Sex and Christians in the 50s

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, Theological Interpretation of Scripture, 2 on Historical Criticism

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.

Stephen Fowl, Theological Interpretation of Scripture entry 1

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.

Neglected Passages #2: Revelation 5:1-13

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)

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.

1. 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.)
2. God's intervention comes in the person of Jesus Christ.
3. God has raised God's Son from the dead.
4. 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.

Alan Segal on the Afterlife

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.

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

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)

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.

Neglected Passages #7: Looking Out for the Dead

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

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?

Continuing the Conversation: Why Read the Bible at All?

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.

The Evangelical Conversation about the Bible

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.

Guest Geek: Charles F. Melchert on James

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.

Pastoral Note on "Homosexuality"

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....