Greg Carey

Lancaster Seminary Baccalaureate Sermon

2010-05-16T08:06:00.001-04:00

Congratulations to those of you who are graduating today. You have sacrificed much, given much, labored much, and endured much – and I hope you have received much in return. Congratulations!

And congratulations to those of you who have loved and supported our new graduates through their journey here. Many of you have sacrificed much, given much, labored much. God bless you for it. As the Psalmist says, may those who sow in tears reap with shouts of joy.

And congratulations to those of us, staff and faculty, who have walked alongside these new graduates. We feel proud today. Proud, and hopeful, that this class will bear blessing in their diverse ministries of leadership and service.

And graduates of the class of 2010, may God’s Spirit sustain you with love, with hope, with wisdom, strength, and skill. May you know God’s presence in a personal, energizing, transforming way. May blessing attend you as you go forth.

I
Friends, sisters, brothers: We are the inheritors of Jesus’ prayer. This prayer is for us.

The Gospel of John tells us that Jesus gathered his disciples on the night of his arrest. According to John 13, Now before the festival of the Passover, Jesus knew that his hour had come to depart from this world and go to the Father. Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end. At that meal
• Jesus washed the disciples’ feet, and he taught them.
• He prepared them for life after his departure.
• He promised them the Holy Spirit, who would guide and instruct them – and most of all, who would dwell within them, bearing divine life.
• He warned them that it might be difficult to follow him, that their faithful discipleship would provoke hostility – friends, conflict is a part of leadership – that they must abide in him in order to thrive.

As Jesus prepared his disciples that night, he did what you will do when you send someone you love off into the world. He did what we will do today during the commencement ceremony. Jesus prayed for them.

And sisters and brothers, we are the inheritors of this prayer. This prayer is for us. Jesus says he prays not only for his disciples but for all who come to believe. That’s we.

Now, source and redaction critics will tell us that Jesus never spoke such a prayer. (Those of you who haven’t learned about source and redaction critics, that’s for another day.) And they are likely correct; perhaps Jesus did not speak such a prayer on the night of his arrest. But something more important is true: at every moment the risen Jesus is living this prayer on our behalf. This prayer was written to remind us what Jesus was about – and what Jesus is about. This prayer is written for those who will follow Jesus beyond his earthly career. Sisters and brothers, this prayer is our inheritance. This prayer is for us.

II
When I was in seminary people actually typed their papers. We didn’t have email or the web. If you wanted to look up a journal article on a given topic, there was a set of about forty red-bound index volumes you could dig through, one for every year. Student apartments were three miles from the academic complex, five miles if it snowed…. Wait, am I wandering? Oh, yes.

When I was in seminary I took a course on the history of preaching in America. At one point we studied the ecumenical movement, that great endeavor to unite the diverse Christian bodies. We studied it as a grand movement of the past, located in the 1960s and 70s. Preachers like Eugene Carson Blake and Bishop James Pike. And there it was, in seminary at the age of 24, that this Baptist first heard of the United Church of Christ.

It sounded grand, this church founded on the vision that all of Christ’s people should be one. I was impressed, so much so that I devoted a day to the ecumenical movement when I taught Religion in America to college students. But here’s the point: the church’s oneness seemed like a goal. It seemed like something the church must labor for, that there’s much to be done before the church can attain unity. The UCC drew its motto – “That they may all be one” – from this prayer.

Ten years later I came to Lancaster, a seminary of the United Church of Christ with students from a huge diversity of Christian bodies. And I learned something here. The people who shaped this Seminary believed that the church IS one whether it looks like it or not. No matter how divided we may seem, our unity resides in Jesus Christ. As John Williamson Nevin, who taught theology here from 1840 to 1851, put it:

The church is composed of a vast number of individual members; but these are all actuated by the power of a common life, and the whole of this life gathers itself up ultimately or fundamentally in the person of Jesus Christ. He is the principle or root of the Church; and the Church through all ages is one, simply because it stands, in the presence and power of this root, universally and forever.

Look around at these windows. Yes, they’re almost exclusively guys made to look white, but look around. People you’ll rarely find associated with one another: Catholic icons like Francis. Pre-Reformation reformers like Hus. A whole window for Luther, but Calvin, Knox, and Zwingli as well. Their likenesses gathered in this chapel, their institutional legacies keenly divided. This chapel testifies to the church and its unity.

Back in seminary, I thought our unity was something we should strive for. Here at Lancaster, I learned that our unity does not depend on us. It doesn’t depend on whether we agree. Doesn’t depend on whether we pray together. Doesn’t depend on how wet we got when we were baptized. Sisters and brothers, we are one because Jesus Christ is one, and Christ’s life animates us all. That’s something I’ve learned here at Lancaster. I hope you have too.

III
Now let’s be real. We disagree on stuff. Important stuff. If we’re real, we’ll acknowledge that our disagreements hinder our common mission. They make it hard for us to work together; they can even make it hard for us to pray together. Years ago, one of my Pentecostal college students visited an Catholic church and described the “so-called prayers” he observed. In his world, if you had to read the words, you weren’t praying.

So let’s be real. Some of our Lancaster Seminary students cannot preach in their churches simply because they are women. Some of our seminarians cannot serve their churches simply because they love people of the same sex.

These days denominations are no longer the issue. The church in the United States is not arguing about episcopal polity, predestination and election. Just try to start a fight about one of those topics! We don’t struggle, much, over the eternal security of the believer or the possibility of perfection. A few years ago people were talking about “worship wars” concerning contemporary versus liturgical worship – but we’re past that.

Let’s be real. In this moment, as you go forth into religious leadership, the struggles in the church reflect those of our larger culture. The fights that divide our society as a whole have infected the church. A liberal Presbyterian will likely draw closer to a liberal Lutheran that she will to her conservative Presbyterian sister. Conservative Baptists make common cause with conservative Methodists. In the real world, our church conflicts – let’s be real about this – our church conflicts are little more than reflections of other cultural stresses. Can we be real for a moment here?

IV
In 2005 the United Church of Christ was debating a resolution concerning equal rights to marriage for all persons. A conservative leader from Massachusetts spoke just before I did, and I have to say, I disagreed pretty strongly with him. So I said so. But when I sat down beside him, I whispered to him, “Did I treat you fairly?” And this person, who was there precisely to defeat the initiative I represented, patted me on the knee – let’s just say he’s from a different generation – and said, “Yes, you did.”

Jesus’ prayer tells us that we are one, regardless of whether we disagree. Our unity is not a work or a goal; it is a reality grounded in the living, risen Christ. But the prayer goes another step: Jesus prayed that we would experience love for one another, that same love that unites the persons of the Trinity.

When people outside the church look into the church, that’s what they look at. Do we live the gospel we proclaim toward one another? We haven’t always been so good at that; even today, people ridicule the church for the nastiness and pettiness of its conflicts – just as the Corinthian Christians embarrassed Paul by taking one another to court. But there have been other days. Christians have sold themselves into slavery in order to purchase the freedom of others. When everyone else fled as plague swept through their cities, Christians stayed put and offered basic nursing care. As Dionysius reported, “Many, in nursing and curing others, transferred their death to themselves and died in their stead.” Sometimes we have done better. Today we can do better. You will do better.

Friends, in ministry – all kinds of ministry – you will disagree. You are called to disagree. When you believe the gospel is hindered, when you perceive that justice is stifled, when the forces of death run wild, you must speak up. Martin Luther spoke up. Phoebe Palmer spoke up. Sojourner Truth spoke up. Frederick Douglass spoke up. Gustavo Gutierrez spoke up. You must speak up. Leaders cannot ignore conflict, and they ought not avoid it. But friends, struggle in love. Struggle in love.

To struggle in love means that we will honor the presence of Christ, even in those who seem to be doing wrong. To struggle in love means that we will speak the truth concerning one another, even when twisting their words would be to our advantage. To struggle in love means to look that other person in the eye and speak a word of blessing.

Sisters and brothers, today we scatter. Thank God, the unity of the church does not depend on you or me. It lives in Jesus Christ. And from that same Christ flows the love that unites God, Christ, and the Holy Spirit. That is the love that makes us one. Thanks be to God.

What's Up with Evangelicals?

2010-04-26T10:09:00.004-04:00

The evangelical world is all over the place, and the rest of the church might want to clue in.

Last week a friend referred me to a video from her conservative evangelical megachurch (inerrancy, pre-trib rapture, you name it). The church was launching a series on global poverty, in which the pastor used words like "justice" and talked about how God sides with underdogs, classic liberation theology lines. This, in the wake of Glenn Beck's call to abandon social justice churches, is a most hopeful sign. The movement to embrace social, economic, and environmental justice shows broad growth among evangelicals.

At the same time, Reformed Theological Seminary has lost an esteemed faculty member, Bruce Waltke, because he expressed openness to theistic evolution in an interview. Apparently belief in a literal Adam and Eve was not enough. That same seminary has rescinded a speaking invitation to Tremper Longman, III, for his radical opinion that Adam and Eve may not have been historical persons.

The upshot of all this? Evangelicals are feeling a huge pull, just as they did in the 1950s and the 1970s. Some are gravitating toward engagement with the outside world, the larger church, and scientific consensus. Others are resisting like hell, trying to hold the line at about 1913. It's time, now more than ever, for the larger church to reach out to progressive evangelicals, honoring our differences but inviting them into prayer and conversation.

New Executive Director for the SBL

2010-04-26T09:59:00.002-04:00

The Society of Biblical Literature has named John F. Kutsko of Abingdon Press as its new executive director, effective July 1. Kutsko holds a Harvard PhD in Hebrew Bible/Ancient Near East and has been working with Abingdon Press. Here's the announcement.

Temple Prostitution in the Ancient World?

2010-03-28T16:54:00.001-04:00

It's nearly impossible to find consensus on this issue, which bears directly upon the interpretation of passages in the Hebrew Bible, 1 Corinthians, and Revelation.

Here's a popular report from Spiegel online. Thanks to Jack Sasson's distribution list for the link.

Economic Status and the New Testament

2010-02-12T14:14:00.005-05:00

When I was in grad school, a coon's age ago, a common wisdom was emerging concerning the economic status of the early Christians. Works by Gerd Theissen and Wayne Meeks indicated mixed communities with a small number of fairly affluent persons, a mix of entrepreneurial tradespersons and merchants, and a substantial number of the truly poor and of slaves. First Corinthians 1:26 said it all: If "not many" of the Corinthians were powerful or of noble birth, then a few must have been.

More recently, however, research by Justin Meggitt and Steven Friesen has painted a picture that's far more grim. The overwhelming majority of ancient people, they argue, were profoundly poor. Relative affluence applied only to the fewest people, Christians included.

All of us tend to cling to the models with which we were "raised," and I'm no exception. But something's long bothered me about the notion that (practically) all the early Christians were desperately poor. First, I must say I've never done an iota of independent research into ancient living conditions. But here are my reservations. For one thing, it seems to me that the argument for nearly universal poverty depends more on models than on empirical evidence. Second, the NT documents are full of calls for almsgiving, stories about banquets, conflict between more and less prosperous believers, and communication between churches over expansive distances. Finally, it seems quite a few ancient people decorated their houses, which suggests some measure of leisure.

A fairly recent multi-author volume by classics scholars is just now making its way down to us NT scholars whose research lies outside ancient economics: Margaret Atkins and Robin Osborne, editors, Poverty in the Roman World (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2006). There's also the 2007 Cambridge Economic History of the Greco-Roman World (ed. Walter Schiedel, Ian Morris, Richard P. Saller). These authors largely agree that the Roman economy didn't do all that badly during the first and second centuries CE, and that poverty was not nearly so universal as some would maintain. See Willem M. Jongman's essay on "Consumption" in the Cambridge Economic History. On the other hand, things declined dramatically in the ensuing centuries. Even recent scholarship on economics in early Christianity (it seems to me) hasn't fully engaged this new work. (See Bruce W. Longenecker and Kelly D. Liebengood, eds., Engaging Economics: New Testament Scenarios and Early Christian Reception [Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009].)

For now, I'll consider this a live conversation. But it has tremendous implications for the interpretation of many NT documents.

Matt Skinner on the Trial Narratives

2010-02-09T14:03:00.004-05:00

Just received my copy of Matthew L. Skinner's The Trial Narratives: Conflict, Power, and Identity in the New Testament (Westminster John Knox, 2010). Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John all receive one chapter. Acts, in which Skinner is a recognized expert, receives three separate chapters -- but then again, Acts features lots of trial scenes. Skinner's approach is largely narrative-critical, informed by historical knowledge but primarily attentive to the stories' dynamic flow. Thus, each text is allowed to speak in its own voice.

I enjoyed the opportunity to read earlier versions of some chapters, so I can say a little about the book right away. It's a scholarly work, but the writing is clear and accessible: pastors, seminarians, and informed laypersons will be able to enjoy the book.

It strikes me that activists and denominational workers might want to read it too. Skinner is getting at the intersection between Christian identity and power. In many cultures, not least our own, trial scenes have provided the venue through which we explore ourselves, our values, and our conflicts.

How do the NT trial scenes depict the relationship between Jesus and his followers, on the one hand, and the authorities, on the other? Skinner characterizes the trial narratives as contributing to early Christian "self-definition" (158). The trial narratives insist that human authorities may seem overwhelming, but their authority does not rival God's. Faithful witness, such as that of Jesus and his followers, can expose the provisional nature of human power and promote an alternative path. Trials, even those with unjust endings, may in the long run serve to advance the gospel.

We'll benefit as well from recognizing the diverse portrayals of the authorities within the New Testament. Early Christians related to Roman and local authority in diverse ways. No one attitude toward political power accounts for the broad witness we find in the NT, just as no one theory of power can speak for all Christians and all times.

Love One Another: Healthy Sectarianism

2010-01-26T09:13:00.000-05:00

In Matthew 5:44 and Luke 6:27 Jesus famously tells would-be disciples to “Love your enemies.” However, John’s Jesus puts it differently and with emphasis: Jesus’ is, “Love one another” (13:34-35; 15:12, 17). The Johannine Epistles take up this “new commandment” and make it the sign of true discipleship (1 John 3:11-24; 4:7-12; 2 John 5).

Which is more noble, to love everyone, even one’s enemies, or to love those in one’s own group? The first reaction for most people is to favor “Love your neighbor.” Indeed, that’s the ethical teaching for which Jesus is most famous. It’s easy, as Jesus says, to love your friends but hard to love everyone. We all know those people who can be gracious and charitable within their group but vicious to those outside.

I’d suggest that we pay attention to “Love one another.”

For one thing, the Bible speaks with multiple voices. It’s a conversation, not a monologue. On a host of questions the Bible offers apparently contradictory advice – and we should attend to both sides. Is wealth a blessing from God or a spiritual danger? Does human suffering represent God’s judgment or a call to mercy?

We should also look out for the social and literary contexts of biblical teachings. Over the past forty years or so, scholars have expended lots of energy on the social context of Johannine Christianity. One of the most striking things about John’s Gospel is the blend of high-flying spiritual and mystical language (“In the beginning was the Word”) with signs of deep social trauma. As Jesus says to his disciples, “If the world hates you, know that it hated me before it hated you” (15:18). Social scientists call that sort of religious outlook, in which the larger society is considered hostile and dangerous, a sectarian worldview.

Let’s look at the full context of that verse:

This I command you, that you love one another. If the world hates you, know that it hated me before it hated you.

Without going into detailed hypotheses about why the Johannine Christians came to believe that the world hated them, let’s simply notice this one thing: the “love one another” command results from the perception that the world is a hostile place. The Johannine Christians survive because they love one another.

(We might note that the “love one another” command is not limited to the Johannine literature. Paul was big on it, and so was the author of 1 Peter.)

I would suggest that Christians need to think about loving one another. At times faithful discipleship will elicit hostility. If followers of Christ speak out against violence, against a culture of greed, against the stigmatization of Muslims, against the oppression of queer folk – or, if we speak for peace, for a compassionate society, for blessing all people – we will experience hostility. Precisely at those times, loving one another goes hand in hand with loving our neighbors and our enemies. A sectarian outlook is a healthy thing for serious Christians.

In the great prayer of John 17 Jesus prays that his followers “all may be one, even as you, Father, are in me and I in you, that they may also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me” (17:21). Loving one another is one way in which we love the world. Or to put it technically, a healthy sectarian outlook nourishes our catholicity.

Pulp Fiction Hermeneutics: Jules and Vincent

2010-01-16T16:43:00.006-05:00

Spoiler alert.

In some circles, it seems the point of biblical interpretation is to control the field of possible interpretations. Some do it by providing "rules" for sound exegesis, though that's going out of fashion. At the moment I'm more concerned by people who suppose that claims concerning the Bible's inspiration, even divine authorship, will guarantee sound interpretive results.

Even the highest views of biblical inspiration don't solve the question of interpretation. If we just looked at the Christian bodies who confess such views, we'll see how frequently they dispute with one another. I don't think that kind of resolution deserves serious reflection.

What I want is a way of talking about interpretive diversity while recognizing that some interpretations are more persuasive than others. I take a clue from two of my favorite fictional characters Jules and Vincent in Pulp Fiction.

Jules and Vincent are hit men who work together. Near the beginning of the movie they execute a small group of aspiring drug dealers who have fallen out with their boss. Jules quotes a chilling passage from Ezekiel, and the room is cleared of victims. Unbeknownst to Jules and Vincent, however, there's one more kid hiding in the bathroom. The young man jumps out and yells, "Die! Die! Die! Die! Die!" while he empties his pistol directly at the faces of Jules and Vincent.

At this point we don't see the two hit men. We watch the boy's face fall into dejection, just before the bullets blow him out of the frame.... Fade to black before the next scene.

What just happened? The film takes a long time returning to the question, returning to the earlier scene just after the young man fires at Jules and Vincent. Now we see the two hit men, who coolly dispatch their assailant with a hail of bullets.

Here's how the script reads at this point.

Jules, obviously shaken, sits down in a chair. Vincent, after a moment of respect, shrugs it off. Then heads toward Marvin in the corner....

JULES (to himself): We should be fuckin' dead right now. (pause) Did you see that gun he fired at us? It was bigger than him.

VINCENT: .357.

JULES: We should be fuckin' dead!

VINCENT: Yeah, we were lucky.

Jules rises, moving toward Vincent.

JULES: That shit wasn't luck. That shit was somethin' else.

Vincent prepares to leave.

VINCENT: Yeah, maybe.

JULES: That was...divine intervention.

Hours later, Jules and Vincent schlep into a coffee shop. As always, their brilliant dialogue wins the moment. It returns to the same debate. While Vincent blows off the notion that they'd experienced anything but luck, Jules reflects on the miracle's significance:

It could be God stopped the bullets, he changed Coke into Pepsi, he found my fuckin' car keys. You don't judge shit like this based on merit. Whether or not what we experienced was an according-to-Hoyle miracle is insignificant. What is significant is I felt God's touch, God got involved.

Jules resolves to quit his gangster activities, while Vincent goes his own way. The outcome? (Spoiler, spoiler, spoiler.) It has everything to do with how their lives turn out.

I'd suggest the miracle has something to teach us about biblical interpretation. There's a "text." There's no doubt what happened. Vincent and Jules would agree on the basic events they experienced together. But agreeing on the words on the page does not resolve the matter of what those words mean. How we perceive them requires interpretive choices -- and those choices are the products of temperament, experiences, and socialization. No matter what we say to "bind" the meaning of that text, interpretation eludes our control.

Unfortunate Class Photo

2009-12-22T11:43:00.003-05:00

Note the text just to the right of the instructor's head (that would be the guy in the blue vest, back row). Explanation below.

We'd been discussing the position of the opponents in the Johannine epistles, and I believe they held a docetic christology. That is, they believed Christ only "seemed" human; therefore the mortal "Jesus" could not be the "Christ." However, anyone who wants to put a cold stop to giving at Lancaster seminary might publish this!

A joyous Christmas to all!

Reading Hebrews Theologically

2009-12-17T13:14:00.003-05:00

I just submitted a review of the anthology, The Epistle to the Hebrews and Christian Theology (Eerdmans, 2009). The chapters started out as papers at the 2006 St. Andrews Conference on Scripture and Theology, the second in a series of such events. The first (2003) involved the Gospel of John, and a third (2009) Genesis.

What's special about this book -- and these conferences -- is that it puts biblical scholars in direct conversation with doctrinal theologians. I've heard, from one of the book's editors, that the conversations were sometimes contentious. But the main thing is, this book testifies to the range of ways we might engage the Bible theologically.

I like to think of it as a spectrum.

On one end, usually inhabited by biblical scholars, we have the inductive-thematic approach. Here we look at Hebrews with a specific question in mind (the trick is how to identify the right questions), and we sift through Hebrews for passages that relate specifically to that question. A little mixture of historical- and rhetorical-critical analysis might help, too, but basically the approach amounts to gathering the passages, interpreting them, and weighing the evidence. Richard Bauckham's essay on christology provides an example of an excellent scholar doing this sort of work.
Theologians might be more comfortable at the other end of the spectrum, with its more tradition-sensitive approach. Here you begin with the "rule of faith" or a doctrinal tradition, bring it to Hebrews, and see how that theological tradition enlightens the text. Bruce McCormack's essay works through key figures in Reformed christology to ask how the death of God's Son relates to God's eternal and unchanging being in Hebrews. Brilliant stuff.

Conflict. Inductive-thematic people are gonna look at the tradition-sensitive ones and say, "You don't even listen to the text; you just impose your doctrine on it. The text has no autonomy with you." In reply, the tradition-sensitive folk will say, "You're so naive, you don't realize that interpretation without presuppositions is impossible. That's why your interpretations don't speak to the life of the church."

But here's the thing. You can't find a "pure" example of either approach in this volume. Both ends of the spectrum, the open-ended curiosity and the tradition-grounded engagement, are necessary for any enlightening interpretation of the Bible. Some of the essays in the volume (John Polkinghorne's, for example), work both ways -- and with insight. That's why I recommend this book -- it demonstrates the variety of approaches to theological interpretation, but it doesn't provide a too-easy answer to our questions.

Apocalyptic Preaching

2009-12-09T10:04:00.003-05:00

For next week's class on the Book of Revelation, I've assigned a couple of essays from the excellent preaching and lectionary resource, workingpreacher.org. Both Anathea Portier-Young and I have contributed short essays on "Apocalyptic Preaching" (Thea) and "Preaching Apocalyptic Texts" (Greg). Read carefully, and you'll notice we're talking about different things.

Jewish Jesus People and Paul

2009-12-03T14:14:00.004-05:00

This post isn't for scholars so much as it is for students, pastors, and the like. In my teaching -- on campus and off -- I continue to encounter powerful negative stereotypes about Judaism and Jews, including the Jewish followers of Jesus we encounter in Paul's letters. They're historically inaccurate, insulting to Jews, and harmful to Christian faith.

Here's the stereotype. Jews were all tied up about the law. They followed it because they feared they wouldn't pass the final judgment. As a result, they followed the law out of fear rather than devotion, or (healthy) pride. They thought they were superior to the Gentile Christians.

Paul's letters do indicate that some Jewish followers of Jesus expected Gentiles to convert to Judaism as part of their devotion to Jesus. We see this in Galatians, Philippians, and maybe 2 Corinthians. But that's some Jewish Jesus people; we don't know how many. And we might consider their motives.

When you read the Jewish literature of Paul's day, you see that (by and large) people observed the law because they loved it. God had given the law as part of Israel's election, and that gift ordered Israel's life. The law was a source of wisdom and guidance (Psalm 105 and 119, anyone), not a source of fear.

The law also provided identity for the Jewish people. Countless ancient ethnic groups vanished as identifiable peoples during the Hellenistic and Roman periods, but Jews had the law to maintain their identity. When tyrants sought to abolish ethnic distinctions, Jews lived, fought, and died for their faithfulness to the law. It wasn't out of fear. It wasn't out of rigid legalism. It was out of devotion and love.

So when some (remember: some) Jewish Jesus people wanted to continue observing the law, they were simply honoring the tradition in which Jesus himself was born. They didn't think they were "better" than Gentiles, but they did understand the Jesus movement to be a Jewish movement. So did Paul, though his understanding of what that meant led in a different direction.

Preachers, students, and (a few) colleagues, it's time to stop describing ancient Judaism as fearful, elitist, and self-righteous. Look at Paul himself: Jesus people are to remember that we depend on Judaism for our lives, we are not to judge our sisters and brothers, and -- consider how many times Paul says this -- the gospel does not abolish the law.

A Hermeneutics of Passion

2009-11-25T19:17:00.003-05:00

At the SBL Annual Meeting this past few days, I encountered phrases like "hermeneutics of welcome" and "hermeneutics of sympathy" pitched against the "hermeneutics of suspicion" other scholars supposedly hold. The thing is, no one ever names the people who hold a hermeneutics of suspicion -- probably because the charge wouldn't stick.

A word of explanation. A few decades ago Elisabeth Schussler Fiorenza described a hermeneutics of suspicion as one feminist strategy for engaging the Bible (among others). She meant that feminist readers may safely assume the biblical authors downplayed the contributions of women. A hermeneutics of suspicion, then, looks for signs of women's agency and history where it's not emphasized. I've oversimplified things, but a hermeneutics of suspicion, properly speaking, is primarily a creative strategy -- not a destructive one.

Apparently some people (and I'm not naming them out of charity) feel a need to defend the Bible from its supposed attackers. They invoke "hermeneutics of welcome" or "hermeneutics of sympathy" to suggest that they're open to biblical truth -- while those who differ from them employ the more hostile "hermeneutics of suspicion." It's a specious argument, cowardly even, because it suggests that only one mode of interpretation really values the Bible.

The real truth is, relatively few interpreters set out to find negative things to say. Many more of us, however, find ourselves passionately engaged with scripture -- to the point that the Bible continually surprises us. Sometimes it says things we wish it wouldn't. Sometimes it confronts us with questions we'd never thought to ask. Sometimes signs of hope, grace, and correction leap from the page and into our hearts. Rather than a hermeneutics of suspicion, let's call this a hermeneutics of passion (copyright right here). What about it?

