthesis. It says salvation is the same while still structuring the story as if God’s primary covenant identity remains ethnic destiny rather than Christ-centered union.

Galatians refuses that split. Paul argues that Abraham’s family is defined by promise, not flesh. He argues that the law was a tutor with a limited purpose. He argues that in Christ the dividing wall of identity markers is demolished. And he argues that to retreat back into boundary markers is slavery, not holiness.

This is why Scofield has to soften Galatians. The Scofield reflex turns the letter into “don’t be legalistic,” but avoids “don’t rebuild covenant hierarchy.” It turns it into “grace is good,” but avoids “one family is final.” It turns it into “Christ frees you,” but avoids “Christ finishes the covenant story.”

Now add the current trend layer. Younger Christians are far more likely to demand coherence. They are less willing to accept contradictions between what churches preach about love and what churches appear to support politically. They are also less willing to accept “because that’s prophecy” as an answer to moral questions.

This is showing up in shifting attitudes inside evangelical spaces and the broader American religious landscape. That is exactly why Galatians matters in 2026—because Galatians forces the church to answer: Do we define God’s people by Christ or by something beside Christ?

Scofield wants the answer to be: by Christ and also by Israel’s separate track. Paul’s answer is: by Christ alone.

When Galatians is preached as Paul wrote it, it exposes how easily Christians can drift into a “Jesus plus identity system” gospel. Whether that identity system is law, culture, tribe, nation, or prophecy grid, it doesn’t matter. Paul treats any addition as a rival authority.

And that’s why many pastors tread carefully—not because they hate Paul, but because they fear the collision. They fear what happens to their eschatology charts. They fear the backlash from people whose entire spiritual identity is wired into Scofield’s framework. They fear donors. They fear division. They fear church politics.

Romans 11: Scofield’s favorite proof text and his biggest liability. Romans 11 is often treated as Scofield’s insurance policy. When Galatians threatens the system, dispensational preaching runs to Romans 11 and declares victory: “See—Israel is separate. See—national restoration. See—future plan.”

But here’s the problem. Paul’s logic in Romans 11 does not build two trees. It builds one. One root, one olive tree, one covenant story.

Paul’s entire warning to Gentile believers collapses if the tree represents two separate peoples with guaranteed destinies. Why warn Gentiles not to boast if their status is automatically secured by being the church age? Why warn them about being cut off if the church is guaranteed a separate unbreakable track?

Paul’s warning only makes sense if covenant membership is faith-dependent and humility-dependent. And what determines breaking off? Paul says it plainly: unbelief.

Scofield wants the primary category to be ethnicity—Jewish branches, Gentile branches, and a future ethnic restoration map. But Paul’s moral logic is sharper: unbelief breaks off; faith grafts in. That means the tree is defined by response to God, not by bloodline advantage.

Now what about “all Israel will be saved”? Scofield readers often treat that line like a prophecy switch. But Paul’s argument is not a bypass-faith promise. Paul spends Romans hammering the same point: salvation is mercy accessed by faith, not secured by heritage. So whatever “all Israel” means, it cannot mean heritage guarantees covenant belonging—because Paul has already shattered that foundation.

Here’s where the modern church often panics. If Romans 11 isn’t a prophecy chart, what is it? It’s a warning against arrogance. It’s an argument for mercy. It’s a declaration that God’s covenant people are one, and that God can graft in whomever he wills by faith.

And in 2025, 2026, Romans 11 is being dragged into culture war debate constantly. Polling and reporting show polarization and shifting public views on Israel, including visible generational differences and growing internal conflict about how Christians should interpret Israel-related theology.

That creates pressure to use Romans 11 as a political proof text—something to settle arguments quickly. Scofield thrives under that pressure. Scofield gives you a quick answer: Israel equals modern state destiny. Paul gives you a slower answer: fear God, don’t boast, stay in mercy, and remember the root.

Scofield is fast. Paul is faithful.

And here’s the twist: Romans 11 actually undermines Scofield’s arrogance engine. Because if the root supports you, you don’t get to act like you own the tree. If you stand by faith, you don’t get to act like you stand by history. If mercy saved you, you don’t get to weaponize identity.

That means Romans 11 is not a license for superiority—ethnic or spiritual. It is the apostolic demolition of superiority dressed as a warning. And that’s why Scofield’s dependence on Romans 11 is fragile. Because the moment you read the chapter as Paul intended, it starts to sound less like a timeline and more like a courtroom: You were grafted in by faith. Don’t you dare boast.

And suddenly Romans 11 becomes a mirror for modern Christians who confuse theology with tribal identity. Paul’s olive tree is not a Scofield chart. It’s a covenant reality with a moral demand: humility, faithfulness, and mercy. Which is exactly why churches that breathe Scofield air often quote Romans 11, but rarely sit in its tension long enough to let it rebuke them.

Now what comes next is where everything gets uncomfortable. If Paul is so clear, why does Scofield still dominate so many church instincts? Because Scofield doesn’t just offer interpretation—he offers institutional safety.

If you accept Scofield’s grid, you can avoid the hardest conversations. You can avoid confronting how political alliances shape theology. You can avoid confronting the ethics of how Israel theology is preached. You can avoid the painful reality that some believers are leaving churches not because they hate God, but because they are tired of seeing Scripture used as a shield for narratives that feel morally and spiritually incoherent.

And that’s not speculation. The last few years have produced visible public conflict inside Christian spaces about Israel, Zionism, and the relationship between theology and politics. There are organized efforts to reinforce evangelical alignment with Israel precisely because leaders recognize the alignment is not as automatic as it used to be—especially among younger believers.

