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An Overview of the Old Testament
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Welcome to the third and final session of Going Deeper, our series on the Old Testament. Over the past two weeks, we have examined the first six eras of Old Testament history: Creation, the Patriarchs (Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph), the Exodus, the Conquest, the Judges, and the Kingdom. Tonight, we focus on three final eras: the Exile, the Return, and the Silence—a 400-year gap between Malachi and Matthew.
During the Kingdom era, the land of Israel reached its greatest geographical extent—far larger than the modern state of Israel. This period saw the rise of King Saul, David, and Solomon, followed by the division of the kingdom into Israel (the north) and Judah (the south). Most of the Old Testament's poetry and wisdom literature was written during this time.
This era also produced numerous prophets. Seven prophets prophesied to the southern kingdom of Judah, while Hosea and Amos spoke to the northern kingdom of Israel. Jonah was sent to Nineveh to prophesy to foreign nations.
In 722 BC, Assyria destroyed the northern kingdom of Israel. The ten tribes were deported and scattered, becoming known as the Lost Tribes of Israel. They were never fully restored as a distinct people. The remaining population became known as Samaritans rather than Jews—a division whose ancient enmity Jesus addressed when he met the woman at the well (John 4).
In 605 BC, the Battle of Kish marked a turning point: Babylon defeated Egypt and Assyria, becoming the new superpower. A group including Daniel was deported to Babylon. In 597 BC, Ezekiel and 10,000 more captives were taken. Finally, in 586–587 BC, Jerusalem fell, the temple was destroyed, and the final deportations occurred.
One of the most powerful prophecies of this period comes from Ezekiel 37, the vision of the valley of dry bones. God asks Ezekiel:
"Son of man, can these bones live?" (Ezekiel 37:3)
This vision represents both the physical and spiritual decay of God's people. The people's response reveals their despair:
"Our bones are dried up and our hope is gone; we are cut off." (Ezekiel 37:11)
Ezekiel's cautious answer—"Lord, you alone know"—reflects a lack of faith. Even when we know God's power through theology and learning, we may struggle to believe He will act in our circumstances. This temptation affects leaders and believers alike: we may acknowledge that God could work a miracle, yet doubt that He will.
Daniel stands as an exemplary figure during the Exile. Likely a teenager when deported, he refused to assimilate into Babylonian culture. Despite pressure, threats, and temptation to worship Babylon's gods, Daniel remained firm and gracious. He rose to prominence in the Babylonian civil service while maintaining his faith.
Daniel's life offers powerful encouragement for believers struggling to follow Jesus in secular workplaces and communities. He demonstrates that we can be both faithful and wise, both principled and gracious.
The book of Lamentations mourns the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple. Psalm 137 captures the anguish of exile:
"By the rivers of Babylon we sat and wept when we remembered Zion... Our captors asked us for songs, our tormentors demanded songs of joy, saying, 'Sing us one of the songs of Zion!'" (Psalm 137:1–3)
The people were devastated, yet mocked and forced to sing. This echoes the mockery Jesus endured at the cross.
According to biblical reckoning, the Exile lasted 70 years—from the destruction of the temple in 586 BC to its rededication in 516 BC. Why these dates? For the Jewish people, worship was Temple-centric. Without the temple and its altars, they could not worship as God had commanded. Therefore, the Exile began when worship ceased and ended when it was restored.
Daniel understood this prophecy. Upon discovering in ancient texts that the Exile would last 70 years, he did not simply wait passively. Instead, he prayed with fervent repentance for the sins that had caused the captivity (Daniel 9). His intercession teaches us how to handle prophecy: not with passive resignation, but with active, believing prayer.
In 539–538 BC, Babylon fell to Persia under Cyrus II. Unlike Babylon's practice of deporting conquered peoples and extracting their resources, Persia encouraged cultural restoration. Cyrus even released sacred objects from his own treasury and commanded the Jews to return home and rebuild the temple.
The returning exiles faced a crucial choice: rebuild the walls for security first, or rebuild the temple for worship? By human logic, rebuilding defensive walls would come first. Yet the exiles chose differently. They established an altar and rebuilt the temple before rebuilding the walls.
This order reflects a theological priority: worship must come first. It may seem foolish by worldly standards, but it declares our trust in God for protection. The pattern is simple but profound—put God first, and He will establish your security.
