The Birth Certificate of the Promise

Most readers skip Genesis 5.

It looks, on first glance, like the most skippable chapter in the Bible. Ten men are listed. Each one lives an absurdly long time, has a son, lives some more, and dies. Adam lived nine hundred and thirty years, then he died. Seth lived nine hundred and twelve years, then he died. Enos lived nine hundred and five years, then he died. Page after page of birthdays and burial dates. The reader's eyes glaze. The reader skips ahead. The reader misses, in the skipping, the most striking single piece of foreshadowing in the entire Old Testament.

Genesis 5 is not a phone book. Genesis 5 is a gospel tract.

It was hidden in plain sight for thousands of years. The early rabbis noticed it but did not always understand what they had found. Some of the early Church Fathers caught a glimpse and wrote about it. In the modern era, careful Hebrew scholars have brought it back into view. What they found, when they translated the names of the ten patriarchs from Adam to Noah and read the names in sequence as a single Hebrew sentence, was a complete announcement of the gospel — carved into the human family tree before there was a single page of written Scripture in the world.

Our Father, in other words, did not begin telling the story of redemption when He called Abraham, or when He gave the law to Moses, or when He sent Isaiah to Jerusalem. He began telling it in the names of the first ten generations of humanity. He wrote His promise into the birth certificates of the founding family. The whole gospel was carved into ten Hebrew names before a single prophet ever lifted a pen.

This chapter opens at the birth of the world, on year zero of the master clock, and walks down the first block of the dial — the age of forming — to see what the Architect was doing while the human family was taking its first breaths.

Ten names, one sentence

Open Genesis 5 with a Hebrew lexicon at your elbow. Translate each of the ten names back to its Old Near Eastern root. The roots are not contested. Any standard Hebrew dictionary will give you the same translations. The list is short and the meanings are stark.

Patriarch	Hebrew root	Literal meaning
Adam	adam	Man
Seth	shet	Is appointed
Enos	enosh	Mortal, frail
Cainan	qenan	Sorrow
Mahalaleel	mahalal-el	The Blessed God
Jared	yarad	Shall come down
Enoch	chanak	Teaching
Methuselah	mut-shalach	His death shall bring
Lamech	lamak	To the despairing
Noah	nuach	Rest, comfort

Now read the meanings in the order the names appear, as one continuous sentence:

Man is appointed mortal sorrow. The Blessed God shall come down teaching. His death shall bring the despairing rest. (Genesis 5, by translation)

Read it again. Slowly.

That is the gospel. The whole arc of the Christian message — the human race fallen into mortality and grief, the Blessed God descending in human flesh to teach, His death bringing rest to the desperate — is hidden in plain sight in the names of the founding ten generations. Centuries before there was a written law, before Abraham was called, before Moses stood on Sinai, before Isaiah saw the Lord seated on a high and lifted-up throne, the gospel was already written into the names parents whispered over their newborn sons. The Architect, who in chapter one introduced Himself as Yahweh the Covenant-maker, was already keeping His promise long before any human being could have known a promise was being kept.

No human author engineered this. The names were given over a span of nearly nine hundred years. Each father chose the name of his son in his own generation, in his own circumstances, often without any idea that the name carried a piece of a larger sentence. Adam named Seth. Seth named Enos. Enos named Cainan. Each one added a syllable to a message none of them could see whole. The full sentence only emerges when the ten names are laid out in order on a single page — and at that point, the One who had been writing through the whole sequence stands quietly behind the text and signs His name.

A Father who can do that with the names of ten generations can do it with anything. The arithmetic of the rest of this book is a continuation of the same fingerprint.

The seventh from Adam

Walk down the list more carefully and notice where the seventh name falls.

Adam, Seth, Enos, Cainan, Mahalaleel, Jared, Enoch.

Enoch is the seventh from Adam. The Bible itself draws attention to this position in the New Testament:

Now Enoch, the seventh from Adam, prophesied about these men also, saying, "Behold, the Lord comes with ten thousands of His saints, to execute judgement on all [...]" (Jude 14–15)

Our Father, who designed the seven-day rhythm of the master clock in chapter two, placed a particular man at the seventh position of the founding genealogy. The position is not accident. The seventh slot in the rhythm of the dial is the slot of completion, of rest, of arrival. And in the seventh slot of the human family He placed a man who did not see death.

