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On the New Testament Use of the Old Testament
One of the most fascinating areas of biblical scholarship concerns the New Testament’s use of the Old Testament. Anyone who has spent much time reading the New Testament has eventually encountered an Old Testament quotation whose interpretive logic does not seem immediately obvious. We turn back to the original passage, read it within its context, and find ourselves asking, “How did the New Testament author get that from this Old Testament passage?” Some quotations and allusions seem relatively straightforward, while others, such as Matthew’s appeal to Hosea 11:1, initially appear somewhat disconnected from their original contexts. This raises an important hermeneutical question: If Scripture is inspired and authorial intent matters, are the apostles sometimes interpreting Scripture in ways that disregard what the Old Testament authors actually meant? Two possible answers present themselves. On the one hand, we might conclude that the apostles were not constrained by original meaning and therefore neither should we be. On the other hand, we might insist that every New Testament application must have been completely explicit within the conscious intention of the Old Testament author. Yet neither extreme adequately explains the phenomenon, because both fail to reckon with the way Scripture develops across redemptive history. Therefore, it is the thesis of this post that the New Testament authors do not abandon the original meaning of the Old Testament when they interpret it in light of Christ; rather, they read individual texts within their historical contexts and within the larger, progressively unfolding story of redemption that reaches its culmination in Christ.
Of course, before considering how the apostles read the Old Testament Christologically, we must first affirm that the original meaning of the Old Testament text actually matters. This is a fundamental principle of faithful biblical hermeneutics. The biblical authors used particular words within particular literary contexts, during particular historical circumstances, and for particular audiences. Therefore, interpretation must begin by asking what the inspired human author intended to communicate. This being the case, whatever Christological interpretation might subsequently emerge cannot be built upon the abandonment of authorial intent. However, it is also true that a text’s original meaning does not necessarily exhaust its canonical significance. An Old Testament author can communicate something real and intelligible within his own historical setting while his words simultaneously occupy a place within a larger story whose full significance unfolds over time. This is possible because the biblical authors do not write in isolation; each writes at a particular point within the progressively unfolding history of God’s redemptive purposes. Later revelation can therefore develop the implications of earlier revelation without contradicting what the earlier author actually meant. Or, to put it somewhat differently, the original meaning of a text establishes the necessary foundation for its canonical development, but it does not necessarily exhaust the significance that text possesses within the completed story of Scripture.
The reason this distinction is so important is that the Bible is not merely a collection of independent books; it tells one progressively unfolding redemptive story, i.e. creation, fall, redemption, and consummation. This is the metanarrative of Scripture. Throughout that narrative, several important themes and patterns rise to the surface—seed, covenant, exodus, sacrifice, temple, Davidic kingship, servant, restoration, kingdom, and new creation. These themes do not remain static but develop and become increasingly clear as God’s purposes unfold across redemptive history. The promise of the seed develops into the expectation of a coming Messiah; the Davidic covenant generates hope for an everlasting king; exile gives rise to the expectation of restoration; and the prophetic hope ultimately looks toward the renewal of creation itself. The New Testament authors inherit all of this as part of their own theological and canonical heritage. Therefore, although every Old Testament passage possesses an immediate historical-literary context, it also occupies a position within an unfolding redemptive-historical context. We call this progressive revelation, or the idea that God’s revelation of himself and of his plan to redeem humanity becomes increasingly clear as the story progresses. Later revelation clarifies and develops earlier revelation without contradicting it. Consequently, later biblical writers can recognize relationships, patterns, and implications that become clearer as God’s plan unfolds. In other words, the coming of Christ does not change the Old Testament’s story; it reveals where that story was ultimately going. And this is precisely how Jesus himself teaches his disciples to understand Israel’s Scriptures.
