Gnats, Frogs, Camels
Gnats. Frogs. Camels. Unclean things have a way of deceiving and defiling God's people.
Days before his death, Jesus pronounced woe upon the religious leaders of his generation:
“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you tithe mint and dill and cumin, and have neglected the weightier matters of the Torah: justice and mercy and faithfulness...You blind guides, straining out a gnat and swallowing a camel!” (Matthew 23:23–24)
Years later, John of Patmos would describe another unclean creature appearing before the Day of the Lord: the frog, coming from the mouth of a false prophet. (Revelation 16:13–14)
Gnats. Frogs. Camels.
Unclean things have a way of deceiving and defiling God's people. Some buzz around our ears demanding attention. Others leap around, spreading lies wherever they go. But sometimes a massive beast strolls right into the middle of the camp, and no one seems to notice.
Over the past week, several stories have caught my eye.
The Southern Baptist Convention's debate over women in church leadership has generated an astonishing amount of attention. National newspapers are covering it. Christian media is covering it. Social media overflows with opinions.
A steady stream of articles has also trickled across my desk. In them, Christian authors urge believers to reject Jewish interpretations of Scripture in favor of supposedly superior Christian readings.
Meanwhile, tensions once again reignite the Middle East, fueling a regional conflict that could affect millions of lives.
What fascinates me is the disproportionate amount of attention these items receive in the church. Like perpetual gnats, certain controversies buzz constantly within Christianity. Like frogs, opinions leap from one conference to another, consuming our energy and dominating our conversations, convincing us these are the most important issues our churches face.
But with all the gnats buzzing and all the frogs leaping, I believe we have, tragically, overlooked the camel.
The Camel in the Sanctuary
If you had asked me a few years ago whether Christians on a whole were antisemitic, I would have answered with a quick and confident no. Today, I am no longer quite so quick or confident.
Most Christians know antisemitism is evil. Faithful believers would never dream of hating Jewish people, and most would be offended at the mere suggestion. Yet I have become increasingly reluctant to defend the church from the charge altogether because I have noticed a different expression of Jew-hostility raging right inside it.
Many Christians who appear to have no problem with Jewish people are deeply suspicious of Jewish things.
The moment something is labeled Jewish, many believers instinctively reach for the brakes. A Jewish interpretation of Scripture? Suspicious. A Jewish practice in a church? Proceed with caution. A Jewish understanding of the kingdom of God? The Messiah? The New Testament? Better run it through a Christian filter first.
The specifics and vocabulary vary, but the pattern remains consistent. The more Jewish something appears, the more likely Christians are to view it with suspicion.
That should alarm us. Hostility toward Jewish people is not the only way Jew-hate manifests itself.
Sometimes it appears in a far more respectable form, sitting comfortably in church pews, mesmerizing us from the pulpits on our stages and lecterns in our classrooms. It publishes sophisticated books and records engaging podcasts that sound Jesus-centered. It speaks fluent Christian vernacular and regularly quotes Bible verses. And it’s very good at assuring believers that they are honoring Jesus while teaching them to distrust anything and everything from the texts, traditions, people, and world from which Jesus emerged.
We may wonder, how did generations of Christians become so wary of Jewish things while simultaneously believing they were honoring a Jewish Messiah?
The answer, I believe, is that a camel has been sitting in the sanctuary for a very long time.
While Christians continue debating questions that rest on a handful of disputed texts, few seem willing to confront the theological framework that has shaped how much of the church reads the entire Bible. And that framework has been doing far more damage than all the gnats and frogs combined.
The Platform Beneath the Camel
The theological term for this camel is supersessionism.
Supersessionism is often reduced to mean that the church has replaced Israel. Many Christians reject that quickly, but I believe that is far too narrow of a definition.
At its core, supersessionism is the belief that Christianity supersedes Judaism—that Christian beliefs and teachings replace Jewish ones. Once that assumption is accepted, replacement theology spreads quickly through nearly every corner of Scripture and faith-practice.
Israel is replaced by the church—or sometimes by Jesus himself.
The wisdom of Torah is replaced with grace.
The earthly temple is replaced by Jesus' body, the church, the individual believer—or some combination of the three.
Levitical sacrifices are replaced by Christ's sacrifice.
The promises made to Israel are reinterpreted through the church.
The Davidic kingdom is replaced by a spiritual kingdom.