Scofield-based preaching offers a way to keep the machine running: don’t wrestle—just interpret. It turns the pastor into a guide of timelines rather than a shepherd of conscience. It turns the congregation into spectators of prophecy rather than disciples of Christ.

And the reason it spreads is because it’s easy to package. In an algorithmic age, packaged theology wins. Short clips. Bold claims. “Here’s what’s really happening.” “This proves the end is near.” Scofield maps are made for virality.

Paul’s covenant logic requires patience, context, humility, and the willingness to let cherished systems collapse if they contradict the apostolic message. That’s why Scofield remains powerful. He offers certainty without repentance. He offers confidence without confrontation. He offers a system that can survive moral tension by deferring everything into “God’s plan.”

But Paul doesn’t let the church hide inside God’s plan. Paul repeatedly pulls the church back to one standard: faith in Christ produces one family. And that single-family reality has consequences.

It means the church must treat identity claims carefully. It means the church must resist superiority narratives. It means the church must reject any theology that demands we ignore apostolic rebukes in order to protect modern political loyalties.

Scofield systems often blur that line. They build emotional loyalty toward the Israel track and then treat any critique as betrayal—not merely political betrayal, but spiritual betrayal. That’s one reason debates have become so explosive. People don’t feel like they’re arguing about policy. They feel like they’re defending God.

But that’s the trap. When Scofield becomes the grid, God gets confused with the grid. And then the church begins to protect faith by protecting a system—even if that system requires minimizing Galatians and reshaping Romans 11.

And pastors feel it. Some are genuinely convinced the Scofield framework is correct. Others inherited it and never questioned it. Others privately doubt it but fear the cost of change. Because changing the grid is not like changing a sermon series. It’s like changing the foundation of a building while people are still living inside it.

Scofield falls when Christ is allowed to finish it.

Now we reach the moment where Scofield always fights back: the question of Israel. Let’s be precise. The new covenant does not erase Israel. It does not hate Jews. It does not reject the Old Testament. That accusation is one of the most effective fear tactics used to protect Scofield systems. If you question the grid, you get labeled. If you read Paul too literally, you get suspected. If you preach covenant fulfillment, you get treated like you’re attacking God’s promises.

But the new covenant does not cancel promises. It fulfills promises.

Paul’s argument across his letters is not that God has no plan. His argument is that God’s plan culminates in Christ and that Christ defines the covenant people. That means covenant identity is not a genetic badge. It is a Christ-shaped reality.

This is why Scofield must keep the story unfinished. Because if the story is finished in Christ, then Scofield’s two-track destiny becomes unnecessary. And if it’s unnecessary, it starts to look like what it is: an imported grid that competes with apostolic clarity.

Now connect this to the current moment again. As public opinion shifts and as Christian institutions wrestle with Israel-related theology in the shadow of war, the pressure on churches intensifies. Polling shows many Americans hold complicated, often unfavorable views of Israel’s current leadership and actions, while white evangelicals remain among the more supportive groups. Yet even within pro-Israel spaces, generational differences and internal conflict are growing.

That pressure makes Scofield attractive because Scofield promises a clean narrative: don’t be confused, don’t question, just follow the map.

But Paul’s new covenant message refuses clean narratives that ignore moral reality and covenant reality. Paul says: you stand by faith; you are one body; you do not boast; you do not rebuild dividing walls.

So here’s what the new covenant restores when Scofield gets out of the way:

• It restores Christ as the center of the promises—not prophecy charts, not nations, not timelines. Christ.

• It restores one covenant people defined by faith, not separate covenant identities competing for spiritual priority.

• It restores the apostles as the interpreters of Israel’s meaning, not modern footnotes that force Paul into a corner.

• It restores the moral seriousness of belonging. Branches can be broken off for unbelief. Gentiles are warned against arrogance. Mercy is everything.

And once that restoration happens, something else happens: the church becomes free. Free from the pressure to defend systems that require constant explanation. Free from political captivity disguised as theology. Free from fear of reading Paul honestly.

Scofield systems often produce anxious Christianity—always scanning headlines, always decoding events, always searching for the next alignment. Paul produces grounded Christianity, rooted in Christ, humbled by mercy, and committed to the unity of the covenant family.

Source Inspiration

“The Scythe of Scofield.” YouTube video.

The Binding of Satan in Revelation 20 from a Biblical and Covenant Framework Perspective

One of the most debated passages in the New Testament is Book of Revelation 20:1–3, which describes Satan being bound for a thousand years so that he can no longer deceive the nations. Some readers assume this refers only to a future event. However, when Revelation is read alongside earlier biblical passages—especially Isaiah and the Gospels—a strong case can be made that this “binding” began with Christ’s first coming.

To understand this, we must follow the Bible’s unfolding storyline.

Promise in Isaiah: God Will Rescue Captives from the Mighty

In Book of Isaiah 49:22–25, God asks:

“Can the prey be taken from the mighty, or the captives of a tyrant be rescued?”

He then answers:

“Even the captives of the mighty shall be taken… for I will contend with him who contends with you, and I will save your children."

Isaiah presents a powerful oppressor holding captives. Yet God promises to personally intervene, defeat that oppressor, and free those enslaved. In light of later revelation, this “mighty” adversary finds its fullest expression in Satan, who holds humanity in bondage.²

Jesus Explains His Mission: Binding the Strong Man

When Jesus cast out demons, He was accused of working by Satan’s authority. In response, He offered an illustration recorded in Gospel of Matthew 12:29, Gospel of Mark 3:27, and Gospel of Luke 11:21–22:

“How can someone enter a strong man’s house and plunder his goods, unless he first binds the strong man?”³

 

In Luke’s account, Jesus adds:

“When a strong man, fully armed, guards his palace, his goods are safe. But when one stronger than he attacks him and overcomes him…”⁴

In the New Testament, the word translated “bind” is the Greek verb deō, which means to tie, fasten, or restrain. It is a common word used for chaining a prisoner or tying someone up. In the Gospel of Matthew 12:29 and Gospel of Mark 3:27, Jesus says that before someone can plunder a strong man’s house, he must first bind the strong man. Jesus identifies Satan as the “strong man.” His “house” represents the world under his influence, and his “goods” represent people held in spiritual bondage.