In Luke 24.44, Jesus tells his disciples that “everything written about me in the Law of Moses, the Prophets, and the Psalms must be fulfilled” (cf. Luke 24.26–27). In other words, Jesus teaches his disciples to interpret the Old Testament in light of his suffering, resurrection, and the proclamation of repentance to the nations. This does not necessarily mean that every individual passage of the Old Testament is a direct prediction concerning Jesus. Rather, the persons, promises, patterns, institutions, offices, expectations, and trajectories that develop throughout Israel’s Scriptures ultimately find their fulfillment in him. The hope for a Davidic king is fulfilled in Christ. The prophetic expectation of the servant of the Lord reaches its culmination in Christ. The Old Testament sacrificial system anticipates the sacrifice of Christ. The hope for Israel’s restoration reaches its fulfillment in and through Christ. Indeed, Jesus himself says, “Don’t think that I came to abolish the Law or the Prophets. I did not come to abolish but to fulfill” (Matt. 5:17). Fulfillment, therefore, is much broader than the correspondence between a direct prediction and a subsequent event; it encompasses the bringing of God’s entire redemptive purpose to its intended goal. The point is that Christ is not artificially inserted into Israel’s Scriptures; he stands at the culmination of the redemptive story those Scriptures themselves tell.
This is why the assumption that every New Testament quotation works in exactly the same way is problematic. The New Testament certainly employs the Old Testament through direct prediction and fulfillment, but it also utilizes typology, analogy, and broader biblical-theological patterns, often communicating these relationships through explicit quotation or more subtle allusion. For example, in Matthew 2:6, Matthew appeals to Micah 5:2 by way of direct prediction, but only a few verses later, in Matthew 2:15, he appeals to Hosea 11:1 by way of typology. Hosea speaks historically about Israel’s exodus from Egypt; Matthew recognizes that Israel’s sonship establishes a pattern that is recapitulated by Jesus, the true Son. (For more on this particular text, see my post “On Hosea, Matthew, and Authorial Intent,” here.) The same phenomenon occurs throughout the New Testament. Adam is a type of Christ; the Passover anticipates the atoning work of Christ; Davidic kingship reaches its fulfillment in Christ; and the tabernacle and temple anticipate God’s presence with his people ultimately realized in Christ. In each case, the relationship between the Old and New Testaments is real, but it does not operate according to precisely the same hermeneutical mechanism. In other words, fulfillment is a broader category than mere prediction. The New Testament does not require every Old Testament passage applied to Christ to have originally functioned as a direct messianic prophecy. Rather, Christ fulfills the persons, events, institutions, promises, and patterns that together constitute the unfolding story of redemption.
The New Testament authors can recognize a fuller significance in Old Testament passages without assigning them arbitrary meanings. Their readings are constrained by the original historical-literary context, the broader canonical context, the unfolding history of redemption, and ultimately the fulfillment of God’s purposes in Christ. They do not simply disregard the original meaning of a text and assign it an entirely new Christian meaning; neither are they limited to saying only what was already completely explicit within the conscious understanding of the Old Testament author. Rather, God’s intention as the divine author can encompass the developing significance of a text without contradicting what the human author actually communicated. The intentions of the divine and human authors must therefore be understood as complementary rather than competing. (On the question of inspiration and authorial intent, see my post here.) Whatever “fuller sense” we recognize in an Old Testament text must remain grounded in the inspired meaning communicated through the human author and develop organically from the place that text occupies within the unfolding story of redemption. This is because later revelation develops and clarifies earlier revelation; it does not overturn it. The New Testament’s Christological interpretation of the Old Testament is therefore not an alternative to grammatical-historical interpretation, but the canonical culmination of it.
So, when we encounter an Old Testament quotation in the New Testament and find ourselves asking, “How did the New Testament author get that from this Old Testament passage?” the answer is not that the apostles interpreted Scripture arbitrarily or disregarded its original historical and literary context. Neither is it that every Old Testament passage they employ was originally intended as a direct prediction of Jesus. Rather, the apostles read Israel’s Scriptures within their historical and literary contexts, while also recognizing their place within the broader canonical context and the unfolding story of redemption that has reached its culmination in Christ. Their example, therefore, does not give us permission to engage in imaginative interpretations disconnected from authorial intent. If anything, it requires us to read the Old Testament more carefully, tracing the promises, patterns, institutions, and theological trajectories that develop throughout the biblical story. The New Testament authors do not teach us to read Christ into the Old Testament where he does not belong. They teach us to read the Old Testament as Christian Scripture, recognizing that the same God who spoke through Israel’s Scriptures has brought the redemptive purposes revealed in those Scriptures to their divinely intended fulfillment in his Son. Original meaning and Christological fulfillment are not competitors; properly understood, the former provides the foundation upon which the latter is built.
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On Acts and the Isaianic New Exodus: A Book Review
Pao, David W. Acts and the Isaianic New Exodus. Reprint Edition. Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2016.
