Up to this point, we’ve backed up on purpose.
We started by acknowledging something most Christians never say out loud: the moment you open the Bible, you are already interpreting. Then we slowed things down even further and asked a more basic question — how do you interpret anything at all? How do you know what kind of thing you’re reading, what rules apply and what questions you should be asking before you decide what it means?
Now it’s time to back up one more step.
Because when it comes to prophecy, most Christians already sit somewhere on a spectrum of interpretation, whether they realize it or not. Broadly speaking, those instincts tend to fall into two camps. Some approach prophecy symbolically first. The text is real and inspired, but its primary meaning is figurative — Israel becomes the church, land becomes a spiritual blessing and historical events function mainly as metaphors for timeless truths. Others approach prophecy more straightforwardly.
Both approaches are attempts to be faithful. Both appeal to Scripture. And both have been shaped by larger shifts in how meaning itself is understood.
In the early 20th century, Western thought underwent a major change. Meaning increasingly shifted away from the author and toward the reader. Interpretation became less about discovering what was said and more about what was experienced.
In response, many Christians rightly pushed back. The swing toward historical-grammatical interpretation was a corrective move. It insisted that words mean something, that authors had intent, that original audiences mattered and that genre must be respected. For most of us, this is the water we swim in. We want to know what the text meant therebefore we ask how it applies here. And that instinct is right.
But here is the question that still goes unasked: Does that approach go far enough back?
Historical-grammatical interpretation asks important questions about author, audience, language and genre, but it quietly assumes something prior without examining it. It assumes that the Bible is simply an object to which we apply a method.
What it does not always ask is this: Does the Bible itself tell us how it should be interpreted?
That question comes before the method. Because if Scripture claims to be God’s unified revelation, then it is not merely something we interpret. It is something that instructs us in how to interpret it.
And when we look closely, Scripture does exactly that.
This is not a New Testament innovation. In Daniel 9, Daniel tells us plainly that he was reading the writings of Jeremiah and recognized that the exile had a defined duration (Dan. 9:2). He did not treat Jeremiah symbolically or subjectively. He assumed Jeremiah meant what he said. His prayer and plea for understanding are rooted in Scripture, interpreting Scripture.
Now fast-forward to Jesus.
In Matthew 24, as Jesus answers questions about the end of the age, He anchors His teaching in a specific prophetic reference: “the abomination of desolation spoken of by the prophet Daniel.” Then He adds a phrase we often overlook: “let the reader understand” (Matt. 24:15).
That line is not decorative. It is instructional.
Jesus is doing several things at once. He is affirming Daniel’s authority. He is treating Daniel’s prophecy as still relevant and not exhausted by prior events. He is assuming that readers are capable of understanding it. And most importantly, He is telling His audience where to look in order to interpret what He is saying.
Jesus does not say, “Interpret this symbolically.” He does not say, “Wait for new insight.” He does not say, “This will mean different things to different people.” He says, in effect, go back to Daniel.
That is Scripture interpreting Scripture, modeled explicitly by Jesus Himself.
And the specific passage matters. Daniel 9:27 speaks of a defined period, a covenant with “many,” a midpoint disruption, the cessation of sacrifice and an abomination connected to desolation. Whatever interpretive conclusions one eventually reaches, Jesus treats that prophecy as something identifiable — something that can be seen and acted upon. “When you see…” only works if prophecy has a determinate meaning.
The apostolic pattern follows the same logic. Paul reasons from the Scriptures, explaining and proving his claims (Acts 17:2–3). Timothy is told to handle the Word of truth accurately (II Tim. 2:15). Peter warns that Scripture can be twisted, suggesting that it has an intended meaning that can be mishandled (II Peter 3:16).
All of this assumes that meaning is not owned by the reader.
So here is the point this article is making. When Jesus anchors His teaching in Daniel — specifically Daniel 9:27 in Matthew 24 — He is not merely giving us an example of Scripture interpreting Scripture. He is giving us direction. He is laying down scaffolding. He is explicitly showing us how God intends His people to read prophecy.
Jesus does this repeatedly, not incidentally.
On the road to Emmaus, Luke tells us that Jesus explained to the disciples “beginning with Moses and all the Prophets…” the things concerning Himself (Luke 24:27). Later that same day, He states the framework even more clearly: “Everything written about Me in the Law of Moses, the Prophets, and the Psalms must be fulfilled” (Luke 24:44 CSB). This is not poetic language. It is an ordered interpretive sequence. First, the Law. Then, the Prophets. Then, the Writings.
Only after that do we arrive at the New Testament as fulfillment and clarification.
The Law defines the categories — covenant, sacrifice, priesthood, land, blessing, curse, obedience, exile and restoration. These are not abstract ideas. They are the grammar of the biblical story. Without the Law, the Prophets make no sense, because they constantly call Israel back to what was already established.
The Prophets then build on that foundation. They apply covenant realities to history. They warn, rebuke, promise and project forward — never inventing new categories, but expanding and intensifying the ones already given.
And only then does the New Testament arrive — not to replace or redefine those categories, but to reveal their fulfillment, climax and ultimate coherence in Christ.
This is the order Jesus uses.
This is the order Paul assumes.
Paul tells Agrippa that he believes “everything laid down by the Law and written in the Prophets” (Acts 24:14 ESV). When he teaches, he reasons from the Scriptures, not around them. When he writes, he presumes the reader understands the Law’s categories and the Prophets’ expectations. The New Testament never floats free from what came before it. It rests on it.
And this is where we need to be honest. This ordered scaffolding is almost the opposite of how prophecy is often handled today. Until we recover that order, prophecy will continue to feel unstable — not because it is unclear, but because we are building without scaffolding.
Jesus showed us how to read.
The apostles followed that pattern.
And the Old Testament itself models it.
If we want clarity, unity and faithfulness — especially in prophetic texts — we must do the same.
That is not innovation. It is obedience. And it is the only starting point that holds.