Jesus uses this picture to explain His ministry: He is the stronger one who restrains Satan in order to free those under his control. The point is not that Satan ceases to exist or becomes completely inactive, but that his authority is limited so Christ’s kingdom can advance.

Importantly, Jesus speaks of this binding as something occurring in His own ministry—not as a distant future event. His exorcisms demonstrate that Satan’s authority is already being broken.⁵

A Living Example: Loosed from Satan’s Bond

In Gospel of Luke 13:16, Jesus heals a woman who had suffered for eighteen years and declares:

“Ought not this woman… whom Satan bound for eighteen years, be loosed from this bond?”⁶

Here Jesus explicitly describes Satan as having “bound” her. Her healing becomes a visible sign that Satan’s grip is being undone. The language of binding and loosing reinforces what Jesus had already declared: He is overpowering the adversary.

The Purpose of Christ’s Coming

The apostle John explains Christ’s mission clearly in 1 John 3:8:

“The Son of God appeared for this purpose, to destroy the works of the devil.”⁷

To “destroy” does not mean Satan ceases to exist, but that his works are dismantled and rendered powerless. Christ’s death and resurrection decisively limit Satan’s authority.⁸

Revelation 20:1–3 — The Dragon Bound

In the Book of Revelation 20:1–3, John sees an angel seize “the dragon… who is the devil and Satan,” bind him, and cast him into the abyss for a specific purpose:

“…so that he might not deceive the nations any longer.”⁹

The purpose of the binding is specific: Satan is restrained from deceiving the nations. The text does not say that Satan becomes inactive in every sense, but that his ability to hold the nations in total spiritual darkness is curtailed.

This aligns closely with Jesus’ earlier declaration that He had bound the strong man.¹⁰

Consider that the word used in the Gospels and translated as “bind” is the Greek verb deō. It means to tie, fasten, or restrain. The same verb appears in the Book of Revelation 20:2, where Satan is “bound” for a thousand years. The purpose of the binding is clearly stated: it is “so that he might not deceive the nations any longer.” The restriction is specific. It does not say Satan stops tempting individuals, influencing cultures, or opposing believers. Instead, it indicates that his former grip over the nations—a grip he has held since Babel and which has been keeping them in widespread spiritual darkness—is decisively curtailed. Binding, in biblical language, means limitation of authority, not total inactivity.

The Meaning of the “Abyss”

Revelation 20 also says that Satan is cast into “the abyss.” The Greek word is abyssos, meaning a deep place or bottomless pit. In the New Testament it refers to a realm associated with demonic restraint. For example, in the Gospel of Luke 8:31, demons beg Jesus not to send them into the abyss. This shows the abyss is a place of confinement or limitation. However, it is not described as the final place of judgment—that later appears in Revelation as the “lake of fire.”

Being placed in the abyss in Revelation 20, therefore, does not mean Satan is removed from all activity everywhere for a literal thousand years. Scripture elsewhere during this same era still describes him as active in opposing believers (e.g., 1 Peter 5:8). The imagery instead communicates restriction in a particular sense: he cannot prevent the gospel from going to the nations. Nor does the passage suggest that the thousand years is a period of complete earthly peace or bliss. Evil, suffering, and spiritual conflict still exist in the present age. The abyss symbolizes restraint and limitation, not total silence or a utopian era. It portrays Satan’s authority as decisively curbed by Christ’s victory, while awaiting his final and permanent judgment at the end of the age.

The Matthew–Revelation Covenant Framework

Within a Matthew–Revelation covenant framework, the storyline unfolds coherently.

In Matthew’s Gospel, Jesus announces that the kingdom of heaven has drawn near.¹¹ He demonstrates authority over demons, disease, and death—signs that the kingdom is breaking in. In Matthew 12, He declares the strong man is being bound. After His resurrection, He proclaims:

“All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to Me.”¹²

He then commissions His disciples to make disciples of all nations.¹³

This global mission assumes that Satan’s prior hold over the nations has been decisively restricted. In Revelation 17–19, the old covenant world (symbolized as Babylon) falls under judgment. Revelation 20 follows with Satan bound so that he cannot deceive the nations.

 

In this covenant movement:

- Promise is given (Isaiah).
- Fulfillment begins (Christ’s ministry).
- Authority is secured (cross and resurrection).
- The nations are discipled (church age).
- Final consummation awaits Christ’s return.

The “thousand years” is therefore best understood symbolically, representing the present gospel age between Christ’s first and second comings.¹⁴

Conclusion

Revelation 20:1–3 does not introduce a disconnected future event. Rather, it portrays in apocalyptic imagery the same victory Jesus described in parable form.

- Isaiah promised captives would be rescued from the mighty.

- Jesus declared He was binding the strong man.

- John explained that Christ came to destroy the devil’s works.

- Revelation depicts the dragon bound so the nations can no longer be held in darkness.

The binding of Satan represents the decisive limitation of his authority brought about by Christ’s redemptive work. The strong man has been bound. The captives are being freed. And the kingdom advances until its final consummation.

Endnotes

1. Isaiah 49:22–25 (ESV).

2. Cf. John 12:31; Colossians 2:15.

3. Matthew 12:29 (ESV).

4. Luke 11:21–22 (ESV); cf. Mark 3:27.

5. G. K. Beale, A New Testament Biblical Theology (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2011), 606–609.

6. Luke 13:16 (ESV).

7. 1 John 3:8 (ESV).

