THE YEAR 2020 was a trying year for people across the globe; for some, it was traumatic. My own family faced numerous challenges. At work, when the pandemic forced the seminary where I teach to close the campus and go online, faculty had only a few weeks to scramble and change their face-to-face classes to an online format; I had to teach an entirely different class than the one I was anticipating. Many faculty and staff moved to other parts of the country, and most stayed there even after the pandemic was over. Even after reopening, the campus hasn’t felt the same since.

Closer to home, my daughter experienced an unexpected health crisis that required multiple surgeries and kept her in the hospital for weeks. Then my sister and her family, who used to live only minutes away, moved across the country. And in December, as the final straw, my mother contracted COVID in her assisted-living facility despite the many precautions they took to keep the residents safe. She had already been functionally isolated for months, causing her mental and physical health to deteriorate; the virus moved quickly once it got hold of her. She died in a hospital emergency ward on Christmas Day.

It was quite the year for us, as I’m sure it was for you.

It was also the year in which I started a new discipline: every morning, I would get up, make myself some tea, and sit with the Psalms—reading, studying, journaling. As I write this, that was nearly six years ago, and I’m still not finished. The practice helped ground me when I needed it the most.

As you might imagine, I’m much more attuned to the Psalms than I’ve ever been, though I know they would amply repay a whole lifetime of study. Still, many of the rhythms and themes are familiar to me now. Here’s an example. I recently finished my study of Psalm 140, which contains this verse:

I know that the LORD secures justice for the poor
    and upholds the cause of the needy. (vs. 12, NIV)

God’s care for the poor and needy is a constant theme of the Psalms. Consider, for example, Psalm 35:10:

My whole being will exclaim,
    “Who is like you, LORD?
You rescue the poor from those too strong for them,
    the poor and needy from those who rob them.”

The Psalms declare that the very character of God is to defend the defenseless, to care for those who are destitute, afflicted, or oppressed. Because of this, the psalmists often pray for God to bring justice for those who desperately need it:

Defend the weak and the fatherless;
    uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed.
Rescue the weak and the needy;
    deliver them from the hand of the wicked. (Ps 82:3-4)

Sometimes, of course, the psalmists themselves are the ones who are afflicted and crying out directly for help:

But you, Sovereign LORD,
    help me for your name’s sake;
    out of the goodness of your love, deliver me.
For I am poor and needy,
    and my heart is wounded within me. (Ps 109:21-22)

And because this is the character of God, it is also expected to be the character of God’s anointed king:

Endow the king with your justice, O God,
    the royal son with your righteousness.
May he judge your people in righteousness,
    your afflicted ones with justice. (Ps 72:1-2)

Likewise, the prophets declare that true righteousness is not to be found in mere ritual sacrifice or pious religion. The prophet Micah, for example, declares that God doesn’t want extravagant sacrifice; what he wants from his people is for them to “act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly” with God (6:8). Likewise, through the prophet Isaiah, God declares:

Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen:
to loose the chains of injustice
    and untie the cords of the yoke,
to set the oppressed free
    and break every yoke?
Is it not to share your food with the hungry
    and to provide the poor wanderer with shelter—
when you see the naked, to clothe them,
    and not to turn away from your own flesh and blood? (Isa 58:6-7)

Thus, we should not be surprised to find such themes in the New Testament as well, and the theme is particularly prevalent in Luke. Again, think of Mary’s Magnificat. She praises God for being “mindful of the humble state of his servant” (Luke 1:48). This isn’t just a special favor God has done for her individually; it’s a manifestation of who God has always been:

He has brought down rulers from their thrones
    but has lifted up the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things
    but has sent the rich away empty. (vss. 52-53)

Or consider how Jesus’ public ministry begins in Luke’s gospel. On the Sabbath, he enters the synagogue in his hometown of Nazareth, and reads these words from Isaiah:

The Spirit of the Lord is on me,
    because he has anointed me
    to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners
    and recovery of sight for the blind,
to set the oppressed free,
    to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor (Luke 4:18-19; Isa 61:1-2)

The congregation appreciates the reading; I imagine them looking at each other and saying, “What a nice young man!” Then Jesus essentially tells them that this good news isn’t just for them—it’s for the Gentiles. Excuse me? For that theological indiscretion, they try to throw him off a cliff.

Many other examples could be cited, and we’ll keep coming back to these ideas as we work our way through Luke’s narrative. For now, suffice it to say that God’s plan was always for his people to embody his just and compassionate character, a way of living that’s fully on display in the life and ministry of Jesus. The followers of Jesus are to embody that character in turn, in a way that frequently subverts the world’s attitudes toward wealth.

So, ready to begin our study of what Luke says about God’s plan and people? Let’s circle back to the opening verses of chapter 1 and meet a man named Theophilus.