The Old Testament Was Always Pointing Somewhere
Have you ever watched a movie where, halfway through, it became obvious that every scene was building toward a particular moment? At first, some details seemed random. Certain conversations felt disconnected. Characters appeared and disappeared without much explanation. But as the story unfolded, you realized those details were not random at all. They were preparing you for what was coming. Once the climax arrived, you suddenly understood why all those pieces had been included in the first place.
That is how the Old Testament works.
By the time we reach the end of Malachi, the story feels unfinished because it is.
- The serpent promised in Genesis 3 has not yet been crushed.
- The blessing promised to Abraham has not yet reached all the families of the earth.
- The greater prophet Moses spoke about has not appeared.
- The eternal King promised to David has not taken His throne.
- The new covenant Jeremiah foretold has not been established.
- The people are back in the land, but sin still reigns in their hearts.
- The temple stands once again, but Eden has not been restored.
The story leaves us longing because it was designed to create longing. The Old Testament was never intended to be the destination. It was always preparing us for someone greater.
One of the most common mistakes people make when reading the Bible is treating the Old Testament as a collection of disconnected stories. When we read them as isolated stories, we miss the larger point. The Bible is not a collection of stories. It is one story. And every major storyline, institution, office, sacrifice, and promise is moving in the same direction.
Jesus Himself said as much.
After His resurrection, He explained to His disciples that everything written in the Law, the Prophets, and the Psalms pointed to Him (Luke 24:44). Imagine hearing that conversation. The disciples had spent their entire lives reading the Old Testament, and now Jesus was showing them that the story they thought was primarily about Israel was ultimately about Him. Suddenly, the sacrifices made sense. The covenants made sense. The kings, prophets, and priests made sense. The entire narrative came into focus.
Once you begin reading the Old Testament this way, you start seeing Christ everywhere.
The promise begins almost immediately after sin enters the world. In Genesis 3:15, God promises that one day the seed of the woman will crush the serpent’s head. From that moment forward, every significant birth raises the same question. Is this the one? Could Noah be the promised deliverer? Could Abraham? Could Moses? Could David? Generation after generation, the answer remains no, but the expectation continues to grow.
The sacrificial system points in the same direction. Throughout the Old Testament, innocent animals repeatedly die in the place of guilty people. Blood is shed. Substitutes are offered. Yet every sacrifice silently announces its own inadequacy. If these sacrifices truly solved the problem of sin, they would not need to be repeated again and again. The entire system teaches God’s people to look forward to a greater sacrifice that would accomplish what bulls and goats never could.
The major leaders of the Old Testament also create anticipation for someone greater. The prophets speak God’s Word, but they are imperfect men. The priests represent the people before God, but they need sacrifices for their own sins. The kings rule over God’s people, but even the best among them fail spectacularly. Moses loses his temper. David abuses his power. Solomon squanders his wisdom. Each leader provides a glimpse of what God’s people need while simultaneously reminding us that none of them can ultimately provide it.
The institutions of the Old Testament tell the same story. The tabernacle points toward a greater meeting place between God and man. The temple points toward a greater dwelling of God’s presence. The Passover points toward a greater Lamb. The Exodus points toward a greater deliverance. The kingdom points toward a greater King. Everything is moving somewhere.
The prophets become increasingly specific as the story unfolds. Isaiah declares that a virgin will conceive and bear a son (Isaiah 7:14). Micah identifies Bethlehem as the town where the ruler will come forth (Micah 5:2). Jeremiah promises a new covenant written upon the hearts of God’s people rather than merely on tablets of stone (Jeremiah 31:31-34). Isaiah describes a suffering servant who will be pierced for the sins of others centuries before crucifixion even exists as a method of execution (Isaiah 53:5). Zechariah sees a king entering Jerusalem on a donkey (Zechariah 9:9). The portrait becomes clearer and clearer with every generation.
By the time the Old Testament ends, God’s people are surrounded by promises they cannot fully explain but cannot afford to forget. They know someone is coming. They know the story is incomplete. They know the sacrifices, kings, prophets, and covenants are not the final answer. They are shadows cast by a greater reality that has not yet arrived.
That is why the four hundred years of silence feel so significant. The people are waiting. The promises are still hanging in the air. The longing remains unresolved. Yet even during the silence, God is not absent. He is preparing the moment when every promise, every prophecy, every sacrifice, every covenant, and every shadow will find its fulfillment in one person.
The Old Testament was always pointing somewhere. It was always pointing to someone.
And on the very next page, we finally meet Him.
