Every page of scripture is a portrait of the imagining power inside a person, and nothing written there can rest until it happens in that inner life. The old books were never a record of strangers. They map the stages one passes through as an assumed wish hardens into fact. So the risen figure points back and says, in effect, all of this was pointed at what I am.
A seed carries the whole tree, folded and waiting, and time only unpacks it. The imagination works the same way. What a person accepts as done is a promise already spoken over his own days, and life bends until that promise is kept. The saints and prophets were describing consciousness moving toward its own fulfillment. Scripture is fulfilled when the state it names is worn and lived from.