Sign and Shadow

Francis Turretin on AI

Fri, 07 Aug 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Yes, I will admit that title is more-than-a-little click-baity, but I didn’t get dozens of readers by playing it safe. And also, I’m not here trying to chime in on the recent controversy provoked by TGC’s AI stance; though it was occasioned by it. Nevertheless, the controversy did help coalesce a variety of thoughts, and as it also happens I am doing some research on angels for my 2 Peter commentary (2:4), and so…blog post.

Human Knowledge

Although there are people talking about AI from an epistemological perspective, they seem few and far between. The AI debate is ultimately about anthropology, and more specifically, epistemological anthropology. How do humans know things? Let’s not dive in too deep here (though if you want to, Frame’s DKG is a personal favorite). Suffice it to say, human knowledge is, by nature (and I mean that in every since of the term), embodied. That is, it is mediated through the senses and in some mysterious way “processed” and stored in the brain. Now it’s not only embodied (so don’t @ me Gray Sutanto), but our bodies are an essential component of how we learn, understand, remember, and know.

Angelic Intelligence

Which brings us to Francis Turretin. He wrote about AI before there was AI, though in his case AI stood for “Angelic Intelligence.” Like many scholastics before him (Reformed and otherwise), Turretin has an extensive discussion of angelogy in his Institutes. The questions he poses may seem speculative to us (they’re not, actually, but that’s a different post), but for him they are important, and he believes the answers are found in biblical exegesis and rational deduction.

One of those questions concerns angelic epistemology. How do angels know what they know? For Turretin, they have to know in a way fundamentally different than us humans. Why? Because angels are “spiritual and incorporeal” (I.541). They do not have bodies. They cannot see or hear or touch things like we can, so they cannot learn in the way humans learn; and, if we accept Turretin’s premise that angels are completely immaterial, we moderns can take this even further, since angels would then lack every human “instrument” for knowing, like a central nervous system.

What, then, is the “mode of angelic knowledge?” Turretin does not want to speculate too much, but he is bound by logic to affirm:

(1) that the angelic knowledge is only intellectual, not sensitive (the latter is organic and belongs only to bodies, which the angels have not). Hence no corporeal act is properly ascribed to them. Neither do they need corporeal organs or external senses which, as windows, they may open to objects. (2) That angels do not understand by their own essence; for thus the angelic essence would contain all things and be the cause and image of them (which belongs to the infinite God alone). Rather they understand by certain representations and ideas or similitudes of things, partly inborn and implanted from the first creation of things (which they know naturally), partly acquired (of things which they know either from divine revelation, God presenting such ideas to their intellect), or from experience (by representations abstracted from the things themselves). However although we do not know how they can abstract such representations or images from things (since they are destitute of external senses), we are not on this account to deny that this is done by them (I.543).

Artificial Intelligence

The point of all this is not to agree or disagree with Turretin. Rather, it is to recognize first (1) that he is concerned to ask this kind of question, (2) that he thinks about it carefully and through the lens of scripture, and most importantly (3) that he distinguishes different ways of creaturely knowing (he has similar discussions, for example, regarding the animals).

So now the contemporary question, which is to say another kind of intelligence, Artificial Intelligence. Turretin is not concerned about angelic knowing for its own sake; rather, it is because angels have interacted with humanity and are part of our story. He wants to know about them to better understand how we interact with them, and they with us.

That’s the question I think we should be asking about AI. Yes, there are serious ethical questions and practical matters, and we need to discuss those too, but we cannot really answer those questions without answering something more fundamental. How does AI “think?” It’s not an easy question, and if you think you know the answer to it than you’re smarter than most computer scientists because the one’s that aren’t in marketing will basically tell you that no one knows how generative AI really works.

Turretin has another profound insight. Embodied knowing is a different sort of knowing. There are many things that make human knowledge unique, the most important of which is a functions of the imago dei. Another important factor, though, is that God designed us with bodies, and our bodies are not accidental but essential, and further that our thinking and our bodies are tied together (in a way that we do not entirely understand). Our bodies are epistemologically important. The gnostics are wrong. The ancient gnostics were wrong, and the modern gnostics are also wrong. Human thinking is embodied.

Computers do not have bodies. Computers “think” differently than humans do, and that’s important, even and especially when the results of their thinking seem so similar to our own. And even that may not be true for long. Scientists and programmers know that the way AI works and learns is fundamentally different than the way humans work and learn. They also know that for many types of problems, humans are radically more efficient. Which is why the latest research involves “biological” computation (for an introduction, see here, but don’t listen right before bed).

Theological Resources

My point is pretty simple, I guess. We need to think theologically about this, and the resources for thinking theologically about this are already there in the tradition. The ethics of AI may be a new question, but it is not an unprecedented one. The tradition provides a trajectory for thinking about intelligences that are not human, and we can extend that tradition to start thinking about human intelligence as it interacts with other kinds of creaturely “intelligence.” Do you not know that we will judge angels?

Sequels in the New Testament

Wed, 22 Jul 2026 00:00:00 +0000

The Second Epistle of Peter is a sequel, and should be read as such.

Depending on your perspective, that may or may not sound like a surprising claim. After all, the letter has “Second” in the title, so obviously it is a “sequel,” right? Well, Paul writes many letters, but they are only sequels if the they are two the same audience and incited by the same occasioning incident (so 2 Corinthians is likely a sequel, but 2 Timothy maybe not). 2 Peter could just be another letter of Peter. But it’s not, and the reason we know it’s not is because Peter explicitly tells us “this is the second letter I am writing to you,” and further clarifies that both letters have to same purpose “to remind you.” We will come back to this.

Other readers, familiar with the history of scholarship on 2 Peter, will know that the academy (at least the non-evangelical academy) almost never reads 2 Peter as a sequel. Mainly this is because they don’t think it is by Peter or by the same author as 1 Peter. The result is that they proceed to read 2 Peter as a completely detached epistle, neither informed by nor informing the way we read 1 Peter.

That, I think is a mistake, and the reason it is a mistake is because even if 2 Peter wasn’t written by Peter (which it was, but let’s grant it for the sake of argument) the author signals at 3:1 (“this is my second letter”) that he wants this letter to be read as a sequel. They are supposed to be read together.

That’s the point of this post. Reading 2 Peter with 1 Peter actually changes the way both books are read.

Reading 2 Peter with 1 Peter

What changes when we read these books together? I’d like to suggest here three things.

First. it directs the reader back to something that they have already received and appropriated. They are supposed to read this new letter in light of that older one, and, as per the nature of sequels, they can also can productively read the old letter in light of the new one. Thus, by stitching the two letters together Peter is encouraging re-reading, re-appropriating, and also, in effect, establishing an interpretative trajectory for both letters within his exhortational legacy with respect to this audience. The focus on the differences between the two letters obscures a more fundamental similarity at the exhortational level. The differences are in the circumstances, not the underlying exhortation. The first letter was an encouragement to godliness and perseverance in the midst of external persecution; the second is the same, now focused on internal confusion. Reading these letters together provides a comprehensive eschatological ethic; the church is to be holy as it faces enemies within and enemies abroad.

Second, the phrase “this is now the second letter” also serves to increase the urgency and significance of the topic at hand. As any child knows, when a parent warns “a second time,” matters are indeed serious.18 Peter is not involved in off-hand instruction or idle musings; he considers this issue paramount for the health and success of the church, and if the Lord had granted him more time in this world, perhaps we would be having a similar discussion about 3 Peter (2 Peter 1:13-15)

Finally, if 2 Peter is genuinely what it claims to be, it provides us with an historical window into the state of the church in the late 60s CE. Because of the academic bias against the authenticity of 2 Peter, it has been largely ignored as a historical witness to the early church. This is a massive loss. What new investigations might be possible from such a scholarly upheaval? What might 2 Peter tells us about Jew-Gentile relations among Christians at this time, or about Peter’s relationship with Paul, or about the reception of, and opposition to, apostolic tradition within the apostolic period? It is my contention that 2 Peter provides data for exactly these kinds of questions precisely because it is a genuine sequel to 1 Peter.

The Death of the First Apostle

Thu, 11 Dec 2025 00:00:00 +0000

What does the church do after the death of the first Apostle? Nothing. It’s a surprising but informative reaction.

The Death of Judas (not an Apostle)

The NT does not tell us much about the death of the apostles. This is a striking feature in and of itself. After all, with both ancient and modern interests in “the gory details,” whether that be from pure historical curiosity, or a desire to laud the faith and sacrifice of the martyrs, or to have the narrative properly “wrapped up,” it is perfectly reasonable to expect a book like Acts, or some of the letters of Paul, or perhaps even Revelation to give us at least something of the fate of these faithful founders. We might expect more especially of Acts, since the concern with the apostles is in the very name of the book, and Luke does seem interested in tracking their status, decisions, activities, and movements (Acts 1:12-26). And yet Luke, and the rest of the NT Scriptures, are silent about most of them. We often learn much about divine revelation (and about ourselves) from what is not included.

When we are given information about apostolic deaths, it’s almost always in service of some more important narratival or theological point. For example, although Judas never made it to Apostolic status, Matthew does record his death, but his purpose is not narrative closure, and even less the kind of bloody moments of “poetic justice” that satisfy a human longing for vengeance; no, his intent is theological: here too we have “the fulfillment” of prophecy.

Luke also records Judas’ demise, and though his narration is more bloody, his main interest is elsewhere. For Luke the issue is redemptive-historical. This death is significant because it leaves an apostle-shaped “hole” in the heart of the witnesses gathered in the upper room (Acts 1:22). A new representative must be selected.

Acts 1:26-28: So one of the men who have accompanied us during all the time that the Lord Jesus went in and out among us, beginning from the baptism of John until the day when he was taken up from us—one of these men must become with us a witness to his resurrection.” And they put forward two, Joseph called Barsabbas, who was also called Justus, and Matthias. And they prayed and said, “You, Lord, who know the hearts of all, show which one of these two you have chosen to take the place in this ministry and apostleship from which Judas turned aside to go to his own place.” And they cast lots for them, and the lot fell on Matthias, and he was numbered with the eleven apostles.

Now the fact that the apostles feel the need for a twelfth representative (no more and no less) confirms their unique calling. There must be twelve because the whole point is the reconstitution of the twelve tribes through belief in the resurrection (and, once the Gentiles are included, a 13th will be needed). The death of Judas constitutes a tear in the redemptive-historical space-time continuum; it is a breach that must be fixed if the work of “testimony” is to continue.

The Death of James

It is interesting, then, that when the next apostle dies, there’s no such replacement ceremony.

Acts 12:1-2: About that time Herod the king laid violent hands on some who belonged to the church. He killed James the brother of John with the sword, and when he saw that it pleased the Jews, he proceeded to arrest Peter also. This was during the days of Unleavened Bread. And when he had seized him, he put him in prison, delivering him over to four squads of soldiers to guard him, intending after the Passover to bring him out to the people. So Peter was kept in prison, but earnest prayer for him was made to God by the church.

There is, in fact, very little theological or historical reflection on the death of James; it is presented almost in passing, giving context to the persecution of the church in Judea and, in particular, the arrest of Peter.

In Imitation of Christ

Despite the brevity, Luke provides a handful of redemptive-historical signposts for the reader. The simple appellation “King Herod” is one. The “Herod” in question is Agrippa I, cousin of Herod Antipas (who killed John the Baptist and conspired to kill Jesus) and the grandson of the infamous Herod the Great. The choice to present him simply as “King Herod” links the events and “establishes an interlock between Jesus and his disciples."1 The subsequent arrest of Peter because it “pleased the Jews” reinforces that connection, reminding us of Pilate’s sycophantic appeasement of the masses.

The whole matter is a reminder of the “dark side” of Jesus’ commissioning of the apostles. “As the Father has sent me, so I am sending you” (John 20:21).2 Surely these words of Jesus, who was radiating in the glory of his resurrection, were an encouragement, but the resurrection was the reward of a life-long sacrifice culminating the obedience of death (Phil. 2:8), and that too is what it means to “share in Christ” (1 Pet. 4:13).

Jesus himself foreshadows this idea long before, and to James’ face, though it is not likely James understood the ominous premonition in his Lord’s words.

And he said to them, “What do you want me to do for you?” And they said to him, “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” Jesus said to them, “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or to be baptized with the baptism with which I am baptized?” And they said to him, “We are able.” And Jesus said to them, “The cup that I drink you will drink, and with the baptism with which I am baptized, you will be baptized,

“As the Father sent me;” the Father sent Jesus to die; his baptism was a baptism unto death (Matt. 3:15). Will James the brother of John sit at Jesus’ right hand? Maybe, I don’t know. But he was given this honor: to die the death that Jesus died, and at the hands of the grandson of the one that so feared Him that he would become a new pharaoh, slaughtering the sons of Jewish boys lest one arise to displace him. “Take up your cross and follow me,” Jesus said (Mark 8:34). In the end James would die by the sword, beheaded rather than crucified, but his suffering is as Christological as was his call; in the end, he died as he lived, it glorious imitation of the master (John 13:16).