8. Colossians 2:15; Hebrews 2:14–15.

9. Revelation 20:1–3 (ESV).

10. Cf. Matthew 12:28–29.

11. Matthew 4:17.

12. Matthew 28:18.

13. Matthew 28:19–20.

14. Augustine, The City of God, 20.7–9; see also Beale, The Book of Revelation (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 990–1002.

As in the Days of Noah – Part 2

This is Part 2 of the essay. Part 1 and be found here:
As in the Days of Noah (Revisited) — Part 1
______________________________

Having examined what Scripture reveals about the days leading up to the flood, a natural question now presents itself. If Jesus described “the end of the age” as being like “the days of Noah,” should we expect to see similar conditions appear again? Do major turning points in history follow recognizable patterns? And could there be repeated attempts—across different ages—to corrupt or distort life, creation, or what Scripture calls “all flesh,” in ways reminiscent of the world before the flood?

To answer these questions responsibly, we must first consider how Jesus’ words would have been understood by those who originally heard them. The question He was answering was not abstract or distant. His disciples were asking specifically about the fate of Jerusalem, the Temple, and the close of the age they were living in. This strongly suggests that the first and most immediate application of Jesus’ warning points toward the events that culminated in the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 AD.

At the same time, Jesus’ use of the days of Noah invites us to look beyond a single moment in history. While 70 AD provides the primary historical reference point, the pattern He described may also offer insight into how similar dynamics have unfolded—and may yet unfold—at other critical moments in human history.

First Century AD:

When viewed this way, the parallels are striking. Like Noah’s generation, the people of Judea were given ample warning. Jesus warned openly and repeatedly. His apostles continued that warning after His resurrection, calling for repentance throughout the land. The message was not hidden, nor was it delivered at the last minute. There was time—decades of time—to respond. Yet, as in Noah’s day, the warnings were largely ignored.

Life, meanwhile, continued as normal. Religious routines carried on. The Temple still stood. Sacrifices were offered. Daily business went on uninterrupted. This mirrors Jesus’ description of the days before the flood, when people were eating, drinking, marrying, and planning for the future right up until judgment arrived. The problem was not a lack of information, but a refusal to take the warnings seriously.

Corruption had also become systemic. Before the flood, Scripture says that “all flesh had corrupted its way.” By the first century, corruption was no longer limited to individuals. Religious leadership had become compromised. Violence filled the land. False prophets multiplied, offering reassurance instead of truth. The system itself was breaking down, much as it had in Noah’s time.

What makes this comparison even more sobering is that, in both cases, people had a sense that something significant was coming. Noah’s generation had a defined window of time. First-century Jews were deeply aware of prophetic expectations and lived with an intense sense of anticipation. Yet knowing that judgment was approaching did not lead to repentance. Instead, it hardened positions, increased conflict, and deepened denial.

In this sense, the destruction of Jerusalem in 70 AD fits Jesus’ warning with remarkable precision. It was sudden, devastating, and avoidable—yet it came upon a people who believed they were secure.

A Pattern Repeated:

At the same time, Jesus’ use of the days of Noah does more than point to a single historical moment. It establishes a pattern. History shows that when warnings are ignored, corruption becomes normalized, and life appears “business as usual,” collapse often follows. These moments are not identical, nor do they all carry the same weight as the flood or the fall of Jerusalem. Still, they echo the same rhythm: patience, warning, refusal, and consequence.

This does not mean that every crisis marks the end of the world, or that every generation is uniquely evil. Rather, it reminds us that judgment often comes after long restraint, and that it usually arrives when people least expect it—not because it was unpredictable, but because the eventuality of the pattern repeating was dismissed.

Seen this way, Jesus’ warning is not meant to inspire fear or endless speculation. It is a call to awareness. The tragedy of Noah’s generation, and of Jerusalem in the first century, was not ignorance. It was inattentiveness. Life went on, signs were ignored, and warnings were treated as noise—until suddenly, they were not. This, more than anything else, is the enduring lesson of “the days of Noah.”

So what about our own day?

History shows that warnings are often ignored, and corruption—present in every age—gradually becomes accepted as normal. People may be disturbed at first by the direction society appears to be heading, but over time they adjust. Life goes on. Daily routines continue. What once caused concern slowly fades into the background and becomes “business as usual.” This pattern often holds for a season—until, suddenly, something breaks. The same rhythm repeats again and again: patience, warning, refusal, and consequence.

Throughout history, we see evidence of judgment following this same general pattern—though certainly not on the same scale as the flood or the catastrophic fall of Jerusalem in 70 AD. Movements, societies, and nations have continued to rise and fall, sometimes quite suddenly. What often begins as a sincere attempt to build a just and moral society, guided by high ideals, gradually gives way to corruption and deceit. Despite warnings and efforts to halt the decline, this erosion is frequently met with tacit approval or resigned acceptance. This eventually leads to further decline and then collapse.

Are things any different today? If we just look at this present generation and the numerous events occurring in recent years, I believe we can see that evidence of that same pattern. In just the past five years we’ve had the “Covid pandemic”—accompanied by frequent mention of needing to accept, “the New Normal.” During that same period we should have been aware of the numerous economic and political shifts—which in many cases, concentrated power and control into the hands of an elite few. And we could not help but be aware that something was majorly wrong. People had a sense that something significant must be coming—yet many chose to ignore and treat the warnings as nothing more than noise.