"Passion" in its truest sense means the capacity to be acted upon. I don't mean primarily the passion of desire, often eroticized (more below), but the passion of wild openness to the encounter of the text. I'm talking about a deep engagement, one in which we readers make ourselves vulnerable to the encounter. I'm talking about the possibility that we cannot predetermine interpretive outcomes. I'm talking about passion.

And yes, I'm talking about the passion of desire, eroticize it if you will. We come to the Bible from a lack, a deficit, a need. We come from a world that keeps selling us petty things all glittered up. Music overproduced. Food overportioned. Bodies over-Photoshopped. We lust for something that calls us beyond ourselves, a reality that fills us truly, a set of relationships that lead to transformation. We read passionately.

So... my resolution for today. When someone dismisses another interpretation with the "hermeneutics of suspicion" label, I'm gonna call them out as they cowards they are. It's a hermeneutics of passion, people!

SBL Time: Papers I'll Miss

2009-11-18T21:59:00.003-05:00

For those out of the loop, SBL means the Society of Biblical Literature and its Annual Meeting, November 21-24 in New Orleans. The SBL is the world's preeminent biblical studies conference, and I suspect about 6,000 people -- way too many of them in polyester and tipping poorly -- will descend on the Crescent City this weekend.

I always look forward to SBL. Most of all, I'm anxious to reunite with old friends. Then there's meeting with editors and working groups, interesting presentations, and the famous book exhibit -- some publishers discount as deeply as 50%, though things are getting tighter every year. This year there will be a panel review of Sinners on Saturday morning, I'm meeting with a prospective editor concerning a secret project (really, it's secret), and the Rhetoric and the New Testament Section has lots of business to conduct. I've already booked up my calendar with sessions, meetings, and socializing.

But there are also the papers I'll miss.

For example, there's a retrospective session on Wayne Meeks' The First Urban Christians. Steve Friesen is speaking there, and I'm particularly interested in Steve's work on the economic resources of the first Christians (extremely bleak, says Steve).
Thomas Blanton has a paper on 2 Corinthians 3 and the New Perspective on Paul (available online -- it's a very strong paper).
There's a session on the value of (or otherwise) religious experience as a category for the study of early Christianity -- I'd be especially keen to hear Jim Crossley's remarks.
Shawn Kelley has a paper that challenges many of our cherished assumptions concerning parables.
There's a session on reclining (at meals) -- Jennifer Glancy has some thoughts on how early Christians reacted to this custom.
Paul Middleton has a paper on how Revelation's hymns relate to violence. (I've written on this myself.)

Death (and Paul)

2009-11-11T12:39:00.003-05:00

I used to think -- and teach, and write (Ultimate Things, 133-34) -- that Paul changed his mind concerning what happens when we die. In 1 Thessalonians and 1 Corinthians, Paul writes that those who have fallen asleep will be raised and transformed upon the return of Christ. As I understood it, these early letters of Paul revealed a series of assumptions concerning afterlife hope.

We are not immortal, nor do we have immortal souls.
When we die, we really die. We don't go on to "a better place."
Life is a gift from God, and it is embodied life. Paul believed in the resurrection of the body -- a new body, for sure -- but one continuous with the body in which we lived our lives, the same body that really, really dies.

Abe Simpson sound byte on death.

However, in Philippians 1 Paul writes that "to die is gain," since to die is "to depart and be with Christ" (1:21-24). This sounds much more like the Gospel of Luke, in which the rich man and Lazarus go on to afterlife dwelling places and Jesus says to the thief on the cross, "Today you will be with me in paradise." It seemed to me that Paul's opinion changed as time passed, as the return of Jesus tarried, and as he faced the prospect of his own death more seriously.

Here's the key: Early Jews and Christians expressed two kinds of hope concerning the afterlife, one involving death then resurrection, and the other involving an intermediate life beyond the grave but before one reaches one's final destination. The classic studies on this topic are by Richard Bauckham, in an enormously wonderful book, The Fate of the Dead; Jaime Clark-Soles, in Death and the Afterlife in the New Testament; and N. T. Wright, The Resurrection of the Son of God. See also Oscar Cullmann's famous essay.

I've made a lot of this point in my teaching. Christians, I've argued, believe in the resurrection of the dead, not the immortality of the soul. Our hymns and liturgies demonstrate great confusion on this point, as do some of our creeds. This is important for several reasons (and I still think it is):

Resurrection means the reclamation of our bodies -- our bodies matter. Therefore, what we do in and with our bodies, and how we relate to the bodies of others, also matters.
There's nothing special or immortal about us, except insofar as God graces us with life and status. Our life depends on God, now and forever.

Now I'm thinking I might be wrong about Paul. In Philippians 3:11 Paul writes in hope that he will "attain the resurrection of the dead." Could it be that for Paul (and for the author of Revelation), the idea of a temporary dwelling place and a final resurrection did not represent exclusive options? I can't get my mind around it, but the presence of both ideas in both Philippians and Revelation suggests that I may need to revise my views. How much, or in what way? I'm still sorting that out.

Still Thinking about Justification: Need Feedback

2009-10-26T11:36:00.003-04:00

I thought -- very recently -- that justification was not core to Paul's gospel. I was wrong. The actual noun, dikaiosis, is indeed rare in Paul's letters, restricted to one section of Romans in fact. But what does Paul have in mind in 1 Cor 1:30, when he calls Christ "our righteousness" if not justification? Or 2 Cor 6:7, when he mentions the "weapons of righteousness"?

Having read N. T. Wright's Justification recently, it strikes me that Paul's justification language doesn't always mean the same thing. In some prominent cases it's legal or accounting language, as in Paul's argument that Abraham was "counted" righteous on account of his faith.

But in others -- and here's the point of this post -- I think Paul means something more, something Wright perhaps minimizes. I think there are times when Paul uses justification language to point to God's act of making things right. The old-fashioned English word rectification seems to convey the idea. Look at 1 Cor 6:11 (and here I'm borrowing from Lou Martyn by way of Stephen Chester): "but you were washed, you were made holy, you were justified/rectified (fixed?) in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and in the Spirit of our God." Here Paul is making an argument concerning how believers should live in accordance with God's work in their lives. If justification doesn't entail some measure of "fixing," then Paul isn't making sense. (So I read 2 Cor 5:21, in which Paul and his colleagues become the "righteousness of God.")

I'm just at the beginning of thinking about this, but it seems to me that Paul's justification language is very, very big -- and that it extends beyond the mere categorical notion that God declares us "justified" in God's sight to God's active work of making things right with us. (So Wright would agree -- sort of.)

In conclusion, I'm writing to invite Paul people and others to help me get my mind around this. Is "rectification" part of Paul's justification talk?

N. T. Wright, Justification

2009-10-14T21:36:00.002-04:00

Thanks to InterVarsity Press for a review copy of N. T. Wright's hugely selling book, Justification. This book does not so much set forth Wright's views as it defends them, particularly against John Piper's The Future of Justification, which is an attack on Wright's position. Because of its defensive posture, and because Wright spends so much time engaging the debates raging (mostly) among evangelicals, the book can feel a little off-putting. Nevertheless, Wright's understanding of justification is hugely important, and mainstream Christians do well to pay attention.

The book has two main parts, an apology/argument and an exegetical section.

Wright believes that the Reformation traditions have narrowed justification to a matter of personal salvation. In Wright's view, justification is part of something much greater, God's rectification of the whole cosmos. This, Wright maintains, has been God's plan all along. It's why God called Abraham (read Gen 12:1-3), why God worked and works with Israel, and why God has worked decisively through the true Israelite, Jesus. Justification is not just about declaring individual Christians "innocent." It's not about making them righteous by imputing righteousness to them. Justification is about God vindicating the faithfulness of Jesus, which makes it possible for those who believe into Jesus to share his status and -- eventually, through the work of the Spirit, grow into righteousness themselves.

In the previous paragraph I used several related words: justification, rectifiction, and righteousness. All of these derive from common Hebrew and Greek roots, which have to do with the legal verdict that one has been declared to be in the right. (Read the parable of the widow in Luke 18:1-8.)

I happen to think Wright is powerfully correct. He points out -- and he's obviously correct about this as well -- that Jews of Jesus' day were not preoccupied with going to heaven after they died nearly as much as they were about God fixing the world and redeeming Israel. Jesus' work and teachings make sense precisely in this context, as does Paul's appeal to the "righteousness of God" -- we know God is righteous because in Christ God makes good on God's covenant with Israel.

Finally, so what? The point is that too many churches and Christians have a narrow, individualistic take on faith. The gospel is about participating in something even grander than that -- not just God's plan to fix things for me, but God's gracious inclusion of me (justification, declaring me a part) in the plan to fix the whole world.

A Clue from the Bible about Interpretation

2009-10-10T14:34:00.002-04:00

As we ask where to go for helpful models of biblical interpretation, we must consider how biblical authors performed the same task. It's not that we can always follow the same strategies: I can't imagine a responsible way for modern readers to mimic Paul's appropriation of the Sarah and Hagar cycle (Gal 4:21-31). Of course, some people do it, but I'm not buying it. Nevertheless, Paul's move persuaded some people in his cultural context, and we might attend to that.

As presented in the Synoptics, Jesus' teaching on divorce provides an interesting case (Matt 19:1-12; Mark 10:1-12; Luke 16:18; see 1 Cor 7:10-16). Luke only includes one saying, whereas Matthew and Mark provide a full scene on the subject. What do we learn?

First, we're talking not about Scripture but about the appropriation of traditions going back to Jesus. Note that Mark, presumably addressing a largely Gentile audience where women could initiate divorce, envisions contexts when a woman might divorce a man. Matthew, presumably addressing Jewish followers of Jesus, does not. We may never know what Jesus himself said about divorce -- maybe he spoke to the question on multiple occasions -- but that's not the point. The point is that both Mark and Matthew appropriated traditions concerning Jesus' teachings to address their own cultural contexts.

And Paul? Paul apparently knows the same tradition. There are three steps to his argument.

In 1 Cor 7:10-12 he relies upon a word from the Lord to command women not to divorce their husbands.
However, admitting people will divorce anyway, he continues to rely on Jesus tradition: If a woman leaves her husband, she ought not marry someone else.
Finally, in 7:13-16 Paul addresses an entirely new context. Jesus could not have been speaking to "believers" married to "unbelievers," since there were no "believers" in Jesus' own day. Paul must address the situation, but here he speaks in his own authority: "I and not the Lord."

There's sooo much more to say about these passages, and others have done so. For now, here's the point. Early Christians did not passively repeat sayings of Jesus; rather, they adapted Jesus traditions to their own cultural contexts. The Jesus tradition figures strongly in their deliberations, yet it cannot be the final word. That seems about right to me.

Sweet News for Sinners

2009-10-09T12:28:00.001-04:00

In the current Christian Century Beverly Roberts Gaventa includes Sinners among her 10 recommended books in NT ("Take and Read," October 20, 2009, p. 22). I'm grateful to Professor Gaventa for such an honorable mention.

Sex and Christians in the 50s

2009-10-03T18:27:00.003-04:00

A few years ago I found myself in love with bluegrass and the blues. And while listening to Bessie Smith's "Empty Bed Blues" (1928) I encountered these paired lines:

Bought me a coffee grinder that's the best one I could find
Bought me a coffee grinder that's the best one I could find
Oh, he could grind my coffee, 'cause he had a brand new grind
He's a deep sea diver with a stroke that can't go wrong
He's a deep sea diver with a stroke that can't go wrong
He can stay at the bottom and his wind holds out so long

I heard this while innocently driving along, and I said to myself -- out loud: "Damn, did she really say that?" In 1928? I suppose it had not occurred to me that people were having sex in 1928. You should see the lines about cabbage....

My introduction to Bessie Smith came back to mind the other day, when I found this book in the church library, Sex and Love in the Bible, by William Graham Cole (Association Press, 1959). All I know about Cole is that he taught at Williams College; his publications suggest that maybe he was a pastoral theologian, someone who worked on the intersection of psychology and theology.

Cole's was a great book. Fifty years ago he was telling the truth about the Bible, sex, and modern morals. He spelled out how "biblical family values" couldn't be found in scripture and shouldn't be imposed on modern believers. He sought to bring gospel values to bear on people's sexual lives with sensitivity and honesty. Following the common psychological wisdom of his day, he regarded homosexuality as an illness -- we know better now -- but he insisted upon treating sexual minorities with dignity and as equals. I have no doubt he'd hold a progressive position today. In short, here is a serious theological publication from fifty years ago that gets it.

Yet so many Christians these days act surprised when matters of sexuality come into our communal reflection. I recall a local denominational gathering just after the UCC had endorsed equal marriage rights for all persons. One speaker lamented that this resolution had been thrown upon us so suddenly -- as if the UCC hadn't been working on these issues for over thirty years! Not to mention the work among Presbyterians and Lutherans over almost as long a period.

Friends, it's long past time that Christians move beyond platitudes, ignorance, bigotry, and naive biblicism. Serious biblical and theological work on human sexuality has been going on for a long time. This doesn't mean we'll all agree on every point. But it does mean we'll have to be as honest with the Bible and sexuality as we've come to be with the Bible and slavery, interest, and church leadership. It's time to wake up and smell the coffee.

Stephen Fowl's Theological Interpretation of Scripture, #4 on Hermeneutics

2009-09-29T12:15:00.002-04:00

For such a short book, Steven Fowl’s Theological Interpretation of Scripture covers lots of significant – and sophisticated – territory. That’s one sign of a very good book. My earlier posts have emphasized Fowl’s account of contemporary biblical scholarship, particularly historical criticism, and its relationship to theological interpretation. In this post we’ll focus on questions of how theological interpreters find meaning in scriptural texts.

Negotiating some notoriously difficult problems, Fowl offers some terrific insights. For example, Fowl rejects the attempt to propose a grand Theory (capital T) of textual meaning. Instead, he offers a more pragmatic (and I think, reasonable) approach: rather than specifying what a text “means,” we should instead clarify what kind of meaning we’re pursuing. In his words, “what our specific interpretive aims are in particular cases” (42). And on the question of authorial intent, Fowl wisely notes that we can never know an author’s intent, which is a psychological state now lost to us. But we may advance reasonable guesses concerning an author’s “communicative intention” (46-47). Nevertheless, even that goal falls short of a “primary or determinative consideration” for theological interpretation. Sometimes texts speak to us beyond the designs envisioned by their authors, and that can be a very good – and Spirit driven – thing.

Unfortunately, this brings us to the question of how the “Old Testament” speaks to us today. Again, Fowl falls upon the notion that God is the ultimate author of Scripture. As I’ve suggested, this idea explains nothing and presents more problems than it solves. That’s the case with finding Christian meaning in the Scriptures of Israel, which are now our Scriptures as well. Obviously (I agree with Fowl here) Christians will find Christian meaning in the “Old Testament.” We and they always have.

But that’s a very different argument than saying God secretly embedded Jesus messages in, say, Isaiah, for Christians to discover later. That argument suggests at least two problematic implications. First, it’s problematic to assume that Isaiah did not speak fully and adequately to the people of Israel. And second, it portrays Israel – and Jews to this day – as people who didn’t fully “get” the message of their own Scriptures. Like so many attempts to avoid anti-Jewish sentiments, this approach just moves the problem down the line. It doesn’t solve the problem of anti-Jewish interpretation.

Finally, Fowl proposes practices and habits of theological interpretation. I’ll commend the first and third with minimal comment. Like other advocates of the “theological interpretation” movement, Fowl turns to pre-modern interpretation for insight. Fowl does not call for an uncritical appropriation of pre-modern readings but for engagement with the broad sweep of the church. Absolutely! I might add that Fowl should also consider contemporary interpretation on a global scale, which is absent from his book. Believing that much conflict occurs because Christians interpret the Bible without regard for one another, Fowl also seeks to locate interpretation in the context of ecclesial practices. Amen.

Fowl’s second proposal may find more controversy, though I’m largely sympathetic to it. Fowl recommends “figural interpretation.” I may quibble with how Fowl defines “literal” interpretation, but I think Fowl is onto something important. We scholars often ridicule and reject interpretations that use the Bible as a springboard – or a pretext – for some bizarre contemporary application. We may deride seeing the parable of the Good Samaritan as a story about the journey of the soul from condemnation to salvation. However, all interpretation that finds contemporary relevance in ancient scriptures requires a leap of the imagination, some sort of figural reasoning. The point, I think, is to be honest about how we’re doing it, to engage in such interpretation in conversation with one another and the trajectories of the church, and to participate in practices of critical discernment. I’m grateful to Fowl for making me think about figural interpretation more thoroughly and for many other insights.

Stephen Fowl's Theological Interpretation of Scripture, 3: more on historical criticism

2009-09-17T09:18:00.003-04:00

This is the third reflection on Stephen Fowl's important little book, Theological Interpretation of Scripture -- the second on his discussion of historical criticism. My most recent reflection engaged the question of how historical criticism related to theological interpretation. This one addresses three concerns Fowl raises with respect to historical criticism.

First, Fowl maintains that the ethos of historical criticism leads to "the policing of the scholar's confessional stance" (19). Fowl raises a significant point. Many of us recall being told to distinguish between "exegesis" and "eisegesis," to resist imposing our theological presuppositions upon the biblical text. Those of us who considered literary theory, cultural studies, and hermeneutics (in the context of philosophy) learned how to question that objectivist approach; we learned that one's convictions and presuppositions are necessary not only for interpretation but for learning as well.

During the 90s in particular, many of us included confessional pieces in our scholarly work: "As a white male heterosexual from a professional class Southern revivalist background...." Such disclosure performed a valuable function, but it also had a tendency to reduce interpretation to nature and nurture. Fowl might add, we tended to emphasize demographics over faith traditions.

Thus, many of us would regard Fowl's criticism with sympathy. Indeed, theological interpretation could open its doors to acknowledge that questions of ethnicity, gender, privilege, and sexuality are as much theological concerns as are identities such as Reformed, Lutheran, or Orthodox.

At the same time, I want to hold on to an aspect of that historical critical self-policing. Impossible as objectivity is, its aim was not to eliminate theology but to clear space for conversation and imagination. In other words, the ability to withhold judgment is a hermeneutical virtue, as is the capacity to see beyond one's own frame of reference. In place of objectivity, historical criticism does allow for self-criticism and an openness to dialogue. Fowl does not acknowledge this potential, and that concerns me. How do we learn if we don't combine a chastened objectivity with a passionate engagement?

Second, Fowl maintains that historical criticism tends to elevate the historical reliability of texts above their theological significance. (That's how I understand his discussion on p. 20.) Indeed, such a problem has occurred, but I might add this: after centuries of historical analysis, it's religious conservatives who tend to be preoccupied with historical reliability. The rest of us have largely moved on.

In my view, historical questions open up lots of room for theological reflection. Our historical judgments can never determine theological truth, but they surely can enlighten theological conversation.

To take one prominent example, many interpreters of Paul are now convinced that "justification by faith" was not the core of Paul's gospel. Paul's gospel, we think, was a story: Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again. This story presupposes other stories about the God of Israel and the life of Jesus, and it creates the possibility for the church.

Yet Galatians and Romans, in particular, argue for justification by faith. And the Reformation traditions have built not only theologies but pieties upon Paul's brilliant insight. People's faith experiences now reflect the model. Are we to ditch justification by faith because of a historical insight?

Well, no. A historical approach to Paul suggests that "justification by faith" emerged as a pastoral response to conflict. When Paul addresses the question of Gentiles in the churches, he argues from justification by faith. In other words, Paul applies his gospel to the circumstances of his churches, leading to a profound theological truth. Isn't it wonderful how conflict often generates revelation? And isn't this a theological interpretation based on historical analysis?

One might add at this point that John Calvin himself was an excellent theological interpreter of Scripture who used all the tools of historical criticism at his disposal. While Calvin predated source, form, and redaction criticism, his commentaries are filled with discussions of text criticism, philological investigations, and assessments of Paul's circumstances and motives -- all aimed toward pastoral interpretation for the people of God.

Third, Fowl maintains that historical approaches led to the biblical theology movement. That movement, according to Fowl, began to systematically catalogue the diverse theological points of view of ancient Israel and the church. It emphasized historical developments and diversity at the expense of a larger, more unified view. The movement rarely developed insights that fostered love of God and love of neighbor.

The biblical theology movement has been open to many criticisms, often from within and beginning very long ago. However, I would defend one key insight of the movement. Fowl and other proponents of "theological interpretation of Scripture" tend to emphasize the unity of Scripture, whereas the biblical theology movement often underscored the Bible's theological diversity.

In my view, the church at its best has held both emphases in tension. Tatian's Diatessaron sought to boil down the Gospels to one coherent story. But churches all over the Mediterranean celebrated four diverse Gospels. These people were not naive; they fully knew that the Gospels represented diverse, sometimes conflicting, points of view -- and they treasured that diversity above a false and imposed unity.

When I teach my introductory course, "Jesus and the Gospels," a basic learning goal is for students to appreciate the distinctive voice of each of the Gospels. Yes, that goal complicates naive faith. But for those who have ears to hear, such sensitivity plays the Gospels in stereo and enriches the spirit.

With respect to historical criticism and biblical theology, Fowl raises significant issues that merit discussion. In general, however, he understates the contributions of historical approaches to theological interpretation.

BibleWorks 8.0 -- biblical studies software

2009-09-15T14:29:00.003-04:00

Even though I'm a technical reader of the Bible, I'm not a strong user of technology in biblical studies. Just the same, I'm writing to review BibleWorks 8.0, by far the leading biblical studies software for the PC platform.

At $349.00 for the "full" version (and by "full," I mean entry-level), it ain't cheap. Yet BibleWorks offers stuff that's hard to find anywhere else. In the long run, it's a bargain. You get many, many modern translations of the Bible, including all of the most influential ones that are under copyright (NRSV, NIV, TNIV, Tanak) and translations in a wealth of modern languages. You get the standard critical editions of the Hebrew and Greek texts -- though the apparata for these are not available. Several helpful Greek and Hebrew grammars and lexica are available -- though the HALOT and BGAD cost lots extra.

Here's the BW intro page that guides you through the basic features.

If you want to read the Bible in multiple versions and ancient languages, comparing versions side by side,...
If you want to search the Bible for words, phrases, and words in proximity to one another, whether in a modern language or in Hebrew/Greek,...
If you want to consult seriously helpful lexical and grammatical helps online, plus some valuable (if dated) dictionaries -- without purchasing a whole shelf of books,...

then BibleWorks is for you. In the long run it saves you lots of money by bringing multiple translations, Hebrew and Greek texts, and reference tools all to your fingertips. You won't have the "standard" academic lexica or the textual apparata for the Hebrew and Greek texts without spending extra, but you'll have more than enough to start on basic research. The package includes helpful tutorials for both basic and advanced features; the website features such an addition.

Thanks to Jim Barr of BibleWorks for my (invaluable) review copy.

Stephen Fowl, Theological Interpretation of Scripture, 2 on Historical Criticism

2009-09-11T10:55:00.002-04:00

Chapter Two of Fowl's Theological Interpretation of Scripture sets "theological interpretation" (in quotes, because I'm characterizing Fowl's view of it) in conversation with historical criticism, the biblical theology movement, how Christians read the "Old Testament," and theories of hermeneutics and textual meaning. Fowl acknowledges the legitimacy of each of these concerns, averring that they all "look different" in the light of theological interpretation. For now, I'd like to engage the question of historical criticism.

When I completed graduate studies I would not have characterized myself as a historical critic. I would have said something to the effect that I was interested in the interpretation of biblical texts, particularly from literary and cultural perspectives. Nevertheless, almost every instance of biblical interpretation involves some historical component.

My courses often begin with a simple exercise. I divide students into groups, assign a passage of scripture, and ask them to draw up a list of questions that they'd like to pose to that passage. I insist that they hold off from determining what the passage "means"; just develop a list of questions, please. Every time, I observe that most of the questions are basically historical, primarily involving issues of translation or cultural context. I take this to mean that modern and postmodern persons are strongly historically conscious: they intuitively apply historical categories to the interpretation of ancient texts.

Fowl argues historical criticism of the Bible tends to grant "priority" to historical concerns over theological ones. Recognizing that Christian interpreters have always honored questions of history and context, Fowl's concern lies in the aims of interpretation and in the outcomes of a modernist, historicist approach to the world. In addition to the question of "priority," Fowl advances three main critiques of historical criticism.

First, "priority." What is "priority"? By priority do we mean that historical concerns are more important than theological ones, that they're an end in themselves? Or do we mean that historical concerns ought to be addressed prior to a full theological reading?

Granted, some interpreters don't care about theology at all -- or they don't care about Christian theology. For them, Scripture is an interesting cultural phenomenon, worthy of research in its own right. That's a perfectly legitimate aim, but it's almost entirely irrelevant to the question of theological interpretation. I might add that nearly all biblical scholars enjoy the purely intellectual curiosity of our work. That's also valuable, but it's not what we're talking about here.

However, most biblical scholars would insist that professional biblical interpreters should be competent in the broad range of biblical scholarship. That includes historical criticism, and in that sense historical criticism is prior to a finished interpretation. Many Scripture scholars pursue our vocation for theological and spiritual reasons. For us, historical criticism stands in the service of theological interpretation -- but it is a necessary component of the whole process.

We acknowledge that historical analysis is not necessary for theological interpretation. Through the centuries countless Christians have interpreted the Bible -- and with insight! -- apart from theological categories. But for those of us who have the ability to pursue historical questions, historical criticism is a necessary dimension of theological interpretation. I think Fowl has failed to assess the question of priority adequately, even as he raises the larger issue of the aims of interpretation. In other words, for many of us historical criticism is theological, and theological interpretation necessarily historical.

That's enough for now. I'll address Fowl's three criticisms in a later post.

Neglected Passage #1: Romans 16:1-23

2009-09-01T13:17:00.003-04:00

My first genuine leather-bound Bible goes back to 1981 or 1982, high school in my case. I read it all the way through a couple of times, highlighter in hand. It's not hard to see where my devotional energy clustered in those days: the Gospel of John is pretty much Technicolor, as is Romans. It's no coincidence that these two New Testament books have influenced Protestant theology -- and piety -- more than any others.