James is Irreplaceable

This, the first apostolic death, is therefore a redemptive-historical fulfillment, but Luke’s presentation of it is surprising, and theologically informative, in two respects. First, it is presented with remarkably little fanfare. By contrast, the martyrdom of Stephen (Acts 7), though not an apostle, is more obviously and blatantly theologized. The parity between Stephen’s death and Jesus’ is well documented. Luke’s presentation is deliberate, leaving the reader with the distinct impression that Stephen’s death is an image or pointer to Christ’s own sacrifice. Though Luke presents James with less fanfare, we are to import that theology here. It is the same “kind” of death. But the lack of fanfare is itself important; Luke does not ascribe specifically apostolic significance to the death. The fact that this is an apostolic death does not make it more significant than that of Stephen, save only that it is perhaps a reminder to the apostles themselves that their position does not make them exempt from the cruciform aspect of their calling. Quite the contrary. The apostles as “martyrs-in-chief."3

The second surprise: nothing is done about it. With the departure of Judas there is a mad dash to get back to twelve. Here we are again down to eleven. Should not, in good Presbyterian fashion, a committee be appointed? None seems forthcoming. Perhaps that is because a new apostle has already arisen to replace the one now missing—and behold! he too is named James (Acts 12:17, 15:13, possibly 1:13; 1 Cor. 15:7)?4 This second James, the brother of Jesus, will soon be considered a “pillar” of the church (Gal. 2:9), and perhaps this moment provides a key point in his rise to prominence. Luke could certainly make that point, and this would be the place to make it, but he does not. Again the silence is informative. If Luke wanted to “institutionalize” apostolic succession, this is the key moment to do so, and the most efficient and narrativally “neat” way to do that would be to introduce James 2.0 right here. Why the lapse? One very logical explanation is that, once the full number has been acquired, no replacements are possible.

All this confirms a point made by Ridderbos in his Redemptive History and the NT Scriptures: the apostolate is a one-time thing, a redemptive-historical period that is as unique and unrepeatable as the resurrection of Jesus, or Pentecost. They are the “foundation” of the church (Eph. 2:20), and once that foundation is set, no additions can be made.

Why does he Tarry? The Patience of God and the Glory of Humanity

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 00:00:00 +0000

The following is the (slightly modified) conclusion of a paper I recently delivered at the annual meeting of the Evangelical Theological Society entitled, “What is He Waiting For: Apocalyptic Delay in 2 Peter 3.”

The Question: How Many?

Peter’s statement that “God does not want any to perish, but for everyone to reach repentance” raises at least two questions. The first deals with theology proper—if God does not want anyone to perish, then why do some perish. The second question is the one we are concerned about here: what is God actually waiting for? What does “everyone repenting” really mean and what will trigger the actual end?

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

The Calvinist answer, “the full number of the elect,” is helpful, but as we said previously it just pushes the question back into theology, into the eternal decree in fact. How many has God chosen and why? Ultimately, God’s full purposes remain hidden from us—though Jesus now knows (Rev. 5). However, with a theological and redemptive-historical lens we can say more than we already have. As Peter reminded us with the flood of Noah, time is not a flat circle; no, it “warps” and moves around God’s redemptive acts. Studying what God has done and how it all moves towards his eternal purpose (that is, studying redemptive-history), enables us to peer into the eternal decree. Peter focuses on the end; but to fully understand what God is waiting for we need to look at the beginning and the middle

Adam and the Garden

For example, in the garden we see God’s principal purpose for creation, it’s τελος. He declares it to Eve and to Adam: “be fruitful and multiply, fill the earth and subdue it” (Gen. 1:28). Humanity is made to be image, and this is not done for its own sake, but so that we might rule and have dominion. The world is good, but wild, untamed, and “perishable.” It is Adam’s job to cultivate, to garden, to provide order such that the world can flourish and go from perishable to imperishable (1 Cor. 15). That task is too large for one woman and one man. What then are they to do? Have kids; “fill” the earth. Humanity as “image” requires extended human flourishing.

Bavinck notes this in his anthropological discussion. No single human is “image.”

“[Image] can only be somewhat unfolded in its depth and riches in a humanity counting billions of members. Just as the traces of God (vestigia Dei) are spread over many, many works, in both space and time, so also the image of God can only be displayed in all its dimensions and characteristic features in a humanity whose members exist both successively… and contemporaneously side by side.” (Reformed Dogmatics 2:577)

“Be fruitful and multiply;” image is not just something we are; it is something we become as we fulfill the “cultural mandate.” As John puts it, “we do not yet know what we will be” (1 John 3:3). We are image, but we also become image, and it is only when the New arrives that we will fully know what it is to be image.

What is more, our roll as “image” is inextricably tied to creation itself. “Fill the earth;” the earth is the world and realm within which image is realized. We were made to rule; or, rather, if we are understanding things rightly, we must say that the world itself is constituted around Adamic rule. The fortunes of the cosmos are tied to the fortunes of corporate humanity. What is he waiting for? “The creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to appear” (Rom. 8:19). He is waiting for image-bearing humanity to reach such a fullness that his original purpose for creation can be realized.

All this to say, “the full number of the elect” is fine, but we must understand that idea within the meta-narrative. We need to understand it not (just) in an individualistic “how one gets saved” kind of way, but corporately. It must be understood within a broader theological and redemptive framework, one that is cosmic in scope and apocalyptic in τελος. What determines the number? The number is the number of fullness; the number is the number that can bear the weight of the rule of glory in the imperishable age.

Resurrection and Redemption

The second major redemptive-historical event we should consider—the second singularity around which time flows—is the resurrection. We must be brief (and if you would like not-brief, let me suggest Gaffin’s Resurrection and Redemption), but Paul’s language of Second Adam tells the whole story. Though the “seed” of repentant humanity is protected throughout the Old Covenant, no son of Adam or daughter of Eve has been found worthy to carry out the ground plan of God to establish his image in creation. Until Jesus. Jesus is worthy (Rev. 5). His ascension is his enthronement. Finally, for the first time in history, a child of Adam sits in the seat around which all the world has been constituted. And he has been given authority to receive any who would come to him as adopted children, as Sons of God.

Thus “grace restores nature.” The resurrection opens up a new stage in the cultural mandate, one in which image-bearing-humanity “multiplies” not only by “birth,” but also by “repentance.” Evangelism is the flip-side of the cultural mandate; it is the application of the cultural mandate post-fall and post-resurrection. It is the cultural mandate in a redemptive mode, fit for the age of God’s patience. Jesus, in his wisdom, has committed the task of gathering “full humanity” to his church. He is the first; he appoints twelve to lay the foundation; and the church continues that work until the last brick has been placed and God might dwell with fullness within in and with his image-bearers in the new creation.

Conclusion

In sum, then: the παντα (“everyone”) is not to be comprehended as an undifferentiated multitude of individuals, but the elect, which is to say the fullness of image-bearing humans who together become eschatological image in the New Heavens and New Earth. God’s waiting, then, is a two-fold mercy. He is patient with the church, giving us time to grow in the perfecting virtue of love as we seek his kingdom, and that patience is also salvation for the world as through love the church calls more and more to repentance. He is waiting for the church to gather in the fullness of redeemed humanity, a fullness sufficient for the care-taking of the New Heavens and the New Earth, which was always to be humanity’s true purpose. Within the time of God’s waiting, the church is an agent of righteousness and redemption, and thus “hastens” the day of God by fulfilling its divinely instituted purpose. In short, God is waiting for the church to fulfill its task of gathering in an eschatological fullness of humanity, the chosen of the Lord, so that the new age, the age in which righteousness dwells, might finally begin.

Why did the NT authors seem to prefer the Greek translation of the OT? (Forthcoming Book)

Thu, 02 Oct 2025 00:00:00 +0000

I recently had the honor of contributing the “NT Perspective” to a forthcoming book, The Authority of the Septuagint: Biblical, Historical, and Theological Approaches, edited by my RTS colleagues Greg Lanier and Will Ross (and available here).

The question I was tasked with answering was this: to what extent does the New Testament place unique authority on the Septuagint (or LXX) over and against the Hebrew text, or vice-verse. To answer that, I engage in the “usual” method of quantifying and comparing citations that are clearly from the LXX vs. those that are from the Hebrew text that eventually results in the Masoretic-Text we have today (called in the book the “proto-MT”). There’s nothing new about that methodology, and the results are pretty clearly a “soft” preference for the Septuagint.

But that’s not the whole story. My contribution to the debate is the (obvious, in my opinion) observation that we have to factor in how the NT writers “sourced” their OT citations to begin with. Where were they getting there texts?

Here’s an excerpt (and I’ll post a few more before publication day on Oct. 30th).

How did these ancient NT authors source their OT citations and allusions? A “tally” approach—even a “weighted” tally approach—is flawed because it does not sufficiently account for the various modes by which the textual tradition would be accessed in the ancient world or, relatedly, the values and expectations of those studying and commenting on that tradition_._ It imagines these NT writers (and preachers, since much of the writing we have in the NT was originally delivered orally) as having multiple texts at their disposal, choosing from among them on the basis of defined criteria, like a kind of primitive text-critic. Longenecker, for examples, hypothesizes that if Jesus is familiar with the Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek textual traditions, he may “at times…engaged in textual selection among the various Aramaic, Hebrew, and Greek versions then current, and that some of the Septuagintal features in the text forms attributed to him actually are to be credited to him.”

That hypothesis is carefully stated and seems reasonable, but it needs to be analyzed in light of the textual situation “on the ground,” and also how that situation might differ for Matthew, John, Peter, or Paul. Where would an apostolic author go to access the words of Scripture, to do research into the text, or to verify or compare citations? Is such a process ordinary for teachers and writers, and did their audience expect such precision? These questions are critical for our overall concern. The debate is often conducted as if these authors fit essentially modern standards of textual selection—more primitive, of course, but with similar values and questions. We need to reimagine the “citation workflow” so that it better matches that of 2nd Temple Jewish itinerant preachers, teachers, leaders, writers, and scribes, while also recognizing that certain features of this new Christian movement are unique and therefore establishing new patterns and norms.

And then a bit later:

We need to reclaim the “ordinariness” of the apostolic writing process.

We should begin with the all-too-obvious observation that the NT is entirely in Greek. What is more, it is so unapologetically. It assumes without argument that its readers know that the Hebrew Bible was written in Hebrew (Luke 24:44; Rom. 3:2), that the language of the Jews is Aramaic (Matt. 27:37; John 20:16; Acts 21:40; Phil. 3:5), that therefore Jesus and his disciples spoke and taught Jews in Aramaic (Acts 21:37-40), and that it is perfectly fine and ordinary that all of this is still “the very word of God” in Greek.

This is particularly evident with the words of Jesus. It is almost certain that the bulk of Jesus’ teaching was in Aramaic. As Barr points out, it is surprising, then, that “that the words of Jesus have not been preserved in the language in which they were originally spoken…. The tradition of his teaching was carefully cultivated and was set forth in the various versions of the different Gospels, but it was a tradition in translation.”1 The NT authors aren’t hiding this; there are a few significant spots where we did hear Jesus speaking his native tongue (Mark 5:41, 15:34), and here the authors provide us a translation.2 The most likely explanation for this curious lack of attention to Jesus’ Aramaic is that the eyewitness-generation isn’t really bothered by it; the Greek will do just as well.

Our second observation, then, is that this applies not only to Jesus’ words, but to all of Scripture. The complex eclecticism of citation phenomena has indirectly established this already; the best explanation for the apparent freedom in NT citations of the OT is the belief that these translations adequately convey the authority of the original. Or, to put it bluntly, the NT never cites the proto-MT, by which I mean that the NT never references the Hebrew language. When we find the proto-MT represented in the NT it is always in translation. Even if we could prove that when the NT writers cite the proto-MT they are doing so because it has more authority, even then the NT decides to do so in translation, which actually serves the emphasize our point: the NT writers presuppose that translation adequately transliterates divine authority.

For those at ETS, there will be a review and panel discussion on the book as a whole. Hope to see you there, or comment below. Feedback, as always, is welcome.

1 J. Barr, “Which Language Did Jesus Speak? Some Remarks of a Semitist,” BJRL 53.1 (1970): 9.

2 It’s significant that each of these involve not a small degree of pathos in the moment; they are each very personal. The original is not given because the translation cannot capture the meaning of the original, as if translation is inadequate to communicate the “true sense” of Jesus’ words; rather, the original is given so that the reader is able to see the intimacy and humanity of Jesus’ relationships.

