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Book Review: Scot McKnight and Joseph B. Modica, Jesus Is Lord, Caesar Is Not

Scot McKnight and Joseph B. Modica, Jesus is Lord, Caesar is Not: Evaluating Empire in New Testament Studies (Downers Grove, IVP Academic), 2013. (Amazon.com)

Book Jesus Is Lord, Caesar Is NotWhen I saw this book previewed in the IVP catalog a while ago I made sure to ask Adrianna Wright to include me as a reviewer. She did and I received a copy a few weeks ago. This book addresses a topic that interest me. Empire in the New Testament is a field of inquiry that has become increasingly attractive in recent years. Personally, I began to read books like Brian J. Walsh’s and Sylvia C. Keesmaat’s Colossians Remixed: Subverting the Empire; Richard J. Horsely’s Jesus and Empire: The Kingdom of God and the New World Disorder; and John Dominic Crossan’s and Jonathan L. Reed’s In Search of Paul: How Jesus’ Apostle Opposed Rome’s Empire with God’s Kingdom around 2005. It was at a time when I had graduated college quite discouraged by a Christianity that was consumed with either living right to go to heaven or living wickedly to go to hell. Also, I was disillusioned by the rhetoric coming from many Christians during their effort to re-elect President George W. Bush. Finally, I found literature that introduced me to a reading of Scripture that addressed earthy matters, including corrupt world governments and their rulers, which was my impression of the Bush Administration in my early twenties.

Then I kept studying and I realized that the New Testament may be more nuanced that I imagined. The first book to challenge my thinking on this topic was written by Seyoon Kim, Christ and Caesar: The Gospel and the Roman Empire in the Writings of Paul and Luke, which helped me realize that there may be a third option. It may be that early Christianity was neither accommodating to Rome nor anarchist. Instead, it could be that there is far more nuance and complexity. Since then I have come to appreciate something C. Kavin Rowe suggested in his book World Upside Down: Reading Acts in the Graeco-Roman Age, namely, early Christianity offered an alternative culture, but it wasn’t seditious, necessarily. Sometimes we find stronger anti-imperial language, especially in the Apocalypse, and sometimes we find language that seems a bit more grateful for Rome.

This book edited by Scot McKnight and Joseph B. Modica is filled with essays by writers who understand this. This book is not an attack on Empire studies. In fact, the editors and authors are very appreciative of those who have helped us better understand the text by studying how it relates to the Roman Empire within which these texts were written. That said, there may have been a pendulum swing that went a tad too far the other direction which this book aims to correct, arguing for a healthy, cautious middle.

Message of the Book

The message is simple. As the editors put it, “This book is an attempt to strike a balance between a postcolonial reading of the New Testament and one that recognizing the contributions of that reading, yet posits a very different view of the ‘kingdom of God (p. 212).’” In other words, “…the New Testament writers affirm that Jesus is Lord, not with the sole intent of debunking Caesar and his empire, but to offer a stark contrast between the kingdom of God and the kingdom of Satan.” Now, the Roman Empire may behave in ways that is aligned with the kingdom of Satan, but that doesn’t mean there is a one-for-one correspondance. Rome could do some things well for a temporal, human government.

Summary of the Contents

Andy Crouch begins the book with a Forward that is the written equivalent to an exciting movie trailer. He observes, “We will always have empire (p. 8).” This is true “as long as we have complex human societies (p. 9).” Empires are the result of humans attempting to live as image bearers. We create things and we govern, but Crouch reminds us, “Empires always end (p. 9).” He says that the biblical writers are “surprisingly ambivalent” about the rising and falling of empires (p. 10), noting that even Cyrus can be called “Messiah,” as in Is. 45:1 (p. 11). This is because, “Not all empires are alike (p. 11).” Therefore, “…the question is not really whether we will have empires (we will) or whether they will endure (they will not), but what  kind of empires will we have in this time between times (p. 12).”

Then he says the following which captures the point of this boom quite well:

“…to say ‘Jesus is Lord’ does not seem actually to entail saying ‘Caesar is not [Lord].’ Rather, it entails not saying ‘Caesar is Lord.’ This minute grammatical distinction, simply a matter of where the negation is placed, seems to me to explain so much about the New Testament witnesses. The affirmation ‘Jesus is Lord’ requires not so much a strident denunciation of earthly lords as a studied silence concerning their pretensions. The answer to Caesar’s inflated claims of significance is further proclamation of Jesus the Messiah’s real significance (p. 13).”

Jesus is Lord, but that doesn’t mean Caesar isn’t lord, even if temporarily. Caesar may be lord, but he is responsible to the Lord. In the meantime, Christians are to proclaim Jesus, the true Lord of lords, and if this results in persecution so be it. If it doesn’t and if like Paul we gain audiences among governing authorities, then we must proclaim Jesus to them as well, and let the Lord be the judge of all lords.

In the Introduction McKnight and Modica say a few things about empire studies as they relate to New Testament studies before outlining what the reader should expect from this book.

Chapter 1: We Have No King But Caesar: Roman Imperial Ideology and the Imperial Cult is written by David Nystrom, an expert on the Roman Empire. He explains how Rome came to power and the ideologies that supported their self-understanding, including the belief that their empire was ordained by the gods. This chapter is extremely helpful because it prevents us from importing back into history our understanding of Roman practices. Nystrom explains things such as patronage, whether worship directly implied divinity, and so forth.

Chapter 2: Anti-Imperial Rhetoric in the New Testament by Judith A Diehl is partly a survey of modern scholarship on how early Christians related to Rome and partially a presentati0n of how we may think about. For those lacking familiarity with the field this won’t catch you up completely, but it will give you a basic idea of what is being said and who the “movers and shakers” have been.

Chapter 3: Matthew by Joel Wilitts is the first chapter that directly addresses a section of the New Testament. Willits spends most of this chapter interacting with the work of Warren Carter. Rather that reading Matthew as anti-imperial Willits writes, “I don’t think Matthew is anti-imperial at all. Matthew’s problem with empire, if one can even put it that way, was not empire, but which empire (p. 85).” In other words, Matthew advocates the Davidic King and Israel’s empire. Matthew does address Rome, but it is not the primary message of the Gospel. Instead,

“Matthew was neither critiquing ‘empire’ per se nor singling out Rome uniquely. To take this view would be to inappropriately diminish Matthew’s message. Jesus is not only or primarily God’s answer to Rome. Jesus is God’s answer to Israel’s unfulfilled story (p. 97).”

Chapter 4: The Gospel of Luke and the Roman Empire is a fascinating juxtaposition between Luke and Josephus. He compares and contrast their approach to Rome and how their message may have been understood. It is proposed that Josephus was “snarling sweetly” in his writings, not directly opposing Rome, but saying things that defended his people and that were partially critical of Rome all the while writing for his Flavian audience. Similarly, Luke isn’t hiding anything. He isn’t against Rome, but he isn’t ignorant of Rome’s shortcoming either.

Chapter 5: John’s Gospel and the Roman Imperial Context by Christopher W. Skinner attempt to fill a gap in the field. The nature of the Fourth Gospel has led many to neglect it when studying empire. Skinner corrects this addressing a variety of objections to finding empire on John. Then he interacts with the works of Tom Thatcher, Warren Carter, and Lance Byron Richey discussing topics like “negative Christology” (i.e., Johannine Christology is mostly intended to rebuff imperial claims) and “the rhetoric of distance” (i.e., Johannine dualism as relates to the Gospel and Rome). Skinner expresses gratitude for those who have helped us see that the Fourth Gospel does say something about Rome, but he concludes that “…the Fourth Gospel is largely concerned with the incarnate Logos who has come down from above (p. 128).”

Chapter 6: Proclaiming Another King Named Jesus? The Acts of the Apostles and the Roman Imperial Cult(s) by Drew J. Strait contributes to the discussion of Acts’ relationship to Rome (which unlike John’s has been addressed by many over the years). Strait engages several dialogue partners providing helpful caveats and clarifications, one of the most insightful being the reminder that there is not one official imperial cult, but that the imperial cult had many forms. Also, his discussion of apotheosis and the ascension is very informative.

Chapter 7: “One Who Will Arise to Rule the Nations”: Paul’s Letter to the Romans and the Roman Empire  by Michael Bird addresses one of the most complex documents in the New Testament. One where we may find the most anti-imperial rhetoric mixed with the most caution toward Rome. Bird provides background information on Paul and Rome as well as how this has been discussed in recent scholarship. Then he moves through some of the more complex passages such as 1:1-4; 1:16-17; 13:1-7; and 15:5-13. While Bird’s essay seems the most welcoming to modern trends he does note, “Romans is not a political manifesto. It is pastoral theology, albeit one not divorced from the sociopolitical realities of the Roman Mediterranean (p. 161).”