Working from my office now, I can't pull down that old Bible, but I bet Romans 16 didn't get much highlighter ink. It includes a list of greetings and commendations to the church in Rome and from the churches around Corinth. Biblical scholars had tended to overlook the passage too. Indeed, it used to be "common knowledge" that Romans originally ended at 15:33, with chapter 16 tacked on. You can still buy introductions to the book of Romans that fail to discuss chapter 16 in any level of detail.

However, Wayne Meek's classic book, The First Urban Christians: The Social World of the Apostle Paul, marked a sea change. Attempting to sketch a portrait of those first urban communities, Meeks revealed that "throwaway" passages like the beginnings and endings of Paul's letters provide a gold mine of information concerning Christian origins. Feminist theologians have also turned to these passages for fascinating data.

Just three items here.

Women. Contrary to what used to be common knowledge, women figured as leaders and equals in Paul's ministry. While Paul mentions more men than women, his references to women simply assume their authority and contribution to the movement. Phoebe is a deacon, the only deacon mentioned by name in the New Testament. It appears that Phoebe is carrying the letter to Rome, and that Paul authorizes her to request whatever she needs from the church there. Junia is an apostle -- well, she became an apostle in 1989, when translators acknowledged the overwhelming evidence that this apostle was the woman Junia and not the man Junias! With the famous missionary pair Prisca and Aquila, Paul mentions the woman first, which strongly suggests that she was the more prominent of the two (see a similar pattern in Acts). Paul never argues for the authority of these women, as if they needed his permission; he simply assumes it.

Status. Meeks' study extends well beyond Romans, but the references to Gaius and Erastus suggest that the churches included persons of fairly high status. Gaius owns a house big enough for the "whole church" to gather in, while Erastus is the city treasurer. Then we note how Phoebe has been a benefactor (sponsor or patron) to Paul's ministry, while Prisca and Aquila, now resettled in Rome, host a church in their home. (Perhaps Rome had enough Christians to require several congregations.)

Priority. Sometimes people credit (or blame) Paul for "inventing" Christianity. Frankly, that's a stupid notion, which can be easily disproved, but smart people still say it. But notice the reference to Andronicus and Junia, who "were in Christ before I was." Paul did not found the church in Rome. In fact, he'd never visited it. He knew quite a few believers who had preceded him in the faith. We might do better to think of Paul as a partner in ministry rather than as the founder of it.

Stephen Fowl, Theological Interpretation of Scripture entry 1

2009-08-29T16:08:00.004-04:00

When you encounter the phrase "the theological interpretation of Scripture," you might think nothing of it. After all, isn't most biblical interpretation theological? That is, doesn't most biblical interpretation occur among people and communities of faith, in an effort to find inspiration, understanding, guidance, comfort, you name it? Obviously, there are other ways to read the Bible, including reading the Bible for pure intellectual interest, but who would doubt that most of the Bible reading being done in the world is profoundly "theological"?

Nevertheless, the past couple of decades have witnessed the emergence of a movement calling itself "the theological interpretation of Scripture." It's a broad movement, and I hesitate to offer a list of its key proponents. Nevertheless, as Stephen E. Fowl points out, it is a movement, complete with sections of academic societies, major publication series and reference books, an academic journal, and so on.

What marks "the theological interpretation of Scripture," then, isn't that it's theological; rather, the movement is defined by its self-consciousness as an intellectual, largely academic, movement and by its particular take on what is -- and isn't -- proper theological interpretation. Fowl attempts to present the broad contours of the movement, with an emphasis on his particular point of view. That's entirely appropriate, and I think her performs this valuable task admirably.

At the same time, there are some things about the "theological interpretation" movement that I'd like to challenge in the interest of promoting a broader and more inclusive approach to theological interpretation (without quotes). I'll offer my thoughts as responses to Fowl, which is particularly convenient. I have read other "theological interpretation" advocates, but not enough to to comment on the movement with authority.

Fowl advocates "Christian interpretation of Scripture as a type of theology" (xiv), and I agree. In the church we interpret Scripture as one practice -- among others -- by which we grow in grace. This does not establish a hierarchy of academic disciplines, as if "theology" were prior to biblical interpretation or history, but it does situate biblical interpretation within the flow of Christian life and community. Amen.

I might add here that for years I've wondered if "biblical scholars" -- that is, people like myself with PhDs in biblical studies from research universities -- were the best people to teach Bible in seminaries. Almost every Christian community has decided that is the case, but why trust secular universities with the task of training these people? What if churches and seminaries developed their own criteria for training instructors in biblical interpretation? What would that look like? (I might note here that there are very few seminary jobs in biblical studies, so such programs would necessarily be small.)

Fowl's basic emphasis in chapter 1 is to establish an understanding of Scripture is that Scripture is a primary means by which God has chosen to reveal God's self to humankind. In chapter 2 Fowl suggests that theological interpretation should be guided by two principles, "ever deeper communion with God and neighbor" (taken from the Great Commandment) and the ancient "rule of faith" (to which Augustine appealed, and which may be summarized in the creed).

I have no real disagreement with Fowl on these two accounts. If we take the Bible as a gift from God, and if our faith calls us to pursue love of God and neighbor, then it's entirely appropriate to seek communion with God and greater love through our engagement with Scripture. But what implications does Fowl draw from these principles?

For one thing, Fowl maintains that "Scripture reveals all that believers need to sustain a life of growing communion with God and each other" (10). I'm a familiar claim; many have claimed that Scripture is "sufficient" for the life of faith. One might be picky and suggest that we believers could also benefit from other sources of insight, but let's go with a more narrow take on Fowl's claim. Surely the basics of our lives may find grounding in Scripture.

But. What Fowl doesn't do -- and what other "theological interpretation" advocates rarely do -- is acknowledge that the Bible also sets up some problems for us. Fowl recognizes that the Bible is a human document and that it's grounded in its own cultural contexts. But how do we engage Judges on genocide, Revelation on the desire for vengeance, Matthew and John on "the Jews," the pseudo-Paulines on the subordination of women and slaves? By what criteria do we respond to these issues?

Like Fowl, Augustine would have invoked the "rule of faith." By that, Augustine meant (as best I understand him) that when the plain meaning of Scripture doesn't promote love, we should look for other levels of meaning. That is, "the" meaning of Scripture does not always relate to its plain meaning.

Well, we're modern people, and that's not good enough. Problematic as it is, "plain meaning" and the historical use (and abuse) of Scripture matter to us. I would pose this hard question to Fowl. Why is it the case that his works cited includes (by my count) exactly one woman and (so far as I'm aware) no modern people of color? Do "theological interpretation" sessions at academic meetings draw significantly from underrepresented groups? Perhaps the failure to address "problematic" dimensions of Scripture has something to do with the composition of the "theological interpretation" movement, as both symptom and cause?

Next time I'll reflect on how theological interpretation and historical approaches to scripture relate to one another. That'll keep us in chapter 2.

Coming Soon: Stephen E. Fowl on Theological Interpretation of Scripture

2009-08-26T21:17:00.003-04:00

We're near the end of our series on neglected passages, and I'd like to invite readers to check out an important new book: Stephen E. Fowl, Theological Interpretation of Scripture (Cascade, 2009). Checking in at just 75 pages, plus back matter, and $13.00, this little book would be great for discussion groups, pastors, and seminarians. The folks at Cascade/Wipf & Stock were kind enough to forward a review copy, and I'll be engaging it chapter by chapter over the coming weeks. So if you'd like to read along, please do so!

I'm only a little way into the book, but here's my hunch. My overall disposition toward Fowl's work is overwhelmingly positive, but my replies will emphasize points of divergence, critique, and refinement -- all aimed toward expanding the category of theological interpretation and inviting others to participate.

Beyond Fowl's book, I've also committed to review BibleWorks 8.0 (at a basic user level, not a technical level) and N. T. Wright's Justification.

Neglected Passages #2: Revelation 5:1-13

2009-08-25T13:04:00.003-04:00

If we're gonna talk about neglected passages, pretty much anything in Revelation would do, apart from 666 and Armageddon. Revelation 5:1-13 offers one of the most captivating image plays in all of the Bible, and it's often -- and unfortunately overlooked. This passage is key to understanding Revelation as a whole.

The setup is this. John has ascended into heaven, where "the one seated upon the throne" -- that's God in apocalyptic literature -- holds a sealed scroll. As we'll soon find out, the scroll will relate the unfolding of human history; its contents pretty much amount to the rest of the book of Revelation. John "weeps bitterly" because no one is able -- or worthy -- to unseal the scroll.

Then one of the heavenly elders speaks up: the Lion of Judah has conquered, qualifying him to open the seals. Good news! A fierce lion to take up the cause! Up to this point Revelation has been all about conquest, enduring the forces of evil despite the churches' evident weakness, despite persecution. What these vulnerable little communities of Jesus followers need is a lion. The Lion is worthy....

So John looks for the Lion, and you know what? There ain't no Lion. No Lion ever appears in Revelation. In its place stands a Lamb "standing as if it had been slaughtered." The Lamb is worthy to unseal the scrolls because the through its death it has redeemed a people. Through its faithful witness (1:5), the Lamb has demonstrated its worth.

Throughout the rest of Revelation, we'll see the Lamb. No Lion, but the Lamb. The point? In the face of overwhelming imperial pressure ("Who is like the Beast, and who can fight against it?" 13:4), in the face of ostracism and persecution, God rules not by Lion Power but by Lamb Power. Faithful witness, endurance, boundless love. Those win the day. Lamb Power, not Lion Power.

How I wish communities of faith would soak this in.

Neglected Passages #3: Paul's Gospel (1 Thessalonians 1:9-10)

2009-08-18T09:21:00.002-04:00

Early one semester I thought I was posing a rhetorical question, the kind you throw into a lecture to set up another point: What was Paul's gospel? Immediately a hand shot up from the back left of the classroom, so I called upon the student. "Justification by grace through faith!"

This interchange created an awkward moment for me. Clearly this student had been formed by the dominant church tradition on the interpretation of Paul, a venerable heritage that goes back through Calvin and Luther even to Augustine. However, like most interpreters of Paul I don't think that's the answer to the question. Even more important, I think the question is more important than most of our attempts to answer it. I try to avoid undermining students in front of their peers, but this student's direct answer required something. I think I said, "That's one of the most popular answers to this question. At the same time, we have an entire semester to pursue the question itself. Let's see how things go."

If any passage in the Pauline letters "gives away" Paul's gospel, it's probably 1 Thessalonians 1:9-10. Paul's gospel was his proclamation of what God has done in Christ. First Thessalonians is probably the oldest of Paul's letters available to us, and the first half of the book is devoted to reminiscences of Paul's first encounters in Thessalonica. In other words, in 1 Thessalonians we have our earliest record of what Paul's ministry was about, albeit through Paul's skilled rhetorical handiwork.

Paul reminds the Thessalonians of the reputation they earned during his visit: "how you turned to God from idols, to serve a living and true God, and to wait for his Son from heaven, whom he raised from the dead -- Jesus, who rescues us from the wrath that is coming" (1:9b-10).

This looks very much like a summary of Paul's core message. It is essentially a story, not a doctrinal formulation, and it features four parts.

The God of Israel has broken into history, inviting Gentiles into God's people. (Paul is clearly talking about Gentiles, who turn from idols to serve a living and true God. That's how a Jew would have referred to Gentile converts.)
God's intervention comes in the person of Jesus Christ.
God has raised God's Son from the dead.
Those who await Christ's return will be delivered from end-time calamity. (Whether "the wrath that is coming" refers to end-time chaos, a final judgment, or both, I'm not sure.)

Liturgical churches recite a version of this proclamation every time they take the Lord's Supper: "Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again." It's essentially a rehearsal of the Jesus story, presupposing the memory of Jesus' life, death, resurrection, and return.

Why do I suggest this proclamation is close to Paul's gospel, rather than the familiar "justification by grace through faith"? All of Paul's letters feature the same gospel story, but only some emphasize salvation by grace through faith. Among the seven "undisputed" letters of Paul, those all scholars affirm as coming from the apostle himself, only two really articulate the "justification by grace through faith" formula. Both of them, Galatians and Romans, address the problem of how Jews and Gentiles could live together in the church. (Though probably not written by Paul, Ephesians features the same concerns: salvation [rather than justification] by grace through faith, combined with the reconciliation of Jews and Gentiles.)

It seems that "justification by grace through faith" emerged not out of Paul's core gospel proclamation but from a pastoral concern: how Jews and Gentiles could live together as one body. That's not to deny justification's importance. It's critical to both theology and piety. Sometimes pastoral crises, even conflicts, generate the most important insights.

Just the same, Paul's gospel proclamation was probably a story about Jesus Christ and how God has broken into history to create a renewed people. Paul may have told the story in diverse ways in diverse contexts. Surely he applied it with flexibility. But his core message was a story about God and Jesus Christ.

Follow-Up: Teaching the Bible

2009-08-14T13:16:00.004-04:00

I posted the previous topic both here and on Facebook, soliciting comments from lots of diverse people. The basic questions were, for Bible profs, How does your classroom teaching compare with what you received as an undergraduate or (if applicable) seminarian?, and for non-profs, Looking back at your education, how do you wish you'd been taught?

What kind of feedback came in? My post is a little long, but the major conclusions are at the bottom of this post. Pat McCullough also posted a thoughtful reply on his own blog.

Among the professors, comments included the following (I'll include a note about how widely shared the senitment was.)

Several of us have moved away from teaching students "stuff they should know" to helping them grow develop their skills and confidence as interpreters in their own right. Students are still encouraged to consult other voices and opinions, but the mode of teaching emphasizes the process of discovery rather than a passive reception of information.
Textbooks received some interest. One instructor assigns multiple textbooks, so that no one voice dominates the class. (I've done that in a variety of ways in most of my intro courses.) Another uses a course pack or online files. (Yep. Me, too.)
Several of us raised questions of ethics, politics, and identity. Most who so commented are persons of color. (I also share this concern, though I'm never satisfied with my own work here.)
A couple of people commented on the prospects and perils of integrating technology with pedagogy. (Yep. Uh-huh.)
A few of us require significant exegesis projects that come in multiple stages. (I call this an "interpretive essay.")
One person moved away from trying to cover the canon to helping students engage a set of themes. I think this decision has to do with achieving depth of engagement and cultivating the students' own interpretive voices, over against a relatively shallow "survey" of the canon.
One person mentioned critical pedagogy (hooks, Brookfield, Vella). I think I'll work with Broofield's Critical Incident Questionnaire this semester. This practice also includes a measure of self-disclosure on the part of the instructor.
One respondent prefers small class sizes.
One respondent engaged the question of sensitivity in dealing with topics that will challenge students' faith.
One respondent emphasized the instructor's continuing growth and engagement with the material. (I never use the same syllabus twice, though certain parts have lasted 10 years.)

From seminary graduates several comments came in.

Especially important was helping students cultivate their own interpretive practices rather than be passive recipients of wisdom. Both groups shared this cluster.
One respondent emphasized relevance for ministry, how to take biblical studies out into the parish and the world.
One respondent desired more contemporary modes of interpretation (not just the historical critical approaches I received in seminary).
One respondent emphasized the personal engagement of the instructor as a key element in their effectiveness.
What about diversity in the faculty? One Latina, Laura Cardena (thanks for permission), noted that she had never studied from a Latino/Latina professor. Another (white male) would prefer more theological and methodological diversity from faculty in his education.

Conclusions:

Clearly, the strongest point of emphasis involved educating people to perform their own interpretive work (in conversation with other readers, of course), rather than educating people to remember a bunch of stuff.
Diverse questions of diversity (I meant to write that) come in with an emphasis: diverse opinions, diverse traditions, diverse methods, diverse theological sensibilities, diverse identities, you name it.
The role and investment of the instructor figured prominently in the conversation.

Hey, NT Profs: A Question for You

2009-08-11T09:52:00.005-04:00

Having returned from both Thailand and Alabama, both of which require visas, I'll be returning to the neglected passages list before long. For now, though, I'd like to follow up on a discussion I had with a friend. He related something he recently learned that he does not remember from seminary, and I replied.

There's a huge gap between what I learned in seminary and how I teach today.

Thus, my question to other biblical studies instructors: How does your classroom teaching compare with what you received as an undergraduate or (if applicable) seminarian?

If you don't teach, a different question: Looking back at your education, how do you wish you'd been taught?

Thailand photos up on Facebook

2009-07-30T10:37:00.002-04:00

Friends, I hope to report further on the Thailand trip, but that'll take awhile to compose. In the meantime, I've posted about 140 pictures on my Facebook page if you're interested.

Home from Chiang Mai

2009-07-29T20:49:00.002-04:00

Nothing to post for now, as I feel like I've been hit by a truck. That, and the 20 hours of flying left me with swollen ankles. But glad to be home, and soon to see my kiddies.

Review: Diana Butler Bass, A People's History of Christianity

2009-07-24T20:14:00.003-04:00

This is the first book review I'll be doing for The Ooze Viral Blog. The Ooze is a online resource for the emergent movement, and they've initiated this program to get book reviews of significant books out to catch the public attention. I'm grateful for a copy of Diana Butler Bass, A People's History of Christianity: The Other Side of the Story (San Francisco: HarperOne, 2009), which I've been reading on my Thailand trip. Here's an Ooze video of an interview with the author.

What kind of book is this? (I'll indicate below that I think the title is misleading.) It isn't a typical church history, a record of doctrinal disputes, church councils, popes, and the like. Rather, two things really mark what Bass is about here.

It's a book about practices. The author is a leading voice in the ongoing movement to define Christianity in terms of practicing the faith rather than doctrinal correctness. While Bass takes a chronological approach, her emphasis lies on how Christians have lived their faith: caring for the sick, creating songs, praying the rosary, and so forth.
It's inspirational. By "inspirational," I mean that at times readers will feel inspired to follow the examples Bass provides. I also means that Bass intends to inspire. Almost every section begins with a vignette from contemporary life.

I'm grateful for this book, and I can readily imagine its use in local communities of faith. It's a valuable, insightful, distinctive book. Our churches are starving for a sense of their own heritage, and Bass provides a fresh menu for that hunger.

At the same time, I'm getting a little tired of books that have misleading or spectacular titles. A People's History suggests that the book will devote itself to the little people. And the subtitle, The Other Side of the Story suggests a book that counters the dominant narrative by taking the side of the little people over against the big people. (Bass cites Howard Zinn's A People's History of the United States, which does precisely that, as an inspiration.) But for every discussion of caring for the sick or Perpetua's martyrdom, we encounter the familiar "big" names: Irenaeus, Origen, Augustine, Francis, Luther, Calvin. Things grow more populist as we enter the modern age because more sources are available to Bass. I think she intends to do what the title suggests, but the book isn't quite the "alternative" its title suggests.

Perhaps a different title would make the point? Something along the lines of Living the Faith: A History of Christian Practice? Any suggestion from me will sound a little hokey. What I'm saying is, people could easily pick up this book expecting to find a liberationist or counter-cultural narrative. Just the same, this is a valuable, inspirational, relevant history, one that will help ordinary Christians discover their heritage in empowering ways.

An additional thought. The arrangement of People's History revolves around a couple of dozen Christian practices. Study groups might use this format for an extended engagement with the book, which would profitably take several months.

Chiang Mai 23 July 2009

2009-07-22T19:11:00.003-04:00

Internet access has been spotty lately, but a couple of highlights from the trip so far....

We thoroughly enjoyed ourselves on Elephant Day. That included hand feeding the elephants; an elephant show that included how elephants perform labor, how elephants relate to their trainers, and even elephant painting (no kidding, with a brush and with precision); an elephant ride through forest and river; and a raft ride down the river. Huge fun. One of our hosts, the fabulous Dada, taught us "Chang, Chang, Chang," the traditional children's song about elephants.

Yesterday was an extremely full day. We received a tour of Payap University, our host institution, complete with a presentation by the president. Payap is a private Christian university, and its primary aim is to educate whole people.

We also enjoyed a presentation by Laurie Maund. Laurie is an Australian Buddhist who has lived and studied in Thailand for almost 40 years. He's developed innovative international work with Buddhist monks throughout South Asia to address the HIV/AIDS crisis. Their distinctive Buddhist approach has even been welcomed in closed societies like Vietnam and Burma. Laurie really connected with our kids with the work he does to organize novice monks, basically high school age books, to work as peer educators and mentors for other youth.

Finally we experienced Monk Chat with Phra (meaning Monk) Saneh at the Buddhist university here. Phra Saneh explained how Buddhism frees people to be happy, in large part by clearing their minds and simplifying their lives. For example, he asked why we wear shoes. To protect our feet. Well, if shoes are to protect our feet, why do we need more than one pair? Why suffer over shoes? Phra Saneh also provided a powerful experience with meditation. Some of the students found themselves experiencing a profound new level of peacefulness. I bet I'll set lots of us, myself included, using our meditation beads on the flight home.

Greetings from Chiang Mai

2009-07-19T22:11:00.002-04:00

Our group arrived early Saturday morning, and we've settled into things at Payap University and its Institute of Religion, Culture and Peace. We've enjoyed a Thai cultural show, with traditional food, dance and other performances, visited church, toured the Sunday street market, and slipped into a couple of wats (or temples). And we've found a rhythm. While still not sleeping through the night, I did go for an early run this morning.

Our hosts are amazing people. Having made the trip in 2008, I've found real joy in reuniting with John Butt (Rhodes class of 1960), the founder of the IRCP, and Mark Tamthai, now its director, along with their staff.

Today we begin "work" -- a couple of class sessions this morning, followed by a tour of Doi Suthep, a famous mountain temple this afternoon. The temple features twelve scenese from the life of the Buddha, and John Butt shines in using that series to introduce Buddhism through the Buddha's life. Should be a great day!

NTGeeks on Hiatus?

2009-07-13T11:30:00.002-04:00

I'll be participating in a youth study trip to Thailand beginning this week and through most of the rest of July. As a result, I may not be posting until early August, depending on opportunity. Go with blessing!

And by the way, the trip is part of Lancaster Seminary's Leadership Now. If you know any promising young people, especially around 14-16, take a look at our Summer Leadership Academy for 2010.

Alan Segal on the Afterlife

2009-07-11T13:11:00.004-04:00

My students often express surprise when I tell them that the "immortality of the soul" is not properly a Christian doctrine. That's not exactly true, especially when we count liturgy (and not only classical creeds) as an index of Christian doctrine, but it's true enough to get them thinking.

They're also surprised when I mention that it's a "new" idea in the time of Jesus.

Just this week I came across a contribution on the topic by Alan Segal on Loren Rosson's blog. I admire Alan a great deal. He is the author of Life After Death: A History of the Afterlife in Western Religion. If you're interested, take a moment to read Alan's entry. Then if you're really interested, go ahead and buy the book.

For an alternative take on the history of resurrection hope in Israel, see Jon D. Levenson's Resurrection and the Restoration of Israel.

Fabian Udoh on the Unrighteous Manager in Luke 16:1-8

2009-07-09T10:02:00.003-04:00

The current Journal of Biblical Literature features an impressive article by Fabian Udoh, "The Tale of an Unrighteous Slave (Luke 16:1-8 [13])," JBL 128 (2009): 311-35. I've only enjoyed Fabian's company once, but the next time I see him, I'll be intimidated. This article is grounded in a super-impressive body of research into slavery in ancient Palestine and in the Greco-Roman world. The article raises a major question for me (the last sentence of this post), and I'd be grateful for comments that help me understand the problem.

More to the point, the parable of the Dishonest Manager is among the most challenging passages in the New Testament. The problem? What are we to make of a parable in which the hero is also a scoundrel? As C. H. Dodd famously observed, it looks as if even the author of Luke struggled with this one, tacking on multiple -- and conflicting -- "sermon notes" to the end of the story.

(Other tough passages include Matthew 19:12 [what does Jesus have in mind?], 1 Corinthians 11:2-16 [what on earth is Paul trying to say?] and Romans 13:1-7 [given what Paul says elsewhere, why would he say this?].)

Fabian is making me think about this parable differently. He brings forth massive evidence that agricultural managers (oikonomoi) were nearly always slaves in the ancient world. Thus, the manager is also a slave -- or possibly, a freedperson (a manumitted slave). When the master threatens to remove the manager from his position, the threat implies the possibility of demotion to deadly manual labor: "I'm not strong enough to dig," the manager reflects.

I would assign this essay to students just for the wealth of information on slavery in the ancient world. Unfortunately, the essay is pretty technical.

Anyway, in Udoh's reading the slave remains dishonest throughout the story. And it's that behavior that (Udoh says we'll never know the basis for this) he wins the master's approval: he acts "prudently" in his own interests.

But Fabian's reading hits a snag. If the manager is indeed a slave -- and Fabian's historical evidence is compelling -- why does he think (a) that he might be forced to beg and (b) that he might receive a welcome from the master's debtors? A slave will not have to beg, and free people will not accept someone else's slave into their homes.

At this point Fabian backs up a little and says, Maybe the manager is a freedperson. Unfortunately, the article devotes little space to the condition of freedpersons in the ancient world (see the brief discussion on 333-34). We should avoid the hasty assumption that a freedperson would have been "free" in a modern sense, as in without obligation to the master. In a footnote on pp. 324-25, Udoh gives the impression that the distinction between slave and freedman is immaterial to this question, since even the freedman manager would be acting in a servile role. (On p. 333 n. 128 he calls the distinction "insignificant.") It seems to me, however, that the distinction is very important for understanding the manager's deliberations and actions. So my question: Would the options presenting a freedperson differ significantly from those of a slave in the ancient world?

Neglected Passages #4: Mark 15:21

2009-07-07T17:32:00.002-04:00

This one will slide a little toward the devotional end. Once in class I was reading through Mark's passion narrative aloud -- what is it about reading aloud rather than just with my eyes? -- when I bumped against Mark 15:21. This little verse, which I'd never noticed before, made me pause. I was too choked up to go on.

The verse reads, "And they compelled a passer-by, Simon of Cyrene as he was coming in from the country, the father of Alexander and Rufus, to carry his cross."

"The father of Alexander and Rufus." Every once in awhile, a biblical passage offers just a little window into history. You can imagine Mark's first audience (audiences?) hearing this verse performed, with people looking around the room at one another. Alexander and Rufus? Really? Perhaps Alexander and Rufus were even in the room at the moment.