"All Things New," not "All New Things"

Thu, 25 Sep 2025 00:00:00 +0000

If you read 2 Peter 3:7, in which the world burns and the heavens melt, you may think that the end of the world is a kind of cosmic reset, but that’s not actually what’s going on. Like the Flood before it, the end that awaits the present world is not only judgment and destruction, but renewal and restoration. What does Jesus mean when he says he “will make all things new” (Rev. 21:5)? He does not mean that he will make all new things.

The “newness” of the New World is not a reboot or a blank slate. It does not begin in the same way as Genesis 1, with Adam and Eve in the garden, new and naked and ignorant, in a wilderness world wild and ready for cultivation. It does not erase what came before; it is not a re-spawn or reset. I think we understand this from a relational perspective; that is, that there’s no “severance.” We know that we will recognize our former spouse, our loved ones, that we will be reunited with the church catholic. The old stories will be remembered and shared and everything we did will matter.

But what is true of us as human personalities is also true of the world as a whole. “The kings of the earth will bring their glory” into the New City of God (Rev. 21:24). Will there be wonders from the ancient world in the age to come? Will we walk on worn paths? Drive the Blue Ridge Parkway (now without potholes or car-sickness)?

“Righteousness will dwell” then and there (2 Pet. 3:13); but righteousness also abounds here and now. People are kind; the righteous and the unrighteous build beautiful things; we care for our people, beautify our spaces, love our pets, and share our lives with one another. All of this creates little stories, stories that shape the world around us, that leave imprints not only in souls, but in the soil of the earth. Does all that end at the end? That’s not how the Bible encourages us to think about our stories. The end is not a fade-to-black, but a climactic resolution that opens into a new chapter. It’s a Cinderella story—everything really will work out in the end, and there is a story that will follow, as yet untold. Cinderella lives—dwells—happily ever after, which means she gets married, has a quiver of beautiful children, forgives all who wronged her, “watches over the affairs of the household…her children arise and call her blessed; and her husband also, and he praises her” (Prov. 31:27-8).

That’s the kind of newness that the Bible describes; it is the next chapter after the stories of this age are resolved fittingly and in glory. Once every tear has been wiped from our face, the old order will pass away and the new will begin; but we begin where the old ended. New and perfect, but continuing a story that is dramatic and ancient. Jesus still had his scars.

The Bible is Just so... Extra

Tue, 12 Aug 2025 00:00:00 +0000

I’ve finally finished Hurtado’s Destroyer of the Gods, which is an excellent historical argument for the uniqueness of Christianity within the Roman world. Highly recommended. One of the points he makes along the way is that Christian literature is unique. Christianity is not just unique religiously, but also literarily—it’s an unprecedentedly “bookish” religion. His point coordinates well with another book I’m working through, Andrew Judd’s Modern Genre Theory: An Introduction for Biblical Studies. Judd’s aim is for reader’s to better appreciate the way in which genre affects the way we read, and so if you want to understand how the Bible means what it means, you need to understand the kinds of literature represented in the Bible.

The point of all this is, while it’s incredibly important to read the Bible in the ordinary way required by the genre of the book in question, it’s also important to recognize that each work is unique and, in some ways, innovative.

Every book of the New Testament challenges the conventions of their respective genre. They each attempt something unique, even unprecedented, and must therefore bend the literary rules of the time to fit their purpose. (This is true for most great literature, but I’d argued that there’s something different going on with the Bible). A brief tour is in order, but I intend what follows to be more suggestive than definitive, and I’m also refraining from footnotes–if you´re interested in more, the two aforementioned books will get you started!

The Gospels are too Religious to be Biographies

On the one hand, the four Gospels read like ancient biographies. There are, of course, some “oddities” with them, like there is almost nothing about Jesus’ childhood, and the last week of Jesus’ life receives an exceptional amount of attention, and it is not at all normal to write a biography about a poor Jewish carpenter rather than an important senator or ruler, but in general they behave like biographies. Except that these biographers are writing, to quote John, “that you might believe that Jesus is the Christ… And that in believing you might have life in his name” (John 20:31). Sure, they want you to understand–Luke writes “an orderly account” because he wants to set the record straight (Luke 1:1-4)–but they want more than simply intellectual assent. To a man the evangelists want you to worship. And they want you to worship the one they are describing, name Jesus of Nazareth.

It’s an odd tension, perhaps best illustrated by Mark. On the one hand, he is writing “ordinary” history; it’s not mythic or romantic or highly stylized. Mark does not tell you why he is writing, nor does he advertise his main themes and agenda. It’s subtle because, on the surface, Mark’s goal is simple: to tell you the history of Jesus. On the other hand, at the center of Mark’s Gospel is Peter’s confession: “You are the Christ.” It’s an ordinary biography, but it should lead you to bow the knee before the King, God’s true Son.

Acts is too Spiritual to be History

The book of Acts (and we can throw Luke in here too) is also self-consciously “history.” It is ancient historiography, to be sure, but Luke believes it’s important for his readers to know when things happened, where people lived, who said what to whom, etc. Luke-Acts is full of extraneous historical details that demonstrate these books are not meant as stories or myths or novelizations, but as a record of “the things that happened among us” (Luke 1:1-4 again).

However, especially in Acts, the Holy Spirit is a prevalent, even primary, character in the historical account. It is the Spirit that fills the disciples, directs the deacons, sends Paul (and later prevents Paul from going where he wishes), and establishes the church of Christ “to the ends of the earth” (Acts 1:7). It’s almost like this is not an early church history at all, but rather an (historical) account of how the Holy Spirit, using the apostles and prophets chosen by Jesus, established the Apostolic Church.

The Epistles are too Long to be Letters

The letters of the NT are surprisingly anomalous. Letter writing is itself a relatively “new” invention at the time, and the letters that are being written are usually between elites. Most letters are “official,” short (60 words on average), and to the point. This makes sense; literacy is low, official post does not exist, papyrus is expensive, and the physical act of writing is a chore. Literary letters do exist, to be sure. Cicero was a great letter writer, for example. But even Cicero’s letters are short compared to Paul’s. Just the first sentence of Romans is longer than most Roman letters! What is more, an entire industry arises as Paul’s letters are copied and distributed to other churches. This is new, and as we all know, necessity is the mother of invention. The epistles are what they are because they are being fitted to their pastoral purpose. Among other things, they provide this new cross-cultural, trans-local, and world-wide organization with a network, a world-wide-web that knits these churches together around a common cause but without a “capital city” and despotic ruler.

Revelation is too Cohesive to be an Apocalypse

There is only one Apocalypse in the New Testament, but it is not the first of its kind. The careful reader will spot that Revelation pays homage to Daniel and Ezekiel even in its opening verses, and the similarities will persist throughout the work. We also have a lot of apocalyptic literature outside the biblical canon, pride of place going to 1 Enoch. And yet, when compared to other examples of the genre, Revelation is unique in a number of ways, the most obviously of which is that, unlike these others, Revelation is not a compilation of multiple visions and oracles. Revelation is composed in response to one single vision, written down as a cohesive whole, and then distributed as a letter to seven churches. What is more, the composition is organized as a single linear narrative–one story that has a beginning, middle, and end.

This linear and narratival ordering is unique among the apocalypses. Revelation begins with Jesus opening the scroll and ends when he brings the New Jerusalem, and everything in between happens in a pretty straightforward before-and-after sequencing. It’s not a collage, but a story. This is not to say that there are not other ways of describing the structure of Revelation (there are also seven cycles of seven, and chiastic structures are popular), nor does it imply that the events described by Revelation are linear, but from a literary perspective it is significant that Revelation works like an ordinary story. There is a unity and cohesion and simplicity here that contrasts with other apocalypses.

Conclusion

Again, all this is meant to be suggestive rather than final, but what it suggests is that the literature of the New Testament, while conforming to already established genres, is nevertheless everywhere pushing the envelope. It uses the established literary forms creatively and experimentally. The NT writers are not doing this arbitrarily, or simply to be “different.” No, they need to push the conventions because their occasion and purpose demand it. The NT writers shape and twist the conventions of their time in order to better accomplish their purpose: to proclaim the name of Christ to the ends of the earth. This event–the coming of the Christ and the call to establish His Church–is unique and unprecedented, and as such cannot be contained within the established conventions of the day.

Why does it take Jesus two visits to accomplish his work?

Thu, 31 Jul 2025 00:00:00 +0000

On the cross Jesus said “it is finished” (John 19:30). If Jesus completed his work as the Messiah on the cross, then why does he need to come back to the earth? Why does Jesus come twice?

It Takes Two

The idea that the Messiah Jesus would come twice was a surprise to his disciples. The Old Testament is clear that a Messiah would come, and it is also clear what the Messiah would do when he did. God’s servant-king would have mercy on the repentant (Mic. 7:18-20), save the oppressed, poor, and persecuted (Ps. 146:7-8), heal the sick (Isa. 35:5-6), preach and teach the righteous way (Dtr. 18:15-19), make atonement for his people (Isa. 53:4-6), and bring justice to the world (Isa. 11:1-5)—in sum, he would establish a perfect version of God’s kingdom, which would bring blessing to God’s people and against all His enemies (Ps. 2). When the Old Testament discusses theses things, it often looks like it happens all at once, but in fact a complete fulfillment would require two visits.

Photo by Tom Fisk on Pexels.com

The reason it takes two visits is not because Jesus ran out of time in the first, as if it the list was too long for a mere human lifetime. Nor is it because Jesus only planned to accomplish some of the promises in his first visit, with the rest happening in his second. On the contrary, all of God’s promises are accomplished in both visits, but in different ways. During the first visit Jesus fulfills the promises like a farmer sowing seed. When Jesus returns, he will likewise fulfill all of God’s promises, but now as one who comes to harvest the crop (Matt. 9:38, 13:24-30; 1 Cor. 15:23). The NT uses many other analogies to describe the relationship between the two comings, including engagement and marriage (Rev. 21:2; Matt. 25:1-13), inheritance and inheritor (Eph. 1:21-23; Pet. 1:3-5), pregnancy and childbirth (Rom. 8:18-25), and kingdom and coronation (Matt. 6:10), to name a few.

The Two are One

There is therefore a parallel between the two comings of Jesus; they are each components of a single whole. This is contrary to the popular description of the first visit as a time of “mercy” and the second a time of judgment. There is mercy in both visits, and also judgment.

The two visits are two parts of one whole. In both he comes bodily; in the first he is incarnated (John 1:14), and in the second he returns in his glorified body (Luke 24:39). In both he is appointed Lord and King; the first at his ascension and ruling from heaven (Rev. 5:6-10, 12:5), the second at his return to earth and ruling from the New Jerusalem (Rev. 21). In both he pronounces forgiveness; the first as an invitation received by faith (1 John 1:9), the second as a confirmation proclaimed in the final judgment (2 Tim. 4:6-9). In both he sends the Holy Spirit; in this age as a mystical union experienced through faith (John 20:22; Acts 2:14-40), in the next by completing remaking all things, including our bodies, so that the eternal Spirit can dwell there (1 Cor. 15:42-44; Rev. 21:3-5). In both he prosecutes God’s justice; he warned the people while on earth, preaching repentance, and his own crucifixion stands as testimony of the world’s condemnation (Mark 1:15; John 16:7-11), but when he returns he will come as judge and declare a final sentence (Matt. 7:23; Acts 17:29-31). In both he remakes the world; first in and through the church (2 Cor. 5:17), but soon by destroying all evil and reforging all things so that they are pure and perfect (2 Pet. 3:11-13).

This list could be easily extended, but the pattern is clear. Everything that Jesus began with his incarnation, resurrection, and ascension he will complete and perfect at his return, and thus “all the promises of God find their Yes in him” (2 Cor. 1:21).

Did the Apostles Know they Were Writing Scripture?

Fri, 13 Jun 2025 00:00:00 +0000

There is a well known and (for evangelicals) well-loved section of 2 Peter (probably the verse most people are actually familiar with) in which Peter describes Paul’s writing as “scripture” (2 Peter 3:15-16). The problem is that this is very strange. At best, it is rare for NT writers to refer to other portions of the NT as Scripture (1 Tim. 5:18 is debated). This has led many to conclude that this section of 2 Peter is so blatantly anachronistic that it cannot be written by Peter.

We can’t deal with the entire issue here, but we can ask the most fundamental question: is it too early (under the assumption that Peter wrote 2 Peter at the end of his life) in Christian history for contemporary writings to be referred to as “scripture” in the technical sense? It certainly is early, but not too early.