Chapter 8: Philippians and Empire: Paul’s Engagement with Imperialism and the Imperial Cult by Lynn H. Cohick is a very informative study on Philippi and how Paul’s letter would have been understood there. She provides a background of the imperial cult that clarifies a lot, noting that while the imperial cult did include the living Caesar it would have included Julius Caesar, Augustus, Augustus’ wife Livia, and Claudius. In other words, it isn’t “Jesus v. Caesar” per se. The imperial cult is familial, including even a female member (pp. 169-170). Like Bird’s essay Cohick choses to discuss a few select areas: 1:27; 2:5-11; and 3:20-21, evaluating what has been said about these passages and whether the anti-imperial reading makes the most sense historically. Cohick counters with an “eschatological, anti-pagan” reading.

Chapter 9: Colossians and the Rhetoric of Empire by Allan R. Bevere is a two part chapter. The first deals with the aforementioned book Colossians Remixed: Subverting the Empire by Walsh and Keesmaat and the second part discusses Philemon. As much as I enjoyed Colossians Remixed I think this chapter is a strong critique of the book and Bevere provides what seems to me to be a more historical sound reading of the text and the problem addressed by the author (who he suggest is Timothy with Paul’s approval). Bevere is slow to embrace the idea that Paul was requesting Onesimus be released by Philemon in that epistle, noting that the relationship has changed, but that it isn’t obvious to him that Paul is requiring Onesimus be made a free man.

Chapter 10: Something Old, Something New: Revelation and Empire by Dwight D. Sheets revisits what may be the most discussed text in the field. Revelation is presented as the most anti-imperial document of the New Testament. Sheets revisits how we understand the author’s beliefs about Jesus’ return and the nature of apocalyptic discourse. He provides a thoughtful reconsideration of Domitian, which I found to be the most insightful part of the chapter (see pp. 202-205).Through this lens of the imminent return of Christ accompanied by the warning against cultural assimilation Sheets argues that these factors may have been far more influential than merely some theory of anti-empire.

Concluding Thoughts

If I were to critique this book in any way it would be this: each chapter needs to be its own book. For those who are attracted to the writings of Carter, Crossan, Horsley, and others this book may bother you because it has to provide a brief rebuttal. This may seem insufficient when we consider how much work these aforementioned authors have put into their anti-imperial readings. That said, if the reader is able to take these brief proposals and then revisit anti-imperial readings with them in mind I think a more fruitful, nuanced vision of how early Christians related to Rome will emerge. Empire studies have benefitted New Testament studies. There is no doubt about that. Yet we need to make sure to avoid a pendulum swing, The New Testament may not be about the “sweet by and by,” but neither is it about revolt or being so anti-Roman that the authors hoped to see Rome collapse some way other than when Christ returns, when all empires will collapse, not just Rome. I highly recommend this book for those who are new to the field or those who have been studying in it a while now.

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Interview: Douglas Estes on the questions of Jesus in the Gospel of John

44238Two weeks ago I posted a review of Douglas Estes’ (Lead Pastor of Trinity Church in Mesa, AZ, and adjunct professor at Phoenix Seminary) new monograph The Questions of Jesus in John: Logic, Rhetoric, and Persuasive Discourse (Leiden: Brill, 2013), which you can read here. As a friend, mentor, and former professor of mine I asked if he would be willing to do an interview about the book and he accepted. This isn’t the first time I have interviewed him. I did a two part interview titled “The Pastor-Scholar” wherein we discussed pastoring for those with an academic bent (read Pt. 1 and Pt. 2). This interview is about his new book and why he thought it was important enough to write. Enjoy!

__________

What is the thesis of The Questions of Jesus in John: Logic, Rhetoric, and Persuasive Discourse?

The basic thesis of the book is to better understand why the Fourth Evangelist selects the questions of Jesus he does, and what those questions mean for the reader. Rather than take a theological or literary approach, I used linguistics and rhetoric as my primary method. Along the writing path, I found myself being constantly challenged by Jesus’ questions as I did the linguistic work. I’m always skeptical when scholars claim to find a pattern in a text (unless it’s poetic), but I did begin to notice how the questions of Jesus make a subtle and related rhetorical push throughout the gospel. By the end of my writing the book, the unwritten thesis is that the Fourth Gospel contains a number of rhetorical hooks, of which the asking of questions is one. This partly explains why it is one of the (if not the) most read text ever written.

Why did you write the book? Why do we need to give more attention to the questions of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel?

I wrote the book because I felt the issue of questions (and really, non-statements or non-propositions) is largely unexplored in NT studies. I also felt that many works that deal with questions in the biblical text are feel-good and short on any rigor. I felt it was interesting; and I really wanted my next book as a scholar to be something of an unofficial Habilitationsschrift for me (original, serious research monograph). As far as paying more attention to questions in John, the primary reason we need to do that is that John uses them. If we avoid parts of the narrative, such as question-asking, we will not understand the narrative as well as we could. To put it differently: The way in which many, many people approach the gospel is to see what they can dig out of it (truth, meaning, historical facts, or the lack thereof). In this I find skeptical scholars are actually very similar to faithful churchgoers: they’re all gleaners, gleaning the text for information. I’m not sure John was written to be gleaned in this way!

Did this study change how you understand the Fourth Gospel as a whole? If so, what would you say is the before-and-after impact?

Yes, in a subtle but meaningful way. Before writing the book, I felt I had a basic grasp on John—his modus operandi, so to speak. But with John there are always little riddles that scholars have noted for many years now. Some of those are not always obvious, as they are hidden behind the ‘simple language’ of John. Writing the book certainly changed my view on its rhetorical impact, and design. As I believe you mentioned in your review, an after-impact was that I am now definitely leaning much more to the view that John was more written for outsiders (though such a rigid, binary insider vs outsider view I find too coarse), based on John’s linguistic features especially with his non-declarative expressions like questions.

In the first and final chapters you allude to possible studies that may follow what you have done in this book. You said that there is far more research to be done in the area of questions, especially as questions relate to ancient narrative. If you could list a handful of topics you’d be excited to see some potential scholar engage (e.g., as a graduate thesis or doctoral dissertation) what would those be?

I would love to see someone tackle the way Paul uses questions (or non-declaratives) in order to build up his arguments. That’s a book waiting to be written. I also think there is much more linguistic work that can be done on the NT text—linguistics is somewhat a new field, and its (meaningful) impact on the study of the NT has been minimal. I also think that there are also many studies that could be written on the various forms of question-asking and argumentation in OT books. When I wrote the QJJ, the OT folks were far ahead of NT folks in the study of argumentation (my opinion), but they don’t appear to make much use of linguistics in this particular area (as far I can see). Someone could easily go back and do research on the way interrogatives were used in Hebrew, from a linguistic perspective. One thing I noticed in writing QJJ is that some languages (such as Latin) have more robust resources for handling non-declaratives than our Greek resources do.

In 2008 you wrote The Temporal Mechanics of the Fourth Gospel: A Theory of Hermeneutical Relativity in the Gospel of John that was published by Brill as well. What connection might we find between these two books? Another way of asking this question: Did your first book prepare you for this subsequent study?

Based on the titles, it may seem there is no connection; and in fact, it didn’t seem like it until near the end of writing the QJJ that I realized the connection myself. Temporal Mechanics did prepare me for the study as it gave me a lot of practice in identifying unstated assumptions, and then thinking outside the box without leaving the ranch. So the primary connection is looking at old problems in new ways. I would say that is one thing that is probably consistent in my writing.   

Do you plan to write on the Fourth Gospel again? If so, would you be willing to provide a preview? If not, where do you plan on focusing your writing in the near future?

Yes! Unfortunately, since I’m still working out details with publisher(s), I can’t really give much of a preview now (sorry). I can say that I am busy at work. I can also say that my next book out will be a totally different direction, it’s called Better Habits, Better Life: How to Coach Yourself to Life Change, co-written with Matthew Reed and will be published by Cascade Books in 2014. It’s a practical-theological consideration of the nature of personal transformation and change in the spiritual life. Writing this is an enjoyable diversion, but soon back to John!


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Book Review: Mark Roncace’s Raw Revelation

Mark Roncace, Raw Revelation: The Bible They Never Tell You About (Charleston: CreateSpace Independent Publishing, 2012). (Amazon.com)

urlMark Roncace is Associate Professor of Religion at Wingate University in North Carolina. He contacted me a couple of months ago about reviewing his independently published book Raw Revelation: The Bible They Never Tell You About. I agreed, though I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. I knew one thing about the book: Roncace’s intent was to challenge people to engage the whole of the Bible, especially those readers who think of it as “the Word of God”. If you read this book with a Bible nearby the goal of the book is accomplished.

