Before Bethlehem

On the road to Emmaus, two disciples were walking along, sorrowful, without recognizing who was beside them. Jesus then, beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, explained to them what was said about him in all the Scriptures (Luke 24:27). The whole Old Testament, from the first book to the last, already spoke of him, and not only from the moment he was born in Bethlehem. Long before that, the eternal Son already existed, sustaining all things: by him all things were created... and he is before all things, and in him all things hold together (Col 1:16-17). When Jesus was born in the manger, God did not begin to exist as the Son at that instant. It was the eternal Son who, there, took on a human nature that he did not possess before.

This same Son had already personally revealed himself several times to men and women of the Old Testament. When Abraham raised his hand to sacrifice Isaac, it was the Angel of the Lord who stayed his arm, speaking in the very name of God: because you have not withheld your son, your only son, from me (Gen 22:12). It is not "because God knows," but "because I know," in the first person. The same pattern appears with Hagar in the wilderness, with Moses at the burning bush, and with Joshua before Jericho: an Angel who speaks and acts with an authority that belongs to God alone, and whom many theologians recognize as a manifestation of the Son before his incarnation. Before Bethlehem, the Son was already walking with his people.

The Old Testament also speaks of him indirectly, through people and institutions that foreshadow, with striking detail, who the Messiah would be. The lamb whose blood delivered the Hebrews in Egypt anticipated the one Paul would call, centuries later, our Passover lamb, who has been sacrificed (1 Cor 5:7). The enigmatic Melchizedek, king and priest of Salem, foreshadowed a superior priesthood. The psalmist had already announced that the Messiah would be a priest forever, after the order of Melchizedek (Ps 110:4). Adam, who brought sin and death to all humanity, also prepares, by contrast, the figure of Christ, the last Adam, who would bring righteousness and life to all who believe in him. Moses, the mediator who went up the mountain for Israel, and David, the anointed king to whom God promised an eternal throne, point to the same goal: a greater prophet, who would speak for God, and a King whose kingdom would never end.

Beyond these figures, there are direct prophecies, recorded centuries earlier, with a degree of detail that no human coincidence could explain. Seven hundred years before the crucifixion, Isaiah already described the Messiah this way: he was pierced for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his wounds we are healed (Isa 53:5). Micah had already pointed to the place of his birth, a small town with no prestige: from you shall come forth for me one who is to be ruler in Israel (Mic 5:2). Each of these prophecies, written by different authors at different times, converges on the same person, not because someone adjusted them after the fact, but because one God had planned them from the beginning. Psalm 22, written by David centuries before the crucifixion, already described pierced hands and feet and executioners dividing the victim's garments, details too specific to be treated as mere coincidence, recorded at a time when this form of death was not yet practiced in the region.

This whole history of promises, made to Noah, to Abraham, to Moses, and to David, finds in Christ its point of arrival. Paul sums it up: for all the promises of God find their Yes in him (2 Cor 1:20). Nothing was left forgotten along the way. The new covenant that Jeremiah had announced, in which the law would be written on the heart and sins would be fully forgiven, Jesus personally inaugurated at the Last Supper, when he raised the cup and declared that it was his own blood, poured out for us. Human kingdoms come to an end, priesthoods must be repeated, and sacrifices have to be offered year after year. The throne, the priesthood, and the sacrifice that Christ fulfills, however, need no substitute, because they have reached their final goal.

Given so much convergence, there is a temptation to go too far and try to find Christ hidden in every secondary detail of the text, such as the number of steps or the color of a fabric. John Calvin offers the balance we need: "we ought to read the Scriptures with the purpose of finding Christ in them, without, however, forcing meanings the text never intended to convey." The next time you open the Old Testament, read it with this twofold attention: respect what the text actually says, and honestly ask where it points. You will discover that the whole Bible, from Genesis to Revelation, tells a single story, with a single Savior, promised for centuries and fulfilled exactly as God had said he would be.