First, the idea of a “canon” of Scripture is not foreign to Jesus and his contemporaries. This was disputed among a previous generation of scholars, but most have moved on to the consensus that the NT apostles and prophets inherit a canon-consciousness from their Jewish forebears, regularly referring to the Hebrew Bible as “the scriptures,” which is correlatively described as an “old covenant” (2 Cor. 3:14; Heb. 8:6).

That way of speaking—old and new—is important. Jesus himself contrasts the covenants in this way, referring to his own death and resurrection as establishing a “new” covenant (Mark 14:23-25) and placing his words above those of Moses (Matt. 5-7; cf. Heb. 3:1-6). (It should be said, though, that Jesus and the apostles do not believe that the “oldness” of the old is a strike against it; quite the opposite, since its antiquity establishes its authenticity; 2 Pet. 1:19). This covenantal contrast is fundamental to apostolic discourse (Gal. 3:19-29; Rom. 5:12-21; Heb. 7:12), and with it comes the somewhat obvious implication that the New Covenant, like the Old, is attended by new (God-spoken and Spirit-wrought) revelation (Acts 2; 1 Cor. 12:1-11; Heb. 1:1-2, 2:1-4; 1 Pet. 1:10-12).

While much of this revelation is verbal and “charismatic,” some of it originates within, or is preserved by, written discourse, just like it was “of old” (Luke 1:1-4; John 20:31; Heb. 2:1-4). Furthermore, as the apostolic age begins to close, we unsurprisingly find an increased emphasis on the “delivered” (that is, finished) quality of New Covenant revelation, and as such believers are called to pay close attention to what has already been received, rather than to expect further information in the near future (1 Cor. 11:23, 15:3; Eph. 2:20; 1 Tim. 1:15 (and the like); Jude 3, 17; Rev. 22:18-19), of which the entire book of 2 Peter is an example. In short, it is no leap of logic, even in the lifetime of the apostles, for early Christians to begin to refer to Christian writings as “scripture,” and this may not be the only such instance (1 Tim. 5:18)

So, the tldr: there is no good reason to think the predication of “scripture” upon Paul’s writing is anachronistic. Or, to more directly answer the question in the headline: the apostles knew that, in many instances, they were authorized vehicles of God’s divine New Covenant revelation, some of which would very likely become the foundation for the church age and thus constitute scripture.

As a side-note, though, it’s worth saying that almost everything about this classic painting is wrong.

A Wizard is Never Late

Wed, 02 Apr 2025 00:00:00 +0000

God is often late. Or, at least, God is often later than we would otherwise expect. Peter puts it this way:

But do not overlook this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. The Lord is not slow to fulfill his promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance. But the day of the Lord will come like a thief, and then the heavens will pass away with a roar, and the heavenly bodies will be burned up and dissolved, and the earth and the works that are done on it will be exposed. (2 Peter 3:8-10)

The delay of Jesus’ return is not an aberration but part of a pattern, and understanding the nature of that pattern sheds light on Peter’s argument, not to mention pastoral ministry and the Christian life. A line from Psalm 90 is at the heart of Peter’s case: “with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day.” As is often the case, the citation of this line of the Psalm is meant as a reflection on the whole psalm, and if you take a look at it you will find a number of themes that Peter draws on throughout 2 Peter 3 as a whole.

In short: Peter’s use of Psalm 90 provides a trajectory for exploring a significant biblical theme. Why does God delay? God does indeed delay, but the delay is always in service of salvation.

How Long o Lord?

Peter answers the particular theological problem under discussion by appealing to a common experience, one which is poignantly expressed in this song for the saints. The fact that God dwells in eternity, and so does not number the days as we do, results in a existential crisis for us humans. What is magnificently tragic for us is but a step in God’s plan (90:5-6), and what passes our notice is of great significance to him (90:8). The result is the cry of lament, “how long?” And the paradoxical answer that wisdom provides: “make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us, and for as many years as we have seen evil” (90:15).

How can we be “glad” despite our days of affliction? For the psalmist, gladness arises only as we consider God’s eternal purpose. It is because glad days will infinitely outnumber the evil ones, because his “glorious power” will be shown to his people, because he will show eternal favor on our fleeting work that we can be glad. It is, in short, because after all the waiting, he saves and redeems in a way that provides abundant answer to the loss.

In the Fullness of Time

Our experiences mirror the story of the world. They are an instantiation of a redemptive-historical archetype. Perhaps the most significant parallel to the situation in 2 Peter comes from Genesis 15:12-16, where Abraham is assured that he his descendants will take possession of the promised land, but not until the “fourth generation, for the iniquity of the Amorites is not yet complete” (12:6). In the meantime “your offspring will be sojourners in a land that is not theirs” and “afterward they shall come out with great possessions” (15:13, 14).

Notice that there are actually two reasons for the delay, the most explicit of which is that the sin of the Amorites has not yet reached its fullness. That seems odd; why would God want sin to grow? Why not stop it here and now? Since the purpose of the occupation of the land was to bring judgment on its inhabitants (Lev. 18:25, Dtr. 20:17), it is likely that God delays in order to allow for the occupants of the land to repent, and only when such repentance becomes impossible is God’s patience exhausted and their destruction certain. This fits the pattern of redemptive history so far, and is later exemplified in the plagues of Egypt. God calls the wicked to repentance with increasing urgency and more severe discipline, but repeated rejection of God’s call results in the escalation of condemnation.

The second reason is less obvious at first, but becomes increasingly apparent as the narrative continues. Abraham’s family must grow into a nation before it can displace nations. Abraham’s present entourage is too small for such an endeavor. God could, of course, raise up children of Abraham from the rocks, or he could topple walls with trumpets, but the task of cleansing the promised land, and holding it, and cultivating it as God requires, is kingdom work. Abraham must first become a people before he can take up his inheritance as a nation. And that takes generations. The stay in Egypt is as much to grow Abraham into a people sufficient for the task of war and occupation and cultivation as it is to give the Amorites time to repent.

It is this same dynamic that is presupposed by 2 Peter 3:9. On the one hand, the delay is a function of God’s desire to see “everyone” repent, since he does not desire the death of the wicked. At the same time, it allows the people of God to grow (in the case of the New Covenant, through covenant children and through evangelism) in number and in maturity until it is sufficient (quantitatively and qualitatively) to be caretakers of the promised land, that is, the world to come. Both aspects of the dynamic further God’s purposes of salvation.

The Son of Man Must Suffer

It is no surprise, then, that we find both the personal and redemptive-historical experience of delay exemplified in the life, death, and ascension of Jesus. Jesus himself delayed. The resurrection of Lazarus is, perhaps, the most dramatic example, for there we see Jesus deliberately lingering (“he stayed two days longer;” John 11:6), and when questioned responds “I am glad that I was not there, so that you may believe.” The resurrection of Lazarus, which brings salvation to many and glory to God, is the answer to the delay. Furthermore, it is not insignificant that Jesus also suffers in this; he also weeps.

Jesus also experienced the delay. Again many examples come to mind, but perhaps the most significant is the three days he spent under the power of death. The number is not arbitrary (it is the smallest number of “completeness”), and the significance is certainly felt by Jesus’ followers. His disciples mourn as if he is really dead, and that’s because he really is dead, not playing dead or “spiritually” dead, as the gnostics would have it. He was dead for three days, and perhaps here we should again recall that, for the Lord, a day can be as a thousand years. Holy Saturday is a day for those who wait; a reminder that at the time there was no hope, but then Easter came.

Jesus’s story is our story, which is the world’s story. Paul puts it this way:

For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God. For the creation was subjected to futility, not willingly, but because of him who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to corruption and obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. (Rom. 8:19-21)

Adam’s fall subjected the creation to futility, but rather than “fix” the problem then and there (by destroying Adam and the world over which he reigned), God waited. He waited until a King could be found he would not only destroy death, but establish the reign of righteousness that was to be Adam’s. That Son-King has now come, and he sits enthroned, and he has planted the seeds of New Creation in the soil of this present world, until it is ready for the harvest. And so, again, the world waits, and so do we.

"The beginning of the Gospel of Jesus Christ" is when, exactly?

Sun, 22 Sep 2024 00:00:00 +0000

My pastor, mentor, and friend Eric Huber once told me this wonderful truth: “beginnings matter, and so do endings.” It’s one of those lines that chimes in my mind from time to time. It resonated recently as I was studying the Gospels.

It’s interesting that each of the gospel narratives opens with a reference to “the beginning.” Each of them uses a “beginning” word in the first sentence of their story. They each highlight the importance of where the gospel story begins, and yet each of the gospels begins in a different place. The story of Jesus fits within a broader story, and the frame of that broader story widens or tightens based on the point each evangelist wants to make. The beginning matters, and it subtly shapes the way the story is told and how the end of that story is interpreted. In fact, as we delve ever deeper into the dawn of time, it becomes apparent that actually, the story of the gospel is just getting started.

It Began with John the Baptist (Mark 1:1)

Mark’s gospel opens with a fragment of a sentence. “The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ. As it is written in Isaiah the prophet…. John appeared” (Mark 1:1-4). We are thrown right into the action, with John baptizing in the wilderness in fulfillment of prophecy: “make straight the paths of the Lord” (Mk. 1:3). In the very next moment (“immediately”) we are witnessing the baptism of Jesus, followed by the temptation, and as soon as 1:14 the public ministry of Jesus has begun.

This is a good place to start. Actually, all the gospels begin their narratives proper with Jesus and John the Baptist. ((The other Gospels have what we can call “prologues,” each of which, as we have said, set the stage of the story of Jesus in a different place, but all of them begin the narrative proper with John the Baptist.)) We don’t get stories of Jesus’ childhood in Nazareth (well, we get one I guess) or his education or his early adulthood (surely he was working hard as a carpenter alongside Joseph prior to the baptism). Though we might expect that material from a biography, the Gospels have a more focused goal, and that means starting at the inauguration of Jesus’ ministry, which is to say his baptism. Mark in particular tells us why he’s beginning with John, the appearance of John represents the end to a long period of waiting. By quoting Isaiah (“the voice of one crying in the wilderness”), Mark places the story of Jesus squarely within Israel’s exile. Although Israel is restored to their land, and though the temple is rebuilt and fully operational, nevertheless the restoration is still partial, and the temple corrupted, and the promised Messiah has not yet come; indeed, even his forerunner tarries.

“John appeared” (1:4). This is the beginning of good news. Centuries of God’s silence are ended. It is beginning; God has come to redeem Israel from it’s exile.

Starting here puts the focus of Jesus’ story on the immediate problem: the exile. The gospel is the fitting conclusion to the story of exile. After all, that is what everyone is waiting for. How will God fulfill his promises to restore Israel, establish the final temple, and through these things make the world right again? The other Gospels do not ignore this aspect of the story; thus, the first sermon Jesus preaches in Luke is about release of Israel’s captivity (Luke 4:18-19). As we will see, though, these other writers utilize a wider lens, and so the focal point is slightly shifted. By contrast, Mark keeps the focus on exile, and at the critical juncture when someone finally professes that Jesus is the Christ, it serves to increase anticipation that he will judge the Roman and the rebel and reestablish Jerusalem as God’s place and the center of the world (Mark 8:27). Of course, things do not fall out as expected (and if you prefer the shorter ending of Mark, the story concludes with the scattering of the last of Jesus’ disciples–a new kind of exile, which in fact brings the exile to its fullest expression). But in the end Jesus’ story is the fitting conclusion to the Israel’s exile. In his resurrection Jesus becomes the First Israelite, and the work of the next 40 days (we know from other Gospels) will begin the work of restoration.

What does this teach us about God’s plan? Mark reminds us that God cares about the immediate problem. God responds to our felt needs. Jesus comes preaching restoration for his people Israel, which they rightly (but reductionistically) read as a response to their exile. And what we learn from Mark is that God does care about that problem and will respond in a fitting manner. In the end that requires seeing God’s response to our prayers through the eyes of faith. It does not often look like God is addressing the problem that we think needs to be addressed, but the call of Mark is the call of faith. “Who do you say that I am” (Mark 8:29)? If, like Peter, you respond “you are the Christ,” then know that, regardless of appearances, he will restore you.

It Began with Abraham (Matthew 1:1)

Matthew also includes a “beginning” word in his first sentence. He opens with a “genealogy.” So it’s a different word, but Matthew is clearly trying to do the same thing that Mark is doing: setting the story of Jesus (which is to say, the public ministry of Jesus) within a broader story. Jesus has a family tree, and that family tree clearly matters for his ministry and work. He may be poor, but he doesn’t come “from nothing,” humanly speaking. He comes, Matthew makes clear multiple times, from Abraham.