Message of the Book

Let me begin by saying it was a book that at times challenged me, made me stop to think, and exposed my own “pick-and-choose” approach to reading the Bible. At other points I felt like Roncace was exaggerating the problems he found in the text, but then I had to remind myself that this may have been my response because I have spent time engaging and wrestling with many of the texts he discusses. For Roncace, as a professor of religion at a university, he must meet students year after year who take something like an introduction to biblical literature class, who come to the class with all sorts of preconceived ideas about the Bible, yet who will find that there are large swaths of the “Good Book” that have been overlooked.

These students won’t escape Roncace’s class without reading those texts. Readers of his book won’t finish the book without being confronted by the same texts.

Summary of the Content

This book is technically seven or eight chapters long. It contains an Introduction and a short “chapter” titled Final Suggestions. In-between these bookends we have six chapters dealing with the topics of the Bible, God, Jesus, Doctrine, Morality, and “Other Morsels”.

In the Introduction Roncace introduces his aims: “The ultimate purpose of this book, then, is to encourage you to read another book, the Bible, in its entirety.”[1] He has written this book in order to encourage people to engage the Bible, not to affirm all his interpretations of the Bible. He writes, “[If] you only read this book and test what I say, I will have failed miserably.”[2]

Roncace critiques Pastors and Preachers for “cooking the Good Book”. This is the governing analogy from start to finish. I must quote this lengthy section for you:

“The raw Bible is just too hard to swallow, or at least that is what preachers think. So they cook the Good Book. They butter it up and water it down to suite our tastes. They distill the Scripture, filtering out the unsightly and unpalatable passages. Just as processed and packaged foods are barely reminiscent of what first comes out of the ground or from the animal (think mac and cheese or hot dogs), so too the clean, attractive Bible that they present in church is a far cry from the real thing. Like parents who don’t feed their children peas and carrots because they fear the kids won’t like the vegetables, or worse, won’t like mom and dad, so too preachers give us, the children of God, a candy and cookie Scripture because they want us to be happy and them to be liked. Consequently, we aren’t properly nourished.[3]

Roncace says that Preachers know their Bible, they know there are difficult parts, but they think we can’t handle them, so these sections are ignored. He indicts preachers of all stripes: “…fundamentalists, evangelicals, Pentecostals, main stream moderates, left wing liberals, emergent church pastors, prosperity preachers, mega-church celebrities, mini-church part-timers, and the list goes on and on.”[4]

Preachers aren’t alone. Roncace challenges those of us who have Bibles, sometimes a few, who talk about knowing the Bible, but who never read it. He confronts readers to pick up their Bible, read it, and be challenged. According to Roncace this is central to the Christian tradition. Even if the Bible is the “Word of God” this doesn’t mean we are to passively read it. Rather, like Abraham who was told by God that he planned on destroying Sodom and Gomorrah, we are to challenge God, ask God questions, appeal to his moral reasoning. We are to be like Abraham asking if God might spare the city if he can find any righteous people, rather than merely submitting to God’s declaration to do this or that.[5]

It should be noted the Roncace seems to be at home in process theology circles. He writes at the end of his chapter on God the following:

“I would suggest that God evolves and changes over time as he relates to his creation. God is in the process of learning and growing, just as we are. God, as is true of all living beings, is open and mutable…God isn’t perfect. God doesn’t know the future. And sometimes God doesn’t bother to relate to his creation—he’s not involved, he doesn’t care, sometimes. Yes, this is a major departure from traditional Christian theology, but it has the distinct advantage of being faithful to the character and nature of God revealed in Scripture.”[6]

Roncace finds God to be evolving, learning, and therefore, what we read in Scripture, when we find morally problematic depictions of God, or places where God seems excessive in anger and violence (e.g., killing everyone with a flood) or misogynic, or passive about injustices like rape and slavery, we find a real depiction of the real God, a God who is learning to become better like we are learning, a God who can be challenged by us, who can learn from us. For many people this underlying theology will be disagreeable. Readers should know it is there, because Roncace wants to make sure he is open about it, but even if the reader disagrees fundamentally with Roncace’s theology, that doesn’t negate his point that there are seriously problematic texts that need to be read.

Since Roncace has framed this discussion of the Bible in terms of eating the raw Bible, not the processed Bible, he titles his chapters “Course 1, Course 2…” In Course 1: The Bible Ronace begins by examining the differences between the first and second creation narratives in Genesis. He does the same with the Infancy Narratives and the Resurrection Narratives (Creation, Christmas, and Easter as he frames it). Personally, I found this chapter to lack excitement, but as noted above, I am not shocked or surprised by these variations because I have wrestled with them. There was a time when I had not done this, and there are readers of the Bible who have not done this, so this chapter remains valuable for some.

Course 2: God was a far more challenging read for me, personally. I can swallow the idea of an imperfect Bible. I struggle with the idea of an imperfect God. I don’t know how to bridge the disturbing depictions of God in my Bible to my understanding of God. I know many people who follow John Piper’s line of thought: God is God, so if God wants to command Israel to annihilate men, women, and children, God has the sovereign right to do this. Others pick-and-choose which images of God to retain and which to discard. Often I hear about defining God Christologically. This is where Course 3: Jesus prevents such an easy escape.

Roncace notes that God “…is portrayed as cruel, vindictive, childish, petulant, misogynistic, egotistical, genocidal, and maniacal.”[7] As you can imagine, many evangelical readers will lose their lunch seeing such adjectives applied to God (if you think I am exaggerating, acquaint yourself with the brewing controversy over Eric A. Siebert’s writings on this topic, which Fred Clark summarizes in “White evangelical gatekeeping: A particularly ugly example in real time”). Roncace challenges those of us who are quick to quote and apply the words of Jeremiah 29:11 to our own lives, but who would never do the same thing with Ezekiel 5.[8] He asks us to read or reread the flood narrative of Genesis 6-8; the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah in Genesis 18; God’s attempt to kill Moses in Exodus 4:24-26; the hardening of Pharaoh’s heart; the killing of the first born of Egypt; the laws regarding women in Exodus 21:7, Deuteronomy 22:25-29, Numbers 31:15-18; the abuse of slaves in Exodus 21:20-21; the genocidal commands of the Book of Joshua; the odd story of Jephthah sacrificing his daughter in Judges 11 (with the question, why didn’t God intervene here as he did when Abraham was going to sacrifice Isaac in Genesis 22?); the sending of an evil spirit to King Saul in 1 Samuel 16:14; the killing of David and Bathsheba’s baby in 2 Samuel 12:15; the punishment on Israel for David’s census in 2 Samuel 24; the lying spirit sent from God in 1 Kings 22; the cosmic gamble between God and the S/satan in the Book of Job; and many other stories.

Honestly, many of these bother me deeply, others I can rationalize, but when Roncace quotes Hosea 2, or Ezekiel 16, 23, where YHWH is depicted as an angry lover who will beat his unfaithful spouse, then you have to wonder whether the hyperbole-aimed-to-shock-the-reader explanation suffices. When the Gospels are addressed there are other problems: Jesus is vague about the Kingdom of God, he admits using parables to keep some from repentance, he says his mission is to Israel alone, he advocates seemingly impossible ethical codes upon his hearers as relates to hate, or lust, or divorce, or whether one can use any sort of self-defense. Sure, Jesus is the Prince of Peace, but in Luke 12:50 he claims he brings a sword. He teaches love, but says that to follow him one must hate father, mother, wife, children, brothers, and sisters (so much for Dobson’s Focus on the Family metanarrative). He tells the “Rich Young Ruler” that his salvation is predicated on obeying the Ten Commandments, which for him means selling his possessions to follow Jesus. He tells some potential disciples things like “let the dead bury the dead”. Some of Jesus’ apocalyptic language has proven extremely difficult to understand, and his depiction on the Apocalypse is hard to reconcile with the Gospels.

In Course 4: Doctrine Roncace examines the biblical message about doctrines like God’s omnipresence, omnipotence, omniscience, and asks if this jives with the narratives in the Bible. He examines whether there is obvious language about the Trinity. He questions the use of gendered words to describe God. He ponders the character of Satan, the varied ecclesiology found in the Bible, and other topics that I have found less challenging that his other chapters, in part. I think this is because as a Christian I have come to realize anyone can find a verse in the Bible to support one’s own preference. Theologizing is harder work than proof-texting. This chapter exposes that truth.