And Enoch walked with God; and he was not, for God took him. (Genesis 5:24)

That sentence is the strangest sentence in the chapter. Every other patriarch closes with a death. Adam died. Seth died. Enos died. Cainan died. Mahalaleel died. Jared died. Then comes Enoch — and he was not. The verb in the Hebrew is laqach, the same verb used later for the way the prophet Elijah was caught up to heaven in a whirlwind. Enoch walked with God. One day he was on the ground; the next day he was not. Our Father took him before he tasted what every other man in the chapter tasted.

This is the first instance in the Bible of someone being lifted out of the earthly course before the natural ending. It is not the only one. Elijah, twenty centuries later, will be taken up in the same way. The apostle Paul, in his first letter to the Thessalonians, will describe a moment yet ahead in which a generation of believers will be caught up to meet the Lord in the air without first passing through death. The pattern was set in Genesis 5. The seventh man from Adam, the man at the slot of completion, was the man who was lifted out before the storm.

The early rabbis read Enoch as a sign. The early Church read him the same way. He was the picture of the redeemed walking with God in such intimacy that the natural ending of the human race did not apply. He was the first signal that Our Father has a way, in some moment of His choosing, to take His own home before the ordinary judgement falls. The chapters near the end of this book return to this picture, with the question of how the Church will be moved out of the way before the bowls of Revelation pour out. The pattern is older than Daniel. It is older than Moses. It is older than the Flood. It was set in the seventh name from Adam.

A Father who placed His own picture of rescue in the seventh slot of the founding family is a Father who plans across millennia. The dial from chapter two is not the only dial He has been signing.

A name that was a clock

After Enoch comes the eighth man, and his name is the most loaded single word in the chapter.

Methuselah.

In Hebrew the name combines two roots: mut, meaning death, and shalach, meaning to send forth. Read together, the name means His death shall bring or, more fully, when he dies, it shall come.

Stop on that for a moment. Enoch named his son a sentence. The sentence pointed to a future event. When he dies, it will come. What was the it?

The Flood.

The arithmetic of Genesis 5 is exact, and the early rabbis worked it out long before anyone in the modern era thought to. Methuselah was born when his father Enoch was sixty-five years old. Methuselah lived nine hundred and sixty-nine years — the longest lifespan recorded in the Bible. Methuselah died in the year 1656 of the master clock. The Flood began in the same year, 1656, when Methuselah's grandson Noah was six hundred years old.

The man whose name meant when he dies, it will come died in the very year the Flood came. Genesis 7 records the timing without comment. Our Father did not need to point it out. He had already pointed it out, in the name itself, nearly a thousand years earlier.

There is more. Methuselah lived longer than any other man in the Bible. The reason was mercy. As long as Methuselah was breathing, the Flood was held back. Every additional year Our Father granted him was an additional year of mercy for the world His grandson was preaching to. Noah preached for one hundred and twenty years before the Flood, exactly as Genesis 6:3 had announced. The reason the world had a hundred and twenty years to repent was that Our Father, who counts in Jubilees, had set the limit — and Methuselah's long life was the visible counter, ticking down in plain sight. The man whose name meant when he dies, it will come lived longer than anyone else who ever drew breath.

Slow to anger, abounding in covenant love. The very chapter that announces a coming judgement is also the chapter in which Our Father stretches the warning as far as it can be stretched, by keeping one old man alive longer than mortal flesh ought to last. The mercy is built into the architecture.

And on the day Methuselah finally laid down his nine hundred and sixty-nine years, the rains began.

The tower of dates

Once the names are read in sequence, the dates start to land in shape. Genesis 5 is not only a sentence; it is a chronology. Each patriarch fathered his named son at a specified age, and the chapter records every age with care.

Adam fathered Seth at the age of one hundred and thirty.

Seth fathered Enos at one hundred and five.

Enos fathered Cainan at ninety.

Cainan fathered Mahalaleel at seventy.

Mahalaleel fathered Jared at sixty-five.

Jared fathered Enoch at one hundred and sixty-two.

Enoch fathered Methuselah at sixty-five.

Methuselah fathered Lamech at one hundred and eighty-seven.

Lamech fathered Noah at one hundred and eighty-two.

And Noah, in his six-hundredth year, walked into the ark.