This is a good place to start. Mark begins with exile, but if you’re familiar with your Bible you know that the exile is simply where we left the story of Israel before God went silent. Israel’s story didn’t begin with exile, it simply stalled out there. So Adam backs the story up a bit. When did Israel’s story begin? It began with Abraham. Why Abraham? Abraham is God’s solution to the curse he pronounces on humanity in Genesis 11. He scatters the remnants of humanity, confusing their language, resulting in a proliferation of nations, each of which will serve its own ends and its own gods. Abraham, though, is chosen to be God’s own nations, or at least the seed of that nation. What is more, “through you all the nations will be blessed” (Gen. 22:18). Abraham is thus a proto-king, and God will fulfill his promises to Abraham by forming a nation from his heirs, with a King at their head. In some mysterious way this nation will be the source of blessing (salvation?) for the whole world.

“So all the generations from Abraham to David were fourteen generations, and from David to the deportation to Babylon fourteen generations, and from the deportation to Babylon to the Christ fourteen generations” Matt. 1:17). Jesus is the fulfillment of generations of hope. Abraham’s story has been in long anticipation of this moment. History itself has conformed itself to this, the first Son of Abraham born to the 7th set of Seven generations.

Starting here puts the focus on Israel, and also anticipates God’s bigger plans for Israel’s role in history. The Gospel is the fitting conclusion to Israel’s story. We see this play out in the pages that follow. Jesus in his birth and life “fulfills” (a frequent refrain in Matthew) the prophecies made to and about Israel. In fact, so close is Jesus’ own calling to that of Israel that his early life seems to recapitulate Israel’s own story. He’s a new Moses (Herod killing the firstborn sons). His journey into and out of Egypt is a new Exodus (Matt. 2:14, which is also a restoration from exile, Hos. 11:1). And like Solomon he attracts the wisdom of the east (2:1-6). This last point is important, for although Matthew does not spell it out for us, his Gospel anticipates the blessings of Israel overflowing to the Gentiles. It turns out that Israel’s salvation isn’t just about Israel. Through Israel all the nations will be blessed, so God, in saving Israel (by raising Jesus) also saves the world.

What does this teach us about God’s plan? First, theologically, for us Gentiles it is a reminder that we are not God’s replacement for Israel, as if God’s plan didn’t work out for Israel so he decided to start a new one with “the Church.” No, we Gentiles are grafted into Israel. We are saved because Israel was saved by her appointed King Jesus, and it was his will to invite us in too (Matt. 20). Secondly, it reminds us that the story has always been about God’s people. Salvation isn’t some individualistic “I got my ticket into heaven.” It always expresses itself corporately–a world, a nation, a family. God didn’t save you, he saved his people. Or, better put, he saved each of us by incorporating us into his people, by adopting us as a son of Abraham. After all, Abraham was promised many sons, and I am one of them, and so are you, so let’s all praise the Lord.

It Began with Adam (Luke 1:1, 3:23)

Perhaps you see where all of this is going. We are moving backwards in time, and Luke does not disappoint. Like Mark (on whose Gospel he is definitely dependent), Luke wants to tell the story “from the beginning” (Lk. 1:2). It would appear at first that Luke’s beginning is not with John and Jesus, but rather their parents. Luke gives us an extensive prologue to the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry with two birth narratives, first John the Baptist, then Jesus. There’s also a lot of singing. But all of this is prologue. The story of Jesus actually begins far earlier. Like Matthew, Luke also includes a genealogy, but it’s placement is a bit odd. It’s not at the beginning of his gospel, like Matthew; it’s right between the baptism of John and the temptation in the wilderness. In the other gospels these two stories flow right into one another, but Luke breaks them up. Why? If John’s baptism is something like Jesus’ “ordination” to public ministry, then the temptation is the first test of that ministry (and, in Luke, the crucifixion is the last test). The genealogy thus represents the last element of Luke’s prologue and transitions the reader into the first act of Jesus’ mission: the testing of Satan. Luke’s genealogy sets the thematic stage of Jesus’ ministry. Luke begins contextualizes the first act of Jesus’ public ministry with this genealogy. So where does Luke thematically locate us?

“Jesus, when he began his ministry, was about thirty years of age, being the son (as was supposed) of Joseph,…the son of Seth, the son of Adam, the son of God” (Luke 3:23, 38).

Linked from: https://www.plough.com/en/topics/culture/holidays/christmas-readings/mary-consoles-eve

Luke’s Gospel begins with Adam, and this is a good place to start. In some ways it’s the obvious way to start. After all, this is where the problem began. Israel is a solution to the problems that Adam set into motion. It’s not an accident that Genesis 3:15 (“he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel”) is sometimes called the proto-evangelion, the “first gospel.” Here we see the gospel through the widest possible lens: it is the fitting and glorious resolution of the greatest tragedy: the fall of humanity.

Actually, it’s even broader than that, for Adam was created “the son of God.” Luke backs up even further than we expected. His gospel begins before the fall. There is good news in the story of creation. Eve and Adam are created for a purpose. They have a creational identity and destiny. “In the image of God he created them” (Gen 1:27). The first couple was to fill the earth, to cultivate it, to extend the garden, to be the start of a humanity fit for bringing all of creation to glory (Psa. 8; Heb. 2:5-11). Instead, they subjected the creation to futility (Rom. 8:20), but God was not done. He brought forth a new Adam, one not only born under the Torah (and so he’s new Israel), but born of woman (so he’s a new Adam too). It matters that Jesus’ story begins with Mary, because in being born of Mary he is Son of Man.

Starting here broadens the focus to a cosmic scale. The Gospel of Jesus is the fitting conclusion to Adam’s story. Matthew reminds us that God is saving a people for himself. Luke reminds us of the purpose of this people: to tend God’s world until it reaches the fulness of his purposes. Luke is a student of Paul, who tells us precisely this. “For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God” (Rom. 8:19). Jesus is that Adamic Son, and because of his suffering, he is able to lead many sons to share in this grand task (Heb. 2:9-15).

What does this teach us about God? It reminds us of our purpose. We were made to do his work. We were made to be ambassadors of God in creation, and as we obeyed his will and cultivated his garden, we would bless the whole world. It reminds us that this plan has not been finally sundered. “Grace restores nature,” as our theologians say. Our salvation is not plan B but the merciful reconstitution of the original plan, now guaranteed not by our obedience but rather by that of the Second Adam. Furthermore, it reminds us that even now we have a task to do. We are to fill the earth and care for it in anticipation of the creation that is to come. We are to do this by being fruitful and to multiplying. And how do we do that? Well, the normal way still works, but after the fall there is also a second parallel path: “you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth” (Acts 1:8).

It Began with God (John 1:1)

Ah John. When John plays, he plays to win (John 20:3-8). Luke begins the Gospel with creation. We can’t get any earlier than that right? John’s response: “hold my beer.”

This image from the NASA/ESA/CSA James Webb Space Telescope features an H II region in the Large Magellanic Cloud (LMC), a satellite galaxy of our Milky Way.

John begins before the dawn of time.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. John 1:1-5

This is a surprising place to start. First, notice that it definitely is before time, since the “Word” who brings light “to humanity” exists and has communion with God before “any thing made that was made.” Second, notice that it is the very nature of this Word to be “with God;” in fact, the Word “was God.” This is the tightest and most perfect kind of communion. It’s our doctrine of the Trinity. The Word, which is to say the Son, is distinct and separate from the Father, but he is such in a way that is fully consistent with being God. We can put this another way. The Son is in perfect and perpetual communion with the Father before the dawn of time, and John opens his Gospel precisely by putting that communion on display. This observation brings us to our third point: the destiny of humanity, as John sees it, is sharing in this communion.

“In him was life, and the life was the light of men” (John 1:4).

This is a good place to start. The fall has not happened yet. Humanity has just entered the sphere of God’s created work. The life that man is destined to receive is the life of communion with God the Father and God the Son. In the fall man chooses darkness rather than light and life, but Jesus became like us in order to bring us back. Such a reading of John 1 is confirmed later in Jesus’ farewell discourse.

Just as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. The glory that you have given me I have given to them, that they may be one even as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become perfectly one, so that the world may know that you sent me and loved them even as you loved me.

When we examine the deeper magic before the dawn of time we better understand what we were made for, what it means to be image. It means to have perfect creaturely communion with God. It means we become “partakers of the divine nature” (2 Pet. 1:5).

Starting here reminds us that the story all along was about more than just a job we were to do. That job (ruler of creation) is important, but even here there is a higher purpose. Creation is about presence and communion with God. God needs no place in which to dwell, and creation cannot contain him, and yet, in desiring to share his life and light, he chose to create, and the goal of that creation is that we might dwell in His light. God needs no place in which to dwell, but in his grace he has decided to dwell with us, that we might have life and light forever (Rev. 20-21). John thus widens the scope of the Gospel still further; he steps back past creation in order to project the hope of the Gospel forward into the reaches of eternity, into a new age that has not yet dawned (though its glimmers on the horizon even now).

Mark gives us the fitting conclusion of the story of exile. Matthew the fitting conclusion of Israel’s story. Luke gives us the end of all creation. But with John we have the fitting end of God’s story. But because God is God, the word “end” isn’t right is it? God is eternal, his purposes forever. And so when we look at the “end” from this angle, we realize that actually, this is the beginning. The Gospel is the fulfillment of John 1:1-5, which is to say perfect and eternal communion with God, which is to say something brand new and forever glorious. The Gospel has only just begun.

It Begins at the End

In other words, the Gospel of Jesus Christ is beautifully multifaceted. The resurrection of Jesus addresses and resolves the immediate problem; it is the solution to the world as it is right now. And yet, without nullifying the importance of the immediate, it is also the appropriate and perfect conclusion to Israel’s story, and indeed the story of the whole world. More than all this, as if this wasn’t enough, the resurrection is in reality just the beginning; it brings to a close the story of death and begins the story of everlasting life, the joys of which we have not yet been able to imagine. It begins at the end.

Pentecost: A Conversation with Dick Gaffin and Nancy Guthrie

Wed, 24 Jul 2024 00:00:00 +0000

I recently had the great privilege of joining Nancy Guthrie and my mentor and friend Dr. Dick Gaffin for a podcast about Pentecost. Pentecost is a surprisingly under-appreciated moment in the history of redemption. As Nancy points out, we in the protestant church make a big deal about Christmas and Easter, but rarely do we celebrate or even mention Pentecost on the church calendar. Ironically, Pentecost is the only one of those “holidays” mentioned in the NT!

Paul had decided to sail past Ephesus to avoid spending time in the province of Asia, for he was in a hurry to reach Jerusalem, if possible, by the day of Pentecost (Acts 20:16).

So in this interview we discuss Pentecost as a central theme in Acts, while also exploring its redemptive-historical and ecclesiological significance.

I’m posting the “extended edition” of the interview that we published on the the RTS Washington Faculty Podcast, but you can also check out the abridged version at Conversations on the Bible with Nancy Guthrie. You’ll also find a number of other episodes by Nancy on the book of Acts at that link, so I heartily recommend subscribing!

https://soundcloud.com/rtswashington/pentecost-a-discussion-with-dick-gaffin-and-nancy-guthrie

"Born again to a living hope" (1 Peter 1:3-4) [Greek Geek Weekly]

Sat, 29 Jun 2024 00:00:00 +0000

Episode 2 of Greek Geek Weekly is up!

I’ll be iterating and improving as I go. This episode features upgraded resolution, smoother “graphics,” and better sound!

The final translation:

“Blessed is the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the one who, befitting his great mercy, birthed us again to a living hope by Jesus Christ’s resurrection from the dead. We are born into an imperishable, undefiled, and unfading inheritance, which is kept in heaven for all of you.”

1 Peter 1:3-4

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cDVAznxoMJo&t=26s

Announcing a New Experiment: Greek Geek Weekly

Fri, 14 Jun 2024 00:00:00 +0000

Ever wish you could read the Greek New Testament alongside a distinguished professor of NT? Well too bad, they’re not available. But I’ll do it!

The Premise

There are a number of great podcasts and educational channels out there that do an amazing job of explaining Greek. They are well researched and put together, and they do an excellent job of helping you understand how the Greek works. But one thing (imo) that they don’t do is capture the experience and process of reading Greek.

Process is important. I fear that many of us get “stuck” in the original languages because, when we sit down to read it ourselves, it all feels like a bit of a jumble and we don’t know how to unjumble it. Now somebody might come along and tell us what it all means, but how did they arrive at those conclusions? Do they just know Greek better than I do? Should I go back to my vocab cards and grammar notes and do more memorization? No! Maybe they know Greek better than you, but they got to that point by struggling with the Greek, asking the right questions, and knowing where to go to get the answers.