In recent years, and in addition to Covid, we have seen a series of unprecedented attacks on long-standing societal and cultural norms. By this I am referring to institutions and norms that were clearly accepted, understood and undisputed for centuries—marriage, sexual norms, and even basic biology including gender. Reality and truth itself are under attack by certain ideologies and world views that seem to be growing in public acceptance.  

In addition to the social pressures, a subject that cannot be overlooked is the intrusion of technology into the very fabric of living organisms. Such technology seems to carry the intention of creating, changing and/or manipulating the basic structures of life. Ever since the discovery of DNA we have seen growing efforts in this direction. History has shown us that as chaos builds, societies eventually collapse. There is still time for us today—but will the warnings be heeded before the pattern of collapse repeats yet again?
 

Tinkering with the Code of Living Cells

Earlier, I mentioned DNA and humanity’s growing desire to experiment with it and control it. This desire often comes from the belief that human intelligence and determination are enough to safely change living systems to suit our goals. History suggests that this confidence is often misplaced.

While it is true that DNA can be altered, far less attention is usually given to whether it should be altered, or what the long-term consequences might be. Again and again, new technologies are introduced before their full effects are understood. In many cases, unintended consequences only become clear later.

One area where this concern appears is in the food supply. Practices such as gene-splicing, cloning, laboratory-grown meat, and genetically modified crops are becoming increasingly common. At first glance, these developments may seem beneficial. However, they raise important questions that are rarely discussed.

Are these foods truly safe over the long term? Could they contribute to health problems, deficiencies, or unexpected side effects? Beyond personal health, there are also broader concerns. Instead of solving hunger, are these technologies always helping to meet the real agricultural needs of struggling nations? Or could they, in some cases, contribute to crop failure, dependency, or instability?

Another issue closely connected to DNA manipulation is control. Increasingly, seeds are patented and must be purchased each year rather than saved and replanted. This raises serious questions about who controls the global food supply and how vulnerable farmers and nations may become as a result.

The following statement from the National Library of Medicine highlights why caution is often urged in this area:

“As genetically modified (GM) foods are starting to intrude in our diet, concerns have been expressed regarding GM food safety… Animal toxicity studies with certain GM foods have shown that they may affect several organs and systems… many years of research with animals and clinical trials are required for this assessment.”
— National Library of Medicine (PubMed ID: 18989835)

Changing Humanity Itself

Beyond changing food or medicine, it is also important to consider efforts aimed at changing humanity itself. One movement often connected to this idea is called transhumanism.

If the term is unfamiliar, the website whatistranshumanism.org defines it this way:

“Transhumanism is a way of thinking about the future that is based on the idea that the human species, in its current form, is not the final stage of development, but an early phase.”

The definition continues by explaining that transhumanism seeks to move humanity beyond its current biological limits through science and technology, guided by what it considers life-promoting values. This description comes from Max More, one of the early voices associated with the movement.

Max More further defined transhumanism in two related ways. First, as an intellectual and cultural movement that supports the idea of greatly improving the human condition through technology. This includes efforts to slow or eliminate aging and to enhance physical, mental, and psychological abilities. Second, as the study of both the promises and dangers of technologies that aim to overcome human limitations, along with the ethical questions that come with using them.

The same source explains that the World Transhumanist Association later changed its name to Humanity+, while continuing to promote these same goals. At the center of the movement is the belief that humanity is still unfinished and can be reshaped.

As Humanity+ describes it:

“Transhumanists view human nature as a work in progress, something that can be improved and redesigned. Humanity does not need to be the final stage of evolution. Through responsible use of science and technology, transhumanists hope to eventually become posthuman—beings with abilities far beyond those of present-day humans.”

This raises an important question. What truly drives the desire to move toward a “posthuman” future? Is it mainly motivated by idealistic goals such as reducing suffering and extending life? Or does it reflect a deeper desire to escape the limits and vulnerabilities that come with being human?

Canada’s Approach:

If you think all this sounds a little farfetched, you may be surprised to know this topic is getting attention from our own Canadian Government – except there it is called “Biodigital Convergence” (see https://horizons.gc.ca/en/2020/02/11/exploring-biodigital-convergence/).

The Government of Canada website offers the following definition:

“Biodigital convergence is the interactive combination, sometimes to the point of merging, of digital and biological technologies and systems. Policy Horizons is examining three ways in which this convergence is happening.”

Further on in the website we read: “Biodigital convergence is opening up striking new ways to:

- Change human beings–our bodies, minds, and behaviours

- Change or create other organisms

- Alter ecosystems

- Sense, store, process, and transmit information

- Manage biological innovation

- Structure and manage production and supply chains

Under the heading “New ways to change human beings – our bodies, minds, and behaviours,” we find the following. This list is a small sampling of the points in the article:

“...Altering the human genome – our core biological attributes and characteristics

...Machine learning helps scientists predict which genes to target for editing

...Monitoring, altering and manipulating human thoughts and behaviours

...Neurotechnologies read brain signals to monitor attention and manage fatigue

...Digital apps can help enhance brain health

...New ways to monitor, manage, and influence bodily functions, as well as predict, diagnose, and treat disease

...Gene sequencing entire samples helps us understand complex environments such as the human microbiome

...Digital devices can be worn or embedded in the body to treat and monitor functionality

...eg. Amazon patent will allow Alexa to detect a cough or a cold

...Creating new organs and enhancing human functionality

...Biohacking with implanted digital devices to enhance bodily functions

...Nanobots and nanomaterials can operate and precisely deliver drugs within living creatures”

These examples show that biodigital convergence is not science fiction. It is an active area of research and policy discussion.

This leads to serious questions. What limits, if any, should exist when it comes to altering the human body and mind? At what point does treatment become enhancement? And how should society weigh the potential medical benefits against unforeseen and irreversible consequences as well as long-term ethical and spiritual concerns? Alongside these questions, and in keeping with our recent exposure to the Covid experience, should we be concerned with the ramped-up pursuit of potential bio-weapons?