The land of Israel is replaced by the new creation.
A restored Jerusalem is replaced by heaven.
Notice the pattern. Concrete Jewish expectations become spiritual, Christian truths. What God promised to do in history becomes something he is presumed to have fulfilled symbolically through Christ.
Whether Christians recognize it or not, many of us practice this hermeneutic every day. We quote the prophets' promises and apply them to ourselves. We print them on coffee mugs, write them in journals, and preach them as take-away points.
Yet when those same prophets speak of Israel's restoration, her land, kingdom, Messiah, or Torah instruction flowing to the nations, suddenly we become experts in symbolism. God’s positive promises are universalized, but his warnings remain stubbornly aimed at the Jew. It is an astonishingly inconsistent way to read Scripture.
More importantly, it has trained generations of Christians to view Jewish expectations as inferior versions of misunderstood truths rather than as the hope the biblical authors proclaimed.
Replacement theology is not merely a theological debate, but a respectable false prophet in the church—a camel sitting in the sanctuary. Christians have grown so accustomed to its presence, most no longer notice it at all.
The Camel Breeds Anti-Judaism
There are different expressions of hostility towards Jews and Jewish things. The church confuses them, straining out one while swallowing another.
· Antisemitism is hostility toward Jewish people. It is hatred, prejudice, discrimination, or violence directed at Jews because they are Jews. Christians should reject it unequivocally. Most do.
· Anti-Zionism is opposition to Jewish national restoration and Jewish self-determination in the land of Israel. Today it’s common to hear: "I'm not antisemitic. I'm just anti-Zionist,” as though anti-Zionism is the morally superior ground on which to stand. But for millions of Jews, Israel is not a political project. It is the only Jewish country in the world, and increasingly, the only place a Jew can exist without being persecuted. Nevertheless, anti-Zionism is socially rewarded, and often, quite welcome in the church.
The form of hostility that concerns me most, however, is anti-Judaism.
· Anti-Judaism is hostility and opposition toward Judaism itself—its Scriptures (what Christians commonly know as the Old Testament), its worldview, traditions, expectations, and engagement within the story of God.
Unlike its cousins, anti-Judaism rarely announces itself. It does not march down crowded streets or shout slurs. It does not usually hate Jews. That is precisely what makes it dangerous.
Anti-Judaism often disguises itself as Christian orthodoxy. It fools sincere believers into thinking they are honoring Jesus while teaching them to distrust the texts, practices, and interpretations Jesus embraced.
Anti-Judaism says...
Jewish interpretations of the Bible should give way to Christian ones.
Jewish hopes for the Messiah and his kingdom were misguided.
Jewish covenants have been surpassed.
Jewish practices and teachings are suspect.
Jewish identity is ultimately irrelevant.
The Jewish story and its gospel finds its true fulfillment only after it ceases to be recognizably Jewish.
In anti-Judaism, the Jew may be welcomed, Israel may be admired, the Old Testament may be respected. But Jewishness is not.
Anti-Judaism is where the camel of replacement theology leads.
The Deception Facing the American Church
I find this camel so troubling because it deceives Christians about what matters most.
Jesus said remarkably little about many of the issues that dominate modern Christian discourse. He said nothing that prohibited women from leadership positions within the messianic community he left behind. He certainly did not spend his ministry debating whether future Christian interpretations of Scripture should replace Jewish ones. The apostles did not spend their time defending Christianity against Judaism, nor were they trying to persuade anyone to abandon Jewish identity or practice in order to follow Israel's Messiah.
What occupied their attention instead were themes much of the modern church has little interest in: the restoration of Israel, the coming kingdom, the ingathering of Jewish exiles, the repentance of the nations, the judgment of the world, and the renewal of creation under Israel's Messiah. These topics saturate the Old Testament. They dominate the preaching of John the Baptist, stand behind Jesus' announcement that the kingdom of heaven was at hand, fill the disciples' questions, and remain the urgent expectation of the apostles.
Yet the church often treats these subjects as curiosities—interesting but secondary. Instead, we devote enormous amounts of time to debates built upon a handful of verses while neglecting themes that appear thousands of times throughout Scripture.
“You neglect the weightier matters of the Torah...You strain out the gnat but leave the camel!”
The American church appears largely unbothered by the magnificent unclean beast that has wandered into our sanctuaries, stinking up our understanding of Israel and blocking our vision of our Messiah’s kingdom, land, and people.