This series will capture that process: the process of coming to understand how the Greek works. I know a lot about Greek, but I also don’t know a lot about Greek; in other words, I’m just like everyone who reads the GNT. I begin with what I know and then I have to puzzle through and research what I don’t. I hit a stumbling block; I get confused; I make mistakes; I double-down on those mistakes; I get corrected; I do research and (hopefully) reach a resolution.

This channel is about that. It’s more about the questions than the answers, the research rather than the result, the way we get there and the puzzles that remain rather than the conclusions and the knowledge that we gained.

The Method

How will I achieve this goal of focusing on the process rather than the results? Easy! I won’t prepare ahead of time. No notes, no prior research, on-the-fly, unplugged and without autotune. Karaoke. but Greek. I’ll come to the text just like everyone else does: with some knowledge about Greek, but not all the knowledge I need to figure it out. And then what? Then I’ll look things up, think it through, make a few mistakes (and hopefully corrections), pose further questions, and document the journey.

In other words, I hope that this will be as much about how to learn as it is about what we learned, and I hope to achieve that goal by actually learning myself.

The Experiment

Truth be told, I’m terrified of doing this. I’ve long wanted to do it, and I think it might be useful, and it synergizes with things I’m already up to, but I’m worried about the time commitment, the possibility of failure, and the constant humiliation of being wrong on the internet. Also I recently butchered my beard, so I won’t even look the part. However, despite those fears, I’m going to commit to doing this for two months and we’ll see how it goes. If it goes well (or if I’m just enjoying myself), then like all things the show will evolve. Maybe I can invite some guests? Should there be some intro music? How do thumbnails work? I hope I can find out, but in the meantime: like, subscribe, and leave a comment, as they say on YouTube

So, without further preamble: the first episode.

https://youtu.be/XaZPEcxWNC4

5 Signs your Thesis is Bad (and how to fix it)

Sat, 11 May 2024 00:00:00 +0000

In honor of “paper-writing season” at universities and seminaries everywhere, I present to you a brief list of Bad Theses. But despair not; if your thesis falls under one of these categories, there’s (usually) an easy fix. For our purposes, I’ll be focusing on classic exegetical and theological examples, but of course you see these in any discipline.

The “Void”

What it Is

The easiest mistake, and probably the hardest one to fix, is to simply not have a thesis. There are actually two ways of doing this, and for this first one, “the Void,” you don’t have a thesis because you don’t have anything you want to write about. This is sometimes called “writer’s block.” You need to write something, but either there’s too much going on in your head or, just as bad, too little.

How to Spot it

This one is not hard to spot. If there’s too little going on in your head, you will find yourself staring at a blank page, tapping your pencil, lost in the library, or staring into the middle distance.

But maybe there’s actually a lot written down on the page? Maybe you have dozens of library books sitting on your desk? You’ve done a ton of research and still have nothing that really grips you? You may have a dozen sentences that you could point to as the “thing your paper is about,” but no one of them actually fits or is exciting to you.

Either way, welcome to “the Void.”

How to Fix It

Whether your in the first camp (too little) or the second (too much), the solution is probably the same. To quote Lucy from A Charlie Brown Christmas: “you need involvement.” You may have some information, but you’re not sure what to say. The solution might be pretty easy in this case: just keep going. But if you get stuck at this stage, maybe it’s because you’re not really interested in anything. Your bored. In that case, start asking yourself (and maybe others) questions. Get yourself un-bored by finding a question or problem that interests you. If your supposed to be writing on a text of Scripture, write out a bunch of questions about that text. If it’s a theological topic, consider questions that people ask you about that topic, or consider a puzzle for which you have not yet found a satisfying answer. Don’t aim at “fulfilling the requirements of the assignment;” rather, get personally invested in something that you find interesting. People often get stuck at this stage because they are writing for the teacher; don’t do that. Write because you want to write, then either “package” your topic so that it fits the assignment, or talk to your teacher and ask if you can do something a bit out of the box (your teacher will likely rather read an interesting paper than a bad paper).

The “Mess”

What it Is

The second type of thesis-less paper is “the Mess.” This occurs when you have a lot to say but you don’t know how it all fits together. Maybe you think it’s all related, but you’re either personally unclear as to how, or unable to convince your reader that it’s all connected. Your that guy in the basement with 1000 pictures on the wall all tied together with strings. “It all connects,” you insist, but the rest of us think you need to cut down on the coffee.

How to Spot it

This can show up in a number of ways. Maybe your paper’s introduction is 8 pages long. Maybe it takes five sentences to get your thesis out, instead of just the industry standard of one (or your “one” sentence has multiple semi-colons, or is really just a list of independent ideas). Another give-away that you have made “a Mess” is your paper is way too long and has way too many moving parts.

How to Fix It

This one is challenging. The first step is to make sure you are clear how it all fits together. Give yourself five minutes. Force yourself to convince someone that your argument is correct in an elevator ride. What’s the main point and what’s your principal evidence? Focus here on proof--that is, take out all the bits that you think are interesting, all the side discussions, all that material that you did a lot of work on, but in the end doesn’t really matter for your point. What are the essentials?

The second step is to turn this 5-minute abstract into a single, interesting, and catchy sentence. You don’t need to summarize your whole argument here; what you need to do is capture the attention of your reader while also being concrete and specific about what your paper will entail. I discovered this principle of communication in the wonderful book Made to Stick., which I highly recommend. One example they use in that book is the “pitch meeting” for the movie Alien. How would you memorably describe Alien to a group of executives such that they intuitively want to green light the project? The producers decided on “Jaws in space.” That’s what you’re going for in a thesis (though be a bit more academic about it). Short, punchy, straightforward, specific, accurate. It’s a challenge, but it’s worth it.

The “Mystery”

What it Is

In this type, you know what your thesis is, but for reasons known only to you you’ve decided to keep it secret from the rest of us. Perhaps you’re waiting for the “grand reveal” at the end of the paper. Or perhaps you’re not very good at signaling “hey look here! It’s my thesis!” But for whatever reason, there is no consensus among your readers as to which sentence in your paper constitutes the main point.

How to Spot it

I suppose the first step is: do you know where your thesis is? Can you point to a sentence in your first several paragraphs (preferably the first, but at least on the first page or so) that simply “says it all?” If not, all you need to do is write that sentence.

Maybe you do know where your thesis is, but no one else does. You’re not sending clear signals to your reader. Your thesis is not where they expect it to be, and it lacks the kind of gravitas and specificity that readers need in a thesis statement.

There’s also papers that are i_ntentionally_ trying to be mysterious. Here there is, in fact, a sentence that is clearly your thesis, but the sentence in question is being a bit withholding. It does not, in fact, “say it all.” You tell us part of what you what you want to say, but you’re withholding the punch until the end. Don’t do that. This isn’t a mystery drama; it’s an academic paper. Spoil your ending. If you want to wow us with your writing talents, do it by writing a clear, cogent, and interesting paper in as few pages as possible.

How to Fix It

The fix here is usually very simple. Follow these two steps.

Step 1: Fill in the blank. “The thesis of my paper is _____________.”
Step 2. Copy and Paste the results of Step 1 into your existing paper, preferably as the last sentence of the first paragraph.

Follow those steps and you will be good to go. Is it high literature? No. Is it banal and obvious? Yes. Your thesis doesn’t need to be exciting; save the excitement for your actual ideas.

Another way to do this is to think of your thesis as an answer to a question. If you think of it that way, your first paragraph pretty much writes itself. Your first or second sentence is simply the question you’re asking. The next 2-3 sentences provide a punchy justification for the significance of your question. Then the last sentence you say “In this paper I will argue that the answer to this question is _________.” Again, it’s not high literature, but like a pick-up-truck, it does the job.

The “Snipe Hunt”

What it is

For those of you who didn’t grow up camping, a “snipe hunt” refers to a classic prank in which your “friends” organize a search in the woods for the ever elusive “snipe.” Be warned: there is no such thing as a snipe, and you’re going to end up left and the laughed at. Turning to academic papers, a “snipe hunt” occurs when your thesis is unprovable. You are searching for something that can’t be found; your paper may contain a lot of useful information, but in the end your claim is either unprovable or internally inconsistent.

How to spot it

Papers in this category are a bit more subtle and hard to distinguish, and sometimes classifying them as a snipe hunt will be a matter of debate. What claim is the paper making? Is that claim provable? Are there logical or factual problems in the nature of the claim itself? Is it logically consistent? What are some methods for establishing that the claim is true? How would you prove it wrong?

This often happens with anachronisms. “In this paper I’m going to establish Paul’s position on the relationship between quantum mechanics and general relativity.” Well, Paul doesn’t have a position on those subjects, so this paper appears to be a waste of time. That’s a comically egregious example, but it can happen in more subtle ways. What comes immediately to mind here are all the discussions about sexuality, identity, race, etc. Those are very important topics, but the writers of the NT would not recognize any of them, at least not in the form under which we are discussing them.

Another type of paper in this category occurs when there is a logical problem internal to the thesis. Universal negatives, for example, cannot be proven, only disproven, so a claim like “no one in the ancient world believed x, y, or z” is ultimately impossible to establish. Similarly, “always” claims are ultimately probabilistic, rather than strictly provable.

How to fix it

In the example of the universal negative, the fix is probably easy. You just need to reword it. “We have no record of an ancient author claiming x, y, or z.” A lot of unprovable claims are the result of over-claiming. Tone it down a bit and you’ll be fine. Anachronism is often more difficult to avoid, but you will be able to make a stronger argument if you do. Instead of discussing “Paul’s view of sexuality” you can discuss “how Paul’s theological anthropology impacts contemporary debates about sexuality.” Really, though, the “fix” here is to be sensitive to the rules of logic and argument while also more historically and culturally aware.

The “Massive Open World”

What it is

A lot of papers have the illusion of a thesis, but in reality you have made no claims and therefore can offer no arguments. For your paper to have a true thesis you must make a claim. You need a goal. There needs to be an end-game. A lot of papers have “topics” but no thesis. “In this paper I’m going to talk about divine sovereignty and human responsibility.” Ok, great. But what are you going to actually say about that topic? What’s your claim? If there’s no claim, your paper is ultimately going to be a ramble. You have no real goal or agenda, and as such, you’re going to end up wandering aimlessly around. With “topic” theses you have so much to do that you end up doing nothing.

How to spot it

There are some frequent keywords that are a dead give-away here. “Exploring” is a popular one. “In this paper we’re going to explore 1 Peter 3:18-22.” Now on the one hand it’s great that I know what your paper is going to talk about, but on the other I don’t know what you’re going to say. It’s likely you don’t either, which is why you end up talking about a lot of random things loosely related to 1 Peter 3. In the end your paper is more commentary than paper, or worse, a series of things you find interesting about 1 Peter. 3:18-22. Other key words and phrases: “this paper is about;” any statement with an interrogative word in it (“how,” “what,” “why”); a list of topics rather than an assertion.

Another great way to spot this type of thesis is to ask yourself “what would falsify this thesis?” How would someone prove you wrong? If there’s no conceivable way to prove you wrong, it’s probably not a sign that your thesis is unassailable; on the contrary, it’s probably a sign that you aren’t making a claim at all.

Let’s test it on this example. “In this paper on Galatians 5 I’m going to show how Paul connects the necessity of obedience to his claim that we are saved by faith.” That’s a great topic, but it’s not a great thesis. I can’t really prove it wrong because you haven’t actually claimed anything. Now if you told me how he does it–for example, “he connects faith in works by arguing that works are the natural fruit of faith,” well then you have made a claim.

How to Fix It

These can be hard papers to fix. You might get lucky. Presumably you have written a conclusion. Do you make a claim in the conclusion? Has your entire paper been an argument that culminates in that conclusive claim? Congratulations! You’ve found your thesis! Copy that sentence to your first paragraph and then write a new conclusion in which you tell your reader why they should care that your thesis is true, or maybe what the next step in research might be, or some other implication of your thesis.

But maybe your not so lucky. It’s amazing how much we can say without really saying anything. This often happens we you jump into writing your paper around a topic rather than a claim. You had a lot of fun doing the research, you explored every nook and cranny, you followed every thread and collected every piece of data. But you forgot to follow the main questline. There’s no easy fix here, but there’s still hope. What got you interested in the topic in the first place? You’ve done the research; you’ve got the evidence; you know the field. Now just figure out what the point of it all is. It’s likely that your paper will need to be reorganized, but not rewritten. You’ve got the gear, you just need to get back on the path.

He Gave Us Fiction

Thu, 14 Mar 2024 00:00:00 +0000

Should Christians read, and be shaped by, fiction? Yes, yes they should. (( The title of this post was inspired by Pratt’s excellent He Gave Us Stories. ))

I came to that conclusion pretty early on in life, admittedly because I just loved fiction, and I was also convinced that Christianity was true, and I was also also convinced (because I loved fiction and because I believed that Christianity was true) that the Christians who told that me fiction was at best a waste of time (and at worst a real evil) were wrong.