Bio-Weapons and Injectables:

At great risk to themselves, many experts testified, and it can now be shown with a reasonable degree of certainty that the “SARS-CoV-2 virus” was manufactured in the laboratory. In addition, it was subject to “gain of function” study and modification. With the release of this pathogen into the general public, the so called pandemic was born. Here we have an example of man playing around with genetic material and creating one such bio-weapon.

We know the mRNA “vaccine” concept is one technology that is supposed to have the capability to “hack” and issue instructions to your DNA in order to produce certain protein strands. In essence, it hijacks your system to produce a piece of the pathogen. The idea is to stimulate the body’s immune system into producing anti-bodies. However, in the process, it appears that hacking the immune system in this manner has rendered the immune system less efficient at fighting other infectious processes. Might there come a day when we are no longer capable of fighting off infection at all—without the need for patented technology?

With all these unanswered questions in mind, is it unreasonable to entertain at least one additional question: Are we perhaps seeing the corruption of our flesh that could in some way resemble the corruption of all flesh in the days of Noah?

Rise and Fall of Nations

So does the deceit and corruption we see around us today mean we have reached the end? It might… however; it might also simply mean that a familiar cycle is repeating itself. Nations rise, prosper for a time, grow corrupt, ignore warnings to repent, and eventually collapse. In fact, this pattern reflects a central biblical theme: God’s sovereignty over the rise and fall of nations and kingdoms.

Examples of Biblical Foundations for This Pattern:

Job 12:23, This verse states the principle directly: “He makes nations great, and destroys them; he enlarges nations, and disperses them.” The Message translation renders it, “He makes nations rise and then fall, builds up some and abandons others.” This highlights God’s absolute authority over the destiny of peoples throughout history.

Acts 17:26, In the New Testament, the Apostle Paul echoes this theme, stating that from one man God “made every nation of men, that they should inhabit the whole earth; and He determined their appointed times and the boundaries of their lands.” This reinforces the idea that national rise and fall occur within God’s determined plan.

Jeremiah 1:10, The prophet Jeremiah was appointed by God with a commission “to uproot and tear down, to destroy and overthrow, to build and to plant” nations and kingdoms, illustrating God’s use of prophets—and even other nations—as instruments of judgment and restoration.

Daniel 2:21, Daniel affirms that God “changes the times and seasons; He removes kings and establishes them.” This book, which describes the succession of empires (Babylonian, Persian, Greek, Roman), reinforces the principle that all earthly rulers and kingdoms are subject to God’s ultimate authority.

These passages together emphasize several key truths:

Divine Judgment: The fall of nations is often portrayed as a consequence of wickedness, pride, and disobedience to God’s ways.

Human Power Is Temporary: Empires such as Assyria and Babylon, which once seemed invincible, eventually crumbled, showing the temporary nature of human power compared with God’s eternal kingdom.

Divine Sovereignty: Scripture consistently teaches that all authority ultimately comes from God, who oversees all creation—including the destinies of nations.

Conclusion:

I am not in any way saying that events (as we see them today) spell the end of the world. They might however, point to the end of an age. It might simply be that if all warnings are ignored, our western society fails and falls as it faces judgment. This has been the pattern humanity has unfortunately had to repeat many times—history bears this out. Certainly there is nothing in scripture to indicate this could not happen again. In fact, it very well could continue until the kingdom comes fully—“on earth as it is in Heaven.”

Covenant Errors Regarding Judaism:

A Common Evangelical Blind Spot

Most dispensational Evangelicals understand that Judaism changed after the destruction of the Temple in AD 70. However, they often do not fully recognize just how different modern Rabbinic Judaism is from the Temple-centered Judaism of the Second Temple period.¹

Their theological system assumes a basic continuity between the two, even though history shows a major transformation took place. This essay looks more closely at those changes, explains what they actually were, and considers how they have influenced thinking within the Evangelical movement.

Many popular dispensational timelines and charts show Daniel’s “seventy weeks” prophecy with a long gap. They depict the first sixty-nine weeks, then place a long sideways bracket or parenthesis labelled “Church Age,” followed by a future restoration of Israel’s prophetic program in a final seventieth week.²

This way of presenting the timeline makes the sharp distinction between Israel and the Church feel obvious and natural. These charts often treat the destruction of the Temple in AD 70 as simply one important historical event rather than allowing it to function as a decisive covenant-historical turning point.³

Because of this visual setup, the significant differences between Second Temple Judaism (centered on the Temple, sacrifices, and priesthood) and modern Rabbinic Judaism (a post-Temple form of Jewish life centered on synagogue worship, legal interpretation, and oral tradition rather than sacrifice and priesthood) are often minimized or overlooked.⁴ As a result, some readers assume modern Judaism is essentially the same as the Judaism of the Bible, rather than recognizing it as a distinct form that developed in response to the Temple’s destruction.

A covenant-fulfillment approach does not deny Israel’s importance or suggest that God has broken His promises. Rather, it argues that covenant faithfulness must be traced through changes in covenant form over time, not merely through covenant identity. In the Gospels, Jesus repeatedly speaks of the Temple leadership and the Temple system as facing judgment and coming to an end.⁵ Many historians and theologians have argued that Jerusalem’s fall in AD 70 functions as a public historical vindication of those prophetic warnings.⁶

From this perspective, AD 70 is not a minor footnote between biblical history and future prophecy. It marks a major dividing line—the end of the Temple-centered covenant order that had defined Jewish worship and life for centuries. The closing vision of the book of Revelation then presents not a return to those earlier forms, but the consummation toward which they had pointed: God dwelling with His people without temple mediation.⁷

This does not mean dispensational Christians ignore history or fail to value the promises of the Old Testament. It does mean, however, that these charts should be examined carefully. Their visual logic can quietly assume conclusions about Israel, Judaism, and God’s covenants that are not fully supported by first-century evidence.