Perhaps those are the conversations demanding our attention. Perhaps that is the weightier matter.
Following the Rabbi
Long ago, a crafty beast of the field snuck his way in asking, "Has God really said?" The question has echoed through the human imagination ever since.
“Has God really chosen the Jews?” asks antisemitism.
“Has God really set apart the land of Israel?” asks anti-Zionism.
“Has God really instructed all these things?” asks anti-Judaism.
The forms and voices change. The pattern doesn’t.
Attack the Jewish people.
Question the legitimacy of the land.
Teach people to distrust the Jewishness of Scripture, remains of a failed faith rather than the fabric of God's redemptive plan—a fabric Gentile believers entered the moment they pledged their allegiance to Jesus.
I am a disciple of a Jewish rabbi from Nazareth. I believe Jesus is Israel's Messiah, David's Son, and the King of the Jews. Because of that, I defend the Scriptures he taught, the people and land he loves, and the kingdom promised by the prophets that he proclaimed. And I believe he is returning to those people and land to complete everything Israel’s Scriptures teach.
Because I follow a Jewish Messiah, I cannot afford to become suspicious of Jewish things.
I do not idolize Judaism, accept every rabbinic tradition, abandon every Christian one, or throw critical thinking and discernment out the window. The antidote to supersessionism is not converting to Judaism, but knowing and honoring the God of the Jews, who remains faithful to what he said.
I pray, earnestly, that the American church will repent. I pray for eyes to be opened and hearts to be soft. But I fear the woe awaiting us if we continue straining the gnats and chasing the frogs.
I believe we ought to start in the sanctuary, and get to work shooing out the camel.
NOTES
I am indebted to author Daniel Lancaster for helping make the distinctions between antisemitism, anti-Zionism, and anti-Judaism so clear. I refer my reader’s to his article The Three Frogs: Antisemitism, Anti-Zionism, and Anti-Judaism. https://www.theemmaustable.world/inkwell/three-frogs
For a further discussion on the faith-practices of the earliest believers, see chapter seven of my book, The Forgotten Gospel.
A God I Have Not Known
The headlines flicker like static on a broken radio: Israel accused, Gaza in ruins, the Middle East a tinderbox waiting for a spark. At first, urgency stirred prayer.
The headlines flicker like static on a broken radio: Israel accused, Gaza in ruins, the Middle East a tinderbox waiting for a spark. At first, urgency stirred prayer. But as the rage simmers on, prayer drifts to the background. It’s easy to grow numb while the war groans on.
In the static, I asked the Lord what he was saying in this season. He led me not to prophecy or psalms, but to four quiet chapters in the Hebrew Bible: Ruth.
More Than a Love Story
The first time I studied Ruth, it was sold to me as a dating manual: “Wait for your Boaz, girls!” Later, I heard it taught as a Cinderella story of struggle and grace, or a women’s guide to friendship and redemption. Those readings aren’t wrong, but they are small.
Ruth’s story reveals something far deeper—and more dangerous.
The story begins with tragedy. A family from Bethlehem flees famine and resettles in Moab, enemy territory. There, the father and both sons die, leaving Naomi and her daughters-in-law destitute.
It’s a grim outlook for the vulnerable women bereft of their husbands. Naomi decides to head back home, perhaps hopeful that she can somehow scrape out an existence within the borders of her homeland. But as a displaced, aging widow, she’s in a dangerous position. In order to avoid dragging her daughters-in-law into it, she releases them from familial obligation, charging them to go back home to their own families and their own gods. Naomi implies “I’m a lost cause. Save yourselves while you still can.”
One daughter-in-law, Orpah, departs. But Ruth clings to her.
The Hebrew word for “cling” is the same as in Genesis 2: “a man shall cling to his wife.” Ruth utters the famous vow to Naomi:
“Where you go I will go, your people will be my people, and your God my God.”
The passage rings with the echos of Eden: bone of my bones, flesh of my flesh. Ruth welds herself to Naomi, willing to accept whatever lies ahead: poverty, debt, humiliation, danger, possibly even death. United as one, they head back to Israel.
Faith in the God of Israel
Those familiar with the story know how it goes. After returning to the land, Ruth, the young and able-bodied member of the impoverished duo, gathers leftover scraps from the barley harvest in a relative’s field. Boaz notices Ruth’s devotion. He blesses her, not merely for kindness, but for seeking refuge under the wings of Israel’s God. Her loyalty to Naomi is evidence of faith in the covenant-keeping God.