Add the figures along the line of fathered ages. The total from Adam's creation to the year the Flood began is one thousand six hundred and fifty-six years. Year 1656 of the master clock. The first great hinge of human history, dated to the year by the chapter most readers had decided was unworthy of attention.

A brief note on the seam at Shem. The careful reader adding the numbers will notice that Genesis 5:32 says Noah was five hundred years old when he begot Shem, Ham, and Japheth, and Genesis 7:6 that the Flood came when Noah was six hundred — which would make Shem six hundred minus five hundred is one hundred years old at the Flood. But Genesis 11:10 specifies that Shem was one hundred when he begot Arphaxad, two years after the Flood. It follows that Shem was not born at Noah's five hundred but at Noah's five hundred and two — Japheth (the eldest) at Noah's five hundred, Shem two years later. The same two years appear at the output of the chain: Adam to Abraham adds up to AM 2008, not AM 2006, precisely because Shem is born two years after the round Noah-five-hundred. The Hebrew text is more careful than a first reading suggests, and the two years are not carelessness but precision.

The chronology continues from Noah onward in Genesis 11 by the same method. The same kind of careful arithmetic, applied to the second list of patriarchs, leads to the birth of Abraham — but not without one decision that has to be made out loud.

The Terah key. Genesis 11:26 says: And Terah lived seventy years, and begot Abram, Nahor, and Haran. Read on the surface, that sentence puts Abram's birth in Terah's seventieth year. Two other texts contradict it. Genesis 11:32: The days of Terah were two hundred and five years, and Terah died in Haran. Acts 7:4, Stephen before the Sanhedrin: Abram left Haran after his father died. And Genesis 12:4: Abram was seventy-five years old when he departed from Haran. Lay the three side by side and the sum makes itself: 205 − 75 = 130. Abram was born when Terah was a hundred and thirty, not seventy. The seventy of 11:26 then marks the year in which Terah began to father sons — Haran as the eldest, then Nahor, Abram last — exactly as Genesis 5:32 puts Noah at five hundred without claiming his three sons were triplets.

The objection deserves its word, because it is not weak: 11:26 lists Abram first, and in Genesis those listed first are usually the firstborn. A reader who follows that reading loses sixty years and arrives at Abraham's birth in AM 1948 rather than AM 2008. This book takes the hundred and thirty, on the authority of Acts 7:4 — a New Testament exposition of the Old Testament text — and says plainly that the choice is a choice. It yields the birth of Abraham at year 2008 of the master clock, three hundred and fifty-two years after the Flood. Mark: CALCULATED. Falsifiable by exactly one move — anyone who reads Genesis 11:26 as a year of birth shifts the whole ladder from Abraham to the Exodus by sixty years. The full treatment, with the opponents named, is in Appendix B.

With the key in hand, the rest of the first block runs on. Abram is called out of Ur and enters the promised land at seventy-five, around AM 2083. Seven years later, in AM 2090, Our Father cuts the animals in two in Genesis 15 and signs the covenant — Abram is then eighty-two. From that covenant to the Exodus in AM 2520 is four hundred and thirty years: the number of Exodus 12:40, and the span Paul explicitly runs from the covenant to the law in Galatians 3:17. Thirty years after the covenant, in AM 2120, Ishmael mocks Isaac at the feast of the weaning; from that moment — the persecution of the seed — to the Exodus is four hundred years: the number of Genesis 15:13. Two numbers, two starting points, one end point. The difference between them is exactly the thirty years between covenant and feast.

The honesty belongs in the body and not in a footnote: no ancient source dates Genesis 15 to the year in which Abram was 82. The textual window runs from his seventy-fifth (the call) to his eighty-fifth (Genesis 16:3). This book chooses eighty-two because it follows from the midrashic dating of the feast (2120 − 30 = 2090), not because a source says so. Mark: CALCULATED within an INTERPRETED window of ten years. The round numbers of the ladder hang on that choice: within the window AM 6000 falls between 2031 and 2041, and only at 82 does AM 4000 fall on AD 34, the end of the 490 years; that coincidence is therefore INTERPRETED and carries no weight. Appendix B lays the whole chain open.

So the first block of the dial closes at year 2520 — seven prophetic years of three hundred and sixty days each, multiplied to the year scale, gives 2,520. The block of forming closes on a number that announces completion at the divine register.