At a minimum, the author of Mark expects the audience to know who Alexander and Rufus were. That's all we know. Beyond that, one wonders what effect carrying the cross had on Simon, such that his two sons were prominent believers a generation later. And beyond that, one wonders so much more....

Facing the Giants Review

2009-07-01T21:08:00.003-04:00

Thanks to my amazing daughter Emily, who loves God from her heart and suggested we watch Facing the Giants together. The movie touched her, and I'll devote a few lines to my thoughts. I'll also try to avoid spoilers, though the movie can be pretty predictable.

Quick synopsis: A football coach at a little Christian school struggles with common life issues and with football. His faith and the faith of others play a huge role in the outcome.

Now, the good stuff. From time to time I found myself deeply moved, moved to weeping, by this film. Why? I wondered. I don't know.

I watched with my two daughters, and I deeply desire that they participate in the kinds of profound faith experiences that sustained me in high school.
The movie took me back to tender places in my high school years, especially in integrating faith with football and the rest of life. I could quickly relate to how renewed (or new) faith could change a kid's whole outlook on life. My Christian peers played a huge role in my life then, and I could strongly relate to how faith actually contributed to my finding the best in myself as an athlete. We shouldn't mock that part of the movie.
Some of the plot devices, including kids and their parents, were genuinely moving.

Theologically, the movie maintains that faith makes an impact on your life in positive ways. You see your relationships differently. You find a different meaning in your ordinary responsibilities. You find spiritual empowerment for the most important things you face. You see the good things that come to you as blessings. Prayer matters -- and so do people who pray. In many ways, this film hit those topics at just the right note.

With this movie, my evangelical piety shares a longing for revival. I really long for and pray for spiritual awakening.

I'll add that I wish mainline Christian kids had the same language I had as an evangelical youth for understanding how faith relates to our identity and our lifestyles. We're working on that in Lancaster Seminary's Leadership Now program, but I wish that. (For a critical reflection on that same ethos, see below.)

Technically, I generally dislike football films because the football action is so unrealistic. The football action in this cheaply produced movie is fairly impressive.

The movie also has significant theological shortcomings, and they need reflection.

The main thing is that the movie suggests that faith solves all of life's problems. Money, personal matters, football, you name it. Loving Jesus might help a football player (or team) play with passion and courage. It won't take a cruddy team and turn them into all-stars. The movie nods toward the outlook that living faithfully might not lead to success, but the whole plot undermines a healthier outlook.
Faith in this movie is still too small. Our little Christian academy has one black coach, complete with weak racial humor. It apparently includes an African American player -- we know this not because he ever speaks but because he appears in a game scene. In other words, faith is all about personal issues and one to one relationships. It doesn't bear on the social realities that so shape our lives. Why is it, by the way, that Southern Christian schools are so white? (And why were so many of them founded just when public schools integrated?)
The movie is socially conservative to a fault. The coach and his wife have money problems and no kids. So why does this talented woman keep just a part-time job that makes almost no difference in their financial picture? (I have a sneaking hunch.) Several times the movie insists that following Jesus means submitting to authority. I'm all for that, but you know what? Sometimes authorities, even parents, are unjust and abusive. It's not sufficient to tell somebody to obey authority and leave it at that.
I just don't share the theology that God determines everything that happens. This movie assumes that theology. If I win a football game, I thank God for the experience and the ability -- but I would never interpret the win as God's will. Even back in the day, we knew better than that.

Bottom line? I was genuinely touched by this movie. My daughter was inspired. It raises important questions. I just have some serious reservations too.

Neglected Passages #5: Romans 15:30-32, Prayer, Providence, and Fate

2009-06-30T14:06:00.005-04:00

Romans 15:30-32 is one of those "throwaway" sections, but it opens the way to pressing questions concerning prayer, providence, and fate.

Clearly Paul is wrapping up the epistle, and he's finding ways to pull things together. In fact, most scholars used to believe that the original version of Romans ended with 15:33. It certainly looks like a conclusion: "The God of peace be will you all. Amen." Most scholars no longer believe Romans 16 is a later addition to the epistle, but that doesn't change the fact that Paul is bringing it to a close here.

In 15:30-32 Paul asks the Romans to pray on his behalf, that his trip to Jerusalem will go safely, that his collection for the poor will please the Jerusalem church, and that he will be able to visit Rome after his Jerusalem trip. We often forget that at its heart Romans is not a doctrinal treatise but a pastoral fundraising letter. Paul wants to visit so that he can use Rome as an operational base for a mission to Spain (15:23-24), just as Damascus, Antioch, and Ephesus have supported his work in the past. (Take a look at these cities on a map, and you'll see the pattern of aggressive territorial expansion.)

In the light of Romans' high-flying rhetoric and its unrivaled doctrinal influence, such a meek pastoral conclusion hardly commands our attention. However, let's look at that prayer more closely. It involves three basic petitions: (1) that Paul will escape harm, (2) that the church in Jerusalem will approve of his collection, and (3) that he'll be able to complete his mission by means of a journey to Rome. How well was that prayer "answered"?

(1) Most historians believe that Paul's journey to Jerusalem marked the beginning of the end for him. Paul was arrested in Jerusalem, and because he "appealed to Caesar" he was taken to Rome in Roman custody. Most traditions have it that Paul died during his imprisonment in Rome. So Paul did not escape harm.

(2) We'll assume that the Jerusalem church gladly accepted the offering, though quite a few historians discern a great deal of tension upon Paul's arrival. (Acts 21:17-26 provides a notoriously difficult account of Paul's visit with James.) We'll give the prayer the benefit of the doubt, and judge that Paul's offering was acceptable.

(3) If Paul made it to Rome and carried on a mission there, he did so as a prisoner. Acts records such a ministry on Paul's behalf. Again, as Acts has it, Paul continued a robust ministry as a prisoner (28:30-31). So, Paul never uses Rome as a base for a mission to Spain, but he does carry on his mission in Rome.

Though every historical judgment in this post is open to challenge, I'll resist the temptation to turn this post into a research article. The point is: Paul's prayer met its fulfillment only partially and ironically.

What does this mean theologically? I don't have an answer for how prayer works, but Paul's prayer is suggestive. Prayer aligns us with the will of God, but it also opens up our lives to God's work. It does not seem that God micromanages the universe, but neither is God's will thwarted by the vagaries of fate. Paul may not have received the answer to prayer that he desired, but without a doubt he did wind up preaching the gospel in Rome.

Neglected Passages #6: The Scope of the Canon (Jude 9-10, 14-15)

2009-06-26T08:29:00.006-04:00

If we're gonna talk about neglected passages, we might easily discuss the entire Epistle of Jude. I can't recall ever hearing a sermon from it. To be honest, Jude is largely an ad hominem attack on a competing group of Christian teachers. The epistle does exhort its audience to consider those tempted by false teaching, offering mercy and salvation to those -- even as one despises their "defilement" (vv. 22-23, with a major text critical problem). As William Brosend, II, notes, Jude insists upon eschatological hope and demonstrates that the character of believers, especially religious leaders, is an essential part of their message.

Jude also contains a clue about the nature and development of the canon. Verses 8-9 refer to the archangel Gabriel "contending with the devil" (RSV) over the body of Moses. We also find this story in the Testament of Moses, a Jewish pseudpigraphal work of the period. The tradition may have reached Jude through by another road; my point is that Jude relies on extracanonical traditions for this information.

Even more striking are verses 14-15, in which Jude quotes the great Jewish apocalypse 1 Enoch (1:9), attributing the quote to Enoch's prophecy. Clearly, Jude employs 1 Enoch as scripture. By the way, 1 Enoch stands in the canon of the Ethiopic Church.

Jude's allusion to the Testament of Moses and its quotation of 1 Enoch have implications for how we understand the canon. Our canon (the Bible) is the result of use by Jew and Christians. (For its part, Jude didn't receive particularly widespread acceptance for quite a long time and was often disputed.) It didn't fall out of heaven. A group of bishops didn't conduct a secret vote in a smoke-filled room. It wasn't the result of a consensus. However we understand the role of the Holy Spirit in this process, our Bible comes to us because our ancestors in the faith read, shared, copied, and treasured these books. They used them to find guidance, insight, and inspiration.

David deSilva on Revelation

2009-06-25T21:04:00.002-04:00

I've been teaching a (very rewarding) week-long course, "Preaching Paul," for Lancaster Seminary's summer academy. Have to admit, I'm behind on the Overlooked Passages series. Over the weekend, I hope.

In the meantime, I just got my hard copy of David A. deSilva's major study of Seeing Things God's Way: The Rhetoric of the Book of Revelation (Westminster John Knox). I've been looking forward to this. We're doing a panel review of this book in the SBL's Rhetoric and the New Testament Section this fall in New Orleans. I'd already worked through the book as one of those invited to compose blurb's for the book's promotion.

Since this book often levels substantial criticisms of my own work, I won't use this space for rebuttal. I will, however, promote the book. It's by far the most thorough rhetorical study of Revelation to date. That means, David's aim is to show how John, Revelation's author, sought to move his audience to see the world -- and live in it -- in a new way. Accessibly written, though thoroughly engaged with scholarship, this book represents a major contribution to the study of Revelation. Highly insightful, highly recommended.

Mark Goodacre is podcasting on the NT (thanks, Julia)

2009-06-21T18:06:00.002-04:00

Mark, who teaches at Duke and is probably the leading Web presence among NT scholars, now has podcasts. Interesting little snippets, two now available.

Thanks to Julia O'Brien for calling my attention to this.

BibleWorks 8.0

2009-06-18T10:28:00.002-04:00

Just received a review copy of BibleWorks 8, the leading biblical text software for PC users. I'll spend several weeks playing with it before I post a review. For now, I'll simply say that it looks very much like BibleWorks 7, with lots -- and lots -- of additional versions of primary texts (Pseudepigrapha, early Christian writings) and lexical aids. The scrolling function for finding the verse you're looking for is much improved.

I'm not an "advanced" user, who does sophisticated grammatical searches, so I'm not the best technical reviewer. But if you want to work with the original languages, this package offers a lot of help.

Neglected Passages #7: Looking Out for the Dead

2009-06-16T09:44:00.003-04:00

Thanks to Sally Stewart for the suggestion. We're talking about four passages that discuss early Christian concern for the dead: 1 Corinthians 15:29;1 Peter 3:18-22; 4:6; and Revelation 20:13.

Here's 1 Corinthians 15:29, as translated by Gordon Fee (The First Epistle to the Corinthians, 760-61).

Now, if there is no resurrection, what will those do who are baptized for the dead? If the dead are not raised at all, why are people baptized for them?

According to Fee, Paul's reference here is part of an ad hominem argument. He knows that some of the Corinthians are in fact undergoing vicarious baptism on behalf of dead persons, he rejects that belief outright, and he uses that practice against them in his argument for a future resurrection of the saints (763-67). Fee's argument rests on the assumption that Paul could not have approved of vicarious baptism, since Paul understands salvation as coming by grace through faith. That is, Paul believed salvation involved the faith of a believer, something one cannot offer on behalf of another person.

Fee's argument makes sense to me, but we should add a couple of qualifications. First, Paul does not explicitly reject vicarious baptism for the dead; we must infer his condemnation of the practice on the basis of more general considerations. Second, it appears some of the Corinthians were engaged in such a practice. Given the widespread concern for the fate of the dead in ancient Judiasm and Christianity (not to mention ancient Mediterranean religion generally), how do we know the Corinthians were an isolated case?

Let's consider a possibly relevant text from the early second century, the Apocalypse of Peter (as cited and translated by Richard Bauckham, The Fate of the Dead, 232).

Then I will grant to my called and elect one whomsoever they request from me, out of the punishment. And I will give them [i.e. those for whom the elect pray a fine baptism in salvation from the Acherousian Lake. (14:1)

Does the Apocalypse of Peter envision deceased Christians praying on behalf of the damned, resulting in their post-mortem baptism? Bauckham isn't sure, but he "wonders" about how Apocalypse of Peter 14:1 might relate to 1 Corinthians 15:29.

Now what about 1 Peter 3:18-22 and 4:6? These passages surely lie beneath the clause in the Apostles' Creed: "he descended into hell." Eugene Boring helpfully summarizes the most common views of this passage (1 Peter, 136-37).

The passage teaches that between his death and resurrection, Jesus preached to the lost souls in the world of the dead, giving them a "second chance" at salvation. Origen advocated this view.
Augustine taught that the preexistent Spirit of Christ preached through Noah to the wicked generation destroyed in the flood. This is what 1 Peter 4:6 indicates, referring to their "spiritually dead" state.
The passage alludes to the "Watchers," the angelic beings who ravished mortal women. First Enoch and Jubilees, extremely popular Jewish texts of the period, understand Genesis 6:1-4 as teaching that angels ("Watchers") sinned by taking mortal women for themselves and through that act corrupted humankind. As a result, the Watchers are bound and imprisoned. Our passage refers to "the spirits in prison" who "did not obey . . . in the days of Noah."

The simplest solution is to believe that both 3:18-22 and 4:6 refer to the same idea, that the dead who preceded the time of Jesus received an opportunity to hear the gospel from him. (Boring does not share this view.) However, the references to "spirits in prison" and "the days of Noah" strongly suggest that the 3:18-22 relates to angelic and spiritual beings while 4:6 relates to mortals.

Finally, Revelation 20:13 is part of a description of the great judgment. Here we find that "the sea gave up the dead in it, and death and hades gave up the dead in them." The concept of the underworld giving up the dead to face judgment may seem familiar to us, but why the sea? As Bauckham points out, many people in the ancient world were concerned about how our bodies relate to the afterlife. If I lose a limb, do I get it back in the resurrection? Here, the question involves those who die at sea. Never properly buried, how do they face the resurrection? The answer: in the end, even the sea gives back its dead. (See pp. 269-89 in The Fate of the Dead.)

Neglected Passage #8: "The Spies Like Us" Episode: Acts 14:6-19

2009-06-09T09:28:00.005-04:00

I'm fascinated by emerging research into ethnicity in the ancient world, an area about which many of us have been largely ignorant for some time. Ethnic concerns figured prominently among Greek and Roman writers. You might note an ethnic slur in Titus 1:12: "Cretans are always liars, vicious brutes, lazy gluttons" (NRSV). (Thanks to Wil Gafney for reminding me of this.) Grounded in Greek and Roman studies, ethnicity research is beginning to influence biblical studies as well.

See
• Hall, Jonathan M. Ethnic Identity in Greek Antiquity (Cambridge 1997).
• Hall, JonathanM. Hellenicity: Between Ethnicity and Culture (Chicago 2002).
• Malkin, Irad (ed.). Ancient Perceptions of Greek Ethnicity (Harvard 2001).

Acts 2 depicts the ethnic diversity represented within Judaism. Not only do Jews gather in Jerusalem from all over the ancient world, they speak a variety of local languages. This leads me to wonder if an ethnic joke of some kind might reside beneath Acts 14:6-19, as some interpreters suppose. Luke occasionally employs stereotypes in the interest of entertainment, as we have seen in the case of Rhoda, or for the sake of moving the story and developing the characters (as with the Athenians in Acts 17). Might something similar be going on with the Lycaonians?

The story has it that Barnabas and Paul so impress the folks in Lystra that they are confused for Zeus and Hermes, respectively. "The gods have come down to us in human form!" Luke presses the point harder. Bringin oxen and garlands, the priest of Zeus prepares to offer sacrifice to the newly appeared deities. Zeus and Hermes -- I mean, Barnabas and Paul -- use the acclaim as an opportunity to proclaim the gospel. Yet only with difficulty do they restrain the crowds from worshiping them. I call it the "Spies Like Us" episode because -- well, if you've seen the old 80s comedy, you know why.

Perhaps Luke is relying on a stereotype, now lost to us, of the Lycaonians as gullible and perhaps superstitious. I've asked some Lukan scholars their opinion on the question, and most of them have suspected such. The problem is, we have no external evidence for such a stereotype. It's simply a matter of intuition.

Right away, however, Jews from Antioch and Iconium (how'd they communicate?) come into Lystra and persuade the crowds to stone Paul, dragging him out of the city in the belief that they have killed him (14:19). (The NIV and NRSV break up the Greek sentence, which links winning over the crowds with stoning; thus my interpretation.) If the Lycaonians so readily perceived deity in Barnabas and Paul, why shouldn't they believe new teachers just as readily?

Neglected Passage #9: Luke 17:7-10

2009-06-05T10:17:00.005-04:00

In the NRSV, Luke 17:7-10 reads,

"Who among you would say to your slave who has just come in from plowing or tending sheep in the field, 'Come here at once and take your place at the table'? Would you not rather say to him, 'Prepare supper for me, put on your apron and serve me while I eat and drink; later you may eat and drink'? Do you thank the slave for doing what was commanded? So you also, when you have done all that you were ordered to do, say, 'We are worthless slaves; we have done only what we ought to have done!'"

This parable is unique to Luke, and one immediately gets the impression it involves the appropriate disposition of disciples regarding obedience. The setting involves a conversation between Jesus and his disciples. The parable maintains that doing what God commands amounts simply to duty; as Arland J. Hultgren puts it, "No one, no matter how virtuous or hardworking, can ever put God in his or her debt." Moreover, a disciple's "duty is never done" (The Parables of Jesus, 251).

That interpretation makes sense to me, but this passage fascinates me for other reasons. It suggests important things about the social setting for the Gospel of Luke, a contested issue among interpreters. And it also participates in the broader early Christian conversation concerning slaves and slavery.

As for Luke's social setting, the question has two dimensions. First, what kinds of people did the author have in mind in composing this Gospel? The second question is closely related: what is Luke's message concerning social status?

Some suggest Luke is the Gospel of the poor, speaking primarily to and on behalf of the downtrodden. The theme of social reversal ("God has filled the hungry with good things but has sent the rich away empty" [1:51]; "good news to the poor" [4:18]) figures prominently in Luke. Some interpreters suppose Luke is speaking to a prosperous audience, perhaps even a literal person named Theophilus who paid for the Gospel's composition (1:3; Acts 1:1). But many interpreters, including me, believe that Luke intends an audience of mixed composition, but it addresses the more prosperous with a particularly sharp edge.

This parable suggest just such an audience. It presupposes an audience that easily identifies with a slaveowner. This slaveowner may not be quite "rich." If he were, he'd have different slaves working in the field and serving in the home. (This may press the imagery too far.) But this is a person who can relate to the story.

But the parable also has an edge. It calls the audience to imagine themselves as slaves. In the ancient world slave imagery was hardly attractive to elites, who often described slaves in the most demeaning ways imaginable (J. Albert Harrill, Slaves in the New Testament, 17-83). In my view, Luke uses this imagery precisely to promote a revaluation of their identity. In Luke's parables, persons of relatively high status sometimes encounter social crises that undermine their relative privilege (the man rescued by the Samaritan in 10:25-37, the elder brother in 15:11-32, the dishonest manager in 16:1-8, and the rich man in 16:19-31). In Luke faithful elites merit no more standing than anyone else.

A second aspect of the passage compels my attention, its participation in early Christian slave discourse. Jesus' parables are full of slave characters. Paul identifies himself as a "slave of Jesus Christ," and Revelation calls believers to identify as Christ's slaves. Several passages, inside the New Testament and beyond, call slaves to obey their masters. So slave discourse plays a significant role in early Christianity.

In this context we must remember how widespread slavery was in the ancient world. Slaves may have composed up to one-third of the Roman Empire's population, as much as half of the inhabitants of Rome itself. Ancient people knew what slaves were. Free persons largely mocked and despised slaves. And slaves themselves? Unless they were lucky enough to draw a plum assignment, their lives were grim at best, likely to be much shorter and more painful than those of the general population.

Yet the New Testament and other early Christian literature also reveal a liberatory trend regarding slavery. Paul did not write Ephesians, Colossians, 1 Timothy, or Titus -- the books that enjoin slaves to submit. Rather, Paul instructs slaves to make the best of their condition and to "grab" their freedom if they can (1 Cor 7:20-24). Interpreters dispute what's going on with Philemon and Onesimus, but it seems to me that Paul is calling for Onesimus' manumission. (For a totally different reading, see Harrill, 1-16.) In Christ, Paul proclaims the distinction between slaves and free abolished (Gal 3:27-29).

It's not just Paul. In condemning Rome's exploitative commercial practices, Revelation implicitly condemns the slave trade (18:13). Even 1 Timothy 1:9-10 includes slave traders among the "lawless and disobedient." There's even evidence -- very early evidence -- that some Christians worked actively for the freedom of their enslaved colleagues (Ignatius, to Polycarp 4.8-10; possibly Shepherd of Hermas 38.10; 51.8), even to the point of selling themselves into slavery to purchase the freedom of others (1 Clement 55.4-5).

Everything in this post is subject to dispute. Nevertheless, you rarely hear about Luke 17:7-10, even though it opens the path to important and fascinating questions about the Gospel of Luke and the social shape of early Christianity.

Note: In an earlier post I reflected on 1 Thessalonians 1:5 and the role of religious or mystical experience in the spread of early Christians. That passage would otherwise be on the list.

New Series: Ten Relatively Obscure Passages #10

2009-06-04T14:56:00.004-04:00

Over the coming weeks I'll be developing a series on ten relatively obscure passages in the New Testament. For example, recently I composed an entry on passage #10, the story of Rhoda.

Some of these passages may be well known among scholars, but you don't hear much about them in church. For example, Revelation 5:1-13 is critical for how we might interpret Revelation, but (a) it's in Revelation, for crying out loud, and (b) the only sermon I've ever heard on that passage was preached by, well, me.

Others are "throwaway" passages that don't carry much obvious theological freight but reveal a great deal about early Christianity. Jude 8-9, 14-15 will enter few Sunday School curricula, but these verses have big implications for our conversation about how to interpret scripture.

Still others are passages one easily reads right by but, once they arrest our attention, possess the capacity to inspire us or lead us to deeper reflection. Romans 15:30-32, Paul's prayer for deliverance in Jerusalem and a safe journey to Rome, stands among these.

I've got a list of ten, but I welcome you to suggest your own. That includes the opportunity for guest posts.

Continuing the Conversation: Why Read the Bible at All?

2009-05-28T09:19:00.007-04:00

Continuing the conversation about theological interpretation, Christopher Spinks commented on my most recent entry, "toward what end(s) are these people of faith engaging scripture?" and "why do they feel the need to engage this particular set of texts and not another?" Two different questions, but good ones.

Oddly enough, I'm speaking on this very topic Monday night in Lancaster's Theology on Tap series at Annie Bailey's pub. Some quick thoughts, beginning with the second question, why this Bible?

My basic reply is pragmatic. We turn to the Bible because it is our book. When I read David Tracy's The Analogical Imagination, gosh, 15 years ago, I didn't like his concept of the Bible as a "classic." I wanted to be able to say that something inheres in the Bible that makes it special. However, I can't find a meaningful way to articulate that. (More on that below.) So I return to a more pragmatic understanding.

The Bible is our book because we continue to practice the reading and interpretation of it. We continue to invite scripture to shape our imaginations and conversations. But we do not -- and have never -- given the Bible the final or only word. One might add something else, but this claim has some problems: The Bible provides our primary witness to the story of God and our people. That's sort of true, but spelling out the qualifications would take more time than I can give. Anyway, this understanding of the Bible as our book implies some responses to the first question, "to what end" we read it.

We read it because it connects us with the church through the ages and around the world.
We read it in search of the transforming power of God, because the church frequently testifies to the power of God at work on our reading of scripture.
We read it to find inspiration, transformation, challenge, and comfort.
We read it to shape our imaginations and our questions -- that is, to shape us.

None of those claims can avoid challenge. On occasion the Bible has been used to great harm. It hasn't even taken a lot of effort to turn the Bible toward the legitimation of slavery, apartheid, misogyny, and heterosexism. Thank God, a neat thing happens: even in those painful conversations the Bible challenges the Bible, and in the long run things work out. (Here I'm influenced by cultural studies on African American biblical hermeneutics -- see essays by Clarice J. Martin and Allen Dwight Callahan in Semeia 83/84, Slavery in Text and Interpretation, ed. Callahan, Richard A. Horsley, and Abraham Smith.)

I would argue that this pragmatic understanding is grounded in history. We got the Bible because people went to great pains to copy it. As Jewish and Christian literature multiplied, we find Christian leaders saying, "Here's what we'll read in church (and not the other stuff)." That's essentially what Luther is doing in translating the Bible. He includes James and Hebrews, but he notes his major problems with both. On James, he describes the problem in precisely a pragmatic vein: It's okay to read it, even if Luther could do without it. In other words, we do in fact read the Bible because our ancestors have read it.

I also made a negative claim, that I can't make sense of saying meaning, inspiration, or authority inheres to the Bible. What about that?

The church, ecumenically considered, does not have a single Bible. For most NT authors, the Bible was Greek versions of Jewish scriptures, not the Old Testament we have today. For the author of Jude, the Bible included the Book of Enoch. For the Ethiopic church, Enoch remains in the canon. What Bible are we talking about, and how do we defend the definition? (Quick footnote: Of course we Protestants read scripture in the context of the whole. I'm simply saying that whole isn't "natural" or inherent.)
To ascribe inherent value to the Bible implies something about the status of biblical books in relation to other books. I have no desire to change the canon of my church. However, I defy anyone to explain how the epistle of Jude offers more wisdom than, say, 4 Ezra.
Many, many persons have lived exemplary Christian lives without ever reading the Bible -- or hearing it in any level of detail. Obviously, the Bible is a huge part of the context, but the authority for their Christian lives did not reside in the Bible.
I avoid attributing properties to the Bible because believing the "right things" about the Bible has never guaranteed healthy interpretation. In fact, I'm not sure there's any evidence that such belief would foster healthy interpretation.
The main reason I don't believe authority inheres in the Bible is spelled out in my recent entries. The Bible doesn't speak with a unified voice, nor can we assume that taking the Bible as a whole will result in a coherent voice. If we're honest about the Bible, we know that there are dimensions of it (notice, I didn't say "parts") that we privilege and others that we don't. (This is not to say that we have any business skipping by dimensions of scripture -- or parts of it, for that matter. I'm committed to engaging the whole of scripture.) Such decisions are not -- and cannot -- be traced to some inherent pattern we find in the Bible. They are instead the product of communal discernment, usually informal discernment, over a long period of time.