A more historically attentive approach recognizes both continuity and discontinuity. It acknowledges what remained the same—Scripture, Jewish identity, and the worship of the one true God—while also taking seriously what changed: the loss of the Temple, the end of the priesthood, and the rise of rabbinic authority centered on synagogue life and interpretation. Recognizing both sides of this shift helps readers approach books like Matthew and Revelation with greater historical and theological clarity.

1. Where Dispensational Evangelicals Generally Agree with Covenantal Christians

Before addressing where dispensational frameworks create confusion about Judaism, it is important to acknowledge where real agreement already exists. Most dispensational Evangelicals are not ignorant of biblical history, nor are they dismissive of the Jewish world of Scripture.

Most dispensational Evangelicals correctly understand that ancient Israel is not the same as the Church. They recognize that Israel occupies a unique place in the biblical story and that the New Testament does not simply erase Israel’s identity or history. They also affirm that the Hebrew Bible is essential for understanding God’s purposes and that the Old Testament cannot be treated as irrelevant or obsolete.

Likewise, dispensational teaching generally acknowledges that Second Temple Judaism—the world in which Jesus lived and taught—was Temple-centered. Sacrifice, priesthood, and pilgrimage shaped Jewish religious life in a way that cannot be understood apart from the Temple in Jerusalem.⁸ Dispensational Evangelicals also recognize that the destruction of the Temple in AD 70 was a major historical event, not a minor footnote.

Because of this shared understanding, the disagreement is not primarily about historical facts. Rather, the difference lies in how those agreed-upon facts are interpreted and integrated into a theological framework.

2. Where the Interpretations Begin to Diverge: Continuity Assumed vs. Transformation Recognized

Although dispensational Evangelicals and covenantal Christians often agree on the basic historical data, they frequently draw very different conclusions from it.

Dispensational frameworks typically treat the destruction of the Temple as a significant interruption in Israel’s history, but not as the decisive conclusion of Israel’s covenant forms. The Temple system, priesthood, and sacrificial order are often viewed as temporarily set aside rather than brought to completion.⁹ As a result, Judaism after AD 70 is sometimes assumed to represent a form of continuity with biblical Judaism, even though its structures and sources of authority changed dramatically.

By contrast, covenantal and fulfillment-oriented readings tend to see AD 70 as a covenant-historical watershed. On this view, the loss of the Temple marks the public end of a Temple-centered covenant administration rather than a temporary pause.¹⁰ The disappearance of sacrifice and priesthood is not treated as an accident of history but as a transformation that requires theological explanation.

The disagreement, then, is not over whether God remains faithful to Israel, but whether covenant structures were meant to be resumed or consummated.

3. Where the Misunderstanding Usually Happens

Modern Judaism Assumed to Be Essentially Biblical Judaism:

In practice, many dispensational Evangelicals tend to treat modern Rabbinic Judaism as if it were essentially the same religious system found in the Old Testament and the New Testament period. While this assumption is often unstated, it shapes how prophecy, covenant continuity, and Israel’s future are commonly understood.

As a result, modern Judaism is frequently assumed to be a direct continuation of Old Testament faith, the same religious system Jesus confronted in the Gospels, or a covenant structure that has been temporarily paused rather than fundamentally transformed. These assumptions then give rise to familiar conclusions, such as:

-  that Israel remains fully under the Mosaic covenant,

-  that Temple worship and sacrifice must eventually resume because they were never truly brought to an end,

-  or that Judaism today is essentially “Old Testament religion without Jesus.”

Because of such assumptions and conclusions, dispensational teaching often skips directly from: “Temple destroyed”—to—“Temple will be rebuilt.” This skip is often made without pausing to ask: “What has Judaism actually become in the meantime?”

Modern Judaism is not Temple-centered, does not operate with a priesthood or sacrificial system, and derives its authority primarily from rabbinic interpretation rather than from the covenant structures described in the Torah.¹¹ These differences are not minor adjustments but represent a major reconfiguration of Jewish religious life following the destruction of the Temple.

Recognizing this distinction does not require rejecting Israel’s importance or denying God’s faithfulness. It simply requires acknowledging that Judaism itself changed form, and that treating modern Rabbinic Judaism as though it were unchanged biblical Judaism can obscure how Scripture, history, and covenant development actually intersect.

4. The Theological Reason for the Gap

This misunderstanding is not accidental. It is built into the structure of dispensational theology itself.

Classic dispensationalism depends on several interlocking assumptions about Israel, covenant history, and prophetic fulfillment. Chief among these are the ideas that:

     -  Israel’s covenant system was interrupted, not fulfilled,
-  the Mosaic order is on hold, not concluded,
-  the Church age functions as a parenthesis in God’s plan,
-  and that Temple worship including Temple sacrifice¹² must therefore return in the future.

Within such a dispensational framework, the destruction of the Temple in AD 70 cannot be allowed to function as a decisive covenant ending. It must instead be treated as a temporary disruption—an unfortunate historical event that pauses Israel’s program but does not complete it.

If one were to fully acknowledge that:

     - the Temple system ended decisively, 
-  Judaism itself restructured because that system could no longer function,
-  and covenant forms were replaced or fulfilled, not merely postponed,

dispensationalism would then lose one of its load-bearing assumptions. The expectation of a future restoration of Mosaic institutions—including Temple sacrifice—depends on the belief that those institutions were never truly brought to their intended conclusion.