A second-grader can do this arithmetic. The chronology is in the text. The text has been in the hands of every reader of every generation. The numbers have always been there, lying quietly under the surface of the genealogies, waiting for the reader who would lay them out and count.

From Eden to the exodus

Step back from the names and watch what Our Father is doing across the first 2,520 years of the master clock.

The first thing He is doing is forming a family tree. The line of Seth, traced through Genesis 5, runs unbroken from Adam to Noah. The line of Shem, traced through Genesis 11, runs unbroken from Noah to Abraham. The line of Abraham, traced through Genesis and Exodus and the Gospels, runs unbroken to Yeshua. The Architect of Exodus 34 has been keeping a single bloodline alive across more than four thousand years, not because He needs the genetics, but because He has bound Himself by His own covenant to bring the Redeemer through that line. Every name in Genesis 5 is a link in the chain that runs to Bethlehem.

The second thing He is doing is teaching the human family the shape of His clock. He gives the seven-day week as a habit on the day He rests in Genesis 2. He gives Methuselah as a living countdown to a coming judgement. He gives Enoch as a sign that there is a way of being lifted out of the storm before it falls. He gives the Flood as a demonstration of what the closing of an age looks like. He gives Noah and the ark as a pattern of how the redeemed are carried through. None of these are theological abstractions. They are the same patterns He will use again on a larger scale at the close of the master clock. The Flood is the first dress rehearsal for the seventieth week.

The third thing He is doing is keeping His own record. He is writing in the names of fathers. He is writing in the lengths of lives. He is writing in the dates of deaths. He is writing in the geography of the family's movements — from Eden, to the world before the Flood, to the lands east of Shinar, to Ur, to Haran, to Canaan, to Egypt. Every step of the way He is leaving a trail of marker stones that, four thousand years later, can be picked up and read as a coherent narrative. It looks chaotic from the inside. From outside, the chronology is one continuous line.

And then, at year 2520, the family He has been forming walks out of Egypt under Moses, and the first block of the dial closes.

The Exodus is the first great demonstration that Our Father is not bluffing. But the demonstration has to be written down with the right numbers, and here the book has for years been too quick.

What Our Father said to Abram in Genesis 15:13 was this: your descendants will be strangers in a land that is not theirs; they will serve them, and they will afflict them four hundred years. It does not say they would be slaves in Egypt for four hundred years. It says: sojourning, servitude and affliction, taken together, four hundred years. Anyone who turns that into "four hundred years of slavery in Egypt" is asking of the text more than it gives — and collides, besides, with his own ladder. There are two lines, and they do not run from the same point:

From the covenant of Genesis 15 in AM 2090 to the Exodus in AM 2520 is four hundred and thirty years (Exodus 12:40; Galatians 3:17). From the persecution of the seed in AM 2120 — the feast at which Ishmael mocked Isaac — to that same Exodus is four hundred years (Genesis 15:13). Thirty years separate the two starting points; one Exodus closes them both. An earlier version of this chapter wrote here: "Four hundred years later, to the generation, the children of Israel walked out." Within this book's own system that is wrong: from the covenant it is not four hundred but four hundred and thirty years. The sentence is withdrawn.

And Genesis 15:16 — in the fourth generation they shall return here, for the iniquity of the Amorites is not yet complete — is a third line, which has nothing to do with the four hundred of verse 13. It measures in generations, not in years, and it is about the Amorites, not about Israel. This book keeps the three apart and says why.

What stands is the point itself. What He announced, happened: the seed went as a stranger into a land that was not his, was afflicted, and walked out with the gold of Pharaoh's court in its satchels — in the year the ladder points to. Mark: CALCULATED. It is year-precision, not day-precision, and year-precision is enough.

That is the pattern. He says when. He says how. He keeps both.

Which text are you counting?

There is a question underneath everything I have added up so far, and in books like this one it is usually left out. I will not leave it out, because it is the sharpest falsifier this chapter possesses.

The numbers of Genesis 5 and 11 do not come in one version. They come in three.

The Masoretic Text — the Hebrew text the synagogue handed down, and the text nearly every English Bible translates — gives the figures I have used above: 1,656 years from Adam to the Flood, 352 years from the Flood to Abraham, year zero around 3967 BC.