One sometimes hears the dramatic story of a hotel room conversion. On the brink of despair, sometimes suicide, a person opens the nightstand and pulls out their Gideon Bible. Upon reading it, God's love breaks through to them and they find salvation.

I don't doubt the storyline, but let's think about that critically. What drives someone to open the Bible? There's already a context of a faith community that has somehow implanted the thought that the Bible might contain answers. If they open the drawer to find a Dear Abby anthology, or even the Gita or the Qu'ran, the story would work differently, yes? And what about that Bible? Are we to think they just randomly open to, say, Hosea and the love of God broke through to them? Mark? But wait a minute. Gideon Bibles always come with packaging. There's a guide to how to read the Bible there, complete with recommended verses (and page numbers? I'm not sure). In other words, we don't have the Bible speaking on its own to a lone individual; we have communities of faith and conventions of interpretation surrounding this event. That's how the Bible comes to life.

One final thought. The things I'm saying are not the result of modernist historical criticism, nor of postmodern linguistics. I'm a product of both, of course. However, these concerns go at least as far back as Augustine and Origen. Early Christians knew the Bible was messy; for that matter, neither Augustine nor Origen had a fixed canon that matches ours. That is why they developed principles of interpretation to guide communities in their reading of scripture, including allegorical exegesis and the law of love. Scripture comes to life when we read it in the context of walking the path of faith along with our brothers and sisters.

More on Theological Interpretation

2009-05-27T17:04:00.003-04:00

Christopher Spinks has been kind enough to respond to the blog post on "Theological Interpretation of Scripture." Replying to another blogger, Seth Heringer, Christopher rightly denies that theological interpretation is an academic discipline and that professional biblical scholars should rule the day in biblical interpretation.

Christopher then turns to my blog, where I wrote, "I’m not convinced the [theological interpretation] movement has fully faced the complications implied in the questions it is asking," and he asks what questions do I have in mind. Well, a few -- if he'll indulge me in a few generalizations. I'm not active in the movement, and I don't know the range of works he does. I'll really stick with one question, answered in multiple ways in the theological interpretation movement. These answers stand in complementary, not competitive, relationship to one another.

The question: "What kind of book is the Bible?"

Several folks in the movement recommend we should read scripture primarily as story. While I'm sympathetic to that point of view, strongly so, this model opens the path for all sorts of questions. Scot McKnight, for example, tells us what the story is in The Blue Parkeet. But surely the Bible resists such reduction and essentializing. The Bible tells many stories, woven into and against one another. While I'm willing to talk about how all the stories relate to a big story, I would insist that we'll never arrive at consensus on what that one story is. Well, creation and redemption, perhaps. But that's not the whole of scripture by any means. So the question, "What kind of book is the Bible?" opens the way to lots of questions, not a single answer.

Another item. Christopher refers to the Bible as "divine discourse." I have to admit, I have no earthly idea what that means. Does it mean God is the ultimate source of the Bible? God is the ultimate source of everything. Does it mean God spoke directly through the authors? Well, I don't buy that. What does it mean? May I suggest that this answer to the "What kind of book" question tends to locate the Bible's significance in the past?

I'm fully aware that's not what Christopher means. He clearly believes God continues to speak through scripture. But would it not be better not to link the "divine" bit to the text but to the process to which the church testifies down the ages? Isn't "Bible" here shorthand for something wonderful that happens when people read the Bible? And if that's what it means, what about the awful things that also happen when people read the Bible? More questions from the one question.

Finally, several theological interpretation authors claim that God is the Bible's subject matter. Another essentialist reduction of the question, "What kind of book is the Bible?" Again, are we talking about the text of the Bible, its authors, or our tradition and practice of reading it? If we mean either of the first two, the claim that the Bible is "about" God falls flat in front of the evidence. Often it is about God; often it's about politics, ethnicity, sex, and so forth. We might step back and say the Bible situates all those things in the context of God, but one might as easily reply that the Bible also appeals to God as a pretext for some of those conversations. And if we mean that God is the subject of our reading of the Bible -- that is, that we read the Bible in search for God -- then, no, I don't accept that. I dearly expect to encounter God in the practice of reading scripture. But that's not the only question I have. It's not helpful to prescribe reading in that way.

The gist of my overall reply is to say this. Our generalizations about the Bible emerge from our desire to find some essential essence for the Bible. I often share that desire; sometimes I don't. Therefore, I resist any attempt to define the Bible's essence in the process of defining theological interpretation. I prefer a more open, more pragmatic, approach, as spelled out earlier: theological interpretation of the Bible happens when people of faith engage scripture in the praxis of living the life of faith and in the context of the broader historical and global church.

And I fully apologize for referring to Christopher by the surname Sparks.

"Theological Interpretation of Scripture"

2009-05-26T07:39:00.010-04:00

Last week I posted concerning the emerging evangelical conversation about the Bible. In a conversation on another venue, an esteemed friend mentioned an influential movement with which I have only entry-level familiarity. It goes under the label, "Theological Interpretation of Scripture." This conversation has succeeded in doing some of the things I'm hoping to do in reaching out to evangelicals on this blog. ("Come on in. The water's fine.") That is, it's brought mainline and evangelical interpreters into constructive conversation with one another.

The "Theological Interpretation" movement isn't monolithic; on the other hand, as an outsider I do identify key figures, standard works, and perhaps some common commitments. (See Christopher Spinks' essay, which offers beginning bibliography.) At the same time, I'm not convinced the movement has fully faced the complications implied in the questions it is asking. Consider two standard formulations for "theological interpretation."

Kevin J. Vanhoozer: "The theological interpretation of the Bible is characterized by a governing interest in God, the word and works of God, and by a governing intention to engage in what we might call 'theological criticism.'" ("Introduction," Dictionary for Theological Interpretation of the Bible [ed. Vanhoozer, et al., 22)
The Scripture Project enumerates nine theses on interpretation, which include, "Scripture truthfully tells the story of God's action of creating, judging, and saving the world," and "The four canonical Gospels narrate the truth about Jesus." (Ellen F. Davis, and Richard B. Hays, eds., The Art of Reading Scripture, 1, 3)

I can fully embrace that first quote. It concerns what kind of activity theological interpretation presupposes. In my view, theological interpretation of the Bible happens when people of faith engage scripture in the praxis of living the life of faith and in the context of the broader historical and global church.

The second quotes, those two theses, I cannot embrace. They concern the kinds of conclusions theological interpretation may advocate. I'm sure there's a philosophical sense in which one could make those two theses seem meaningful, but let's be real. On an ordinary reading, those theses rule out the possibility that the Bible itself might present problems to us. Sometimes the God of the Bible saves through genocide, and Luke himself tells us he was trying to improve on earlier Jesus stories -- like, say, Mark (Luke 1:1-4). I cannot discern how these theses help us sort through God's command to slaughter the Amalekites and their cattle or how to respond to the diverse testimony of the four Gospels.

I mentioned engaging this conversation in another venue. In response to Sparks' essay, referenced above, I wrote, "Whatever generalizations we make regarding the Bible as scripture must stand up to reading the Bible as a whole and in its particulars, I think." Those particulars included things like genocide as a model of divine deliverance and the legitimation of slavery.

One colleague, to whose work I refer frequently, suggested that perhaps I was stuck in the archaic pattern that moves too quickly from "interpretation" to "application." According to him, "theological interpretation" has moved beyond that pattern. Another participant mentioned the essay on slavery in the Dictionary of Theological Interpretation of the Bible. There William J. Webb finds a "redemptive movement" in biblical discussions of slavery. Apparently, the biblical texts are relatively progressive in their own contexts. The biblical witnesses were not "redemptive in any absolute sense" but rather set a "clear direction" that would have served the church well in its later slavery debates.

This is inadequate. On a spectrum of ancient opinion, yes, the Bible comes off well to the progressive end on slavery. Others, including some pagans and some second century Christians, held even more egalitarian views. But that's beside the point. A good healthy dose of historical analysis shows that the Bible itself speaks with diverse voices on the question. Paul may well have opposed slavery with all the power available to him (I don't have space here to spell out that argument), but people writing in Paul's name aggressively tamed Paul's liberatory push. Thus, Ephesians, Colossians, and 1 Timothy put slaves back in their (relatively less abusive) places. How, I ask, does Webb's discussion, which ignores the standard issue of authorship and diversity within Scripture, help us negotiate such diversity?

I believe I have offered a different model for theological engagement of the slavery question, one that does not "jump" from interpretation to application, in Sinners. There I engage 1 Peter, which exhorts slaves to endure abuse. Historical and rhetorical analysis come into play here, as I argue that the structure of 1 Peter surrounds socially conservative social teachings with concern regarding persecution. I do not draw a conclusion on the matter, but I suggest that 1 Peter raises significant questions for contemporary disciples. In a context marked by alienation and persecution, I suggest, 1 Peter offers its audience two ways of relating to the world. On the one hand, they are a holy nation, a royal priesthood, called to distinctive discipleship in a hostile world. On the other hand, they are to avoid persecution by living within standard social norms. All Christian communities face this challenge of balancing distinctiveness with cultural "respectability." This is merely a suggestion, but it models what I believe theological interpretation should be about, bringing the life of faith into conversation with scripture (141-44). That can be a messy process.

Joel B. Green's recent book Seized by Truth: Reading the Bible as Scripture, suggests that terms like "infallibility" and "inerrancy" have not served the church [originally, "evangelicals"] well. They reduce scripture to propositions, but they do not guarantee the kinds of interpretations that represent faithful engagement (146-48). Proper reading of scripture, Green argues, takes form in lives shaped by the Bible rather than in rigidly "correct" conclusions regarding it (see also his argument from Luke and Acts, pp. 42-50). But like McKnight and Dunn, Green entirely avoids the Bible's "problem" dimensions. Thus, I'm not convinced that what he says about the Bible in general will bear the weight of the Bible's particulars.

This is why I'm reaching out to my evangelical sisters and brothers. Let's not generalize about the Bible and its subject matter, thus boxing us in to those dimensions of scripture that fit the model. Instead, let's commit to read the Bible with curiosity, passion, and faith -- the whole Bible -- trusting the Spirit and the community of faith to guide us through.

SBL Forum: generalist or specialist?

2009-05-25T08:57:00.003-04:00

A recent article by Michael Bird and Craig Keener in the SBL Forum is garnering lots of positive attention in the blog world. Bird and Keener, both accomplished scholars, are making the case for generalists who range widely in the field. Generalists, they say, (1) are necessary for translating scholarship to popular audiences, (2) tend to promote interdisciplinary research, (3) help us overcome disciplinary myopia, (4) make for better classroom teachers, and (5) tend to be the scholars who most influence the field in the long run.

(I note that all their examples of great and influential scholars are European or European American men.)

Obviously, I'm a generalist. I'm the only NT professor in a theological seminary, so I have to be informed about the entire canon. I need to stay in healthy conversation with my colleagues, especially in Hebrew Bible, theology, and history -- not to mention with the ongoing life of religious communities. My research tends to come out in essays and in books like Sinners, which is clearly the work of a generalist. I agree with all the points Bird and Keener offer.

However, there's a part of me that greatly admires the specialists. They dig deeply into specific fields of inquiry, demonstrate patience and discipline, and drive the field forward. They're the only people who keep up with the whole range of literature in a specific subfield. My personality isn't well suited to specialist work, and my employment context isn't either, but we shouldn't downplay the value and quality of that calling.

an almost serious theological question involving LeBron

2009-05-23T14:56:00.000-04:00

Last night my girlfriend and I came in from dinner and settled down to an OnDemand movie. The movie ends, Anna goes up to the bathroom, and I click out to the Cavs-Magic game. Since the program guide says it's been time for NBALive for over 30 minutes, I just go back and check the OnDemand menu again.

Then it strikes me. I still don't know who won the game. I click back, and immediately -- I mean, immediately -- LeBron receives the inbounds pass, steps back, leaps, and bangs in the winning 3-pointer.

As it happens, I'm stunned. Surely this is a replay. But chaos is breaking out everywhere, and after a few minutes it sinks in. This is live. Single greatest NBA shot I've ever seen, especially if the Cavs go on and win. Right there with Michael vs. the Cavs.

Could it be that God didn't want me to miss this shot? Could LeBron be the One? Or maybe the Antichrist? And almost seriously, does God get into little blessings like that?

Patrick McCullough blogs on Julia O'Brien's blog

2009-05-21T08:33:00.001-04:00

here

The Evangelical Conversation about the Bible

2009-05-20T21:28:00.004-04:00

This week I'm reflecting on the role of scripture in the life of the church, especially as that conversation is playing out among evangelicals. Two recent books have come my way, Scot McKnight's The Blue Parakeet: Rethinking How You Read the Bible (Zondervan, 2008), and James D. G. Dunn's The Living Word (2nd ed.; Fortress, 2009). I'm interested in these conversations because (1) I'm still an evangelical in my piety and was an actual evangelical for much of my life and (2) I believe we mainline Christians might learn something from this conversation. Oh, and (3): I have a word for my evangelical brothers and sisters: come on in, the water's fine!

What on earth am I talking about? A little background. The 1970s saw the emergence of a new wave of Bible wars among evangelicals, particularly involving the notion of biblical inerrancy, the idea that whatever the Bible teaches on any topic is necessarily true. Evangelicals who did not confess inerrancy often found themselves marginalized or even fired from their positions.

Nevertheless, many evangelicals never found themselves satisfied with the inerrancy position. They knew several things. In particular, they knew Christians don't apply all of the Bible's teaching. None of us do. We borrow at interest (prohibited in scripture) and oppose slave labor (legitimized in scripture). And sometimes they knew it was time for the churches to move beyond the literal words of the Bible and follow the lead of the Holy Spirit, as in the case of women's equality and leadership. No surprises for us progressive mainline people yet.

But being evangelicals, people like McKnight and Dunn have turned to the Bible to articulate their position. Here they have some things to teach us. The Bible, both scholars demonstrate is not -- and never was -- static. Biblical figures, including "minor" characters like Jesus and Paul, regarded scripture as a living tradition to be appropriated in new and fresh ways in emergent contexts. This explains one major event related in the New Testament, the full inclusion of Gentiles without their conversion to Judaism. Scripture never authorized such a thing, but the Holy Spirit sure did (see Acts 10-11 and Galatians 3:1-5 for this line of thought).

Dunn and McKnight use different language for this phenomenon, but they're both on the same trail. Dunn regards scripture as a "living word," never finally fixed by an ancient context in its potential relevance for us today. McKnight regards the Bible as a huge story about God's ways in the world. Rather than cook the Bible down to doctrine nuggets, faithful readers are to recognize that God spoke to in one way to Moses in Moses' day, in another to Paul in Paul's day, and in still another to us in our day. For both Dunn and McKnight, the Bible's word for today emerges in conversation with its word "back then" -- but it is not limited to its "back then" meaning. Scripture, then, is a living word.

We mainliners will do well to attend to these arguments. Both Dunn and McKnight provide richly detailed examples of how the biblical authors themselves regarded scripture as living and dynamic, how they adapted earlier texts to their own days. It's a wonderful model for interpreting the Bible, and I recommend it highly.

But I also want to extend an invitation to my evangelical colleagues. Come on in, the water's fine! Both Dunn and McKnight shy away from what they really know. (It's clear they really know what I'm about to say, but they just don't go there.) Sometimes the Bible itself is the problem. Some aspects of scripture simply don't represent God's word for any time. I don't believe God ever told Saul to slaughter all the Amalekites -- and their cattle! I don't believe God ever provided a trial by ordeal for women accused of premarital sex. I don't believe God ever wanted a slave code. And I don't believe God ever inspired Hosea to compare God's love for Israel to a husband who beats and exposes his unfaithful wife. I don't believe those things. And I suppose Dunn and McKnight don't, either.

It's time, in churches liberal and evangelical. Time for brutal honesty. We do hear the word of God in scripture. It challenges us, it inspires us, it teaches and corrects us. It is truly a living word. But it does not always convey God's word -- not for then, not for now. And that's okay. The water's fine.

What about Rhoda? Acts 12:12-17

2009-05-11T10:26:00.003-04:00

Everybody makes fun of Rhoda. After his miraculous escape from jail, Peter knocks at the "door of the gate" outside Mary's house. Rhoda, a slave girl, comes to answer. Recognizing Peter's voice, she runs inside to tell the others that Peter was standing at the gate. So moved by joy is she, that she abandons Peter outside while she tells the others.

Poor Peter keeps on knocking while the other disciples refuse to believe Rhoda. They call her crazy. They say she's seen Peter's angel. (But wouldn't that be something?) And Peter keeps knocking. Apparently, Rhoda never thinks to bring Peter in to make her point. Finally, the others hear Peter and open the gate for him.

Read this way, Rhoda provides a case study for literary criticism of Acts. Like other ancient writers, Luke clearly enjoys spicing his stories with humor that draws upon common stereotypes. For example, consider the superstitious Lycaonians who mistake Barnabas and Paul for Zeus and Hermes (Acts 14:8-18). Because Rhoda is a servant and a woman, she's an easy mark for Luke. Foolish and impulsive, she fits a well recognized character type. So the reading goes.

But wait a minute. Foolish? Rhoda knows Peter's voice. She's not fooled. Impulsive? She runs from joy, the most appropriate response to Peter's deliverance. It's common wisdom, though uncommonly practiced: first things first. Message before person. So Rhoda, who testifies to the message. She opens the path for them to demonstrate faith (see Luke 24:10-11). Rhoda, hearing Peter's voice, believes. They, hearing hers, do not. So Rhoda.

Scot McKnight: "New Perspective on Paul"

2009-05-04T09:55:00.005-04:00

Scot McKnight has initiated a discussion of the "New Perspective" on Paul. For what it's worth, I put together a brief summary of the New Perspective, with some theological reflections about 18 months ago on this blog: "What Does the New Perspective on Paul Look Like"?

How Not to Resolve a Church Conflict; Galatians 2:1-14 (21)

2009-05-02T15:22:00.004-04:00

Last week I was leading an adult study on Diversity in Early Christianity. Looking into Galatians 2:1-10, a perceptive man wondered at the genius of the solution. Paul and his colleagues continue his mission to the Gentiles, Peter and his continue among other Jews, and to cement the collaboration Paul continues to raise funds for the poor in Jerusalem.

Unfortunately, the solution didn't hold up. In retrospect, the reason is obvious. Things fall apart when Cephas (some have suggested that Peter and Cephas are different men, but I doubt it) visits the church in Antioch. Cephas joins Gentiles at the table, just as Paul and his colleagues do. But when representatives from Jerusalem come up, Cephas withdraws -- he maintains the distinction between Jews and Gentiles, thus breaking table fellowship.

Paul condemns Cephas for his inconsistent -- hyprocritical!, Paul says -- behavior. But the roots of the problem lie in Jerusalem, not Antioch. The Jerusalem solution could hold, but only so long as the Jewish and Gentile believers don't cross paths. What happens when two missions, with two different sets of rules, collide?

The Antioch conflict bears implications for some contemporary church compromises. For example, the ELCA is considering a measure that would allow local bodies to take diverse positions with respect to sexual minorities. One Mennonite group adopted a similar temporary resolution to the matter of ordaining women. Such compromises can work in theory, but they don't resolve the justice and discernment issues at hand. When real people encounter one another across the artificial boundaries that keep them apart, further conflict is inevitable. No halfway compromises, please.

Guest Geek: Charles F. Melchert on James

2009-04-23T13:40:00.004-04:00

Chuck Melchert specializes in the interface between educational ministries and the wisdom traditions of early Judaism and Christianity. Since his retirement from the Presbyterian School of Christian Education, Chuck has taught as an adjunct professor at Lancaster Theological Seminary. Chuck's Wise Teaching: Biblical Wisdom and Educational Ministry has just been reprinted. In addition, Chuck is a beloved friend who lives what he teaches better than most anybody I know. His thoughts on the Epistle of James below.

Greg asked me write a few words on “What fascinates me about the Book of James?” There are many reasons, but chiefly it is three things:

a) James differs from many New Testament writings by focusing so strongly on astute practical advice about how to behave and live together in God’s ways. James highlights doing it more than thinking about theological rationales for doing it.

b) This focus aligns with the “wisdom” spirit characteristic of Jesus’ teaching as well as books like Proverbs, Sirach (Ecclesiasticus), The Sentences of Pseudo-Phocylides, as well as some early Hellenistic moralists. (I have long been fascinated with wisdom writers generally.)

c) Because James focuses more on God than on the distinctiveness of Jesus (as did Jesus himself), it offers an approach that is more open to believers in God and good living who practice with other religious traditions. It seems to me, today we are constantly urged to separate ourselves from those who differ from us religiously. I rather think we need each other as support and as collaborators to aid a world that seems increasingly alienated from the values religious traditions foster, and increasingly self-destructive. Indeed, there may be particular value in a book like James who seeks to foster a believing community of Jews who are also believers in Jesus, and who apparently did not find that a conflict in practice. Are there useful lessons here?

1. The Book of James is a very early Christian writing, most likely by the brother of Jesus - even if the Book itself was edited/re-written/expanded/condensed by a colleague after James death.

2. There is no mention of Jesus’ death, resurrection, miracles, or any particular “historical” event, nor any direct quotation of Jesus’ parables or teachings. Yet, like Jesus, he regards “you shall love God with all your heart, soul and strength and your neighbor as yourself," as the central and essential teaching, which he calls the “royal law” or the “law of liberty.”. The Book of James frequently expresses the spirit of Jesus’ sayings without ever citing one in the exact form now found in the gospels - perhaps because he learned it from his brother, not from the (later?) gospel writers.

3. The Book addresses very early communities (congregations/synagogues) of Jewish believers in Jesus (which he never calls “Christians”!). They are small, struggling, lack formal structure, are still expecting the early coming of “the Lord,” and are oriented to Israel’s Torah (teaching), using it as mirror and standards for believers’ behavior. James focuses most upon the life of new believers in community, not their individual, private lives. James speaks to the question, “How can believers behave with one another in keeping with God’s gifts and teachings whuile living in a culture which is not in friendship with God?”

4. The focus throughout is on actions, behavior and relationships consistent with God’s kingdom, not just beliefs or faith-statements about God or Jesus. God’s laws are less a rule book to follow than they are a mirror by which we can see and assess ourselves clearly and truthfully.

5. The book describes a number of communal conflicts and other ways believers can go astray, in actions, relationships and speech, and then probingly asks, “Where do these come from?” It attributes our failures to mis-guided desires or cravings and to our “double-mindedness” - which leads us away from a religion “pure and undefiled,” that is, which cares for the poor and one another.

6. One of those conflicts which James shares with Jesus is the ongoing struggles between the rich and the poor (inside and outside the believing community) and how that affects believers living together faithfully and lovingly.

In this book we can glimpse some of the issues that faced these new communities of “Jewish believers in Jesus” in the first century, perhaps only thirty to forty years after Jesus. What is so striking to this reader is that both James’ diagnosis and description of these struggles, and his prescriptions for living in God’s ways, are so sound, realistic and relevant even today. And especially, again like Jesus, the spirit of this text is genuinely humble, as is fitting in “a servant of God and Jesus.”

If interested in further reading, try these quality works:

The Message: The New Testament in Contemporary Language by Eugene Peterson, offers contemporary paraphrase quite faithful to the text.

Luke Timothy Johnson, Brother of Jesus, Friend of God: Studies in the Letter of James. Eerdman’s, 2004. A series of excellent essays on James - historical, literary and theological.

Richard Bauckham, James: Wisdom of James, Disciple of Jesus the Sage. Routledge, 1999. Studies the wisdom qualities of James linked with Jesus, Kierkegaard’s use of James as well as the Book’s contemporary significance.

Sermon: Luke 24:36b-49

2009-04-22T15:13:00.003-04:00

ONE

Lemme see if I’ve got this straight. Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and other women go to the tomb, where they encounter two “men” – angels, maybe? – instead of the dead body of Jesus. But the men don’t believe the story. Then Peter runs to check out the scene, which essentially confirms the women’s story. Rather than believing the women (no comment), he wonders what seems to have happened. And then – on the same day – two other disciples are walking down the road to Emmaus when Jesus himself sidles up to them. But the two don’t recognize Jesus. It takes sacramental activity – that is, Jesus takes the bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it – only then are their eyes opened – this is a passive tense verb; their eyes are opened – it takes sacramental activity for these two disciples to recognize Jesus. Even though it is very late – have not these two “constrained” Jesus to stay with them in Emmaus because it was late? – the two hurry back to Jerusalem to tell the disciples what has happened. And before they can even open their mouths, the others – the eleven and who knows how many more? – blurt out, “The Lord is risen, and he has appeared to Simon!” Did anyone tell us about Simon?

Mary and the others at the tomb. Peter’s cross country run. Emmaus. Jerusalem late at night. All in one day. You tell me, Do I have this right?

Phew. And now, on that same night, just as the reports are being processed – poof! – Jesus shows up again in their midst. “Peace to you.” And these people, these followers of Jesus who have already – do I need to say, “already”? – been celebrating the resurrection, they freak out. They think it’s a ghost! I’ve had one possible ghost experience, and it freaked me out too. So they freak out.

What is it about the risen Jesus that he can be standing right in front of us, and we don’t recognize him for who he is?

You tell me: is that how it goes?

TWO

That was a long time ago. And now we’re in Easter Season reflecting back on that moment when the risen Jesus encounters his followers. Clearly, we’re not in the same space they are. A great distance divides us from them. We know the story, some of it before we read it, and we know how it should end. A good Easter text from the Gospels ends with a commission – and we, who know the story and who have received it – we know to whom the commission is addressed. It’s ours. That’s how we hear Easter texts.

You are witnesses of these things. And, look, I am sending the promise of my Father upon you. Wait in the city – okay, that’s not for us; that’s for the disciples – Wait in the city until you are clothed with power from on high.

That’s ours, our Easter commission. You are witnesses of these things, clothed with power from on high. That’s you and me, Jesus is talking about.

THREE

But whoa. Wait a minute. “Clothed with power from on high?” Whoa. That doesn’t sound like us. Not at all. Where is that power Jesus is talking about?