Among the books of the New Testament, the book of Acts is arguably one of the most unique. Whereas the Gospels focus primarily on the life and ministry of Jesus and the Epistles provide theological instruction and practical guidance for the Christian life, Acts records the expansion of the early church and the missionary ministry of the Apostle Paul. Consequently, the theological message of Acts is sometimes overshadowed by its historical narrative. Yet beneath its historical narrative lies a rich and carefully constructed theological message, one that is especially evident in Luke’s extensive use of the Old Testament. In Acts and the Isaianic New Exodus, David W. Pao explores this important dimension of Acts by arguing that Luke deliberately presents the mission of Jesus and the early church against the backdrop of Isaiah’s vision of the New Exodus. Originally published as Pao’s doctoral dissertation by Mohr Siebeck in 2000, the work remains one of the most significant studies of Isaiah’s influence on Acts. Therefore, it is the thesis of this review that Acts and the Isaianic New Exodus makes a compelling case for the centrality of Isaiah’s New Exodus motif in Luke’s theology, even if certain aspects of Pao’s argument invite further discussion.
In the book of Isaiah, the “New Exodus” is a way of describing God’s future work of redemption by drawing upon the imagery and language of Israel’s original exodus from Egypt. Just as God once delivered his people from slavery under Pharaoh, so Isaiah portrays God as bringing about a second and greater act of deliverance through the restoration from Babylonian exile. The first exodus thus becomes the typological pattern for God’s future saving work. It is Pao’s central thesis that this Isaianic vision of restoration provides the foundational theological framework for Luke’s understanding of the growth and mission of the early church in the book of Acts. After demonstrating the significance of Isaiah 40:1–11 for Luke’s two-volume work and showing how key Isaianic texts frame the narrative of Acts, Pao identifies four major themes that reveal the influence of the New Exodus motif: the identity of the true people of God as restored Israel, the Word of God as the primary agent of God’s redemptive work, the anti-idolatry polemic as a demonstration of God’s universal sovereignty, and the expansion of Isaiah’s vision to include the salvation of the Gentiles alongside believing Israel. In other words, Pao argues that Luke presents the church not as a departure from Israel’s story but as the fulfillment of Isaiah’s restoration promises, with the mission of the apostles representing the continuation of God’s New Exodus restoration through the risen and exalted Messiah.
The greatest strength of Pao’s work lies in its careful and convincing demonstration that Isaiah provides the conceptual framework through which Luke understands the theological message of Acts. Rather than merely identifying quotations and allusions to Isaiah scattered throughout the narrative, Pao argues that Luke has intentionally structured his theology around Isaiah’s vision of the New Exodus. This approach gives remarkable coherence to the book of Acts by showing that themes such as restoration, mission, the Word of God, the inclusion of the Gentiles, and the identity of the people of God are not isolated theological concerns but interconnected aspects of a single redemptive program. Closely related to this is Pao’s rigorous intertextual methodology. His argument rests not upon superficial verbal parallels but upon sustained literary and theological analysis that demonstrates how Luke appropriates and develops Isaiah’s message. As a result, even readers who remain unconvinced by every aspect of his thesis will gain a much deeper appreciation for the pervasive influence of Isaiah upon Luke’s writing. Particularly valuable is Pao’s treatment of restoration theology. He persuasively demonstrates that the mission of the church should not be understood as a departure from Israel’s story but as the fulfillment of God’s promises to restore his covenant people, promises that now embrace believing Jews and Gentiles alike through the risen Messiah. Finally, Pao’s work serves as an excellent model of canonical interpretation. Rather than reading Acts in isolation, he consistently interprets Luke’s narrative within the larger context of Scripture, thereby illustrating the profound unity of God’s redemptive plan. Whether or not one accepts every detail of Pao’s argument, his study permanently enriches the way one reads the book of Acts and its theological message.