Course 5 strikes at the heart of doing Christian ethics. Roncace explores hot topics such as homosexuality, premarital sex, abortion (when does life begin?), but also those things ignored by many of us, like what the Bible says about carrying debt, or about the ethics of eating, or about caring for Creation. Again, as with doctrine, this chapter is important because our public discourse and debate shows that anyone can find a passage in the Bible to support their views. Now, this chapter may not impact Roman Catholics, because there are ecclesiastical safeguards for preserving orthodoxy, even if there are biblical passages that seem to counter that orthodoxy, but for biblicist types, this is challenging.

In Course Six: Other Morsels Roncace revisits a variety of matters such as why God didn’t reveal himself to anyone but Abraham’s family, the diversity of Christian canons, text critical matters, translation issues, archaeology’s lack of correspondence to some narratives (e.g., the size of Jericho), and so forth.

Concluding Thoughts

Roncace is honest about his theological presuppositions. Also, he is straightforward about his goals for this book. That doesn’t mean it won’t be frustrating. This book majors on deconstruction, but it offers little to no reconstruction (each chapter ends with reflections, and the final “chapter” gives some steps toward better Bible reading, but that falls far short of offering a helpful bibliology). It shows where the Bible is problematic, assumes that Christians should read the Bible, assumes that the Bible says something true about God, but it doesn’t tell you why if the Bible is so awful you should continue to honor it, or why you can’t pick and choose which parts you think are inspired and which parts are not, or why you should ground your affirmations about God in the whole of the Bible rather than a Rule of Faith as advocated by many theologians over the centuries.

Now, let me say this: Roncace’s critique works very well in biblicist circles. I admit, as an evangelical Christian of the “Low Church” variety, who finds myself in circles advocating the Bible as the “last word” rather than being governed by an outside “Rule of Faith”, this book (along with a few others) has forced me to think deeply about how I understand the Bible, how I read the Bible, whether or not a Rule of Faith is necessary, and whether my favorite passages (e.g., I am quick to quote passages indicating that Christians should not participate in violant acts against other humans) are my favorite because I have ignored those that I find distasteful (e.g., I am slow to embrace Jesus’ teachings on wealth, poverty, owning material possessions, giving to the poor, and so forth). I don’t imagine Roman Catholic and an Orthodox reader would be all that bothered by Roncace’s argument, at least not as easily as an evangelical, especially the type of evangelical who has “no Creed but the Bible”.

Would I recommend this book? Yes and no. If you are someone who spends time reading Scripture frequently, and you are serious about engaging the tough sections, then Roncace’s book isn’t necessary. I think he would agree, because his goal is to get people to read their Bible’s through honest eyes. If you, or someone you know, tends to read the pleasant parts of the Bible while ignoring the difficult parts of the Bible then yes, I do recommend this book. If you know someone who is quick to say something like, “Islam is a hateful religion as it says in the Qur’an…” then yes, this book would make a great gift. We Christians cannot engage in public discourse if we explain away each and every difficult passage from our Holy Book while magnifying those of another’s Holy Book.

Roncace’s book is a helpful antidote to exaggerated apologetical books, those who gloss over the tough sayings of the Bible, who emphasize the pleasant ones, and who misrepresent the Bible in doing so. Roncace is a Christian. This book isn’t quite the same as reading an author who was a Christian, but who has turned agnostic (e.g., Bart D. Ehrman), or an author who has never been a Christian. Roncace’s goal is not to force people to abandon their faith, but to move toward a mature faith, and faith that deals honestly with the Bible we have in our hands, not the Bible we have created in our imaginations.

[1] 3

[2] Ibid.

[3] 4

[4] 5

[5] 8-9

[6] 80

[7] 43

[8] 46

 


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Book Review: Chris Haw’s From Willow Creek to Sacred Heart

Chris Haw, From Willow Creek to Sacred Heart: Rekindling My Love for Catholicism (Notre Dame: Ave Maria Press, 2012). (Amazon.com)

9781594712920revisedI entered Christianity as a young man through a Pentecostal sect. When I departed from this group in my early twenties I began to self-identify with non-denominational evangelicalism. It seemed to me that the opposite of the sect from which I departed was the broad ecumenism of evangelicalism. Though I haven’t been sure of how to define “orthodoxy” over the years, I chose this route because I wanted to work toward orthodoxy. This is why my initial interest in the “emerging church” waned quickly. While I thought that the emerging church had the opportunity to be ecumenical in a new way, I wasn’t convinced that orthodoxy mattered as much as novelty, and I am not confident enough in my own wisdom to spearhead novelty. So non-denominational evangelicalism has been the path on which I have journeyed as a Christian, aiming to be united to the whole body of Christ while showing fidelity to those key confessions that give meaning to the word “Christian”.

You may think that I am about to announce that I have found this to be bankrupt, so I am converting to Roman Catholicism. You’re wrong if so. In fact, currently, I am part of a Mennonite congregation (though I don’t know that I would call myself a “Mennonite”), which is classified under the “radical Reformation”. I am not part of this assembly because it is radical, but I have found likemindedness with them as this local expression seeks to understand what it means to live in the way of Jesus in our world. I don’t deny that there are aspects of “low church” Christianity that trouble me (though our Mennonite assembly is somewhat liturgical and it follows the broader ecclesial calendar), but I find that I am able to live my Christianity in this context, at this stage of my life, more vibrantly than if I were to go elsewhere.

I do confess flirting with Roman Catholicism. I have friends who jokingly call me “catholic-lite”. I visit Mass around Advent every year now. I won’t deny that a Christmas Eve Mass is far more apt at expressing the sacredness of the hour than most evangelical traditions with which I am acquainted (I hate to say the word “Protestant”, because I think this binary is misleading, and this is the twenty-first century–apologies to Calvin, Luther, et al.), so the Advent season is one where I find myself drawn to the ancient rituals. On the other hand, to be fair, my Pentecostal upbringing has lead me to desire being around raucous celebration on Easter Sunday. I want a choir with a lot of noise celebrating the risen Christ. You may call me ecumenical, catholic, and confused.

Now that I have written the longest personal introduction to a book review let me tell you why I read Chris Haw’s From Willow Creek to Sacred Heart. First, my years in Portland, Oregon, caused great angst for me as relates to evangelicalism. I studied theologians like Athanasius of Alexanderia, Basil the Great, John of Damascus, and Maximus the Confessor in seminary. I realized these men were “catholic”, and that there thoughts had established “orthodoxy” as I have received it in many ways (there are exceptions, like, for example, John of Damascus’ defense of icons, which doesn’t work in the evangelical tradition). Also, it became evident to me that the doctrine of the Trinity, the doctrine of the dual nature of Christ, and other central teachings of Christianity were decided by councils. What was I going to do with this? If councils (other than the one in Jerusalem mentioned in Acts 17) are a means through which God has revealed truth to the world, what do I do with councils like the one at Chalcedon?

Even my bibliology was challenged as I continued to read critical scholarship it became evident that the biblical canon didn’t fall from heaven intact, but into the early years some books like the Peterine Epistles and the Apocalypse were books that not all Christians accepted as valid. I had known this as some level, but now I was facing it straightforwardly, and I was forcing myself to ask what this means for my religious worldview. What was I going to do with what many evangelicals argue is the “inerrant Word of God” when I realized that it is true, in some sense, that the church chose the canon over the years, and that in different parts of the church the canon isn’t the same, as one can see when examining the Coptic canon over against the Roman Catholic canon, or the Roman Catholic canon over against the canon used by most evangelicals.

Finally, the Bible is a book that is open to many interpretations. I have been reading Irenaeus of Lyons Against Heresies and I realize that even the Valentinians could use Scripture. Evangelicals like to talk about how obvious orthodoxy is when you use the “right” hermeneutical approach, but this hasn’t proven true for me. I find that while I have interpretations of the Bible, I can see how Lutherans arrive at their views, and how Methodists arrive at their views, and how Pentecostals arrive at their views. In other words, while I think some people may be wrong here or wrong there I don’t think that their interpretation is impossible, at least not like the Valentinians!

Evangelical practice concerned me as much as that of Roman Catholics. Evangelicals take a very hard stand against the inclusion of the LGBTQ community because of a handful of passages while at the same time celebrating people who return from wars in Iraq and Afghanistan in spite of far more biblical mandates in the New Testament against violence, hating an enemy, returning evil for evil, so forth and so on. I know a professor of biblical literature who finds no wiggle room for divorce, at all, yet he is the first person to solute a veteran. Similarly, these same interpreters will take a few passages from the Pauline Epistles to eliminate the possibility that there can be women who pastor, who serve as elders, or who preach even. If we are honest most of these evangelicals want some of Roman Catholic ecclesiology without the Pope.