Do you feel it, seminarians? Do you feel the power of the Holy Spirit just bursting your buttons, just filling you with fire to get out there and change the world? Is that where you’re at? Just lemme at ‘em! Gimme one of those dying congregations, and I’ll turn that sucker around in no time! Well, me and the Spirit. Lemme at ‘em! Is that you?

I’ll share this: it’s not how you sound to me. I hear some anxiety. I hear a sense of inadequacy, a sense of “What’s it gonna be like out there?” I hear humility, and introspection. I don’t hear a lot of you just riding the wave of the Spirit, itchin’ to be witnesses to the world. And by the way, that’s okay.

But whoa. What about those churches? What’s going on there? A recent article by William Brosend reminds us that half of our congregations barely made it to church in the first place – and those are the ones who want to be there. We look out from the altar or the pulpit, and we see those faces. The drawn faces of the ones for whom every day tastes bitter. The arms folded across the chest of the ones who attend church regularly but who aren’t really buying what we’re selling. The folks who lean in on our every word, hoping for just a taste of vitality because they so desperately need a good word. We look out: hardly clothed with power from on high, are they?

From any objective point of view, our churches are not quite burning with Holy Ghost power. Our religion is in decline in the United States, rapidly so. Maybe one in six persons regularly participates in worship. The church budget soup gets thinner and thinner. Mainline denominations are cutting staff. It ain’t just liberals, and it ain’t just the economy. Evangelical bodies are in decline too. Seminaries, I might add, are closing or “right-sizing” right and left. “Filled with power?” Whoa. I’m trying to imagine most of the church people I know describing their home church to a friend at work or a fellow parent. “Filled with power?” Not what comes to mind. “Filled with power.” Hold on, now. Whoa. Where is all that power? Where?

FOUR

Often I wonder. I wonder about the things Jesus does before he leaves that Holy Ghost commission. Strange things he does. These arouse my curiosity.

First Jesus engages the disciples with his body. If the disciples mistake him for a ghost, that’ll set ‘em straight. Hands and feet, same ones that had been crucified. Flesh, bone, presumably scarred, “Handle me,” he says. He shares his body with them. I wonder about that.

Then he has a snack. Broiled fish sticks – not fried, but broiled. Is the Risen One hungry? Does he have the munchies? Is the snack for his hunger or for their perception? A piece of broiled fish. Wonder about that too.

And finally a Bible lesson. I’m especially curious about that. I mean, I take my Bible seriously. When Jesus “opens their minds to understand the scriptures,” I know better. We know better. No biblical passage tells us that a Messiah is going to suffer, no passage predicts he’ll rise from the dead, and no passage imagines forgiveness preached in his name. We know, with all our theological education, that early Christians found these things in the scriptures, but no objective observer would have seen them. I wonder.

Hands and feet? A bite of fish? Non-existent predictions? These provoke my curiosity. What’s up with these? Strange, they are.

FIVE

There’s a guy here in Lancaster, a middle school writing teacher, who gives most of his evenings to volunteer work. He goes to group homes, juvenile detention centers, boys and girls clubs. He visits treatment centers for addicts and alcoholics.

The man takes pens and paper. That’s all. He sits down and invites people to write. They have just one instruction. They must begin, “I remember.” “I remember.” Then they write for ten minutes. When they’re done they’re invited to read what they’ve written. “I remember.” When you’re in prison or a group home, the future looks grim. Sometimes it takes connection with the past, a reminder of where you’ve been and what you know, before you can look into the future in a new way.

This educator visited our United Way board here in Lancaster, and we wrote too. Before he left, men in very nice suits were opening themselves to the group with tears, giving one another – giving themselves – courage from the truth of their stories. Looking at life differently because they had looked back. “I remember.” “I remember.”

SIX

The risen Jesus calls us to remember. Faced with a commission we cannot perform. Recipients of a promise we seem not to live up to. The risen Jesus meets us, and – SAY IT WITH ME – we remember. He shows us his body, with which he touched and blessed and bled. And we remember. He enjoys the hint of a meal, this Jesus who took, blessed, broke, and gave for those crowds, as he would for his disciples. And we remember. The Risen One recalls the scriptures of Israel that formed his vision and his message. And we remember. “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, for the Spirit has anointed me to proclaim good news to the poor.” Do you remember?

We remember. For our hope is not a vain pie in the sky optimism. Our commission and our promise defy mere wishful thinking. We remember the One who calls us, we remember the stories of Israel and the story of Jesus, we remember that long day when the Risen One confronted his disciples. As we prepare ourselves – heart, mind, body, and soul – to gather at this table, we remember. We remember.

The Radical Paul according to Crossan and Borg

2009-04-12T13:47:00.006-04:00

Twice this year I’ll be teaching Paul courses, one for pastors and laypeople and one for our seminarians. For both courses I’ll assign the new bestseller by John Dominic Crossan and Marcus J. Borg, The First Paul: Reclaiming the Radical Visionary Behind the Church’s Conservative Icon (HarperOne, 2009).

Maybe the subtitle says it all, but I think they’re right. All the time I meet people, pastors included, who dislike Paul. Either he was misogynist, or anti-Jewish, or homophobic, or freaked out by sex, or socially reactionary, or too other-worldly, or out of touch with the Jesus he worshipped.

The book helpfully begins by sketching the reasons people might object to Paul, then it advances its most compelling argument. Almost all scholars distinguish between the authentic Paul, the disputed Paul, and the “pastoral Paul.” That is, we all agree that the authentic Paul wrote seven letters: Romans, 1 and 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Philippians, 1 Thessalonians, and Philemon. Folks dispute whether Paul wrote Ephesians, Colossians, and 2 Thessalonians. And outside of conservative evangelical circles, few scholars attribute the pastoral epistles, 1 and 2 Timothy and Titus, to Paul.

Crossan and Borg demonstrate how authorship makes a huge difference. The socially conservative Paul, who tells women and slaves to submit to their masters and who seems to focus on a heavenly future more than the transformation of this present age, is found only in the disputed and pastoral letters. Crossan and Borg call these the conservative Paul and the reactionary Paul, respectively. But we find the radical Paul in the authentic letters. This Paul regards women as equals in ministry, promotes the freedom of slaves, and proclaims a gospel that confronts the present order with a community of equals empowered by the Spirit of the risen Christ. And by the way: this radical Paul does not see Jesus’ death as substitutionary suffering for the sins we have committed. Rather, Jesus’ death demonstrates the character and passion of God to make things right (we often say, to “justify”) in the world.

I have reservations concerning some key points in the book. I’m not sure the authors satisfactorily account for Romans 13:1-7 (“submit to the ruling authorities”), but then again I’ve never seen a satisfactory interpretation. I also don’t buy their contention that Paul’s references to the law indicate even the law of conscience (pp. 169-71), rather than most specifically the Torah.

Despite these and other reservations, I’m grateful for how Crossan and Borg frame their most important points. They show how Paul’s gospel isn’t about God simply forgiving us but rather concerns a “Spirit transplant” (138). They insist that Paul’s gospel isn’t simply about saving individuals but building community and redeeming the world. And they helpfully remind us that the problem isn’t faith vs. works but faith-with-works vs. works-without-faith.

I should say that only a few opinions in this book are novel. Neither author has made a career of interpreting Paul. If the book had footnotes, it would have to engage Richard Horsley, Cynthia Briggs Kittredge, N. T. Wright, Neil Elliott, Brigitte Kahl, and perhaps Elsa Tamez. Newer voices would include Davina Lopez and Joseph Marchal. Yet thank goodness for Crossan and Borg, who will reach a new audience on behalf of the radical Paul, adding new insights of their own along the way.

Risen

2009-04-12T06:37:00.002-04:00

A hole, hewn from rock.
A hole in the heart of the world.
One empty.
The other bursting forth with life.

David Brooks on Philosophy and Morality

2009-04-07T09:59:00.002-04:00

I have mixed reactions to Brooks' column, but today's strikes home. It argues that we make moral decisions largely according to our emotions, to which we later attach our reasoning processes. Social psychologists and others have been saying this for a long time, and I'm curious about the implications. Just thought I'd note the column here.

Jesus, Research, and Faith: Bart Ehrman and Dale Allison

2009-04-06T13:12:00.004-04:00

How could two books, so similar in their subject matter and in the opinions they advance, feel so different and earn such diverse receptions? New books by Bart Ehrman and Dale Allison, two highly accomplished scholars, review the implications of historical critical scholarship for the life of faith. Ehrman’s Jesus, Interrupted: Revealing the Hidden Contradictions in the Bible (and Why We Don’t Know About Them) comes from HarperOne, a major trade publisher – complete with national media interviews, a promotional video (okay, that’s really cool), and a spectacular dust jacket. (And thanks to HarperOne for the review copy.) Allison’s The Historical Christ and the Theological Jesus comes from a significant theological publishing house, has garnered little attention so far, and features a well designed cover for its paper case.

Ehrman and Allison agree on most everything important. The canonical Gospels provide our best source for the historical Jesus, who was most likely an apocalyptic prophet. It seems Allison’s Jesus regarded himself as a key, perhaps the central, figure in God’s plan for history, while Ehrman’s more modestly pointed ahead to that plan. Beyond that, both authors recognize that the Gospels cannot be relied upon for straightforward reporting of Jesus’ words and deeds. Both acknowledge that miracles lie beyond the bounds of historical provability. From a historian’s point of view, most any explanation is more probable than a miracle. Both recognize that the Gospel authors and their predecessors revised, embellished, and outright composed some of our most treasured stories. As Allison puts it, “The Gospels are parables” (66). Both affirm that the Gospels promote diverse understandings to important issues. And both conclude with – or begin from – the premise that historical research rules out narrowly creedal, or biblicist, understandings of Jesus and his significance. Historical research bears both theological and spiritual implications. So Ehrman: In the light of critical research, “Some theological claims are certainly to be judged as inadequate or wrong-headed” (279).

I might add that both Allison and Ehrman agree on historical method. We cannot verify the historicity of individual passages, but we can derive a general picture of Jesus from the patterns that emerge in the Gospel narratives.

Of course the books are different. Allison focuses on a simple question and its follow-up: Should theology attend to historical Jesus research? And if so, how? Though Allison does not surprise us by answering in the affirmative, he rejects the idea that theologians should passively submit to this or that historical reconstruction. Ehrman ranges far more broadly, including matters of authorship, the transmission of the text, the formation of the canon, and the emergence of orthodoxy.

But that’s not all. One never wonders why Allison wrote or for whom. He’s addressing a question that believers care about. Some of our seminarians find the question absolutely compelling: how does faith respond to the challenges of scholarship? To be honest, I wish Allison would spell out his own resolution, however provisional, a little more directly. But one conclusion emerges clearly: the historical Jesus will satisfy neither creedal literalists (Jesus did not think he was God incarnate) nor humanist liberals (Jesus did understand himself to have a distinctive role in history).

And Ehrman? It’s less certain. He devotes extensive attention to reminding his audience that he is not out to destroy their faith, indeed that faith can be enriched by historical analysis. Ehrman recounts his own journey from fundamentalist to agnostic, but he denies – repeatedly – that historical criticism caused his agnosticism. It simply ended his fundamentalism.

It seems Ehrman’s main aim is to introduce biblical scholarship to a popular audience so as to reveal that fundamentalist biblicism doesn’t make sense. This argument will appear to theological liberals (and some moderates) and to the broad secular audience that is fascinated by religion. Few can explain biblical scholarship to a broad audience as effectively as Bart Ehrman does. But marketing makes all the difference. As scholars, Allison and Ehrman are reaching mostly the same conclusions with nearly identical methodologies. Yet consider Ehrman’s dust cover: “Jesus, Paul, Matthew, and John all expressed fundamentally different religions.” What is that about? Do these figures reflect very – and I mean VERY – different sensibilities? Absolutely. But so do Buddhists in Sri Lanka differ from Pure Land Buddhists in Japan. Something unites them as Buddhists nonetheless. Every major religious tradition expresses itself in diverse expressions.

This sort of sensationalism, packaged in such an attractive way, sells books. But anyone with a good college or seminary background in Bible knows most of this stuff. Allison grapples throughout with how to make sense of it. Ehrman, however, spends so much time saying, “The Bible’s not what some people think it is,” that only at the end of the book does he get around to grappling with why anyone might find it compelling. It’s easy to see why religious conservatives respond to him with such hostility. As a recent Salon article crows, “Bart Ehrman's career is testament to the fact that no one can slice and dice a belief system more surgically than someone who grew up inside it.” Is that all there is to it? Interviewed for that same article, Ehrman says, “I'm not trying to convert people to become agnostics like me. I'm trying to get people to think. If I can make somebody a more thoughtful Christian, then I think I've succeeded in what I'm supposed to be doing.”

You can find Bart’s book easily – just walk into any Borders. Why not take the trouble to find Dale’s?

Pastoral Note on "Homosexuality"

2009-04-03T10:35:00.004-04:00

A pastor friend wrote recently concerning a young LGBT woman in her congregation who has had enough with the "scripture quoters" and wanted resources for writing a letter to the editor on LGBT issues in the life of the church. I prefer not to use "homosexuality" because (a) "homosexuality" is a modern concept unknown to the biblical authors and audiences and (b) sexual diversity extends far beyond what we mean by "homosexuality."

This note posed an interesting challenge. Without going off into academia-land, how does one refer a person to good, accessible resources on the Web? These are the best I'm aware of, and I strongly invite you to add to the list. I hope it's helpful. Here's what I had to say:

I don't want to complicate things for your friend, but there are several approaches, and I'll offer resources for each. All of the resources are brief, but I think your friend should really inform her/himself before launching out.

The first approach is apologetic. It involves "explaining" the passages people use to bash gays. For that, see the resources from Soulforce. See also this 2003 ELCA document.

A second approach is to say the Bible isn't talking about what we're talking about and thus doesn't address "homosexuality" with moral authority. (That's sort of where I am.) This view points out that the vast majority of what the Bible says about marriage has nothing to do with contemporary marriage and sexuality. For this, see Walter Wink, Mary Ann Tolbert, Jay Johnson, and Dale Martin (included below).

A third approach is where I'm moving. It says, "I'm so over this." As Courtney Harvey writes on our Lancaster Seminary allies site, "We may talk about the problems of racism today but we certainly don’t debate if it’s okay to be racist. Why then should we debate if it’s okay to be heterosexist?"

This resource from the More Light Presbyterians includes a recent Newsweek article plus a piece by Dale Martin and a discussion of the "clobber passages."

I hope this helps. Please let your friend know she's welcome to write me....

Sinners is in!

2009-04-01T23:02:00.001-04:00

Just arrived today.

The Gospels: For All Christians?

2009-03-31T16:08:00.003-04:00

Were the Gospels written for specific early Christian audiences, perhaps even particular congregations, or did their authors intend a wide dispersion for a general audience?

And why would it matter? Two reasons come to mind. First, if the Gospels aimed at particular audiences, identifying those audiences could greatly enhance our understanding. King’s “Letter from a Birmingham Jail” is a literary classic that transcends its particular time and place, but knowing the circumstances in which King wrote and the behavior of white moderate clergy in Birmingham sure sharpens our appreciation of the letter. Second, it might help us to know whether to read the Gospels as evangelistic (for a wide general audience) or pastoral (for a specific believing audience) literature.

In this decade Richard Bauckham has gained both notoriety and influence for positing that the Gospels targeted a wide general audience, much like the popular novels of the ancient world. His edited volume, The Gospels for All Christians: Rethinking the Gospel Audiences, argues that he believes the Gospels were designed to serve believers wherever they might reside. Thus, Bauckham suggests neither a specifically evangelistic aim (since the Gospels were for Christians) nor a narrow pastoral aim (one specific audience). Rather, “an evangelist writing a Gospel expected his work to circulate widely among the churches, had no particular Christian audience in view, but envisaged as his audience any church (or any church in which Greek was understood) to which his work might find its way” (11).

Bauckham stands among the scholars I admire most. He’s a genuine polymath whose erudition is simply humbling to the rest of us. As it happens, I think he’s both wrong and importantly right at the same time.

I do believe the Gospels envisioned specific early Christian audiences. How else would one explain the profoundly touching reference to Alexander and Rufus in Mark 15:21? Surely this passage points to a group familiar with Simon’s two sons. What about Luke’s obscure and controversial reference to Theophilus? Even if Theophilus is just a generic term for Luke’s audience (the name means, “Lover of God”), would a general audience have appreciated Luke 17:7 (“Which of you, who owns a slave…?”)? Most ancient people were poor, hardly likely to identify with slaveowners. The Gospel of John says its aim is to help people believe (as if it were an evangelistic tract), yet it clearly relies on the testimony of a authoritative disciple with whom the audience would be familiar (21:24). If Matthew intends a general audience, everyone agrees it speaks to people who follow Israel’s law – not quite a universal audience. (Bauckham addresses some of these objections on p. 24, but I’m not persuaded.)

Thus it seems to me – and to most reviewers – that Bauckham is wrong. At least in a narrow sense. But I think his basic emphasis is entirely correct. Perhaps the Gospel authors intended specific audiences, but remarkably and rapidly early Christian communities decided to do something else with the Gospels. (The same thing happened with Paul’s letters.) They made copies and shared them. By the middle of the second century, it seems that just about any church around in the Mediterranean had copies of four Gospels and ten letters of Paul, among other literature. Whatever the authors of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John intended, their earliest readers sensed something more profound: the Gospels were for all Christians after all.

Bauckham and his colleagues are fully aware of how rapidly early Christian literature spread among the churches. In that same volume appears a terrific essay by Michael B. Thompson, “The Holy Internet: Communication Between Churches in the First Christian Generation.” Bauckham himself spells out the implications: earliest Christianity perceived itself as a global movement nearly from the beginning, maintaining active networks of communication all over the Mediterranean world. (The evidence for this network extends well beyond New Testament literature.)

When I pause to contemplate the energy and investment early Jesus people devoted to keeping in touch with one another, it inspires a sense of wonder. Most of us are old enough to remember copying documents by hand; imagine doing so with long documents, on animal skins or natural fibers, using basically pointy sticks and ink wells, with no punctuation and no spaces between words to guide your work. Yet that’s what these people did, time and again, so that they could have copies of these works – and in the long run, so that we could as well.

Sinners briefly #1

2009-03-30T13:50:00.004-04:00

It only lasted a little while. Already at #2.

Ann Jervis on the Meaning of Suffering in Paul

2009-03-25T09:13:00.002-04:00

Ann Jervis recently published At the Heart of the Gospel: Suffering in the Earliest Christian Message. Thanks to Michael Gorman for pointing out that you can hear her interview on Australian public radio (or view a transcript) here.

How'd the Movement Even Get Started?

2009-03-24T10:11:00.003-04:00

With Sinners about to show up in my mailbox any day now, I'll return to a question I ponder there. Given the stigma attached to their gospel -- that is, how on earth could Israel's messiah get himself crucified? -- how did this movement get off the ground? Paul calls this stigma the "scandal of the cross" (1 Cor 1:23; Gal 5:11), and it must have posed a major obstacle for the proclamation by all of the early missionaries.

James D. G. Dunn's massive new entry, Beginning from Jerusalem (Eerdmans, 2009), grapples with Christian origins between Jesus' death and 70. But so far as I can tell, Dunn never engages this fundamental problem: how did such a counter-intuitive message find adherents?

For now I have to leave this as a question, though I can see two possible hints toward an answer.

First, I wonder about the power of early Christian religious experience. Paul reminds the Thessalonians how God's "power" was manifest with the presence of the Holy Spirit upon his first visit there (1 Thess 1:4). What does that mean?

Second, I wonder about the relationships early Jesus people fostered with one another. Rodney Stark's classic The Rise of Christianity (HarperCollins, 1997) points out that new religious groups grow through previously established family and friendship networks.

I wonder about both those possibilities. But I really, really wonder what it would have been like for an early Jesus person to tell their neighbor that they followed a crucified messiah.

Two very different books: hopeful blog preview

2009-03-20T14:01:00.001-04:00

I just received my copy of Dale C. Allison, Jr.'s The Historical Christ and the Theological Jesus (Eerdmans, 2009). Dale's book provides an honest, heartfelt assessment of how historical critical New Testament scholarship can or should relate to theology and the life of faith. I'm only halfway through this little book (126 pp.), but I've found it personally moving.

Dale's book led me to request a review copy of Bart D. Ehrman's new Jesus, Interrupted: Revealing the Hidden Contradictions in the Bible (and Why We Don't Know about Them) (HarperOne, 2009). As I understand it, Bart's book reviews the results of historical critical research to suggest that it blows away what most church people know or believe about the Bible. That is, most people in churches ask, "Why have I never heard this before?" The book is for "people in the church and people on the street." In Bart's personal case, this sort of study led to abandoning Christian faith.

I don't know whether Harper will send the copy, but I'm eager to bring these very different books into conversation.

The Shack: A New Apocalypse

2009-03-16T13:32:00.004-04:00

It seemed everyone around me was talking about this novel, The Shack. Not only had I not read it, I'd never heard of it. Because I teach in a theological seminary and do a lot of local speaking appearances, it seemed obvious I needed to read this book. So when I walked into Barnes & Noble, only to find a whole stack of shelves devoted to it, I learned what many people have been trying to tell me: I was way behind the curve.

I don't want to write a full review of this book. Nor will I assess its theology (some of which appeals and some of which doesn't). Nor will I spoil its plot line for anyone. All I want to say is one thing. The Shack demonstrates that the apocalyptic genre is alive and well, even in 2009.

Someone will object: Wait a minute. This book only hints about last things. There's no meteor creating a new Ice Age, no imperial power play that leads to Armageddon, no Antichrist taking over the subprime market. This isn't an apocalypse at all.

That person would be correct, sort of. The Shack is an apocalypse because it meets all the criteria of a literary apocalypse and because it performs the functions one would expect from an apocalypse.

First, let's consider what makes an apocalypse. Thirty years ago a Society of Biblical Literature team led by John J. Collins developed this definition.

"'Apocalypse' is a genre of revelatory literature with a narrative framework, in which a revelation is mediated by an otherworldly being to a human recipient, disclosing a transcendent reality which is both temporal, insofar as it envisages eschatological salvation, and spatial insofar as it involves another, supernatural world." (Semeia 14 [1979]: 9)

Let's look at The Shack. It describes a revelatory experience in which Mack, the protagonist, travels into an alternative reality. It certainly has a narrative framework, in which Mack encounters a variety of otherworldly beings who guide him (or mediate) to understand the experience. While The Shack does engage the ultimate future (temporal) of humanity and creation, its interest lies more heavily in interpreting reality from a heavenly (spatial) perspective. Indeed, many ancient apocalypses feature visions of the heavenly throne; The Shack presents its own take on that scene. The Shack does not tell us whether or not Mack's experience is a dream, but the story suggests more of a mystical revelatory experience.

So The Shack is an apocalypse. So what? Stephen D. O'Leary has suggested that apocalyptic rhetoric revolves around three questions: time, evil, and authority. (See his Arguing the Apocalypse: A Theory of Millennial Rhetoric [Oxford UP, 1994], 20 et passim.) The Shack does engage time. And because Mack's vision is mediated by heavenly beings, it certainly comes with authority. But the real center of The Shack revolves around moral evil. How can one justify a God who allows innocent suffering? Reading from the back cover of the paperback edition,

Where is God in a world so filled with unspeakable pain? The answers Mack gets will astound you and perhaps transform you as much as it did him.

In this light, The Shack very much reminds me of 4 Ezra, an ancient Jewish apocalypse. Grieving Jerusalem's destruction by a pagan empire, Ezra presses his questions against God. Ezra complains, "It would have been better for us not to be here than to come here and live in ungodliness, and to suffer and not understand why" (4:12, NRSV). While Ezra receives several theological responses to this challenge, none of them convince him. He is moved only through an experiential revelation of the glorious future God has to offer. Something like that is going on in The Shack. Theo-logic doesn't "transform" Mack; what changes him is the revelation of God's goodness.

Finally, I would add some of my own categories. In Ultimate Things: An Introduction to Jewish and Christian Apocalyptic Literature (Chalice, 2005), I suggest three categories for interpreting apocalyptic discourse.

The first is poetry. That is, apocalyptic language employs stories, symbols, and other poetic devices to make this transcendent reality "more real" than our mundane existence. Those stories and symbols are not "literally" true -- that is, who wants to walk golden streets and enter pearly gates? -- but they invite us to imagine the world differently.
The second is rhetoric. Apocalyptic language calls us to change our behaviors and our beliefs. Anyone who reads The Shack faces a call to trust in the goodness of God while abandoning attempts to control our environment and the people around us.
Finally, constructive theology. Just as apocalypses apply story and symbol to challenging theological questions, so does The Shack. Indeed, many have observed that this novel strongly echoes the theology of Karl Barth. No Barthian I, I do recognize Barth's famous distinction between trust and religion and his view of the Trinity as relational. The Shack uses story and symbol to convey its particular theological and spiritual point of view -- and to respnond to the problem of radical moral evil.

At the end of the day, an apocalypse presents a vision of a transcendent realm. It judges our current social order in the light of that more compelling vision, and it presents an alternative way of living as a result. The Shack reveals the ongoing potential of this literary form.

Mark's First Evangelist?

2009-03-11T14:43:00.002-04:00

I just can't get past that intrepid leper in Mark 1:40-45. The guy approaches Jesus, kneels in his path (depending on your assessment on a significant text problem), and challenges him: "If you choose, you can cleanse me."

I've written before about the ways in which this guy's behavior provokes Jesus. Begging and kneeling are aggressive acts, and his speech -- If you choose -- places quite the claim on Jesus' attention. One might add that the description of Jesus reflects the tension in the scene. Jesus is angered by the leper (another text problem, but I'm highly confident this is the best reading); the "touch" Jesus extends is hardly a gentle word (haptō); Jesus' command that the man not relate what happened to him carries the force of a scolding; and Jesus "casts away" the poor guy (ekballō).

Nevertheless, the leper goes out and preaches (kēryssein) the word about Jesus. This contributes to the growing role of crowds in Mark's narrative. Crowds eventually determine the shape of Jesus' ministry in many of Mark's stories.