Pao’s work is remarkably persuasive in establishing the significance of Isaiah for the theology of Acts. At the same time, the breadth of his argument gives rise to several questions that invite further discussion. Ironically, one of the book’s greatest strengths—its comprehensive argument for the centrality of Isaiah’s New Exodus—also becomes its primary limitation. At times, Pao’s thesis is so comprehensive that other significant Old Testament trajectories receive comparatively little attention. While Isaiah undoubtedly provides one of the principal theological frameworks for Luke’s theology, greater attention to Luke’s Christology and to the complementary influence of other Old Testament traditions—particularly Daniel’s vision of the Son of Man and the kingdom of God—would have presented an even fuller picture of Luke’s theological vision. Closely related to this is the fact that some of Pao’s proposed intertextual connections are more persuasive than others. In several instances, he moves rather quickly from thematic similarity to literary dependence, leaving readers wishing for a more sustained defense of particular allusions. Finally, because the volume originated as a doctoral dissertation, portions of the discussion are necessarily technical and assume a significant degree of familiarity with contemporary scholarship on Luke-Acts and intertextuality. Nevertheless, these observations should be understood as limitations of emphasis rather than substantive weaknesses. They do little to diminish the enduring value of Pao’s work or its significant contribution to the study of Acts and biblical theology.
Even after more than two decades, Acts and the Isaianic New Exodus continues to stand as one of the most significant contributions to the study of Luke-Acts and biblical theology. Pao convincingly demonstrates that the book of Acts should be read as far more than a historical record of the early church’s expansion; it is a carefully crafted theological narrative that presents the mission of Jesus and his apostles as the fulfillment of Isaiah’s vision of restoration and New Exodus. Although readers may differ with certain aspects of Pao’s thesis or wish that other Old Testament themes received greater attention, these observations do little to diminish the overall value of his work. Indeed, the greatest achievement of this volume is its ability to teach readers to read Acts canonically, recognizing that Luke’s theology is deeply rooted in the Scriptures of Israel and unfolds as the continuation of God’s covenant purposes for his people. For this reason, I would highly recommend this book to pastors, seminary students, scholars, thoughtful Christians who desire a deeper appreciation of the theological richness of Acts. Even readers who ultimately qualify portions of Pao’s argument will find themselves returning to the book of Acts with fresh eyes and a renewed awareness of the profound influence of Isaiah upon Luke’s presentation of the gospel and the mission of the church.
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On Mark 13 and the Return of the Shepherd: A Book Review
Sloan, Paul T. Mark 13 and the Return of the Shepherd: The Narrative of Zechariah in Mark. Library of New Testament Studies. London: T&T Clark, 2019.
One of the most difficult interpretive questions in the study of the Synoptic Gospels concerns the Olivet Discourse (Mark 13; Matt 24–25; Luke 21). When the disciples marvel at the magnificence of the temple buildings, Jesus responds by predicting the destruction of the temple itself. Later, on the Mount of Olives—from which the discourse derives its name—the disciples ask Jesus about the timing of these events and their relationship to the coming of the Son of Man. How these events relate to one another, namely the destruction of the temple and the coming of Jesus, is the crux interpretum of the discourse, and no shortage of solutions have been proposed within modern Gospel scholarship. (For an overview of the major interpretive positions, along with my own view, see here.) In his published PhD dissertation, Mark 13 and the Return of the Shepherd, Paul T. Sloan, Chair of Theology at Houston Christian University and Associate Professor of New Testament, offers his own answer to these questions by exploring the influence of Zechariah 9–14 upon the Gospel of Mark generally and on Mark 13 specifically. In the space that follows, I will offer my review of his work.
Sloan’s essential thesis is that Zechariah 13.7–14.6 provides the primary narrative scaffolding for understanding the logic of the Olivet Discourse in Mark 13. He takes his cue from Mark 14.27, which is a quotation of Zechariah 13.7, “I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep will be scattered.” For Sloan, the “scattering of the sheep” entails more than merely the flight of the disciples on the night Jesus’s arrest. Rather, the striking of the shepherd, i.e. the death of Jesus, initiates a time of eschatological scattering that is described in Mark 13:5-23 and which spans the time between the death and the return of Jesus as the Son of Man. After examining the reception of Zechariah 13–14 in Second Temple Judaism and Mark’s use of Zecharian imagery elsewhere in the Gospel, Sloan develops his thesis through a detailed analysis of the logic and structure of Mark 13. According to Sloan, Jesus answers the disciples’ question concerning the timing of the temple’s destruction in verses 5–23 of the chapter, a section marked by an inclusio. He then turns to the coming of the Son of Man, not because the discourse changes subjects, but because this is the next stage in the eschatological sequence established by Zechariah 13–14. Thus, there is no break in logic between Jesus’s description of the events leading up to the temple’s destruction and his description of the coming of the Son of Man. Rather, both belong to a single prophetic scenario structured by the narrative flow of Zechariah’s vision.