At the time (7th grade–I know this because I distinctly remember my orchestra teacher throwing his baton at me because I was reading whatever the latest Redwall book was instead of paying attention to what our conductor was saying to the cellos, but, let’s be honest, I was right to redeem the time because I played viola and when has a conductor ever cared about what the violas were doing?). At the time I remember having a kind of crisis of conscience. If fiction was not true, and Christianity was true, why did I love fiction so much? Why was I reading instead of “working?” Why was stashing a flashlight under my pillow so I could stay up later than my parentally prescribed bedtime to engrossed in The Return of the King? Was that all just a waste of time? I believe it’s absolutely not a waste of time.

But I’ll confess at the outset that I’m biased. In fact, I’m persuaded that I would not have come to be a follower of Jesus except through “fiction.” However, let me say to those who regard propositional theology as the apex of human thought, to those who say that Scripture alone is the final authority to which all truth should conform, to those who think that all knowledge is ultimately God’s knowledge: yes and amen. I agree. And yet, fiction is good and formative and a necessary part of a well-balanced diet.

But before we move on to the argument proper, let’s make the question harder. Whether or not Christians can read fiction is just too easy: absolutely they can. There’s no biblical prohibition; restful entertainment is consistent with the command to “rest;” there are obviously “fictional” stories in Scripture itself (we’ll get to that below). That Christians can read fiction, and benefit from it, is an easy argument (though some have told me otherwise), so I won’t focus on that here. I want to focus on a harder problem, and if I prove the harder problem I will prove the “easy” problem.

Here is the harder question; or, rather, here are the harder questions, for they are all connected. Must Christians read fiction? Should (non-true) story shape the Christian’s worldview? Can poetic language be normative? Is imagination necessary for knowing? Are metaphors true? Yes, yes, yes, and yes.

Fiction is not not true

The first thing we should talk about is genre. Readers of this blog will have seen this coming. Genre is a critical component of all interpretation. The reason we need to talk about genre is because we evaluate the truthfulness of a statement relative to the genre. If someone affirms that a particular statement “is true,” what do they mean? It depends on the context. What “kind” of conversation are we having when someone says “this is true?

The proposition “2+2=4” is true, and the thrust of that claim is obvious. The statement “all men are mortal” is also true, but it doesn’t seem as self-evident as the mathematical claim. “The day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night” (1 Thess. 5:2) is also true, but it seems to be true in a different way than simple syllogisms are true. How do we explain these differences? As we shift from different types of communication, the “rules” of what counts as “true” shift.

Now this is not to say that all truth is relative. Truth is ultimately grounded in, and defined by, the objective standard of, to put it succinctly, “what God thinks.” However, because we are not God, our ability to describe and appropriate truth is always limited. It is informed by, and in fact constrained by, a frame of reference. We cannot see, say, hear, or know “all things at once.” What we affirm as true is always true only from a certain frame of reference, within a certain cultural framework, circumscribed by a set of understood norms. We are limited by our perspective, by our knowledge, by our experience and culture and context. This is not a bad thing; it is a human thing. Limits are a function of our creatureliness.

And these limits apply also to our communication. At any point in time, in any given conversation, we are “limited” by the kind of conversation that we are having. If I’m talking about “the facts” and statistics then the standards of truth are very narrow and specific. If I’m talking about “how I feel,” then truth is broader and more subjective. If I’m proving a thesis, then the conversation should comply with the rules of logic and evidence. If, by contrast, I’m trying to provoke a response, then logic and evidence are only a part of the equation; rhetoric and artistry are equally important.

One of the “modes” by which we humans express truth is through story. I can communicate truth propositionally, and often that is the most efficient conduit for truth. Thus “love your neighbor as yourself” is true. “Thou shall not steal” and “thou shall not murder” are also true. It is also true that the kings of Israel are called to submit themselves to God’s will as they live their lives, rule the nation, and adjudicate between the good and the wicked. All of this is very propositional, but I can communicate these truths through another mode of discourse. In 2 Samuel 12 the prophet tells David these truths, but he uses fiction to do so. In this fictional story, an imaginary rich man abuses an imaginary poor man in a completely imaginary way. King David, accepting this imaginary story as a true story (which seems to be Nathan’s intent), pronounces an imaginary judgement (though David does not realize that it is imaginary) on an imaginary case. But then Samuel uses David’s words against him; David’s judgement does not “stick” to the imaginary characters in Nathan’s story, but to the very real evil of David’s own abusive actions.

The fictional mode of Nathan’s discourse does not diminish the truthfulness of his story. In fact, the fictional device imparts truth in a far more evocative and impactful way than merely propositional discourse would have. The fiction brings David into the case, allows him to see something that he would otherwise be blind to, and as a result forms and changes his thinking.

Story and Worldview

Stories have a particular power in this regard. We are made storied creatures. We are bound by a story; we are anchored in a narrative. This world in which we live and move and have our being is God’s world, and God has given this world a narrative structure. It’s all one big story. We have to understand the word of God within that story. When God commands his people, he anchors those commands to a story: “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt.”

Now of course there are true stories and there are fictional stories. That is an important distinction, and we’ll need to return to it, but it does not change the fact that we were made to understand through story. The point I am making is epistemological. We know things only in so far as we appropriate them within the story. Everything is meaningful precisely because it is created by God as part of his grand design to bring glory to his name by being good to his creatures. That’s the metanarrative, and without that metanarrative we cannot know what we know.

All of this is to say that when we start talking about “worldview” (whatever we mean by that, and it’s more complicated than we might think) we are bound to talk about story. A worldview is not reducible to a set of propositions. We can articulate it using propositions, and it certainly requires propositional thinking, but it’s more than that. A Christian worldview is not merely philosophical; it is eschatological. It tells a story about the world and it understands the basic constitutive elements of the world in terms of that story.

Knowledge and the Imagination

We will come back to fiction, I promise, but I need to put forward one more building block: the imagination. As we’ve already said, as creatures we are inherently limited, and that means I only have access to part of the story. How do we know things that we have not experienced? How does reading about WWII impart knowledge to me, since I was not there? I’ve never flown a plane, but I can picture it in my head. What’s doing that? The imagination is doing that. We sometimes talk about the imagination as if its primary function was found in creating “untruths.” Someone with a good imagination is usually someone we regard as adept at concocting stories out of thing air. But that’s not the primary role of the imagination. The imagination is a key component to knowing. The imagination takes the basic building blocks of your experience and shapes them around the story. I don’t need to have experienced shepherding sheep to understand Jesus’ metaphor “they are sheep without a shepherd.” What I do need to understand that is someone to tell me a story about what that’s like. I need the story so that my imagination can shape the “raw data” (the sheep, the human being tending the sheep, the wolves from which the sheep must be protected, etc.) into something that’s actually meaningful. We’re doing this all the time, but it’s so intuitive that we just don’t notice what’s going on.

Formative Fiction

This is where fiction comes in. True story is obviously able to shape the imagination, but what about fiction? Fiction is not just the result of the imagination, it’s also food for the imagination. (And remember, the imagination is constantly at work helping us to know things, so it needs to be fed)!

Fiction feeds and informs the imagination in a number of different ways. I’ll name just a few (and treat these as half-baked ideas rather than a fully worked out taxonomy). The first we’ve already met. Fiction has a peculiar power to reorder our frame of reference. Nathan’s story, though not true, engages David’s imagination, and in so doing and it “reforms” it, bringing the concepts of justice and fairness and proper judgment and his role as long back into proper order. Sometimes we have to step outside what is real to understand what is real. The ring in Lord of the Rings helped me in that way. By picturing sin and temptation as a physical object, an imaginary ring, Tolkien is able to say things about the power of greed and desire that are less easy to see when we are limited to mere propositions.

Fiction also helps us think beyond the boundaries of the limitations of our experience. Science fiction, which I know is not everyone’s cup of tea, is particularly good at this. By inventing an android with all the cognitive functions of a human being, and then having that android interact with “real” humans, Gene Roddenberry encourages us to think philosophically about the nature of personhood and the ethical obligations that we humans might have to the things we have made. That may be important as AI continues to march on, and it’s already important as scientists continue to meddle with the basic building blocks of life.

Finally, fiction reinforces the storied nature of reality itself. We see such a small part of the story, but the grand story is often “instantiated” in little stories. That’s why stories tend to have similar structures and movement, because they are patterned after the larger story. Appreciating that, attuning myself and my imagination to the way story works, helps me better understand my story, and it also helps me better communicate that story to others.

Is the NT Reliable? Part 5: The "Hard" Problem

Fri, 08 Mar 2024 00:00:00 +0000

What follows is a continuation of a talk I gave at RTS Washington’s Sed Contra series. The series of is intended to be a casual space for conversation about difficult or controversial topics. Since I decided to write up my presentation “conference style,” I thought I’d chop it up into bits and post it on the blog. Here’s the final installment (and links for the other parts should appear above).

And now, the “Hard” Problem

But now, back to that distinction I made between the “hard” and the “easy” problem. I made it easy on myself, and I hope that I have sufficiently established the easy problem. And yet, there was a little phrase that might be bothering you. I said, in that initial post, that the NT must be reliable “in a manner appropriate to the relationship we sustain to it.” What kind of relationship do the NT writers want us to have with respect to their testimony? It’s one thing to say “my barber is reliable,” but it seems like the NT writers want more from me than what my barber wants. John says he is writing “that we may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name” (John 20:31). Luke likewise claims that his testimony should provide “certainty” to Theophilus. Paul: “take your stand” on this Gospel; “hold firmly” to it (1 Cor 15:1-2). Hebrews: “because we have confidence” in our confession we may “approach with full assurance” the throne of God and “hold unswervingly to the hope we possess” (Heb. 10:19-23). And what does Jesus himself say? “For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it” (Matt. 16:25).

That’s admittedly a high bar. The biblical writers are not asking me to trust them with my haircut or stock portfolio (and I would honestly not recommend trusting St. Paul with your stock portfolio); they want me to entrust my whole life to this person, Jesus. And so we should talk about the Hard Problem: inerrancy. It would be nice, before I entrust my life to Jesus, to be confident that the NT is not just generally reliable, but “Specially” reliable, that it is inerrant and infallible. Do I need it to be specially reliable? No, perhaps not. Many have trusted in Jesus and yet believe that the Bible contains mistakes. And yet, if Jesus is asking for all of me, my whole self, to entrust “my body and soul, both in life and in death” to a 1st century Judean from Nazareth, who died, as did so many others, as a criminal on a Roman cross, then it must meet a high standard.

The Resurrection, Yet Again

Here’s my argument: if the Bible meets the standards of general reliability, it necessarily meets the standards of special reliability. Or, to put it another way, if the resurrection is true then the NT is inspired by God and authorized by Jesus himself and should be the final authority for all who follow him.

Ok, how do we get there exactly?

First, my argument from this point on is entirely dependent on the truthfulness of the resurrection. Other arguments can and have been made, but mine is dependent on what I hope is the “easy” problem of reliability. If the best explanation of the testimony about the resurrection of Jesus is that Jesus was in fact raised, then the claims and deeds of Jesus have to be reckoned with. I make no apology here for my dependence on the resurrection for my argument. If Jesus was not raised then the Bible is, ultimately, not true and my faith is in vain. That’s not a new claim. Paul makes it in 1 Corinthians 15. If Jesus was not raised “our faith is in vain” and indeed “we are worse off than other humans.”

But if Jesus has been raised, and if something like this has never happened before or since, then I have good evidence that his claims about himself are true. What are those claims? What did he say, and what did he do? Well, lots of things, but I have in mind here a simple observation: he trained and appointed disciples.

The Acts of Jesus through His Apostles

During his life he cultivated a community of followers, men and women who called him “Rabbi” and “Lord” and “Master.” These are all titles he received and promoted, and prior to his death he told these “you will be my witnesses” to the ends of the Earth (Acts 1:7). He said to Peter “on this rock I will build my church” (Matt. 16:18); to Paul: “I will show him what he must suffer for my name” (Acts 9:16). To all his disciples: “I will send you the Holy Spirit,” who will empower you to understand the truth, to testify to the Christ, to shepherd His flock, to be the foundational pillars of a worldwide and generation-spanning church (John 14-17). Neither the church nor the NT Scriptures were an afterthought for Jesus. He is the cornerstone of both, and he accomplishes both by appointing a unique band, the apostles, to testify.

This is how Paul, “least” of these apostles, says it in 1 Cor. 15.