But there's one thing about the leper's behavior that has my attention for now. Jesus warns him to "say nothing to nobody" (mēdeni mēden eipēs), an emphatic double negative. Both forms, mēdeni and mēden, occur elsewhere in Mark, but never together as a double negative. Yet we encounter one other double negative at the very end of the story. Having seen the empty tomb and received the commission to tell the disciples about the resurrection, the women "say nothing to nobody" (oudeni ouden eipan), another emphatic double negative connected with the same verb (16:8). Again, both oudeni and ouden occur elsewhere in Mark, but never together as a double negative.

Let's compare. The leper is commanded to say nothing to nobody, but he tells everybody. The women are commanded to tell the disciples, but they say nothing to nobody. One story occurs almost at the beginning of Jesus' ministry, immediately before it becomes controversial; the other at the very end.

Could it be that Mark is contrasting the leper as first evangelist with the women, whose witness occurs despite their fear? (Otherwise, how would the story have been told?)

One more thought. Mark is entirely capable of constructing such extended echoes of its own story. Consider the tearing (schizomenous) of the heavens at Jesus' baptism ("You are my beloved Son"; 1:10-11) with the tearing (eschisthē; same verb) of the temple veil at the moment of his death ("Truly this one was the Son of God"; 15:38-39). These are the only two occurrences of schizō in Mark.

I wonder about Zacchaeus (Luke 19:8)

2009-03-07T11:22:00.003-05:00

It's been awhile. Maybe I haven't had anything smart to say.

The story of Zacchaeus (Luke 19:1-10) has long been taken as a model story of repentance. According to this reading, this rich -- and corrupt -- tax collector encounters Jesus. Jesus, who has come to call "sinners to repentance" (5:32), so impresses Zacchaeus that he determines to give half his possessions to the poor and to repay those he has defrauded four times what he has taken.

In Sinners: Jesus and His Earliest Followers, I basically agree with this assessment. There, I simply note that Jesus never criticizes Zacchaeus or calls him to repent. The larger point is that in Luke (and in all the Gospels) Jesus never condemns ordinary sinners; instead, he simply joins their company as he does with Zacchaeus. Zacchaeus responds to Jesus not because Jesus condemns his behavior but as a response to Jesus' self-invitation: "Zacchaeus, hurry down, for I must stay at your house today." Since it happens before a crowd, I understand Jesus' call as a public affirmation of Zacchaeus, regardless of his business affairs.

But one thing gives me pause, Zacchaeus' speech in 19:8. Perhaps Zacchaeus accepts his identity as a sinful tax collector, yet he has already struggled to live righteously. Here's the speech in my own literal translation.

But standing, Zacchaeus said to the Lord, "Behold, half my possessions, Lord, I am giving to the poor, and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I repay [it] fourfold."

Let's look at each piece slowly, looking toward the possibility that Luke portrays Zacchaeus as a righteous sinner.

But standing, Zacchaeus said to the Lord.... The crowd is complaining that Jesus has chosen to keep company with a sinner. What if (a) in response to their complaint, (b) Zacchaeus stands up for himself and (c) addresses Jesus directly in the presence of the crowd?
"Behold, half my possessions, Lord, I am giving to the poor...." Note that Zacchaeus speaks in the present, not the future, tense. Perhaps Zacchaeus is defending himself: what if he already gives half his possessions to the poor?
"and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I repay [it] fourfold." We normally translate this clause in the future tense but the verb is present tense here as well. What if Zacchaeus (occasionally?) does defraud people as an inevitable part of being a tax collector, then tries to correct the fault?

According to this reading, Zacchaeus is indeed a sinner, but he's a sinner who tries to live righteously. His encounter with Jesus indeed leads to salvation -- not because he repents but because Jesus blesses him. As I've indicated, this is not how I actually interpret the story. But some smart people do interpret it so, and the idea is intriguing.

After all, are there not righteous sinners all around us? That is, are there not people whom we stigmatize on account of their lifestyle or profession, who nevertheless demonstrate impressive acts of compassion and righteousness? I recall Chris Chambers, the "bad" kid in Stand By Me who reconciles his friends and risks his own life to save his friends. Sure enough, Chris participates in delinquent behavior, yet he's the hero of the story. Perhaps people of faith would do well to think about the heroism and compassion of the supposed "sinners" in our midst.

New Insights on Text Criticism

2009-01-08T09:28:00.002-05:00

Every once in awhile, I'll refresh myself as to what's going on in New Testament textual criticism, the attempt to understand the history and development of texts of New Testament documents. Just this week I encountered one of the most intimidating scholarly works I've ever seen, James R. Royse, Scribal Habits in Early Greek New Testament Papyri (New Testament Tools, Studies and Documents 36; Brill, 2008 -- 1051 pages, $369.00!!!). That's right; three hundred sixty-nine bucks.

Needless to say, this is a book I scanned rather than read, but it's a book that offers two important claims. Each claim contradicts the way I was taught to do text criticism back when dinosaurs roamed the earth, and each is plausible.

First, a little background. This book is so huge because it involves an intense study of the six earliest NT manuscripts available in papyrus (not the little fragments, but major manuscripts), some of the most ancient witnesses to the transmission of the NT texts. As an index of the kind of research involved consider this: the chapter on papyrus 46 is over 160 pages long and has 866 footnotes.

Here are the two claims. First, almost all of us were taught that scribes are more likely to add material to their source manuscript (Vorlage) rather than omit material. After all, with sacred texts, wouldn't scribes be reluctant to lose any material at all? A good example might be John 7:39. The original probably read, "Now he [Jesus] said this about the Spirit, which believers in him were to receive; for as yet there was no Spirit, because Jesus was not yet glorified" (NRSV). But some manuscripts read, "Now he [Jesus] said this about the Spirit, which believers in him were to receive; for as yet the Holy Spirit had not been given, because Jesus was not yet glorified." Since the first reading did not conform to emerging orthodoxy (the Holy Spirit is eternal), so some scribes rendered it doctrinally harmless with a longer phrase.

Royse shows that the earliest scribes, usually accidentally, omitted material far more often than they added it. Therefore, we should offer good reasons when we judge a longer reading to be more ancient than a shorter one. Such good reasons would include conforming a text to its parallels within the New Testament or theological considerations -- as in the example above.

Second, scholars have long noted that some scribes harmonized one Gospel story to its parallels in other Gospels. Modern translations of Mark 10:7 will include footnotes that show how scribes conformed this verse to the language in Matthew 19:5 and Genesis 2:24. Back in the day, we were trained to consider variant readings of certain passages with possible parallels in the canon.

Royse shows that the earliest scribes were far more concerned to harmonize passages to their immediate literary contexts rather than to parallels from other texts. To be honest, I have no idea how that insight will play out for practical textual criticism, at least where clear harmonization to parallel passages has occurred. At the same time, additional sensitivity to immediate context may resolve some questions. One classic case is 1 Thessalonians 2:7, where it is unclear whether Paul describes himself and his colleagues as gentle or as infants. Prior to 2:7, Paul describes his innocence (thus, "infants"), but later in 2:7-8 Paul compares his ministry to the work of a nurse (thus, "gentle").

Though this book is new, Royse's work has been known to text critics for a long time. I'm eager to see what the reviews make of it.

Cultural Criticism of the Bible

2008-12-16T10:14:00.004-05:00

I've just submitted a review of a fascinating recent book by David A. Sánchez, From Patmos to the Barrio: Subverting Imperial Myths (Fortress 2008). The review will appear in Biblical Interpretation.

Sánchez provides an excellent case of an emerging movement in biblical studies, cultural criticism. He begins by interpreting the Woman Clothed with the Sun (Revelation 12) as an appropriation of a familiar Roman imperial myth. The basic argument is that oppressed peoples appropriate the imperial myths of their oppressors and turn them to their own ends; that's what happens in Revelation 12. (To some degree, this isn't news among interpreters of Revelation.)

What distinguishes Sánchez's approach, however, is that he identifies cultural appropriations of Revelation's Woman in two subsequent counter-imperial movements, devotion to the Virgin of Guadalupe in seventeenth century Mexico and in twentieth century Los Angeles. Imagery of the Virgin is heavily patterned after the figure in Revelation 12, and it was adopted by Spanish colonizers.

Sánchez's book makes for interesting reading in its own right. For the moment, I'm more interested in what the work implies for cultural studies. Traditional approaches to the New Testament largely restrict themselves to explicating the text's ancient meaning. Over the past forty years or so, that model has been repeatedly challenged in a variety of ways, but it still holds for most interpretations. Cultural studies approaches change the conversation by seeing the Bible as a cultural phenomenon throughout history. Thus, asking how Matthew might play out in African missionary contexts (Musa Dube), or how Luke is interpreted in European art (Mikeal Parsons), stretches the range of biblical scholarship. It's not totally new, but interest in cultural studies, particularly studies informed by a liberationist perspective, is growing.

In response to Sánchez, I'd like to ask two questions.

Will cultural studies require collaboration? From Patmos to the Barrio often relies on select secondary sources. This suggests to me that no individual scholar, including Sánchez, is likely to be expert in ancient Mediterranean discourse, seventeenth century Mexican cultural history, and contemporary Chicano/a movements.
How will cultural studies approaches do history? Though his approach challenges traditional historical critical scholarship, Sánchez often makes direct, "objectivist" historical claims. What is the role of historiography for cultural studies?

I'm grateful for this book, from which I learned a great deal. At the same time, the book intimidates me by suggesting that I'll never learn as much as I need to.

the one book I'd recommend to church groups....

2008-08-29T09:15:00.003-04:00

... is Struggling with Scripture, by Walter Brueggemann, William Placher, and Brian Blount. It's three short essays, actually lectured delivered for popular audiences -- only 69 little pages and $9.99. This little book opens the best, most honest discussion about the role of the Bible in Christian life of which I'm aware. I've been recommending it for years.

The problem is, churches often get tied up in conversations about the Bible without seriously pausing to reflect on the Bible as a whole. In the current sexuality debates people throw proof texts at one another, often with interpretations that are tenuous at best. That sort of process, something like choosing up sides for a softball game, naturally leads to conflict. Struggling with Scripture opens space for a very different kind of conversation.

Brueggemann resists any attempt to reduce the question of biblical authority to a simple doctrinal statement. Scripture, he says, always surprises us if we're open to the possibility; thus, we cannot determine in advance what it can and cannot mean. He acknowledges that the biblical authors wrote from within their own cultural contexts -- how could they not? -- and that their perspectives were naturally limited. Yet the bottom line, for Brueggemann, is the Bible's inherency, its inherent and consistent testimony to a God who created life, who redeems life, and who will one day bring life to its joyous consummation.

In my view Placher is the star of the show. He acknowledges his gratitude for a life-giving, lifelong encounter with Scripture. Yet he notes that the church has a way of interpreting the Bible to fit its agenda of the moment. Not long ago, historically speaking, the churches used the Bible to defend slavery, then segregation. Not long ago the churches used the Bible to marginalize divorced persons. Now that divorce is more common, the churches have changed. Not long ago at all the churches used the Bible to silence women in ministry. Given this trajectory of "not long ago but now," what will the churches do with the homosexuality question? If we are honest with ourselves, Placher shows us, we have a habit of interpreting to the advantage of the powerful. In the long run Placher defines faithfulness to the Bible as a lifetime of serious, daily engagement with Scripture. We try to see how the parts relate to the whole, we humbly acknowledge we don't know everything, working through those passages that make us uncomfortable. Placher's transparent honesty marks the book's most compelling moment.

Blount's essay raises the stakes even higher. He regards biblical authority as contextual biblical authority, reflecting not only sensitivity to the contexts of the authors but attentiveness to our living context in the here and now. For Blount the Bible is an elusive, living word: "Nothing that is living is ever last." Blount calls attention to how both African American slaves and New Testament writers engaged the Bible to address the emergent concerns of their own communities. It's a high calling, a demanding calling, to interpret the Bible apart from the illusion that we have a final handle on the truth. Blount quotes Tom Hanks from the film A League of Their Own: "It's baseball. It's supposed to be hard. If it weren't hard, then everyone would do it."

the elusive link -- religious experience

2008-08-19T13:54:00.002-04:00

Several years ago Luke Timothy Johnson called out the neglect of religious experience among students of early Christianity in his Religious Experience in Earliest Christianity: A Missing Dimension in New Testament Studies. In the interim several attempts to explain the spread of early Christianity have emerged, usually with sociological frameworks.

For my part, 1 Thessalonians 1:5 has long arrested my attention. Recalling his first visit among the Thessalonians, Paul writes, "our message of the gospel came to you not in word only, but with power and the Holy Spirit and full conviction."

I take Paul seriously here. Paul is calling the Thessalonians to recall the basic religious experience they shared during Paul's visit. In fact, he devotes most of the letter to this very subject. Apparently, he's trying to maintain a positive relationship with this church he has not seen in a long time. His task, then, is like that of a lover writing a letter to the beloved. She or he had better not overstate how great things were when they were last together; otherwise, the whole enterprise is in trouble. I imagine that Paul actually recalls a shared and powerful religious experience from that first visit.

What I'd love to know is, what does Paul mean by power? What sort of religious experience lies behind this? As we consider how early Christianity spread, let's not shut down our imaginations to the work of religious experience.

Jesus on Bullshit

2008-08-04T08:57:00.003-04:00

I just finished Harry G. Frankfurt's bestselling little book, On Bullshit (Princeton, 2005). If I were really cool, I would've read and commented on it a couple of years ago. Then again, I've long since learned that any attempts at coolness on my part always backfire.

For those who don't know, On Bullshit is a serious work of philosophy though it is less than 70 pages long. Frankfurt has since published On Truth, which I have not read. Frankfurt's distinction between bullshit and lying may illuminate Jesus' saying concerning oaths (Matt 5:33-36; cf. James 5:12). Lying, according to Frankfurt, requires a concern with the truth. Lying happens when someone says something that they know to be false in an effort to lead others to believe what is false. In other words, to lie you have to care about the truth. But bullshit happens when people don't care about the truth at all. Bullshit is simply talking for the sake of some purpose unrelated to the words coming from one's mouth.

Perhaps the most simple case of bullshit occurs when a student says something like, "I bullshitted my way all the way through the exam." What that student means is usually something like this, "I wrote and wrote, hoping to confuse the instructor into thinking I had something of value to say, hoping I got lucky and said something relevant, most of all hoping to cover up my ignorance."

Jesus' sayings concerning oaths strikes somewhere near this point. The saying stands among the famous Antitheses of the Sermon on the Mount: "You have heard it said, but I tell you...." Jesus begins by addressing a commandment concerning fulfilling oaths, then he moves on to prohibit oaths altogether. Just "Let your word be, 'Yes, Yes' or 'No, No'' anything more than this comes from the evil one" (NRSV).

And what is the purpose of an oath? An oath serves not to make a truth claim but to attest to the sincerity of the person speaking the oath. In other words, an oath is a kind of personal guarantee having nothing directly to do with the matter at hand. In short, oaths are a specific form of bullshit.

I grew up in Alabama, where bullshit is an art form. To be honest, I enjoy bullshit a lot. However, Christian groups have occasionally emphasized Jesus' teaching concerning oaths. These promote a sober approach to human interaction, where people say exactly what they mean, no more and no less. Personally, I find that approach to life a little stifling. On the other hand, I see way too much bullshit in the church, from fake enthusiasm in worship leaders, to fake happiness in ordinary people. Folks can spot that kind of bullshit a mile away, and it does great harm to the church. Indeed, I bullshit may be one of the major reasons that most churches are declining. If Christian faith isn't strong enough to engage real life, why bother?

I recommend Frankfurt's On Bullshit.

What's Special -- and Challenging -- about Matthew

2008-07-29T09:23:00.002-04:00

Over the past several weeks I've been working with the Gospel of Matthew more than I usually do. Two lectionary resources have invited me to write on passages from Matthew, and this has led me to think more deeply about that Gospel.

Matthew stands out for its insistence that Jesus' teachings set the agenda for discipleship. If you pull down one of those red-letter editions of the New Testament (where Jesus' speech appears in red type), you'll find five major clusters of red ink. Commentators have long noticed this pattern, in which the Gospel alternates between sections of Jesus' actions and conversations and his extended discourses. Jesus' words are especially important in Matthew.

The first of those discourses is the Sermon on the Mount, in which Jesus provides basic instruction for potential disciples. Almost all interpreters agree that 5:17-20 provides a thesis statement for the entire Sermon. There Jesus insists that his disciples are to keep the Law (as he interprets it), practicing righteousness that exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees. The Sermon ends in 7:21-29, with Jesus' insistence that mere confession of his name amounts to nothing, apart from obedience to God's will. The passage identifies that will of God with the teaching of Jesus himself: whoever hears -- and does -- what Jesus says is like one who builds their house upon a rock. Together, 5:17-20 and 7:21-29 interpret the content of the Sermon, demonstrating that Jesus' teachings provide the standards for his followers.

(Note: The literary audience for the Sermon is one of the most contested issues in the interpretation of Matthew, but I am convinced that the Sermon addresses both disciples and potential disciples.)

The ending of Matthew reinforces this program. Commissioned by the risen Jesus, disciples are to make disciples of all peoples, among other things "teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you" (20:20, NRSV).

Many Christians through the centuries have struggled with Matthew's emphasis on doing what Jesus says. After all, it is Matthew's Jesus who calls disciples to "Be perfect as your heavenly Father is perfect" (5:48). Yikes. Some believers, taking Matthew seriously, have tried to live out its teachings to the letter. Extreme examples include believers who have castrated themselves to become "eunuchs for the kingdom of heaven" (19:12). Others soften Matthew's high demands by describing them as ideals rather than expectations. And still others suggest that the Gospel expounds such rigorous standards to reveal our helplessness as sinners, thus leading us to grace.

But Matthew's Gospel resists such rationalizations. It presents a distinctive call to faithful discipleship, even as we struggle with our inability -- or lack of will -- to follow through.

The Canon (and Dungan)

2008-06-11T10:33:00.001-04:00

All of us who teach the New Testament get the same question: "How did we get the Bible?" Or, "Who decided what should be in the Bible?"

In the post-Da Vinci Code age, this question often comes with some suspicion. Was the canon formed in some smoke-filled room by imperial or ecclesiastical authorities? A book sure to grab attention affirms that to be the case, sort of. David Dungan, Constantine's Bible: Politics and the Making of the New Testament (Fortress, 2007) is concise, affordable, and likely to appeal. Dungan essentially argues that Constantine's influence shaped the decision to determine a formal canon.

In contrast, I would argue that the canon grew organically. People made and passed around copies of early Christian books because they perceived them to be valuable. Some books grew wildly popular (Gospels, Acts, Paul, some other letters); others widely popular; still others too hot to handle. Well after Constantine, our copies of "Bibles" (bound collections of early Christian books) and canonical "lists" (published by various early Christian leaders) vary in their particulars. Thus, whatever Constantine's influence, he neither initiated the canon process nor did he determine its outcome.

A recent respondent to this blog, Garwood Anderson, has published a helpful review of Dungan's book on the Review of Biblical Literature site: http://www.bookreviews.org/bookdetail.asp?TitleId=5559. I recommend it.

Surprise in the Parables: More on Snodgrass

2008-06-04T11:49:00.002-04:00

I’m working my way around Klyne Snodgrass’ book on the parables (Stories with Intent, see below) very slowly. One great strength of Snodgrass’ book is his refusal to offer a simple, single-layered approach to interpreting parables. The influence of Adolf Jülicher, who over a century ago insisted that each parable has a single point, has created an aversion to multi-textured interpretations. Perhaps the pinnacle of this line of analysis may be found in the brilliant interpretations of John Dominic Crossan (particularly, his In Parables) and Bernard Brandon Scott (particularly, Hear Then the Parable). For Crossan and Scott, the power of Jesus’ parables resides not in the “ideas” they promote but in their ability to undermine conventional ways of perceiving and relating to the world. The key to this line of interpretation lies in the parables’ proclivity to take strange or surprising turns. Unfortunately this same approach cannot accommodate parables that look as if they’re talking about something fairly specific or intuitive. Indeed, Crossan and Scott tend to excise such specific (or, to use Snodgrass’ term, analogical) elements from Jesus’ parables and attribute them to Christian tradition or redaction.

Snodgrass, however, refuses to prejudge Jesus’ parables based upon a narrow (perhaps romantic) theory of how they might have worked. By opening himself to the possibility that the Gospels might actually reflect the gist of Jesus’ teaching, Snodgrass also creates space for a world of challenging interpretive issues. This is a good thing, and he deserves credit for wading into this brier patch. Let’s take the parable of The Workers in the Vineyard (Matt 20:1-16) as a test case.

Snodgrass lists seven interpretive options for this parable that have surfaced through the ages, though his own conclusion amounts to something like option 6, that the parable undermines “envy, greed, boasting, or any kind of reckoning among Jesus’ disciples” (371). Among the other options, I think Snodgrass takes most seriously the possibilities that (a) the parable demonstrates the gracious generosity of God (though he rejects this) and (b) the parable defends Jesus’ companionship with sinners. Snodgrass rejects outright another plausible possibility, that (c) the parable (Matthew’s version, if not that of Jesus) promotes the rejection of Jews and the inclusion of Gentiles.

I love Snodgrass’ way of proceeding. He makes some exegetical observations, then names several interpretive questions that require resolution. That’s exactly right. We’ll use just one here: is there a possible tension between Matthew’s use of the parable and that of Jesus? That is, might Jesus be concerned with how God treats people in general or how people treat one another, rather than the issue of Jews and Gentiles, which is a huge preoccupation for Matthew? It’s not clear to me that Snodgrass effectively rules out the anti-Jewish potential of the parable as we find it in Matthew, though he does offer an argument (373). Here I think Snodgrass fails to appreciate what it means to suppose that a Gospel author might turn a parable of Jesus to a very different use. In such cases we would expect editorial touches, not necessarily thorough reworking. Snodgrass has a point when he judges that interpretations that read early workers as Jews and the later workers as Gentiles require “a divining rod that the text does not give.” Nevertheless, that interpretation is grounded in one detail of the text, taken within the larger (and complicated) matter of what’s up with Jews and Gentiles in Matthew.

That one detail provokes me to post. Snodgrass makes almost nothing of what seems to me the strangest point of the parable: the earlier workers must wait while the later workers get paid first (20:8). As one who has done hourly labor myself, I can imagine that the earlier workers might resent receiving the same payment as those who had worked less. In itself, that’s not cause for outrage. Having to stand around while the latecomers get paid first, however, and then receiving the same payment, that would provoke a harsh reaction. Remarkably, Snodgrass judges Matt 20:16 (“So the last will be first, and the first will be last”) not as Matthew’s – or even Jesus’ – conclusion to the parable, but as a conclusion to the larger unit of Matt 19:13-20:34. Snodgrass does not discuss this, but distancing 20:16 from the parable has two significant consequences. First, it downplays the significance of 20:8, which would be amplified through its connection with 20:16 (noted on p. 371). Second, it distances the motif of reversal, key to the Israel-Gentiles line of interpretation, from the parable itself.

I am not arguing for the Israel-Gentiles reading, about which I’m entirely uncertain. Unlike Snodgrass, I enjoy the luxury of being a critical observer at this point, with no obligation to pronounce a definitive judgment on the parable. However, in this one case I think Snodgrass has tamed the parable by overlooking one of the great insights from the line of parable scholarship that runs from C. H. Dodd through Crossan and Scott. That insight is that many of Jesus’ parables, nearly all of his narrative parables, feature a “hook,” a moment at which the ordinary flow of the parable ceases to make sense. Snodgrass is correct to deny that all parables feature this, and his introduction notes the power of many parables to shock or surprise (18). However, he entirely skips over this dramatic feature of the parable of the Workers.

Snodgrass fundamentally sees the parable of the Workers as discouraging the tendency to judge the merits of others to receive God’s favor. I’m inclined to agree, though I’m not certain that Matthew rules out interpreting this principle through the relations of Jews and Gentiles in the church. However, Snodgrass overlooks one point of the parable that begs for emphasis: the force of surprise and disorientation. With Dodd, Crossan, and Scott, I would elevate the importance of surprise as a criterion for evaluating the parables that feature it.

What on Earth Is Evangelical Biblical Scholarship? Snodgrass on the Parables

2008-05-26T19:40:00.002-04:00

Klyne R. Snodgrass has contributed a wonderfully researched and beautifully written treatment of Jesus’ parables (Stories with Intent: A Comprehensive Guide to the Parables of Jesus [Eerdmans, 2008]). After the publication of Bernard Brandon Scott’s Hear Then the Parable (Fortress, 1989), this is the second comprehensive and somewhat conventional (I mean this descriptively, not pejoratively) study of the parables. (The other is Arland Hultgren’s The Parables of Jesus: A Commentary [Fortress, 2000].) Snodgrass’ massive book will remain a standard reference for interpreters of the parables for decades.

So far I’ve only read the introduction and scanned some discussions of particular parables. Snodgrass recognizes the difficulties involved in defining the parables. I think his own definition, though broad, represents a genuine contribution: “A parable is an expanded analogy used to convince and persuade” (9). This approach honors the diversity of parables attributed to Jesus, and it introduces the rhetorical dimension of parables. By using “analogy,” Snodgrass successfully rules out arbitrarily allegorical interpretations while affirming that the parables refer to something beyond their story worlds. He writes, “If meaning is the value assigned to a set of relations, parables provide new sets of relations that enable us (or force us) to see in a fresh manner” (8).

All that said, what grabs my attention for the moment is something I find not in the book itself but on its dust jacket, which proclaims Snodgrass’ “consciously evangelical approach.” What on earth does that mean? As one of many biblical scholars who once identified as an evangelical, and a person whose faith and piety remain evangelical, I am totally confused when it comes to describing “evangelical biblical scholarship.” On occasion my seminary students will complain that I don’t provide enough readings that advocate an evangelical perspective. In reply, I wonder: what would that look like? What is an evangelical approach to the Bible?

Many evangelicals today identify themselves by their loyalty to the Bible. In particular, they mean a view that the Bible is a trustworthy guide to divine truth. Is that what evangelical biblical scholarship means, interpretation that takes the Bible’s reliability for granted? If so, then evangelical scholarship is an oxymoron: it’s one thing to pose evangelical questions to the Bible, but to assume one knows the answers in advance is no scholarship at all. We might have evangelical interpretation that is scholarly in many respects, but not evangelical scholarship as such.