One of the greatest strengths of Sloan’s work is the way that he brings coherence to the logic and flow of the Olivet Discourse. One of the persistent challenges in the interpretation of Mark 13 has been explaining the relationship between the destruction of the temple, the period of tribulation described in the discourse, and the coming of the Son of Man. Rather than treating these as disconnected subjects, Sloan argues that they belong to a single prophetic scenario structured by the narrative flow of Zechariah 13–14. Whether one ultimately agrees with all the details of his proposal or not, his reading has the significant advantage of explaining why the discourse unfolds in the sequence that it does. A second strength of the book is Sloan’s sustained attention to the Old Testament background of Jesus’s teaching. Too often discussions of Mark 13 become preoccupied with historical reconstruction or modern eschatological systems, but Sloan consistently grounds his interpretation in the scriptural world that shaped both Jesus and the Evangelist. In particular, he demonstrates that Zechariah functions as more than a source of isolated proof texts; rather, it provides an important theological and narrative framework for understanding the discourse as a whole. Finally, Sloan’s treatment of the relationship between the Olivet Discourse and the Passion Narrative is particularly illuminating. By connecting Mark 13 with the citation of Zechariah 13.7 in Mark 14.27, he highlights a literary and theological relationship that is often overlooked. The striking of the shepherd is not merely the occasion for the disciples’ flight, but the initiating event of the eschatological drama that unfolds throughout the remainder of the Gospel. Taken together, these features make Sloan’s work a significant and valuable contribution to the ongoing discussion surrounding Mark 13.
Despite these strengths, there are a couple of areas where Sloan’s proposal left me wanting further development. First, while he successfully demonstrates the narrative relationship between the destruction of the temple and the coming of the Son of Man, he gives comparatively little attention to the possibility of a typological relationship between these events. In my view, the destruction of Jerusalem in AD 70 functions not merely as an event that precedes the coming of the Son of Man, but as a historical anticipation of the final judgment and vindication that will accompany Christ’s return. A stronger account of typology would help explain not only why these events appear together in the discourse, but also why Jesus is able to move so naturally from one to the other. Second, although Sloan makes a compelling case for the importance of Zechariah 13–14, there are points at which Zechariah threatens to become so dominant that other important Old Testament backgrounds recede into the background. In particular, I would have appreciated more interaction with the book of Daniel, which plays a central role in Jesus’s eschatological teaching elsewhere and provides much of the conceptual framework for the coming of the Son of Man. These observations do not undermine Sloan’s thesis, but they do suggest avenues where the discussion might be further refined and developed.
In the final analysis, Sloan’s work represents a significant contribution to the ongoing discussion surrounding the Olivet Discourse and the interpretation of Mark 13. Whether one ultimately agrees with every aspect of his proposal or not, he succeeds in demonstrating the importance of Zechariah 13–14 for understanding the logic and structure of the discourse. His emphasis on the striking of the shepherd as the initiating event of the eschatological drama provides a fresh and compelling way of reading Mark’s Gospel as a coherent narrative whole. Moreover, his careful attention to Old Testament backgrounds serves as a helpful reminder that Jesus’s eschatological teaching must be interpreted within the scriptural world that shaped both him and his earliest followers. While I remain unconvinced that Zechariah alone can account for every feature of the discourse, and would have appreciated more discussion of the typological relationship between the destruction of Jerusalem and the final coming of the Son of Man, these reservations do little to diminish the overall value of the work. Sloan has produced a thoughtful, carefully argued, and highly stimulating study that deserves serious engagement from anyone interested in Mark’s Gospel, the Olivet Discourse, or the eschatological teaching of Jesus.
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On Christ as the Fulfillment of the Psalms
One of the richest books in the Old Testament, in my opinion, is the Book of Psalms. It is a collection filled with the prayers and songs of Israel throughout her history, and it holds immense value for the devotional life of the church today. When we read the Psalms, we are drawn into the devotional, emotional, and personal experience of faith in ways that touch every part of our lives. And this is good and right. But the Psalms are not only expressions of faith, whether Israel’s or our own. They are also filled with expectations that reach beyond themselves. The Book of Psalms gives voice to Israel’s experience, to her covenant relationship with God, and to the life of faith more broadly, but it also creates categories that are not fully resolved within Israel’s history. In other words, the Psalms cry out for fulfillment, and it is my thesis that that fulfillment is ultimately found in and through the person and work of Jesus Christ.