Message of the Book

When I saw the title of Haw’s book I knew he would discuss his journey from evangelicalism to Roman Catholicism. Willow Creek is a mega church outside Chicago, IL. Sacred Heart is his parish in Camden, NJ. The author co-wrote a book with Shane Claiborne titled Jesus for President: Politics for Ordinary Radicals several years ago. This sounds more like something that would be written by someone from the Mennonite tradition, like John Howard Yoder, not someone who would become part of the Roman Catholic Church lead by someone like the Pope who lives in a place like Vatican City. So I contacted Ave Maria Press to ask for a copy for review and I received one. I wanted to read about Haw’s “conversion”. I wanted a dialogue partner who saw the same problems I see with evangelicalism, yet who can respect evangelicalism enough to be courteous. This was a perfect book for that.

Summary of the Contents

The book has a forward from the aforementioned Shane Claiborne. Interestingly, for a book written by a Roman Catholic talking about how he left evangelicalism, this book receives high marks from people like Brian McLaren (who has a generous orthodoxy to most Christians, save Roman Catholics and Pentecostals!), Phyllis Tickle, and Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove. This book is respected by Roman Catholics and those associated with the emerging church. That is quite a feat!

This book is divided into two parts: Part One: Action (with Some Contemplation) and Part Two: Contemplation (with Some Action). In Chapter One: From Mass to Megachurch Haw discusses his family’s association with Roman Catholicism and how during his adolescence the programs at Willow Creek were far more attractive that the dead ritual of his former church. He talks about how youth workers at Willow Creek were there for him during a very difficult time. The worship at Willow Creek wasn’t as “religious”, per se, as what he has experienced. Anyone who has been a youth among evangelicals or groups like evangelicals (e.g., some Pentecostals) will enjoy reading about Haw’s experiences.

In Chapter Two: From Class to Streets is an account of how Haw’s passion for social justice and radical Christianity came alive as a student at Eastern University. It was here that he began to work with the poor and marginalized. He began to be attracted to new monasticism and communal living. He finds himself in opposition to America’s warmongering post-9/11. Haw’s Christianity is shifting from being a consumer at Willow Creek to an actor at Eastern University.

In Chapter Three: From Streets to the Jungle Haw documents his time in Belize where he was introduced to the impact of humans on the environment. He interacts with the writings of Wendell Berry and other eco-theologians. In this chapter he reveals how he came to see Creation as a good thing and how he realized that Christian discipleship demands that we care for Creation.

In Chapter Four: From Jungle to War documents Haws involvement with the anti-war movement. He discusses his disillusion with how blood-thirsty American Christians became after 9/11 and how this madness causes him to continue to question what it means to be a disciple, this time as it relates to violence.

In Chapter Five: From War to Concrete Jungle discusses Haw’s transition from being a student to living in impoverished and violent Camden, NJ. This is where he began to organize his own new monastic community. In doing this he began to visit a couple of places of worship, one being Sacred Heart, a local Roman Catholic perish.

Part Two begins Haw’s “theological” section. When I say theological I say this not to say Haw desires to write something like a systematic theology, but rather for those familiar with the theologizing of G.K. Chesterton, this is what you should expect. In some sense, I read Haw as Chesterton redivivus. He has the ability to present Catholic theology in such a way that it makes me stop and think deeply. As I alluded above it should be obvious that Haw didn’t convert me (this isn’t his aim anyways), but I do have a greater appreciation for the Roman Catholic tradition and it has forced me to rethink my own Christianity.

Chapter Six: Murder and the Mass is a challenging reflection on the Mass (obviously). Haw has some very good things to say about how Mass reminds us of how we are violent. He talks about Mass not as satisfying the angry deity God the Father, but rather we are the angry deity. We needed to kill God. Haw addresses the evangelical criticism of the celebrating a crucified God who has risen from the dead by showing how reminding ourselves that we are violent people is a great act of subversiveness.

Chapter Seven: Pagan Christianity flows naturally from the last chapter. Haw addresses criticisms of the Roman Catholic Church as concerns the similarities between Catholic liturgy, practice, and structure to dead (or dying) pagan religions and whether this syncretism is something evil or if it shows how Christianity knows how to adopt the best practices of people as those people adopt the Gospel.

Chapter Eight: The Search for No Accent is a devastating critique of the mythology of some denominations, or new denominations, that schism will result in a purer, more “apostolic” church leaving behind the baggage that has attached to Christianity over the years. This was one of the wittiest, most straightforward chapters, and as I will state below, I go a different direction that Haw, but I do agree with his criticisms of denominationalism.

Chapter Nine: On Being Part of a Terrible Organization is a very honest exploration as to what it means to be Catholic in light of the wealth of the Roman Catholic Church, the sexual abuse scandals, the refusal to ordain women as priests, and other aspects of Catholicism that concern outsiders. I feel like Haw does a fine job of expressing why he has chosen to remain part while knowing the whole is far from perfect. This chapter asks us to find an institution that is perfect. Of course, we know no such organization exists.

Chapter Ten: Art and Apocalypse addresses the grandeur of the Vatican, cathedrals, and the ceremonies of Catholicism as this relates to whether all of this should be sold and given to the poor. Haw answers this negatively, explaining the value of the church’s willingness to love and hate the world, to beautify the world while trying to care for the poor (noting that the Roman Catholic Church is the most charitable organization in the world), and how apocalyptic imagery reminds us of our need to beauty, art, architecture while at the same respecting its temporality.

Concluding Thoughts

I wish I could write more and more about this book. Let me say, no, I am not a Roman Catholic after reading it, but, reading it during Advent tempted me toward conversion a few times! While Haw has come to embrace the imperfections of what it means to be a Roman Catholic, this book has allowed me to embrace the imperfections of evangelicalism. I continue to think through how my evangelicalism jives with creeds and councils, but at this juncture I am not convinced that the past completely defines the present or future of Christianity as regards these matters. Haw sees the divisions within Protestantism as reason to embrace the unity provided by Rome. I see the divisions much like I see the “states” of the United States: sure, there are differences and boarders, but we function under one King, and that King is the one through whom we find our ultimate unity in the Holy Spirit. For those of us who are not Catholics we must remember that prior to lambasting Catholicism we must take the time to know what Catholics believe and why. Authors like Chesterton and Haw have given me great respect for the Catholic tradition. I would say even that there are aspects of Catholic theology that make better sense of the world and better sense of Christianity that the views espoused by my fellow evangelicals, but this isn’t enough for me to abandon evangelicalism. Rather, I revisit my evangelicalism and ask myself if there are better ways to think as an evangelical. For that I thank Haw because he has written an immensely valuable book.


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Forgiveness and reconciliation: a challenge from Martin Luther King, Jr.

mlk-the-strength-to-love-cover-image1Today is the birthday of Martin Luther King Jr. I decided to read some of his writings this week (with the 21st being the federal holiday in his honor), so I began with a book from which I have read large portions before today that I enjoyed. Yet the quotation that I want to ponder is not one I enjoy, so I chose to share it, because my reaction to Dr. King’s words were more defensive than usual. Let me share the quote, then I will tell you why I reacted less favorably that usual, then you can tell me your thoughts in the comments:

“Forgiveness does not mean ignoring what has been done or putting a false label on an evil act. It means, rather, that the evil act no longer remains as a barrier to the relationship. Forgiveness is a catalyst creating the atmosphere necessary for a fresh start and a new beginning. It is the lifting of a burden or the cancelling of a debt. The words ‘I will forgive you, but I’ll never forget what you’ve done’ never explain the real nature of forgiveness. Certainly one can never forget, if that means erasing it totally from his mind. But when we forgive, we forget in the sense that the evil deed is no longer a mental block impeding a new relationship. Likewise, we can never say, ‘I will forgive you, but I won’t have anything further to do with you.’ Forgiveness means reconciliation, a coming together again. Without this, no man can love his enemies. The degree to which we are able to forgive determines the degree to which we are able to love our enemies.”[1]

Now, I know Dr. King is addressing the love of enemies. I have at least one relationship of which I am conscious that would be challenged by Dr. King, but I don’t consider the person to be an enemy. Rather, I consider this person to be someone who after many years and many attempts at relationship showed disinterest over and over again. So, over time, I decided that if that person did not want to invest in the relationship then I wasn’t going to worry myself any longer, and I quit trying. Honestly, I haven’t missed the person at all. Then I heard from a couple sources that this person has complained about my unwillingness to have anything to do with them, which I found ironic.