Nowhere in his introduction does Snodgrass advance a particular view of biblical reliability. However, I wonder if some of his claims do reflect a bias toward the Bible’s reliability that goes unspoken. Indeed, there are points at which his arguments simply don’t persuade me at all, largely because they build upon unspoken assumptions or ignore critical evidence. In other words, I wonder if an unspoken agenda animates some of his judgments.

Here are a few.

Snodgrass affirms that the parables were “oral instruments in a largely oral culture.” Indeed. From this, he claims that “any attempt to reconstruct the original version of a parable is misguided” (25). In this he is probably correct. Why should we assume that Jesus only spoke parables once, or that he always told them the same way? However, I don’t think many people think they can identify Jesus’ actual words on the basis of critical judgment. That’s not the question in scholarship. The question is whether we may discern probable levels of tradition and redaction (or editing) that accrue to the parables. And the answer to this is, of course we can – not with certainty, but of course we can. One looks at the ending to the parable of the dishonest manager (Luke 16:1-13) and sees what C. H. Dodd described as notes to several different sermons attached to the end – it’s that obvious in some cases. We will never achieve certainty with most such judgments. But scholarship isn’t about certainty; it’s about our best judgments that enlighten our understanding. Snodgrass largely avoids this entire line of thought.
Snodgrass also rules out conventional redaction criticism with this stinger: “Any thought of slavish literary dependence as the only way to account for Synoptic relations is ill-informed” (25). Okay, if he means that an informed person knows there are other proposals on the table. However, the basic insight of modern gospel criticism – since the nineteenth century – is the insight that the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke) agree so closely in content, diction, and sequence that some relationship of dependence and redaction is the only way to account for it. No, that doesn’t explain everything. No, the conventional hypothesis that Mark was independently used by both Matthew and Luke is not certain. No, literary dependence in the gospels is not “slavish.” But to suggest that the similarities and differences in parables common to multiple gospels do not reflect a process of copying and editing is a position held almost exclusively by people who want to defend the Bible’s historical reliability.
Snodgrass aims at Jesus’ intent in speaking the parables. So do many scholars, and it’s a legitimate interest. He recognizes that each gospel has its own way of using the parables, as does everyone else. However, Snodgrass maintains that the gospel narratives “provide an interpretive field within which both the parables and the larger narrative shed light on each other” (26). There’s a strong element of truth to this claim: one would expect that as parables were told and retold, their original functions might make their way into the gospel traditions. (Against most parables scholars, I argue precisely this for some of Luke’s more famous parables in a fairly obscure essay.) However, once again Snodgrass has loaded the dice. We almost certainly know that the gospels sometimes change their traditions dramatically to make certain points. Why wouldn’t we expect this with the parables?

Here I’ll stop listing and start arguing. Every gospel shows signs that its authors took some liberties with the traditions they received. Mark narrates two miraculous feeding stories and three passion predictions. I would not argue against the traditions that Jesus miraculously fed a multitude and that during his career he said something about his fate. But that’s not the point. The point is that in each case Mark uses the tradition to make another point. The two feeding stories and the three passion predictions both allow Mark to dramatize the disciples’ cluelessness. After the second feeding story the disciples still worry about bread, whereas after each passion prediction they reject the ethos of righteous suffering. Mark couldn’t care less how many times Jesus fed or predicted; Mark uses these stories to make a different point entirely.

Or Matthew. Mark 7:19 relates that Jesus declared all foods clean. But Matthew insists that Jesus honored the law and taught his followers to do so as well. In telling the same story about handwashing – at points identically Greek word for Greek word, at points differently – Matthew entirely cuts the declaration that all foods are clean. In this instance this is no minor omission. Likewise, Mark is much tougher on Jesus’ disciples than is Matthew. Having confessed Jesus’ messianic identity, in both Matthew and Mark Peter scolds Jesus’ passion prediction. To soften Jesus’ stinging rebuke -- “Get behind me, Satan!” -- Matthew adds material concerning Peter’s insight, giving Peter the “keys of the kingdom of heaven” (16:13-23; par. Mark 8:27-33). No innocent editing, this.

Meanwhile, the author of Luke explicitly tells us that he has combed the sources and improved upon them (1:1-4). So Luke’s gospel is not the least bashful about rewriting material. Consider Jesus’ reception in Nazareth (4:16-30). Luke moves the story far ahead in the book’s sequence, then adds a huge block of material that explains why Jesus receives an unfavorable reception. It’s not because of who Jesus is (as in Mark and Matthew), it’s because of his Gentile-inclusive mission.

I rehearse these examples – familiar to anyone who’s taken an introductory Bible course – to show that Snodgrass simply rules out of hand any suspicion that the gospels might not present the parables in something like their original form. But here is where the problem rises directly to the surface. I’ll quote Snodgrass:

We must read stereoscopically for both the intent of Jesus and the intent of the Evangelists. Those intents are not identical, but if they are not coordinate or at least reconcilable, we have no hope of understanding Jesus. (26)

Snodgrass is entirely correct in advocating a stereoscopic approach. Yet his rationale amounts to nothing but an argument from consequences: If the gospels don’t reliably portray Jesus’ teaching, then Jesus will be elusive. Right. And that is precisely what historical scholarship does: it seeks to discern authentic Jesus material among the gospel traditions without assuming that the gospels provide directly reliable accounts of Jesus’ words and actions. The gospels provide our best and only significant source for Jesus material, yet they represent highly problematic sources. We would say similar things for essential sources like Thucydides, Dio Cassius, Josephus, and Eusebius.

Luke’s unique parables suggest a high level of creativity in early Christian circles. These include the Samaritan, the Prodigal, the Dishonest Manager, the Rich Man and Lazarus, the Widow and the Judge, and the Pharisee and the Toll Collector. These parables are so memorable precisely because they come with a literary flourish that likely does not derive from Jesus. All of these parables, absent from the other gospels, include relatively complex plots and memorable characters. A single literary device, soliloquy, makes most of these characters so rich; that is, only Luke tells parables in which we overhear characters’ thoughts and motives.

Which hypothesis is more likely: that Jesus told parables like the L parables but only Luke had access to that tradition, or that Luke’s gospel includes a healthy does of early Christian creativity? With Luke’s unique parables it looks like a little of both. In many instances Luke’s redactional hand comes through fairly obviously, suggesting an early layer of Jesus tradition. At the same time, these parables all reflect emphases distinctive to Luke: Mercy is given to the poor (or should be); sinners find welcome, even affirmation; those who think they are insiders find themselves outside. Some blend of ancient tradition and creativity best accounts for this pattern. To suggest that the settings and interpretations we find in Luke’s gospel reflect the authentic teaching intent of Jesus simply begs the question.

Let me be clear. From what I’ve seen of it, I admire Snodgrass’ book greatly. I could not have written this impressive piece of scholarship, and I intend to refer to it frequently. It already carries an asterisk in the bibliography I give my students. However, if Snodgrass fairly represents “evangelical scholarship,” then I would say evangelicals need to rethink what they’re doing. I’ll even offer a constructive suggestion.

Evangelical scholarship should not be about defending current dogma; it should be about asking evangelical questions. Feminist scholarship, African and African American scholarship, Latino/a scholarship, Asian and Asian American scholarship, queer scholarship, postcolonial analysis – none of these movements pre-certify the results of investigation. What identifies them is not the answers they offer but the questions they pose. So it should be, I think, with evangelical scholarship – if it wants the rest of us to honor it as scholarship in the public arena.

Fall Book Alert: In the Shadow of Empire

2008-05-21T13:46:00.002-04:00

Recent years have witnessed an explosion of interest in how early Christians related to the Roman Empire. A new collection of essays edited by Richard Horsley represents a major attempt to introduce popular readers -- pastors, interested laypeople, and students -- to the intersection of empire studies and biblical studies. Currently in production, In the Shadow of Empire: Reclaiming the Bible as a History of Faithful Resistance should roll out this fall. It includes essays by Norman Gottwald, Jon Berquist, Walter Brueggemann, Warren Carter, John Dominic Crossan, Brigitte Kahl, Neil Elliott, and myself.

When I was in seminary we basically learned some key names and dates. Who was Pontius Pilate? What happened in 70 CE? Who was Herod the Great, and who was Herod Antipas? What was not emphasized, was that the entire Bible is a product of imperial cultures -- Egyptian, Assyrian, Babylonian, Persian, Greek, and Roman. We certainly never asked about the Bible as a tool of European and American imperialism, with missionaries giving away Bibles while colonial administrators appropriated land, cultural and natural resources, and people. In the Shadow of Empire speaks to the first question, the Bible and its resistance to empire. It's the first such resource to address the question of empire to a wide range of the biblical canon and with a popular audience in mind.

What Jesus Learned (part 2 of 2)

2008-05-14T08:42:00.001-04:00

What Jesus Learned (part 2 of 2)

In my last installment I suggested that Mark depicts Jesus as an unusual sort of hero. That is, he learns – actually, he is called out into ministry that brings him across social boundaries. We looked in particular at the story of the leper in Mark 1:40-45. Now we’ll apply a more brief treatment to three other examples.

The healing of the paralytic in Mark 2:1-11 is fairly straightforward. Jesus is, Mark says, “at home,” but there is no rest for him. Perhaps because the paralytic disobeyed Jesus by spreading the news of his cleansing, crowds so press in on Jesus that there’s no room in the house. This is not Jesus’ choice. Moreover, the paralytic’s friends force the issue with a dramatic initiative: they dig through the roof of the house to lower their friend in before Jesus. Jesus responds to their faith.

Jesus often receives credit for healing – and touching – a woman with a flow of blood in Mark 5:24b-34. As the argument goes, this woman is ritually unclean because of a chronic menstrual flow. However, Mark does not describe the nature of the woman’s hemorrhage. Nor do any factors in the story suggest that people are surprised that Jesus contacts the woman. How, after all, would anyone know the nature of her ailment? Thus, it’s doubtful at best that Jesus crosses a purity boundary here.

Even more important, it’s not Jesus who does the touching! The woman reaches out and touches the fringe of Jesus’ garment. Pressed by the crowd (a recurring theme in Mark), Jesus does not know who touches him, so he asks. Once again, Jesus does not merit credit in this case; rather, he is drawn out by the woman’s aggressive faith. His heroism consists in his response to the woman’s faith.

Finally, there’s the well known example of the Syrophoenician woman (7:24-30). She is a Gentile, the first who wins Jesus’ blessing. Like the leper, the woman kneels before Jesus, commanding his attention. As with the leper, Jesus issues a stern rebuke. Some people rationalize Jesus’ misbehavior by saying he was “testing her faith.” Mark does not even hint in this direction. Instead, with a snappy retort the woman wins the argument with Jesus – the only character to do so in the Gospel. A boundary does separate Jew from Gentile, but Jesus does not cross that boundary on his own. The woman brings him across.

All four of these characters – the leper, the paralytic (through his friends), the bleeding woman, and the Syrophoenician – command Jesus’ attention by placing their bodies in his way. The leper and the Syrophoenician bow before Jesus’ feet, the paralytic’s friends lower him through the roof, and the bleeding woman reaches out to touch Jesus. The Syrophoenician even wins a debate with Jesus. In none of these cases does Jesus reach out to cross religious or social boundaries; if any boundaries are being crossed, it’s the people Jesus blesses who cross them.

According to Mark, Jesus learns from people who confront him with their need and their faith. These people draw Jesus into new fields of ministry. They are heroes. If Jesus is a hero in these stories, it’s because he recognizes their faith and responds to their initiative.

Theologically, the churches would benefit by following this example of Jesus. Rather than assuming the church is the sole source of truth and that the church knows what people need (or even deserve), perhaps the church should allow itself to encounter its neighbors, to experience their need, and to respond in humility. Like Jesus in Mark, the church has a lot to learn.

What Jesus Learned (part 1 of 2)

2008-05-05T10:20:00.004-04:00

Jesus receives credit he doesn't deserve.

Granted, that statement aims to provoke. Yet it's a serious claim concerning an important matter with respect to Jesus and the Gospels. One often reads that Jesus transgressed social and religious boundaries that tied people to their oppression. In particular, the argument goes, Jesus liberated people from the Jewish purity laws that tied them down. He touched lepers, healed on the sabbath, came into contact with menstruating women and with corpses. In short, many say, Jesus' "casual" attitude toward the purity laws demonstrated a commitment to compassion over purity.

Three things are wrong with this argument, and I'd like to dwell on the third. First, when this argument comes from preachers and theologians it carries with it an often subtle anti-semitism. Jesus is good news because he freed people from their restrictive Jewish laws. This line of argument has an old and pernicious history.

Second, it's not at all clear that Jesus ever violated the laws of Israel. Touching lepers and corpses made a person unclean, but it did not constitute a violation of the law as such. One might imagine debates over the legality of healing on the sabbath, but it's far from clear that Jesus violated the law in that respect. Tellingly, all of the Synoptic Gospels narrate arguments between Jesus and his contemporaries concerning the legality of his behavior, but only one of them -- Mark -- suggests that Jesus actually violated the law. Mark 7:19 says that Jesus declared all foods clean, a statement that Matthew omits and Luke lacks. Instead, Matthew, Luke, and John all suggest that Jesus was law-observant, not a transgressor of the law. (One might add that all of our evidence suggests Jesus' followers continued to observe the law after his death. Why would they do that if Jesus himself did not observe the law?)

For our third point, let's take a cue from the Gospel of Mark. Mark is absolutely clear that Jesus often reaches out to people. He travels from village to village, he sees people with disabilities and heals them on his own initiative. He keeps company with sinners. He seems committed to human wellbeing, even liberation.

Yet several key stories in Mark suggest that in some important cases Jesus was himself the learner, called out by others to perform his wonderful deeds. We'll look at Jesus' famous interaction with the leper (1:40-45), the healing of the paralytic (2:1-11), his encounter with the hemorrhaging woman (5:24b-34), and his dispute with the Syrophoenician woman (7:24-30).

For today, let's just look at the story of the leper.

Jesus does not approach the leper. Rather the leper comes and kneels before Jesus. This action locates the initiative with the leper, not with Jesus.
We should pay more attention to the leper's act of kneeling. We tend to see kneeling as a form of reverence and devotion, as indeed it probably is. But kneeling is also a powerful physical act that claims attention. If a person is walking along, and someone kneels before them, the act of kneeling blocks that person's path. Moreover, the act of kneeling demands some sort of acknowledgment. Perhaps the leper is showing reverence to Jesus; certainly, the leper is impeding Jesus' progress.
The leper's action combines with his speech, "If you are willing, you can make me clean." This claim poses a challenge to Jesus. It does not request Jesus' intervention so much as it poses a test of Jesus' character. The leper is calling Jesus out.
At this point we should attend to a major text critical problem in 1:41. Most of our ancient manuscripts tell us that Jesus was "moved with compassion" for the leper. But a few describe Jesus not as feeling compassion but as angered. (* See below for a discussion of this problem.) Now, why might Jesus respond with anger? Perhaps Jesus is angry because (a) a leper (b) has gotten into his way and (c) challenged his good will.
The leper does not obey Jesus. Jesus commands the leper to keep silent about his cleansing, but the leper goes out disseminating the word about Jesus. In effect, the leper forces Jesus out of the closet into a new mode of ministry. This, according to Mark, forces a reluctant Jesus into the public light.

The leper's bold initiative wins Jesus over. Jesus takes hold of the leper, pronounces him clean, and effects his restoration. When we read this story in this light, one wonders how anyone ever thought to credit Jesus for crossing the boundary between clean and unclean. Everything happens at the leper's initiative.

That said, Jesus deserves a great deal of credit in this case -- and in a way that might instruct his twenty-first century followers. Confronted by the leper, Jesus follows through by entering a new phase of his ministry. He does touch the leper, he does effect cleansing, and he does continue as a public advocate of the marginalized. In this way Jesus makes for a wonderful hero, the example of a person called forth into a world of hurt and need. Whatever his agenda is before he meets the leper, it's not the same after. Jesus does not set his own agenda; rather, his mission is shaped in response to the people who call him forth.

* An increasing number of interpreters find this minority reading compelling. It's easy to explain a Christian scribe would change an original text from anger to compassion, since early Christian copyists tended to smooth over the portrayal of Jesus. But why would a copyist do the opposite? Can we imagine a scribe turning Jesus' compassion into anger?

What Does the New Perspective on Paul Look Like?

2007-10-29T08:08:00.001-04:00

I like little books that pack a punch, and Jouette M. Bassler's new, Navigating Paul: An Introduction to Key Theological Concepts (Westminster John Knox, 2006), stands among the best examples I can find. In just a few short (10-15 page) chapters, Bassler surveys the current conversation on topics such as grace, the law, and faith. Though anyone with an introductory grasp of Paul will understand her -- I assign this book for a 100-level course -- Bassler's discussion includes diverse points of view from across the exegetical and theological spectra. Her footnotes would make a goldmine for a doctoral student preparing for a qualifying exam on Paul: read those works, and you'll be fine.

So please read Bassler. Just the same, I'm often asked about what's called the "new perspective" on Paul. What does it look like? In short, the new perspective is a movement that began in the 1960s and continues to spark controversy. Key figures include Krister Stendahl, E. P. Sanders, James Dunn, and N. T. Wright, though each of these scholars has his own distinctive point of view. In this post I'll simply list some common characteristics of the movement.

Paul and Judaism. Influenced by Augustine and Luther, scholars once assumed that the pre-Jesus Paul carried a heavy burden of sin. Romans 7 and 1 Timothy 1:15 (in which Paul calls himself the foremost of sinners). In the 1960s and 70s scholars began listening to ancient Jewish texts on their own terms, rather than through the lenses of Christian reception. Texts like Galatians 1 and Philippians 3 reveal that Paul did not struggle under a burden of sin; rather, he remained proud of his faithfulness to the law throughout his life.
Paul's "conversion." Paul did not convert from Judaism to Christianity, as in leaving one religion for another. Instead, he received an "apocalypse" (Paul's word) from the God of Israel, that revealed the risen Jesus to him. From that point Paul began proclaiming the death, resurrection, and return of Israel's messiah.
Law, grace, and faith. Paul's gospel was not the announcement of salvation by grace through faith. This theme occurs almost exclusively in two of his letters, Galatians and Romans. These happen to be the letters in which Paul deals most directly with the relationship of Gentile and Jewish followers of Jesus. Paul believed passionately in grace and faith, as did other Jews of his day. What marked his mission was the inclusion of Gentiles without requiring them to observe Israel's Torah. Paul's gospel proclaimed God's decisive saving action in the death, resurrection, and return of Jesus. "Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again."
Romans. In the "older perspective," Romans outlines Paul's theology. This is essentially accomplished in chapters 1-8. Chapter 7 represents an autobiographical reflection on Paul's struggles under the law and his deliverance by Christ. Chapters 9-11 are a "great digression" on the question of Israel, while chapters 12-16 are merely an ethical afterthought. Romans' story is the story of how individual souls find themselves lost in sin but redeemed in Jesus Christ. In the new perspective, Paul is not sketching his full theology. Instead, he is defending his gospel over against objections that were already circulating. Chapter 7 is a case study in what happens to Gentiles who hope the law will justify them, chapters 9-11 represent one of Paul's most critical defenses against his opponents, and chapters 12-15 instruct Gentiles and Jews (but especially Gentiles) as to how to get along. Romans' story proclaims the righteousness and power of God, demonstrated through the faithfulness of Jesus Christ (not simply "faith in" Jesus) to save humankind and the cosmos.

What's at stake in the new perspective? Among other things, Jewish-Christian relations benefit when Christians seriously try to understand Judaism on its own terms. Pastorally, consider the implications of the "older" and "newer" perspectives. Following the older perspective, Christians sought to duplicate the experiences of Augustine and Luther. Some have said, "You gotta get 'em lost before you can get 'em saved," centering the Christian experience around individuals who feel the weight of sin and who find freedom in Christ. The new perspective, while it takes sin seriously, instead announces God's liberative acts on behalf of individuals, communities and all of creation. While the old perspective calls people to repent and find forgiveness, the new perspective invites people to participate in the ongoing work of God.

How Did Jesus Get Himself Crucified?

2007-04-20T09:29:00.000-04:00

How did Jesus get himself crucified?

I pose this question, aware that many might find it odd if not offensive. After all, conventional church talk has it that Jesus was an innocent victim, executed by cruel people in a miscarriage of justice. In this view, one wonders, "Why did people kill Jesus?"

To ask how Jesus got himself killed is to turn the question around entirely. I am assuming that Jesus was not "innocent" in the sense that his execution makes no sense. On the contrary, Jesus performed actions and uttered pronouncements that made his execution entirely predictable. Jesus died because of the things he did and said. He was executed by the authorities of his day for acts he actually committed.

One could dodge the question altogether by saying Jesus died due to divine necessity. In this view God planned Jesus' crucifixion all along as a means of bringing salvation to humankind. I do not subscribe to that view, as I think it makes for horrid theology, but I won't argue that case here. Instead, I'll focus on something else. To say that God caused Jesus' death is to make a theological claim -- not an historical one. Historically, the question remains, what did Jesus do that provoked people to kill him?

When we read the Gospels carefully, we see that they portray Jesus' death in two ways. The more familiar way involves the corruption of the temple authorities and of Pontius Pilate. Jesus is arrested out of jealousy and fear, for the crowds are responding positively to his ministry. The authorities trump up false charges, and present Jesus before Pilate. Pilate smells something fishy, so he avoids passing judgment on Jesus. However, the temple authorities rouse the crowds, pressuring Pilate into the fatal verdict. This view represents a composite of the Gospel narratives, which vary in some particulars. Nevertheless, it represents one side of the Gospel portraits.

But there's another side, one just as true to how the Gospels portray Jesus. If one takes the stories seriously, they describe several provocative acts on Jesus' part that would have grabbed the authorities' attention and led to his death. I am not suggesting that the Gospels relate a straightforward and historically accurate chronicle of Jesus' last days. But their overall picture sketches a plausible scenario.

Context: Jesus arrives in Jerusalem during Passover week, when the city is exceedingly overcrowded, political tensions are particularly high, and the Roman authorities are on "Level Orange" alert.
Procession: What we call Jesus' "triumphal entry" amounts to a royal procession into the city. The crowd's acclamation interprets this action as a messianic moment. Outside observers would regard it as dangerous at best, openly seditious at worst.
Temple Action: The Gospels likely exaggerate Jesus' rampage through the temple. Nevertheless, more and more interpreters recognize this action as a condemnation of the temple and the authorities who run it. An action like this during Passover time is extremely dangerous.
Anti-Temple Speech. Jesus delivers several speeches against the temple during his last week. Many are familiar with the apocalyptic discourse in Mark 13 (and parallels). But also the cursing of the fig tree, the saying about prayer to cast a mountain into the sea, and the story of the widow's mite all function as condemnations of the temple authorities, and probably the temple itself.
Rejection of Tribute to Rome. Pressed by his enemies as to whether it is legal to pay tribute to Caesar, Jesus' reply indicates that when one calculates what "belongs to God," nothing is left over for Caesar.

Both sides, the innocent victim and the condemned troublemaker, carry truth. Jesus does not seem to be plotting a military revolt against either the temple or the empire. In that sense his crucifixion may be traced to the violent suppression of dissent on the part of the local and Roman authorities. At the same time, those authorities had every reason to regard Jesus as a threat to public order. In that sense, in arresting and then executing Jesus, they were simply doing their job.

I develop these ideas more fully in the Sinners volume. At the same time, all of the ideas presented here have been articulated in some form or another by multiple scholars.

What's at stake in asking how Jesus got himself crucified? Beyond the matters of biblical interpretation, historical reconstruction, and dogmatic theology, there lies the realm of discipleship. If being "innocent" means never confronting authority, never violating the law in performing acts of compassion and justice, never causing trouble for others, then maybe followers of Jesus should rank "faithfulness" above "innocence."

Sinners: Jesus and His Earliest Followers

2007-03-14T11:16:00.000-04:00

Jesus was notorious for the company he kept. He ate with sinners, tax collectors, and prostitutes. In fact, this is one of the major criticisms Jesus' opponents weighed against him. Just look up "sinners" and "tax collectors" in the Gospels, and you'll be amazed how often this theme appears.

A careful look at the Gospel stories reveals something even more remarkable: in not one story does Jesus criticize these people -- or even call them to repent. Instead, Jesus invited himself to share meals with them. He enjoyed their company, and he brought them blessing with his presence. It's that simple.

This basic insight lies behind a book project I'm taking on for my current sabbatical. It's called Sinners: Jesus and His Earliest Followers. When early Christians remembered Jesus, they repeated the stories that Jesus enjoyed the company of sinners. They told the stories of Levi the tax collector-apostle, the anonymous sinful woman who anointed Jesus' feet with her tears, and Zacchaeus the tax collector.

They also recalled the "scandal" -- that's what Paul calls it -- of Jesus' crucifixion. Crucifixion indicated Jesus' condemnation as a criminal by the legitimate authorities of the day. Jesus was crucified because of his own teachings and actions. He stirred up a popular demonstration during the politically tense Passover celebration. During that same celebration he created chaos within the temple complex. He dismissed the authority of the empire to collect taxes and demand obedience. So the authorities arrested him and executed him.

Early Christians also knew they were "sinners" in the eyes of their neighbors. They were accused of a variety of offenses, but the main problem was, their values sometimes clashed with prevailing social and religious values. As a result, they found themselves toeing a very fine line between acting respectable in the public eye and celebrating their distinctive values. As 1 Peter tells it, they lived as "strangers and aliens" who avoided public scorn as much as possible.

As I look back upon the "sinfulness" of Jesus and his earliest followers, I realize that my own heroes of the faith were "sinners" too. As a single parent when that wasn't cool, my Mom made tremendous sacrifices so that I could have opportunities as a young person. Faithful white Christians who followed the African American Civil Rights Movement -- people like Clarence Jordan and Ed King -- were widely reviled as sinners in their own day. I think those models are the real inspiration for this project.

First Post

2007-03-14T10:29:00.000-04:00

Welcome to NTGeeks, the blog spot of Greg Carey, Associate Professor of New Testament at Lancaster Theological Seminary. Over time, this spot will feature discussion on a variety of topics related to biblical studies. I'll try to keep the conversation timely and relevant.