In terms of the Old Testament canon, the Book of Psalms consists of prayers and songs that reflect the people, events, and experiences of Israel’s history. They provide a kind of covenantal reflection and royal theology that flows directly out of that historical context. However, the Psalms consistently reach beyond their immediate setting to realities that are eschatological in nature and central to God’s redemptive purposes. For example, in Psalm 22, we encounter the figure of the righteous sufferer—one who endures deep emotional and physical suffering through no fault of his own. While the superscript attributes the psalm to David, the experience described surpasses anything we can clearly identify in his life. Similarly, Psalms 2 and 110 present a vision of Israel’s ideal king: one who is anointed by God, victorious over his enemies, and who reigns with perfect righteousness and justice. Yet no king in Israel’s history, David included, fully embodies this portrait. Likewise, Psalm 1 sets forth a picture of perfect obedience that distinguishes the righteous from the wicked—an ideal never fully realized in Israel or in our own experience. The point is that the realities these psalms describe extend far beyond any one historical figure. They are not exhausted by the past; they point forward. This is why we can say that they cry out for fulfillment.
What I am saying is that the Psalms present us with a kind of tension; they describe ideals that are a far cry from the lived experience of the faithful, both then and now. The righteous sufferer suffers, but he is ultimately vindicated. The ideal king reigns, yet the nations still rage against his authority. The faithful worshiper trusts in God’s covenant promises, but the world remains broken and filled with sin. In other words, these themes are not fully resolved within the Psalter itself; they point beyond its pages and look forward to the decisive intervention of God. Or to put it differently, the Psalms do not simply describe reality as it is; they long for its restoration. There is a deep and persistent yearning throughout the Psalms for God to act on behalf of his people, to fulfill his promises, to judge the wicked, and to vindicate the righteous. This has been the cry of God’s people from the time of the fall until today. We know that something is wrong with the world as it is, and we long for the day when God will set things right and restore creation to what it was always meant to be. This is the heart of the Psalms.
Of course, it is clear in the Gospels that Jesus knew the Psalms well; no doubt he had read, heard, and memorized many of them throughout his life. But Jesus does not merely quote from the Psalms; he inhabits the realities that they describe. For example, when he is hanging on the cross, he cries out in quotation of Psalm 22.1, even as he bears the weight of his work in making atonement for sin. (On the cry of dereliction, see here.) This is not simply a cry of anguish, but an identification with the righteous sufferer whose vindication is anticipated in that psalm. Or again, in his debates with the religious leaders, he quotes Psalm 110.1 in reference to the identity of the Messiah (Matt. 22.41–46). But this is not merely an abstract theological question; it cuts to the very heart of Jesus’s identity as David’s Lord and the one who shares in the authority of God himself. Likewise, after telling the parable of the vineyard owner, Jesus quotes Psalm 118.22–23 about the stone the builders rejected, applying it directly to his own rejection by the religious leaders (Matt. 21.42–46). Many commentators suggest that these quotations function in a way similar to the Jewish practice of remez, where a single verse evokes the broader context of the entire psalm. The point is that Jesus read the Psalms as speaking about himself and his mission. He is not merely borrowing their language; he is revealing their fulfillment, embodying in his own life, death, and resurrection the realities toward which they ultimately point.
This is most clearly seen in the accounts of Jesus’s passion. I have already mentioned his quotation of Psalm 22, but he also alludes to Psalm 31.5, “Into your hands I entrust my spirit.” In addition to this, the Gospel writers present Jesus as inhabiting the experience of the righteous sufferer described in Psalm 69—one who is mocked, rejected, and consumed with zeal for the house of God. Even in the details of his crucifixion, we see the Psalms shaping the narrative, as John notes that not one of his bones was broken, in keeping with Psalm 34.20. These are not random correspondences; they are theological claims. The cross is the place where the unresolved tensions of the Psalms converge. The suffering of the righteous one, the apparent triumph of the wicked, and the trust of the faithful all meet in this moment. And yet, even here, lament is not the final word. In the midst of suffering, there is trust; in the midst of humiliation, there is the promise of vindication. In other words, what the Psalms anticipated, the cross of Jesus embodies. The cries of the Psalter are not silenced at Calvary; they are fulfilled there, as Jesus bears the full weight of suffering while entrusting himself completely to the Father.