The Septuagint, the Greek translation the early Church read and the New Testament quotes, gives different figures. For most of the patriarchs it adds a hundred years to the age at which they fathered their son, and it inserts an extra generation into Genesis 11 — a second Cainan between Arphaxad and Shelah. Result: Adam to the Flood becomes 2,242 years, and the creation lands a good thirteen centuries earlier, around 5500 BC.

The Samaritan Pentateuch gives a third series, which agrees with neither.

This is not a detail. This is the foundation. On the Masoretic figures the dial closes at AM 6000 in the autumn of 2034. On the figures of the Septuagint, AM 6000 would have fallen somewhere around AD 500 — fifteen centuries ago, with the world still turning as usual. That is not a nuance. That is a falsifier. Anyone who can show that the Septuagint preserves the older and better text here has not damaged the master clock but demolished it. I want the reader to know that before he reads on, not after.

Why the Masoretic Text, then? Three reasons, and the third is the most honest.

First: the Masoretic series is the Hebrew series, and it is internally consistent across Genesis 5 and 11. Second: it is the only one of the three in which the clock of Methuselah closes. Work it out on the figures of the Septuagint and Methuselah survives the Flood by fourteen years — outside the ark, in the water, alive and well. The name that means when he dies, it shall come only works in the text the synagogue preserved. The early copyists saw that collision themselves; some Greek manuscripts quietly repair the figure back toward the Hebrew. Third, and this is the reason I will not polish away: the Masoretic figures are the figures that produce the architecture of this book — 1656, 2008, 2520, 3000, 6000. That is an argument with a barb in it. Anyone who chooses the text that yields the desired pattern must let himself be asked whether he is choosing the text or the pattern.

I choose the Masoretic Text and I carry the risk. And I hand the opponent his strongest move, because it exists: Luke 3:36 names, in the genealogy of Yeshua, that same second Cainan — the generation that stands only in the Septuagint and not in the Hebrew text. Anyone who, as this book does, brings Acts 7:4 forward as a New Testament witness for a reading of Genesis 11 cannot wave Luke 3:36 away when it cuts against him. I have no conclusive answer to it. I have a choice on it, and the choice is marked above.

Mark for the whole chronology of Genesis 5 and 11: CALCULATED, on an INTERPRETED choice of text. Reverse the choice of text and you reverse the book.

A quiet word about chronology

Some readers will want to know how the dates I have just given line up with the standard calendar.

First a clearing-up, because in popular books on chronology three names are habitually thrown onto one heap, and earlier versions of this book did it themselves.

Bishop James Ussher (Annales Veteris Testamenti, 1650) calculated the creation at 4004 BC — a calendar this book therefore does not follow; there are thirty-seven years between his epoch and that of the master clock. Edwin Thiele (The Mysterious Numbers of the Hebrew Kings, 1951) never calculated a year of creation at all. He did something quite different and far more technical: he untangled the regnal years of the kings of Israel and Judah, with their co-regencies and their two different new-year reckonings. Floyd Jones (The Chronology of the Old Testament) returns to Ussher and contests Thiele on points. Three names, three projects, and they contradict one another in places. Anyone who lines them up as if they formed a single consensus manufactures an agreement that is not there.

The epoch of this book is therefore not borrowed from Ussher. It is the outcome of the Masoretic ladder itself, and it reads: year zero of the master clock = the autumn of 3967 BC. One convention, the same everywhere in this book. Where earlier versions wrote "approximately 3968", that was sloppiness; on 3968 AM 6000 lands a year too early. The sum is: autumn 3967 BC plus six thousand years is the autumn of AD 2034.

On that single convention the anchors fall out as follows:

The Flood at AM 1656 = about 2311 BC. The birth of Abraham at AM 2008 = about 1959 BC. The Exodus at AM 2520, in Nisan 1446 BC. The foundation of Solomon's temple at AM 3000, the Tishri year 967/966 BC, in Ziv 966 — and that last figure is worth remarking on, because it does not come from this count. Thiele, working from the other end, out of the regnal years of the kings and the Assyrian synchronisms, puts Solomon's fourth year at 967/966 BC. Two methods that do not need each other come out on the same floor. And the destruction of the First Temple at AM 3380, in Av 586 BC.

