St. Luke on Biblical Certainty

“Inasmuch as many have undertaken to compile a narrative of the things that have been accomplished among us, just as those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and ministers of the word have delivered them to us, it seemed good to me also, having followed all things closely for some time past, to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus, that you may have certainty concerning the things you have been taught.” Luke 1:1-4

St. Luke wants his patron, Theophilus, to have certainty. It’s an amazing statement that proves how the gospel writer wants his readers and hearers to receive his work. It shows how he wants his writings are to be rightly used and understood. He doesn’t want halfhearted wishes that his gospel ‘could’ be true. He’s not interested in weaving together myths and fables like Homer or Virgil. Though great works of literature might warm the heart with sentiment or impart gems of wisdom, they’re insufficient for the foundation that St. Luke is laying.

The Apostle wants his hearers to have the unwavering conviction that the Gospel is historically, not just spiritually, true. He knows Christians need more than some half-felt abstract truth underneath an otherwise concocted story. Such things are poor substitutes against the old foes of flesh, world, and devil. What makes a difference against that anti-trinity and its cult of death is hearing that the stories actually happened.

Luke tells Theophilus that he’s well positioned to help. He both knows the eyewitnesses and has recorded their stories. From the books of Acts and Colossians, we know he was Paul’s companion and would have had chances to meet Mary, Peter, John, and the rest of the Apostles. He knows both Matthew and Mark’s records of Jesus’ preaching and life. Though they’ve done good work in compiling those events into gospels, They’re not in strict chronological order.

Matthew and Mark’s gospels are more concerned about highlighting events and teachings in the order most conducive for instruction and faith. For that reason, their gospels are more analogous to catechisms than log books that mark the exact time someone shows up and leaves. But to keep the simple minded from taking offense at the same story being set down in different places in either Matthew and Mark, Luke wants to “write an orderly account” that helps to make sense of what happened and when. He’s not trying to displace his colleagues work. He’s making what they’ve done even more valuable by confirming what’s come before.

Perhaps you think that Luke’s being too ambitious for us scientifically minded moderns who have been trained in the high arts of cynicism and doubt. Withholding judgment, we’ve been taught, is a virtue. It comes with education and experience. We’ve discovered that unbelief is price we pay to keep from being taken for a chump by some charlatan or huckster. Better to be surprised than to be caught gullible and wrong, right? But maybe these sentiments have more to do with our generation’s distaste for authority, any authority, than with true wisdom.

After St. Luke’s dedicatory comments, he introduces us to one such “though minded” individual named Zechariah. He’s a decent fellow, righteous by all appearances in fact. He was a priest and had the double honor of having married the daughter of a priest. His whole life revolved serving God, quite practically, by faithfully serving in the temple whenever his turn came up. Though they were blameless, they were also barren and advanced in years, bearing the stigma that would have justified divorce according to some of the Rabbis at the time. But they feared God rather than men. They remained faithful both to each other and in prayer without giving themselves over to the temptations of bitterness and anger.

When his turn came to serve in the temple with his priestly cohort, Zechariah received the honor of ministering the third and highest office of the day, the hour of incense. Everyone was there. The crowd pressed as Zechariah stepped with trepidation into the holy place. Offering the sacrifice symbolizing and the prayers of the people, something happens. An angel of the Lord appears to the right side of the altar of incense. It would be like coming to church when no one else is here, walking into the sanctuary and seeing the glory of the holy angles still in their prayerful vigil. Of course, Zechariah was terrified. Of all the things to expect in the divine service, he never saw this one coming. Then the angel preached.

“Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard, and your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you shall call him John .And you will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great before the Lord. And he must not drink wine or strong drink, and he will be filled with the Holy Spirit, even from his mother’s womb. And he will turn many of the children of Israel to the Lord their God, and he will go before Him in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the fathers to their children, and the disobedient to the wisdom of the just, to make ready for the Lord a people prepared.” Luke 1:13-17

This sermon, full of prophetic fulfillment about the Messiah and his forerunner, falls on tough, incredulous ears. Though the words are angelic promises of joy from heaven, Zechariah says, “How shall I know this?” This isn’t like Mary asking, “How can this be?” Mary’s heart trusted the promise but that doesn’t mean that her mind fathomed how it was going to happen. However, Zechariah’s question came from fear and doubt. If his mind couldn’t grasp it, he thought, then it was beyond knowledge, beyond certainty. The question spoken in the weakness of the flesh rejected the truth of God’s Word.

The Lord is a “God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness” (Ex. 34:6). Though our flesh is faithless, full of incredulity and cynicism, incapable of judging God’s actions beyond the limits of our reason, the Lord will not forsake his promise. Our sins can’t keep the Gospel from being fulfilled. Because, for this very reason was the Messiah coming, “to seek and save the lost” (Luke 19:10).

Zechariah’s sin didn’t cause the angel to take back one syllable of what he had just promised. Why? The Sun of Righteousness was rising with healing in His wings, healing for sinners, doubters, and skeptics like Zechariah.

Once the Lord has spoken, nothing is more solid, nothing is more real. Eyes see nothing but shadows and smoke compared to what God’s Word reveals. Zechariah’s eyes couldn’t predict his and his wife’s future child, only God’s Word could both promise and bring it to be. Reason can’t discern what will happen in five minutes let alone in five years. But when God speaks, he speaks as one who holds both beginning and end in his hand. No amount of unbelief can keep it from happening. To those who confirm themselves in unbelief, the Word’s inevitability is full of God’s wrath and judgment. But to those who want to escape our frail hearts, it’s full of redemption and hope.

It’s a mercy that the Lord’s chastisement for Zechariah was losing his voice. It taught him, just as it teaches us, that God’s Word will always win the argument against unbelief. The promise cannot be revoked.

God’s promises are beyond all human knowledge and comprehension. Reason dies at the foot of God’s Word. Only faith survives in His presence. This is what St. Paul desires; faith that’s certain. Leave wishful thinking to the unbelievers and skeptics. Thanks be to God that even though such certain faith is impossible for us to work in ourselves, God gives it to us by grace (Eph. 2:8).