If I were pastoring or counseling, and I saw someone being hurt time and time again, I would tell them that one can forgive that person while also putting themselves in a place to avoid further physical or emotional abuse. Whether it was the child of an abusive parent, or the ex-spouse of a scorned lover, it has been my conviction that one can come to a place where one loves that person, prays for that person, hopes the best for that person, and honestly can say that day-to-day there is no hatred manifesting in their hearts or anger in their emotions, yet (!) this person knows that it is best for their well-being and the well-being of the abuser if contact is minimalized, if not ended altogether. It seems to me that Dr. King’s vision of true forgiveness wouldn’t allow for this.

Now, I know Dr. King’s words aren’t timeless. He was a man with a context writing to an audience who shared that context. Much like reading the Gospels or the Pauline Epistles one wonders what Jesus or Paul may have said if someone raised their hand after a discourse on something like loving one’s enemy, turning the other cheek, or something far more practical like divorce, and asked, “What if my child is in danger?” or “What is my spouse sexually abuses my children?” Would Jesus and Paul have altered their answers? If Dr. King was given several hypothetical situations would he stand by his statement’s seemingly universal declaration on forgiveness? I don’t know, but for the sake of discussion tell me your thoughts. What do you think about Dr. King’s statement on real forgiveness? Can one forgive without full reconciliation?

[1] Martin Luther King, Jr., “Loving your enemies” in Strength to Love (Philadelphia: Fortess Press, 1981), 51.


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Book Review: Lois Tverberg’s Walking in the Dust of Rabbi Jesus

Tverberg, Lois. Walking in the Dust of Rabbi Jesus: How the Jewish Words of Jesus Can Change Your Life (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2012). (Amazon.com)

9780310284208Lois Tverberg is the author of a recent book titled Walking in the Dust of Rabbi Jesus. She sent me a copy to review (for which I’d like to thank her) since this blog discusses topics related to Second Temple Judaism, Jesus, and early Christianity. It is more of a “user friendly” book than is reviewed here usually, but it is one that I think many of this blog’s readers may find valuable. 

Message of the Book

The aim of this book is quite simple: study the culture within which Jesus lived and his words and deeds will be given a new, enlightening nuance. I enjoy reading literature on this topic from a variety of people, whether it be N.T. Wright, E.P. Sanders, Amy-Jill Levine, Craig A. Evans, or a host of other authors who are experts on the historian’s Jesus. I know authors like Rob Bell, Ray Vander Laan, and to a different extent Kenneth E. Bailey have tried to include the discussion of scholars into their more popular literature (or like Wright, writing his own popular versions), but it is not common. Tverberg on the other hand as written one book already titled Sitting at the Feet of Rabbi Jesus and this is her second effort to help the “person in the pew” think about Jesus as a first-century Jew (though by no means does she remove the confessional/creedal affirmation about Jesus).

I admit that sometimes I am skeptical of these types of works. In an effort to talk about the historian’s Jesus there is the danger of anachronism, especially when it comes to the use of rabbinic sources, but even scholars can make the mistake of interpreting the historian’s Jesus through later works, so I read this book with a graceful eye knowing that the historian’s Jesus is a difficult character to grasp, especially when you come from a confessional background of one sort or another, and even when you do not come to the study having thought of Jesus in terms like “the second person of the Trinity”.

I should qualify that though this book does aim to revive the Jewishness of Jesus for the reader it is not strictly a work of history. Rather, it does engage in the reception history of rabbinic and Christian traditions, it is devotional, and it does include stories and examples that give contemporary meaning to living as a Christian in our modern world. Personally, I think it is a very useful book for something like a small group study at your local church with people who may never have the opportunity to read much about the historical studies surrounding Jesus of Nazareth.

Summary of the Content

The title of this book is based on a saying from Mishnah, Avot 1:4. Yose ben Yoeser is a second rabbinical figure of the second century BCE who is quoted here as having said that a disciple should “powder yourself with the dust of their feet”, “their” being that of one’s teacher.[1] The idea is that one should sit at the feet of their teacher or follow their teacher so closely that the dust that kick off his feet cover them. If this saying is nearly as old as it is attributed then Jesus’ disciples may have heard something like it and it may have had it in mind as they followed Jesus. This is the picture of discipleship Tverberg aims to present.

The book divides into three sections: I. Hearing Our Rabbi’s Words with New Ears; II. Living Out the Words of Rabbi Jesus; and III. Studying the Word with Rabbi Jesus.

In section I there are four chapters. Chapter 1: Brushing Away the Dust of the Ages is introductory. Tverberg talks a bit about how Gentile Christians have thought of Jesus as a Savior, as have Jewish Christians, but there was a sense among Jewish Christians that Jesus was their “rabbi” or “teacher” as well, something lost on many Gentile Christians.[2] This may be true, in part, when one examines contemporary Christianity, but I don’t know that the Patristic writings would deny the necessity of following the example of Jesus, even if not described in Jewish terminology like halakhah. It is a contemporary evangelical audience to whom Tverberg writes though and what she says about following Jesus’ example is true of many.

Tverberg does Christians a great service by making known to a popular audience some of the ideas circulating since E.P. Sanders’ Jesus and Palestinian Judaism forced scholars to rethink their language about first century Jews as legalistic and superstitious people who Jesus had to enlighten. Rather, Jesus was very much a Jew of his day engaged in the discussions being debated at that time. In many ways Jesus was unique in his teaching, but there is a lot of what Jesus said and did that is far from original with his person. I think this is good for lay audiences to know.

Tverberg presents her sources in this chapter: the Mishnah, the Talmud, the Dead Sea Scrolls, the writings of Josephus, and the Gospels. She clarifies that she doesn’t mean to limit Jesus to the status of a mere rabbi. Instead, she wants to highlight that part of his reality as a teacher who called disciples. She wants to remind Christians that our religion was once called “the Way” or “the Path” based on the Hebraic concept of following a derekh and that Jesus talk his disciples how to “walk” in his way, or halakah.[3]

The remainder of section I examines Jesus’ teaching that the most important commandments in the Law are to (1) love the Lord your God with all your heart…. And (2) the one like it, love your neighbor as yourself (see Mt. 12:28-31). Tverberg admits that she was surprised as a younger Christian to find that Jesus’ words came from the heart of the Law, Leviticus and Deuteronomy, “two books I had read the least.”[4]

In Chapter 2: Shema: Living Out What You Hear she begins to delve into the Jewish Shema beginning with this word meaning something like “to hear with the intent to obey”. She ties this into Jesus’ words, “Whoever has ears to hear, let them hear.” Then she discusses the meaning of the word echad, often translated “one” (which has caused much debate between Jews and Christians over doctrines like the incarnation and Trinty), but she advocates the use of “alone” as in this God was Israel’s God “alone”. This frames it as a command to fidelity more than a mere creedal statement for monotheism.

In Chapter 3: Loving God with Everything You’ve Got Tverberg continues to explore the Shema asking how God could command “love”. She argues that “love” is not a mere emotion here, but a covenantal agreement of sorts, like the word hesed, which is discussed in this chapter as well. When this chapter ends the reader will have gone through a fairly extensive word study on the Shema with an aim for understanding how this may have impacted Jesus and his teachings and how it should impact our contemporary discipleship.

In Chapter 4: Meeting Myself Next Door Tverberg moves to the second commandment about loving one’s neighbor. She provides a helpful discussion on how important this teaching was for the early church. Then she moves to studying Leviticus 19:18 and its context which is a reminder that Israel was once slaves in a foreign land, therefore treat foreign guests with kindness. This introduces the debate in Jesus’ day over the meaning of “neighbor”, provides a context for Jesus’ story about the Samaritan, and asks how all of this fits into Jesus’ words in his prayer for God to forgive us and we forgive others.

Section II begins with Chapter 5: Gaining a Good Eye which examines Jesus’ words in Matthew 6:22-23 about the eye being filled with darkness or light. She argues that this saying is idiomatic meaning that having a “good eye” means to look out for others, especially the poor while having a “bad eye” means being selfish.[5] The remainder of the chapter examines Jesus’ teachings on charity and giving.

Chapter 6: The Mystery of the Name attempts to unpack the meaning of a “name” in the ancient world, e.g. when disciples baptized or did exorcisms “in the name of Jesus”. Tverberg introduces readers to the idiomatic expression’s relevance for presenting the authority of another. She discusses the lexical meaning of Jesus’ name, what coming in someone’s name meant, the idiom “in the name of a prophet…”, the “hallowing” of the name of God in the Lord’s Prayer, and what it means to profane a name (e.g., taking the “name” of the Lord in vain).

Chapter 7: How to Have a Kosher Mouth begins with a discussion on the role of the tongue on books like Proverbs and James and then delves into the ethics of speech: avoiding an evil tongue, slander, shaming others, and a variety of topics that include showing other dignity and not abusing them with one’s speech.