“She asked him, ‘Why have I found such favor in your eyes that you notice me – a foreigner?’
Boaz replied, ‘I’ve been told all about what you have done for your mother-in-law since the death of your husband – how you left your father and mother and your homeland and came to live with a people you did not know before. May the LORD repay you for what you have done. May you be richly rewarded by the LORD, the God of Israel, under whose wings you have come to take refuge.’”
Boaz blesses Ruth—an average, Gentile woman—because of her faithfulness to a powerless, wandering, Jewish refugee. He doesn’t just praise her benevolence and compassion. Instead, Boaz proclaims Ruth’s wisdom to stand by Naomi even when things looked bleak, trusting that Naomi’s God—the God of Israel—would come through for them both. Later in the story, Boaz comes through for Naomi by marrying Ruth, effectively saving both women from a life of misery and probable death.
But curiously, this time reading through Ruth I noticed it’s not the women that are the focus of the salvation narrative. It’s actually Naomi’s property and the family name that become the object of attention.
“Then Boaz announced to the elders and all the people, ‘Today you are witnesses that I have bought from Naomi all the property of Elimelek, Kilion and Mahlon. I have also acquired Ruth the Moabite, Mahlon’s widow, as my wife, in order to maintain the name of the dead with his property, so that his name will not disappear from among his family or from his home town. Today you are witnesses!’
The story ends with the birth of Obed, Ruth and Boaz’s son, grandfather of King David. But the true redemption rests with Naomi—her land restored, her family name secured, her hope renewed. And all because a Gentile woman refused to abandon her.
Ruth is not just a tale of romance or personal friendship. It is a call to the nations: love the Jewish people in their darkest hour, and trust the God who promised to bless the world through them.
The Question Ruth Sets Before Us
In times of war and rising hostility, Ruth’s story pierces me. Am I willing to love a people—and a God—I perhaps do not fully understand? Am I willing to cling to their story, even when it costs me comfort, reputation, or safety?
Too often I’ve read Ruth as if it were about me—my needs, my redemption. But Ruth confronts me with something larger: faith in Israel’s God revealed through love for Israel’s people. This dainty, often trivialized book is, in fact, a powerhouse of wisdom for Gentiles in an age of love grown cold.
The world still trembles like a tinderbox. Israel’s neighbors rage. The nations plot. And the family of Messiah suffers in the shadows of our indifference.
In Israel’s dark days—much like today—when the world was hostile and everything seemed broken, the book of Ruth revealed truth and human inadequacy. It forces us to look plainly at our hearts, prayers, commitment to scripture, and the role God expects of those who bear His name. To read Ruth responsibly, to pray rightly for neighbor and foe alike, requires humility to take ourselves out of the center.
That preaches well. But it lives hard.
Love was hard in the days of Cain, harder in the days of Noah. It was hard in Naomi’s day, and it remains hard now.
Too often, I have read Ruth in a way that remakes God in my image. I’ve settled her story into my own framework, quick to dismiss Proverbs 3:5, quick to follow Orpah’s path—turning away from a God and a people I did not know. But as scholar John Walton reminds us,
“[God] has given us sufficient revelation so we might have some sense of his plans and purposes and trust him sufficiently to become participants in those plans and purposes...Our response ought to be to acknowledge the wisdom and authority of God...our response is to trust him.”
Ruth—a powerhouse of wisdom for Gentiles in an age of love grown cold.
Meanwhile the nations reel, and the family of Messiah withers in the shade of Jonah’s tree. Like Jonah sulking under his vine, I sometimes find myself nursing resentment there too. Yet our God is faith to meet broken people under the trees. He asks: “Should I not have compassion on them too—the people I’ve loved and named as my own? If you are not willing to embrace them, you are not willing to embrace me. Am I a God you do not know?”
The chance to love like Ruth is now. The book of Ruth insists that Gentile faith is proven not by words alone, but by loyal love for the people God calls his own. Will I look on God’s people with compassion? Will I look on their enemies this way?
Give us the eyes to see, oh Lord. Give us the ears to hear. Awaken us to the call of your word and prepare our hearts for the frontier that awaits.
Don’t let our love grow cold.