For this reason, dispensational systems tend to incentivize continuity language, even where the historical evidence points to profound discontinuity. This is not usually the result of bad faith, but of theological necessity: the system requires continuity of covenant form in order to sustain its prophetic expectations.

5. What Dispensational Evangelicals Usually Miss

As a result of these theological commitments, many dispensational Evangelicals fail to fully grasp several key historical realities.

First, Judaism today is not the religion of the Old Testament. The Torah describes a Temple-centered system of sacrifice, priesthood, and ritual purity that no longer exists and has not existed since AD 70.

Second, modern Judaism is not even the same religious system Jesus confronted. The Judaism of Jesus’ day was diverse but still anchored to the Temple. Rabbinic Judaism, by contrast, emerged only after the Temple’s destruction and reorganized Jewish life around synagogue worship, legal interpretation, and oral tradition.

Third, Judaism as practiced today is best understood as a post-70 AD survival form, shaped by loss rather than continuity of structure. It represents a faithful attempt to preserve Jewish identity and obedience to God in the absence of the institutions the Torah presupposes.

Finally, the authority structure of modern Judaism is rabbinic, not Mosaic-sacrificial. Its interpretive center lies in the Mishnah, Talmud, and later rabbinic rulings rather than in Temple ritual or priestly mediation.

Put simply, modern Judaism is not “Old Testament faith without Christ.” It is a new form of Judaism that emerged because the old Temple-based system could no longer function. That distinction—while historically obvious—is rarely emphasized in dispensational preaching, where modern Judaism is often treated as though it were simply biblical Judaism awaiting reactivation.

 

6. Why This Matters for Reading the New Testament (Especially Matthew and Revelation)

How modern Judaism is understood has direct consequences for how the New Testament is read. If Rabbinic Judaism is assumed to be essentially continuous with biblical, Temple-centered Judaism, then Jesus’ warnings about the Temple, its leadership, and Jerusalem itself are often softened or postponed. His words are treated as describing a temporary crisis rather than a decisive covenant turning point.

In the Gospels—especially in Matthew 21–25—Jesus repeatedly frames the Temple system and its leadership as standing under judgment.¹³ He speaks of authority being removed, stewardship failing, and the house being left desolate. These warnings make the most sense if the Temple-centered covenant order was truly approaching its end, not merely entering a holding pattern until a future restoration.

When the destruction of Jerusalem in AD 70 is understood as the historical fulfillment of those warnings, the New Testament’s covenant logic becomes clearer. The fall of the Temple is no longer an unexplained tragedy or a prophetic interruption, but a public confirmation that a particular covenant form had reached its conclusion. This helps explain why the apostolic writings never call for the rebuilding of the Temple or the resumption of sacrifice¹⁴, even as they continue to affirm the authority of Israel’s Scriptures and the faithfulness of Israel’s God.

The book of Revelation carries this same movement forward in symbolic and visionary form. Rather than anticipating a renewed Temple system, Revelation closes with a vision in which there is no temple, because God Himself dwells directly with His people⁷. What was once mediated through priesthood, sacrifice, and sacred space is now immediate and complete. This is not a rejection of the Old Testament story, but its consummation.

When modern Judaism is recognized as a post-Temple reconfiguration rather than a paused biblical system, Matthew and Revelation can be read together as announcing and confirming the same covenant transition. The misunderstanding of Judaism, therefore, does not merely affect views of Israel; it reshapes how the New Testament itself is interpreted—especially where judgment, fulfillment, and covenant continuity are concerned.

Conclusion: Why This Shapes Evangelical Readings of Prophecy

These assumptions about Judaism also help explain why Evangelicals often arrive at very different conclusions when reading biblical prophecy. When covenant forms are treated as temporarily interrupted, prophecy is naturally read as pointing toward restoration. When covenant forms are understood as fulfilled and concluded, prophecy is instead read as moving toward consummation.

This difference is not merely about timelines or charts. It reflects a deeper question: whether the structures that once defined covenant life are expected to return, or whether they have already given way to what they were meant to anticipate. How one answers that question shapes how Scripture is read, how history is interpreted, and how the relationship between Israel, the Church, and the New Testament is understood.

Recognizing the historical transformation of Judaism after AD 70 does not diminish God’s faithfulness or Israel’s significance. It clarifies the covenant story Scripture itself tells—and helps readers approach both prophecy and history with greater coherence and care.

Endnotes:

1.        Shaye J. D. Cohen, From the Maccabees to the Mishnah, 2nd ed. (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2006), 214–238.

2.       The Gospel Coalition, “Dispensational Theology,” https://www.thegospelcoalition.org/essay/dispensational-theology/.

3.       SAET, “Dispensationalism,” https://www.saet.ac.uk/Christianity/Dispensationalism.

4.       Jacob Neusner, Judaism: The Evidence of the Mishnah (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1981).

5.       R. T. France, The Gospel of Matthew (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2007), 775–812.

6.       R. C. Sproul, The Last Days According to Jesus (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1998); N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1996).

7.       Revelation 21:22–27.

8.       E. P. Sanders, Judaism: Practice and Belief, 63 BCE–66 CE (London: SCM Press, 1992).

9.       Charles C. Ryrie, Dispensationalism (Chicago: Moody, 2007).

10.    G. K. Beale, A New Testament Biblical Theology (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2011), 397–442.

11.     Jacob Neusner, Introduction to Rabbinic Literature (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1994).

12.     John F. Walvoord, The Millennial Kingdom (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1959).

13.     N. T. Wright, Jesus and the Victory of God, 405–443.

14.     Hebrews 8–10; Acts 15; G. K. Beale, The Temple and the Church’s Mission (Downers Grove: IVP, 2004).