Chapter 8: Taking My Thumb Off the Scale includes a very relevant discussion on Jesus’ words about judging, especially when contrasted with Paul’s decision to tell the Corinthians to toss a member from their assembly. What does Jesus mean by “judgment” and how does our modern language around “judging others” skew our reading of the text? Tverberg guides the reader into thinking about this from a Jewish perspective, asking how anger and insults play into Jesus’ words as well as the picture of a scale being used at the local marketplace.

Chapter 9: Praying with Chutzpah argues that Jesus depicts God as appreciating someone with chutzpah or “utter nerve, sheer audacity that borders on obnoxiousness.”[6] She examines the story of the Syrophoenician woman (Mt. 15:21-28; Ml 7:25-30); Jesus’ parable about the unrighteous judge in Luke 18:2-5; the parable about the man who has unexpected guest from out of town in Luke 11:5-8; and Jesus’ words about “good gifts” in Matthew 7:9-11. She grounds this Jewish appreciation for chutzpah in Abraham, the father of the Jews (see Gen 18:23-25), and Moses (see Ex. 5:22-23). The chapter ends with some words on prayer, especially prayer for others.

Tverberg ends section II with Chapter 10: Thinking with Both Hands examines the Jewish tradition of shakla v’tarya, or “give and take”, where one person—like Tevye in Fiddler on the Roof examining the tradition of a “match maker”—wrestles with a dilemma arguing internally for both sides. This approach to reality is found everywhere within Scripture—sometimes seen through western eyes as contradictions. One could think of Paul’s words on justification juxtaposed with James’ words on justification. Also, Jesus’ paradoxical words about “first” being “last” and “last” being “first” or losing life gains it and gaining life loses it. What would be contradictions to some are balanced views of the world in Scripture.

Tverberg transitions to a discussion on how some Laws—though all seen as having a divine origin—are seen as weightier than others. In this chapter she does a fine job of snuffing the tradition that Jews were panicky legalist seeking to avoid hell to gain heaven. She writes, “Contrary to our traditional Christian assumption, their discussions about the Law do not arise out of an anxious striving to earn one’s way to heaven. Jewish thought generally assumed that Jews were already saved, because God graciously chose Israel as his people. In their minds, the Law teaches them how to live in a way that pleases a loving God and upholds their covenantal relationship.”[7]

This invitation to “weigh laws” explains Jesus’ debates with the Pharisees over things like Sabbath far better than the old “legalism v. grace” paradigm. I think this may be one of the most valuable chapters for Christians who are used to this sort of approach to the Judaism of Jesus’ day. As much as scholarship has seen a paradigm shift it has taken a while for these ideas to “trickle down” to the church. Tverberg’s book as a more popular work can help bridge the gap.

The final section focuses the last four chapters on reading Scripture. Chapter 11: The Treasure of the Text reminds Christian readers that the Old Testament matters and that it is “floating” right below the surface of the text of the New Testament. Tverberg writes, “As Christians, we long to think the thoughts of Christ. But the stories he knew, the songs he sang, and the prophecies that shaped his earthly mission lie in the Old Testament.”[8]

The familiarity with Scripture reflected in the New Testament is attributed to the importance of reading Torah in the synagogue and the command for Jews to meditate and know the words of Scripture. Tverberg discusses parasha and haftarah readings (almost liturgical) and how this dedication to reading the text changed people.

Chapter 12: The Secret That God Keeps argues that the Jewish tradition has been aware that one can study Scripture their entire life and never know it all, or capture it, or find all the answers. This isn’t the goal of reading. Tverberg discusses God’s secrets in Daniel 12:8-9 and how this shapes the words of Acts 1:6-7 and Mark 13:32. The chapter includes sections on Messiah (Jesus) as interpreter of Torah, the ignorance of Job’s friends, and caution when studying eschatology.

Chapter 13: Our Longing Father challenges Marcionite thinking that denies (whether implicitly or explicitly) that the God of Israel in the Old Testament is the Father of Jesus in the New Testament. Tverberg emphasizes the God shown to us by Jesus as being a God of emotion and feeling, not an unmoved mover, but a real “personal” deity as seen in the Parable of the Prodigal Son. She examines a variety of Old Testament texts that speak of God in the same way, as loving, gracious, patient, caring. She presents the God of Jesus as being one who is not indifferent, or an “unmoved mover”, but a God who loves, actively.

Chapter 14: God’s Image Stamped in Dust is the final chapter of the book. It is a study of the imago Dei concept from Genesis 1:26-27 and how that fits into Jewish thinking and the teachings of Jesus.

At the end of each chapter there are a series of discussion questions under the titled “Wisdom for the Walk”. The book has a forward by Ray Vander Laan and an afterword from Ann Spangler. The book uses endnotes, at the end of the book, not the chapter. Finally, there is a glossary of terms and recommended resources for further reading that include respected authors such as Kenneth E. Bailey, Craig A. Evans, Abraham Heschel, and Brad Young as well as various online resources.

Concluding Thoughts

This book would be a great resource for small group leaders or the Sunday school class of a local church. I think Lois Tverberg has a lot of helpful points to make that evangelicals ought to hear and she puts it in the type of readable format that allows her to gain an audience. It is an enjoyable read. It is applicable. It is pastoral. It is informative. I learned from it and I imagine others will as well.

[1] 201, n. 24

[2] 21

[3] 27-29

[4] 33

[5] 70

[6] 118

[7] 137

[8] 146


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Three hermeneutical paradigms to use when studying the doctrine of the virgin birth

Reading-the-Gospels-Wisely-Pennington-Jonathan-EB9781441238702I have been reading Jonathan T. Pennington‘s marvelous new book Reading the Gospels Wisely: A Narrative and Theological Introduction and it has helped me a lot when it comes to thinking about hermeneutics, particularly the function of the historical-critical/grammatical approach juxtaposed with literary readings and canonical/theological readings. In “Chapter Five: Texts and History: The Testimony of the Fourfold Witness” Pennington examines the historical-critical approach, explains it value, and critiques its weaknesses. For Pennington the danger of putting all our eggs into the historical-critical/grammatical basket is that this is limits our reading of the Gospels, refuses to listen to the Gospels as the Gospels are designed to be heard, and ignores the limitations of the historical-critical/grammatical hermeneutic (as well as recent criticisms from the field of philosophical hermeneutics, exemplified by the likes of Hans-Georg Gadamer and Paul Ricour to name a couple). The Gospels make claims that presuppose things like the existence of Israel’s God and you cannot appeal to deity when doing critical historical studies. There are some things that can be understood about Jesus through historical-critical study, but one can never reach the theological claims of the church through this approach. This is a danger Pennington thinks we must avoid, but he doesn’t think the answer to the problem of the historical-critical lens is one that abandons the importance of history like a Docetic Christology.  He writes:

“If we approach the Gospels only as repositories of grand theological ideas and ideals, divorced from the historical reality of the incarnation and the resurrection, then we lose the history. Yet if we (even as believers) draw near to the Gospels thinking we must abandon all orthodox, creedal, and ecclesial notions and constraints on our reading or, less strictly, at least grow our theological construction in pure historical soil, then we not only fool ourselves in these possibilities, but we also deny the canonical nature of the Gospels.” (Kindle Location 2354)

He concludes that the language of “testimony” as presented by Richard Bauckham is a better avenue upon which one can approach studying the Gospels from a confessional perspective. Testimony honors both the aim of these works as a form of bios claiming to speak about historical events as well as recognizing that the theological claims of the Gospels move into a new frontier making the Gospels a unique subcategory of bioi. Likewise, testimony doesn’t make the mistake of thinking that historiography ancient or modern can ever be anything but interpretive (i.e., never fully objective as some claim). Since all history is interpretation the Gospels as testimony about Jesus care about historical events as interpreted through the apostolic kerygma.

Jonathan T. Pennington

Jonathan T. Pennington

I won’t delve much further into Pennington’s argument against limiting ourselves to the historical-critical approach—because it would be unfair to the author for me to try to condense a very well written, thoughtful chapter into a short blog post—but I will (1) encourage you to read this book; (2) provide a book review on this blog when I finish it; and (3) share the approach Pennington suggest for people who read the Gospels both as testimony of historical events and Scripture.

Pennington advocates reading the Gospels from multiple hermeneutical paradigms. He writes, “…my goal in reading is interwoven with the biblical idea of wisdom more than the modern scientific idea of knowledge, understood narrowly and impersonally.” (Kindle Location 2431) So in “Chapter Six: Reading Holy Scripture Well” he provides “three avenues of reading” that I will share and then use as a way to approach studying the doctrine of the virgin birth so that you can understand where Pennington is trying to take his readers.