The rebuilding faced fierce opposition, particularly from a man named Sanbalat. Opponents began with ridicule, gradually escalating to threats of violence. The work stopped for approximately 15 years.
God's work is always opposed. This is not a sign of failure but of spiritual significance. The enemy opposes what God is doing because it matters. In our individual lives, in our churches, and in God's kingdom, expect opposition—and trust that God is working through it.
In 516 BC, the temple was finished and dedicated. The 70-year exile was over. Worship could resume.
In 458 BC, Ezra led another group of exiles back to Jerusalem. This era saw the establishment of synagogues and the work of scribes—those who copied and preserved the scriptures. Synagogues were not temples but gathering places where God's people could read the Law and worship together.
Jesus regularly attended synagogues throughout his ministry.
In 445 BC, Nehemiah, the cupbearer to the Persian king, received word of Jerusalem's devastation. The walls were broken, the gates burned, and the people in disgrace. Nehemiah wept, fasted, and prayed a prayer of corporate repentance (Nehemiah 1:5–11).
Being cupbearer to the king was one of the highest positions in the Persian court—the cupbearer even tasted the king's drink to prevent poisoning. Yet Nehemiah took a calculated risk: he entered the king's presence looking sad, violating the protocol that demanded a "game face" of joy. Persian records show that people were executed for such violations.
But the king asked why Nehemiah looked sad, creating an opening for him to petition for permission to return and rebuild Jerusalem's walls.
Nehemiah proved to be an exceptional strategist. When opposition threatened to stop the work, he stationed workers at the sections of wall nearest their own homes, with their families present. This gave them personal "skin in the game" and motivation to persevere.
The walls were completed in just 52 days—a remarkable feat. Yet the victory was not merely physical. Nehemiah took a census, listing every person who returned—not with a generic summary, but by name and family. This teaches a vital truth: every individual counts to God. In scripture, seemingly tedious lists of names affirm that each person has significance and worth.
After the walls were complete, Ezra read the Law of the Lord to the people. The people repented and renewed their covenant with God. Malachi, the final prophet of the Old Testament, drove the reforms and spiritual restoration that followed.
Malachi concludes the Old Testament with a promise:
"See, I will send the prophet Elijah to you before that great and dreadful day of the Lord comes." (Malachi 4:5)
With this prophecy unfulfilled, the Old Testament closes. Then comes silence—a gap of 400 years between Malachi and Matthew (or Mark's Gospel), when no prophet speaks and no new scripture is written.
During these centuries, the world changed dramatically:
During the silence, distinct groups emerged within Judaism:
The Pharisees were the conservatives, devoted to God's word. Yet they added countless traditions—rules about the Sabbath so detailed that picking up a fallen chair could be considered "plowing" and thus prohibited labor. They sought to guard the word but sometimes lost its spirit.
The Sadducees were the wealthy, upper-class elite. They had comfortable estates on the Mount of Olives and little desire for upheaval. Fearing that Jesus would incite rebellion and invite Roman retaliation, the Sadducees opposed him. Their materialism made them skeptical of resurrection and the life to come.
The Zealots (also called Sicarii from the Aramaic word for dagger) were radical freedom fighters who used assassination and terrorism to resist Roman rule. Many expected the Messiah to be a military liberator who would overthrow Rome, gather armies, and establish a kingdom through force.
Jesus came instead as a servant, a healer, and a spiritual king—not the warrior-messiah many hoped for. It is possible that Judas Iscariot was a Zealot, assigned to report on Jesus's movements to a band of freedom fighters. When Jesus refused to lead a military uprising, Judas's betrayal may have been an attempt to provoke Jesus to finally take action. This would explain Judas's subsequent remorse and suicide.
During the silence, Jewish scholars produced the Apocrypha—books written between Malachi and the Gospels. While accepted by Jewish believers and included in the Catholic Bible, Protestant churches regard them as valuable but not as scripture.
Four key themes emerge from this era:
The Old Testament closes with silence. Yet this silence is not emptiness but anticipation. For 400 years, God's people waited, prayed, and longed for the promised Messiah—the return of Elijah and the coming of the Savior.
That silence is about to be broken. Soon, we will celebrate historically and spiritually the birth of Jesus Christ, the fulfillment of all that the Old Testament promised. The next series in Going Deeper will likely explore a book of the New Testament in similar depth, beginning in late January.
Until then, may we, like the exiles, prioritize worship, maintain faithfulness in opposition, and trust that God is working—even in the silence.