That last figure is contested, and the book ought to say so. On the fall of Jerusalem there are two schools: 586 BC (Thiele, Young — on a Tishri year-reckoning) and 587 BC (Albertz and much of continental scholarship — on a Nisan year-reckoning). The difference is nobody's error; it is a difference in which new year you attribute to the Judean scribes. This book reckons on 586, because the rest of the ladder runs on Tishri years and one may not switch calendars halfway. But the ±1 is real, it is in Appendix D as well, and the reader who holds to 587 shifts AM 3380 by one year. Mark: DOCUMENTED with a ±1.

Anchor	Master clock	Year
Year zero of the master clock	AM 0	autumn 3967 BC
The Flood	AM 1656	about 2311 BC
The birth of Abraham	AM 2008	about 1959 BC
The Exodus	AM 2520	Nisan 1446 BC
The foundation of Solomon's temple	AM 3000	the Tishri year 967/966 BC, in Ziv 966
The destruction of the First Temple	AM 3380	Av 586 BC — DOCUMENTED with a ±1 (587 on a Nisan year-reckoning)
Year 6000 of the master clock	AM 6000	autumn AD 2034

I will not press the chronology in this book any harder than the text presses it. The point is not to manufacture mathematical precision where the text does not give it. The point is the opposite — to notice that the text gives a great deal of mathematical precision the moment one starts adding the numbers up, and then to point out honestly where it does not. The seams in this chapter are three, and I have named all three: the Terah key, the choice of text between Masoretic and Greek, and the ±1 around 586.

What the chapters ahead rely on is not a private dating system, but it is not a consensus either. It is one coherent reading, anchored where the text gives anchors, and at every point where it departs from the mainstream it says so itself. Year zero of the master clock falls on the autumn of 3967 BC. Year 6000 of the master clock falls on the autumn of AD 2034. Between those two points lie sixty centuries of an architecture Our Father has been keeping in His own handwriting — and one of those centuries, the century of the Exodus, is the most fiercely contested ground in all of Old Testament scholarship. The next chapter sets that opponent down at his strongest, before it reckons any further.

The handwriting of Our Father

Let me close this chapter where I want to close every chapter — with what the names mean for the reader on the page.

You and I were born into a generation that does not believe its own birth certificate has been written about beforehand. We assume that our names are local. We assume that our years are unscripted. We assume that the long story of human history is a series of accidents in which our particular existence is one of the smaller accidents — a span of decades that began at one hospital and will end at one funeral, with everything in between depending on what we do, who we know, and how the markets behave.

The first chapter of the human story tells us a different thing.

The first ten names of the human family were written into a sentence none of those men could see whole. They lived their lives, named their sons, made their choices, and were faithful or unfaithful by their own measure — and underneath all of it Our Father was writing one line. Man is appointed mortal sorrow. The Blessed God shall come down teaching. His death shall bring the despairing rest. The line was bigger than they were. The line did not depend on their cooperation. The line was being kept by the Hand that placed each of them in His own slot.

That is the kind of writing Our Father has been doing on your life as well. You are not the author of the sentence. You are one of the words. The Hand that wrote the names of the first ten generations has been writing your name into a sentence whose shape only becomes visible when many lives are laid out together. That is what gives ordinary obedience its weight. You will not always see why the season you are in matters. The men whose names spelled the gospel did not always see why their season mattered either. They were not asked to see. They were asked to be faithful in the slot they had been given.

The seventh name in the first sentence was a man taken home before the storm. The eighth name was a man whose breath was the world's last warning. The tenth name was a man who walked through the storm in an ark and stepped out onto a cleansed earth. Each of those men is a picture of something Our Father is still doing in our generation. Some of His children will be taken before the closing storm. Some will be the warning. Some will walk through the storm and step out onto the cleansed earth on the other side. None of them will be wasted, because none of the names in the first sentence were wasted. Our Father has not become careless with His own writing.

The chapter ahead steps onto the second great hinge of the dial. The walk has run from Adam at year zero to the Exodus at year 2520. The first block is closed. The next block is the brightest one of the whole dial — the nine hundred and sixty years that run from the Exodus at year 2520 to the Sitnah at year 3480. (The First Temple falls earlier, in year 3380; from the Exodus to there is 860 years, not 960. The block closes not at the burning but at the accusation — see chapter two and chapter six.) Within those nine hundred and sixty years sits one of the most extraordinary moments in all of biblical history: the day the glory of Yahweh moved into a building human hands had built, and the flag was hung on the roof of His earthly house.

The names have been read. The chronology stands. The first block is in shape.

The next block is the one in which Our Father comes home.