First, “Behind the Text” or Historical, which includes redaction, form, and source criticism, social-scientific criticism, historical criticism, grammatical-historical exegesis, and movements like the Quest(s) for the historical (historian’s) Jesus.

Second, “In the Text” or Literary, which focuses on literary criticism, genre analysis, narrative criticism, composition criticism, and intertextuality.

Third, “In Front of the Text” or Canonical/Theological, which includes the history of interpretation, reception, history, Wirkungsgeshichte, biblical theology, redemptive history, theological reading, Regula fidei, figural reading, and intertextuality.

Let’s examine the doctrine of the virgin birth from these angles. First, the “Behind the Text” approach aims to understand not the message of the text itself alone, but the culture within which it was proclaimed. Honestly, if we use traditional historical-critical criteria as found in academic discussion we will not arrive at a virgin birth because solutions that cannot be reached by means of methodological naturalism are disqualified immediately. In other words, when doing history in this context, we cannot say, “Well, yes, it is impossible for this to happen, but God…” This isn’t a bad thing, necessarily, if we acknowledge the “language game” in which we chose to partake if we do academic history. If a scholar of Islam happened to be a confessing Muslim we Christians would question his academic biography on the Prophet Muhammad if when s/he reached the tradition about the Prophet’s ascent into heaven s/he begged-the-question by telling readers, “This happened because Allah…” This is not to say that it is impossible in reality that Allah accepted the Prophet into heaven, but rather that there are limitations on doing academic history that attempt to prevent any and every suggestion from having the same value (e.g., the abduction of a famous person is easier explained as having a human protagonist, even if the mystery is never solved as to who did it, than it is an alien from space, even if the alien theory is theoretically possible it is not the most probable).

On the other hand, historical-grammatical readings of the text might have more wiggle-room when it comes to discussing the doctrine of the virgin birth. In fact, I propose that most evangelical scholars who delve into historical research do so from a historical-grammatical angle rather than a historical-critical one. In the words of Gadamer the difference is between approaching a text with the hermeneutical of suspicion over against the hermeneutic of trust. Christians, even when engaging these texts as historians, tend to give the authors to benefit of a doubt in a way that a scholar who is not a Christian is not likely to do. This is not to say that one is better or more objective in my opinion. There are strengths and weaknesses to both approaches. For example, if Jesus did not resurrect from the dead a confessional scholar is not likely to see this because of the presuppositions brought to the study of the proclaimed event. Likewise, a skeptical scholar is not likely to come to affirm the reality of the resurrection, even if it did happen, because of the presuppositions brought to the study of the proclaimed event. I don’t mean to say that it is “all relative”, but it is subjective, always.

The historical-grammatical reading aims to make sense of a proclaimed event by means of studying the historical context in which it was proclaimed (e.g., the resurrection can be understood as a event proclaimed to have happened in first century Judea, near Jerusalem, under Roman governance, and so forth, and honestly, the presuppositions with which one approaches this topic will likely inform how this historical data “functions”, just compare the works of people like Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan to others like N.T. Wright or Michael Licona). So when one studies the doctrine of the virgin birth through a historical-grammatical lens it might be one and the same with the historical-critical, or it may be from a confessional standpoint where the virgin birth is understood as something that did happen, and then the study of everything from ancient womanhood, birth practices, first century Bethlehem, and other factors will be considered.

The “In the Text” is not concerned with the historical events within which the doctrine of the virgin birth is proclaimed. Even the Synoptic Problem falls into the first category better, though there are points of contact. This second approach may study things like how the doctrine of the virgin birth is proclaimed in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke and how this claims fits into the immediate narrative and how that narrative fits into the larger message of the Gospel. This approach can be used by the atheist scholar who doesn’t find these Gospels to produce much truth as well as the pastor who is preparing a sermon for Sunday and who wants to make sure that s/he proclaims a particular text in such a way that the literary message is received by the audience. One could discuss how the doctrine of the virgin birth fits into the message of the beginning of the Gospel of Luke without ever discussing the archaeology of Bethlehem, the socio-cultural role of “shepherds” in the first century, and other elements that are “Behind the Text”, though very helpful to understanding the text itself.

Finally, we have the approach that is “In Front of the Text”, i.e., an acceptable presupposition that informs how we read a text. For example, if one reads the Gospel of Matthew from approaches one or two it doesn’t matter all that much whether the Old Testament canon ends with Malachi as we find in the Christian tradition or Chronicles as it does in most versions of the Hebrew Bible. In this third paradigm it does matter though because Malachi ends with a proclamation to remember the Law of Moses and a promise to send the prophet Elijah before the “Day of the Lord” (4:4-6) whereas the Gospel of Matthew begins with a genealogy of “Jesus the Messiah” (1:1), describes his birth of a virgin, the visit of the magi, the flight into Egypt, the slaughter of the innocents, and then we have “Elijah”, or John the Baptist preaching in the wilderness. If you use approaches one or two you want to read Luke-Acts together, but if you read it canonically you know that John recreates the contexts of Matthew, Mark, and Luke and ends the fourfold Gospel transitioning to Acts which moves through the sequence of three main figures—Jesus to Peter to Paul—which then escorts the reader into Romans, the gateway and interpretive key to the Pauline corpus. Canonically Matthew transitions readers from the Old Testament to the fulfillment of the Old Testament, Jesus. Acts transitions from Jesus to his authoritative apostles, including Paul, and validates the Pauline corpus that comes next (I owe these insights to Brevard Childs).

Is there a way (singular) to approach the Gospels? Pennington will suggest “no” if you are a Christian. I concur. If you are a Christian willing to discuss the “historian’s Jesus” then you must enter that language game knowing what you can and cannot say and prove about Jesus. The goal and aim is to show that some really important things can be said about Jesus, even through the limitations of modern critical historiography, e.g., Jesus was a first century Jew; Jesus was remembered as a miracle worker and an exorcist; Jesus was crucified; Jesus’ followers did not disperse but became convinced for some reason that the eschatological resurrection of the dead has an “already, but not yet” exception in Jesus of Nazareth and they were willing to die for their believe. All of this is fantastically interesting, but you can’t secure the confession that the Spirit has raised Jesus from the dead, or that Jesus has been made Lord and Christ, or that Jesus is the Logos of God, or that Jesus is the second person of the one God as Trinity.

I think the historical-critical method is immensely valuable, as does Pennington, but it does have limitations. It is a matter of epistemology (what can we “know” through the restraints of academic historiography?), rather than objective truth (the dozens upon dozens of historical Jesus models you will find should be sufficient evidence of this). Sometimes the use of the Gospels to get “Behind the Text” to the historical Jesus misleads us into misreading the Gospels themselves. We ignore the message of the evangelists about Jesus for some piece of solid footing upon which we can reconstruct Jesus. Again, this is good and necessary in certain venues, but it doesn’t determine truth.

Likewise, the third approach tells us a bit about how Christians should read Scripture as Christians in the ancient-to-contemporary community of the faithful. If we use the historical critical approach we may conclude that Mark as the earliest Gospel shows no interest in a virgin birth, so he did not know about it or (from a more skeptical view) the myth had not been invented when Mark was composed. Matthew received or invented the tradition somewhere. Luke received it somewhere, maybe from Matthew. John’s Logos Christology doesn’t need a virgin birth as long as you affirm that Jesus is the Son of God come from God the Father in heaven. A canonical/theological reading realizes that Mark doesn’t need the virgin birth if it doesn’t fit the literary message because the Spirit has provided this proclamation in Matthew and Luke, already, and that John’s Logos Christology should be interpreted canonically, meaning, the Logos of God entered this world through the virgin birth—this is the beginning of how Christians discuss Christology in the language of faith.

All three approaches have value. Where we Christians struggle at times is realizing that these different approaches are different language games sometimes intended for a variety of audiences. When we try to use the historical-critical method apologetically to “prove” something like the doctrine of the virgin birth we have gone the wrong direction, not because it didn’t happen in space-time history, but because historical-critical methodology includes the presupposition of methodological naturalism, something that can never “discover” a virgin birth anymore than one may have been able to discover Jesus was born of a virgin if his DNA was studied to examine the genetics of his “father”. We can believe in the doctrine of the virgin birth from a confessional perspective, and we may have decent reasons for believing it happened historically (e.g., Matthews awkward use of Isaiah 7:14 leads me to think Matthew already believed in the doctrine and he sought a passage of Scripture to support it, rather than he happened to read Isaiah 7:14 one day and thought, “This proves Jesus was born of a virgin!”), but we cannot prove it historical-critically, and that is OK. We must recover some comfort with speaking the language of faith and sometimes faith demands that we speak of things catholically, rather than individualistically, as if something can be true if and only if I can verify it through means that make me the final authority, rather than the church and the Scripture of the church.