And these kinds of connections between the person and work of Jesus and the Psalms are not unique to the Gospels; they are found throughout the New Testament. The apostles consistently interpret the Psalms in light of Christ. For example, in Acts 2, Peter quotes Psalm 16 in defense of Jesus’s resurrection, arguing that David’s words, “You will not abandon my soul to Hades or allow your Holy One to see decay,” cannot ultimately refer to David himself, since his tomb remained among them. Rather, the psalm finds its true fulfillment in the resurrection of Jesus. Likewise, in Acts 4, when the early church faces opposition, they quote Psalm 2 to interpret the raging of the nations against Jesus as the outworking of God’s sovereign plan. And again, in Acts 4:11, Peter cites Psalm 118.22 about the stone the builders rejected and applies it directly to Christ, a move he likely learned from Jesus himself. The author of Hebrews goes even further, repeatedly drawing from the Psalms to establish the superiority of the Son over angels, priests, and kings (e.g., Psalms 2, 8, and 110 among others). These examples could be multiplied, but the point is clear: the New Testament does not treat the Psalms merely as background; it treats them as prophetic and forward-looking. This fulfillment is not always a matter of direct prediction, but often of pattern and typology. The apostles read the Psalms as finding their true meaning in Christ, a hermeneutic grounded in Jesus’s own words that “everything written about me in the Law of Moses, the Prophets, and the Psalms must be fulfilled” (Luke 24:44).
In other words, Christ is the true singer of the Psalms. He is the true righteous one of Psalm 1; he is the true king of Psalm 2. He is the true suffering servant of Psalm 22, and on and on we could go through all 150 psalms. What the Psalter describes in part and in shadow, Christ embodies in fullness and in reality. He fulfills the Psalms both perfectly, in himself, and representatively, for us. That is to say, he is not only the one who perfectly lives out the life of trust, obedience, and righteousness described in the Psalms, but he is also the one who does so on behalf of his people. He stands in our place as the faithful worshiper, the obedient son, and the righteous sufferer who entrusts himself fully to the Father. This means that the Psalms ultimately belong to Christ before they belong to us. We do not begin with our own experience and read ourselves into the Psalms; rather, we begin with Christ and understand the Psalms through him. Only then, as those united to him by faith, do we find our place within their words.
This means that we must read the Psalms as Christians. Yes, we should still read them devotionally; yes, we should still make them our own in the discipline of prayer as we pray through the Scriptures. But we pray them as those who are united to Christ by faith; we pray them in him and through him. This means that our laments are joined to his laments; our cries of suffering are not isolated expressions, but echoes of the righteous sufferer who has gone before us. Likewise, our hope for vindication and deliverance is not grounded in uncertain circumstances, but in the sure reality of his resurrection. When we pray the Psalms, we are not merely expressing our own emotions; we are participating in the life of Christ himself. He gives shape to our prayers, depth to our suffering, and certainty to our hope. This is why we do not outgrow the Psalms; rather, we grow into them. We learn to read them more deeply in, with, and through Christ, finding that what once seemed distant or unresolved now finds clarity and fulfillment in him.
So, yes, the Psalms cry out for fulfillment, and Christ is the answer to their call. They give voice to the longings, tensions, and expectations of God’s people—longings for justice, for deliverance, for a righteous king, for the vindication of the faithful. Yet these cries are not left unresolved. They are not left hanging in the pages of the Old Testament. Rather, they find their resolution in Jesus. In his life, death, resurrection, and exaltation, the realities anticipated in the Psalms come to their fullness. The righteous sufferer is vindicated, the true king is enthroned, and the faithful worshiper is perfected. What the Psalms express in hope, Christ accomplishes in reality. To read the Psalms rightly, then, is not only to hear the voice of Israel, but to hear the voice of Christ—and to see that what they longed for, he has fulfilled.
For further study:
Ash, Christopher. The Psalms: A Christ-Centered Commentary. Four Volumes. Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2024.
Faith seeking Understanding 