For I delivered to you as of first importance what I also received: that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve. Then he appeared to more than five hundred brothers at one time, most of whom are still alive, though some have fallen asleep. Then he appeared to James, then to all the apostles. Last of all, as to one untimely born, he appeared also to me.

1 Corinthians 15:3-8

Notice how he defines the Gospel. He does not end with the work of Jesus with his death and resurrection. That would be a reasonable place to stop the sentence–the Gospel is what Jesus did, and then the events of 15:5 would be the things that the church does. But Paul’s definition of the Gospel keeps going. Jesus continues to work by appearing to and appointing apostles. These apostles were eyewitness. They had unique authority. They are empowered to exercise that authority by the Holy Spirit. And at least part of what that authority entails is testimony.

The NT is that testimony. It is the apostolic deposit, the word-work of the eyewitnesses, the tradition that Paul and Peter and John entrusted to the church, the confession upon which the church is to stand and hold fast.

The NT and Apostolic Authority

A longer argument is of courses needed, but this is the core: the resurrection demonstrates the divine authorization of the Son–that the God of creation has appointed a man for rule and judgement (Acts 17:31)–and the Son in turn has appointed a hand-trained body of eye-witnesses, the apostles, to be the ambassadorial center of his people. It is their role to proclaim his Kingship, gather and disciple his citizenry, and lay the foundation stones of his Temple (Eph. 2:20). They did not do it alone, but they were uniquely appointed to be the head of this growing community. ((This is, in sum, the argument that Dick Gaffin makes in his excellent Perspectives on Pentecost. And though it’s a challenging read, the fullest defense can be found in Ridderbos’s Redemptive History and the NT Scriptures.))

As the written form of this Apostolic deposit, the NT carries with it Apostolic authority, which is to say the very authority of Jesus. We see this idea in the pages of the New Testament itself. Paul’s pastorals, for example, repeatedly encourage us to “hold fast” to the testimony that was “delivered and received” (1 Tim. 3:16). Likewise, the author of Hebrews, a second-generation Christian, gives unique place to the proclamation of the eyewitnesses, confirmed as it was by the Holy Spirit (Heb. 2:1-4), and describes their testimony as superior to the speech of God long ago (Heb. 1:1).

Pride of place, though, goes to 2 Peter 3:2, and here we need the Greek:

μνησθῆναι τῶν προειρημένων ῥημάτων ὑπὸ τῶν ἁγίων προφητῶν καὶ τῆς τῶν ἀποστόλων ὑμῶν ἐντολῆς τοῦ κυρίου καὶ σωτῆρος,

2 Peter 3:2

The whole book of 2 Peter is a call to “remember.” As Peter approaches his death (1:12-15), and as the eschatological enemies prophesied from long ago descend upon the (soon to be apostleless) church (2:1), Peter tells his sheep: remember (1:12; 3:1). Remember what you heard. And what did they hear? Like the author of Hebrews, 2 Peter divides the divine speech into two parts.

The first part is “the words foretold by the Holy Prophets” (τῶν προειρημένων ῥημάτων ὑπὸ τῶν ἁγίων προφητῶν), which along with 2 Peter 1:19-21 is likely the OT, a thematized summary of which is provided in 2 Peter 2. The second part is of more interest to us. Peter’s audience is also to remember, and here I’m going to leave my translation a bit rough, “the-from-your-apostles-commandments-from-the-Lord” (τῆς τῶν ἀποστόλων ὑμῶν ἐντολῆς τοῦ κυρίου). The reason for leaving it rough like this is because the noun phrase is difficult to translate. English is more word-order dependent than Greek, and so it is hard to capture the double-genitive here. The “commandment” (ἐντολή) that the church is to remember has two origin points. It is simultaneously a commandment that comes from the Apostles and a commandment that comes from the Lord Jesus. Or, in view of the point that we are making, it is a commandment that comes from Jesus precisely because it comes from His Apostles. The Apostolic word is the very words of Jesus, and the words of Jesus are passed down through the Apostolic word.

Conclusion

So, in sum: if the NT is generally reliable, then it is logical to receive it as specially reliable. The NT is not like other books or historical testimony in this regard. This kind of argument will not work for Thucydides or Eusebius or The National Geographic. Those resources are generally reliable, but we do not accept them as inspired, divinely authorized, normative, final. What makes the NT different? What makes the NT different is that the resurrection of Jesus is at its core, and the resurrection of Jesus is a cosmic enthronement. Jesus is now King and ruler of this world. What makes the NT different is that this King has appointed emissaries and has empowered and authorized them to speak in his name, such that their words are the very words of the King. This, then, is what the NT documents claim to be: the repository of this apostolic tradition and, as such, the very words of Jesus.

In short: if Jesus has been raised, then the NT is his word, and his word is worthy of our trust.

Is the NT Reliable? Part 4: Historiography

Thu, 07 Mar 2024 00:00:00 +0000

What follows is a continuation of a talk I gave at RTS Washington’s Sed Contra series. The series of is intended to be a casual space for conversation about difficult or controversial topics. Since I decided to write up my presentation “conference style,” I thought I’d chop it up into bits and post it on the blog. Here’s part 4 (and links for the other parts should appear above).

Introduction

These reflections bring us, then, to our last issue under the “general” reliability of the NT, its historical reliability. As with the previous topics, there are too many particular issues to consider here to handle one by one. Critics are found of mentioning the two temple cleansings, or the problems with the speeches in Acts, or seeming contradictions when it comes to dates or wording or causes. There are answers to these dilemmas, but it bears repeating that we don’t need to answer these questions in order to establish the general reliability of NT historiography.

So here we make our case as a whole, and our case as a whole is fairly straightforward. What needs to be true for the NT to be historically reliable? We can answer this question by reference to our previous reflections on the common creed of NT religion. The faith of Christianity depends on the matters summarily described in the Apostle’s Creed. We need to establish that a man named Jesus lived, claimed to be anointed by God as his divine Son for the salvation of Israel, was crucified under Pontius Pilate, that he died and was buried, and was risen from the dead.

We need not spend much time on a number of these claims. That Jesus of Nazareth lived is not under serious dispute. That he claimed to be a Jewish Messiah is likewise not under dispute. That he died is obvious, and that he died by crucifixion under Pontius Pilate is likewise well documented inside and outside the NT. The matters of dispute are (1) that he claimed to be God’s (divine) son and (2) that he was raised from the dead. Let’s take each of these in turn.

The Claim to be God

First, then, that he claimed to be one with the Father—not just Messiah (no one seriously disputes that any more), but preexistent Son. We could take the NT as sufficient witness that he claimed such of himself. After all, John certainly believes this to be the case, putting frequently into the mouth of Jesus explicit teaching that he and the Father are one (John 14-17). Likewise, Paul affirms the eternal deity of Jesus (Phil. 2:5-11), and as we will see in a moment he likely believed that Jesus made such a claim even before he believed it himself. We can easily make the argument from Hebrews as well (1:1-5), alongside 2 Peter (1:15ff) and Jude (1:5). What is more, while an older generation of scholarship argued that the idea of preexistent sonship was lacking in earlier NT works, such as Matthew and Mark, the evidence presented by contemporary scholars such as Gathercole and Bauckham sufficiently discredits that hypothesis. And, well, that’s the entire NT accounted for, with the one exception of James. If the NT is admissible as evidence, then we have a plurality of witnesses claiming that Jesus claimed to be the preexistent Son of God.

But let us reject all of this testimony, some of which is eyewitness testimony, and ask if such a claim—the claim that Jesus claimed to be God—is warranted and believable apart from NT evidence. The crucifixion, which again is not a matter of dispute, is itself sufficient evidence. Let us ask this question: why did the Judean leadership, the High Priests and governors, feel it necessary to crucify this man Jesus? The Romans, of course, have good reason to crucify him if he’s at the head of a rebellion and claiming to be a king, but what of the Judeans? On what grounds? Jesus’ claim to be Messiah is not, in and of itself, sufficient; such a claim was not uncommon and is easily outsourced to Roman justice. There’s something unique about Jesus, and it seems to be his enormous and unignorable popularity and infamy. One does not obtain this level of notoriety–the kind of renown that requires a response–as an ordinary wisdom teacher. It’s not the call to love that engenders this level of jealousy, nor the call to obedience or sacrifice; it’s his claims that he is “greater than Moses” (Matt. 5-7), that he is greater than the temple, that “before Abraham was I am” (John 9), that he has the authority to forgive sins and pronounce judgement and speak for God (Mark 2). We cannot escape these claims in the teaching of the Jesus, even on the most minimalist reading of the Gospel witness. These claims are embedded in everything he says and does, and it is precisely these claims that make him, as N. T. Wright puts it, “crucifiable” by both Judean and Gentile alike. To the Romans he was just a poor fool, not worthy of a fair trial; to the Sanhedrin he was a blasphemer, worthy only of death.

The Resurrection

Which brings us to the elephant in the room, the most unbelievable thing: the resurrection. Surely this is mythological fancy? Surely this is the belief of primitive and superstitious men, desperate to believe anything after the death of their Rabbi and mentor?

Yet that does not fit the evidence. The Gospels do not read like mythology. Luke (and the other Gospel writers), as Bauckham has pointed out, is particularly careful to includes sources in his documentary. He dates events. He provides names of eyewitnesses. He adds in unnecessary details like travel itineraries and historical markers and background information. He includes, to put it in a word, material that is falsifiable and, strictly speaking, unnecessary. These things can be proven not true. He does not place the stories about Jesus or his resurrection into a mythological realm (as mythology does); he does not put it behind a veil that only the eyes of faith are able to see (as the Gnostic gospels do); he does not treat the miracles of Jesus or his resurrection from the dead as something normal and ordinary and magical. On the contrary, it is both real and weird.

Neither the Judeans nor the Greeks are dumb. They do not believe that men rise from the grave. They are skeptical about the miraculous, just like us. They trust their eyes and ears, just like us. They are inquisitive and thoughtful and calculated and reasonable, just like (many of) us. And yet hundreds, then thousands, then tens of thousands believed. Why? One very reasonable explanation: because they saw Jesus after he died. Because when he was raised Jesus did not appear privately to one individual, but publicly before crowds of his former followers. Because after he was raised many remembered his miracles and his claims, and now, given they resurrection, were forced to believe that what he claimed about himself must have been true (which seems to be Paul’s story). Because there was a great crowd of witnesses that both the faithful and the skeptic could interrogate about what really happened, and not a few of them found their testimony compelling. The most reasonable explanation for why so many people believed that the resurrection happened is that the resurrection happened.

A Unique Challenge

It’s worth noting before concluding that this need of orthodox Christianity to establish the general truthfulness of the Biblical testimony is a unique challenge for our religion. Other religions do not have this problem. Other religions don’t need to spend much time arguing about historical claims because other religions don’t stand or fall on this or that event in space and time. Other religions are centered on ideas, or on experiences, or the present-tense of divine intervention. For us, however, the words of Paul appropriately describe the stakes.

If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins. Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished. If in Christ we have hope in this life only, we are of all people most to be pitied.

1 Cor. 15:17-19

For Christians, theology and history are inextricably linked. Our theology and our way of life is described precisely in terms of what happened. What is the solution to human suffering? That God came down to share in that suffering and obtain the victory over it. Where do I go to deal with my guilt and shame? To the resurrection of Jesus, where our Lord was justified, vindicated, and glorified. How should I live my life? What is the path of human flourishing? To take up your cross, with an assured hope of glory, in imitation of the life of Jesus. Who Jesus was, what he did, how he died, and that he was raised are the core of our faith; “if the cells’ dissolution did not reverse, the molecules reknit, the amino acids rekindle, the Church will fall” (John Updike). Or, back to Paul: “But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep” (1 Cor. 15:20).

Conclusion, and a Reading Strategy

In sum, if we are to judge the NT by the ordinary standards of reliability, we must conclude that it meets them. That is not to say you can’t come up with another explanation of what really happened; that is perfectly within your rights. But it does mean that something happened, and the something that happened was momentous enough to turn the whole world upside down, and it was verifiable enough that ordinary people were compelled to believe it. The NT presents a compelling explanation of what happened and, what is more, bears all the marks of reliable testimony.

So, we are now at a turning point in our argument. We are about to turn to the “hard” problem, and don’t worry, it’s much shorter. But before we do, I would like to suggest to the skeptic a reading strategy. If there is compelling evidence that we should receive the NT documents as generally reliable, then I would suggest reading them “as if” they were true. This is what we call “charitable” reading, so I’m not asking for special treatment here. We should read all claims charitably, which is best done when we immerse ourself in the reading, looking at our world through the lens it presents to us, trying to think the thoughts of its author, all before we then subject the claim to scrutiny.

Is the NT Reliable? Part 3: Theology

Wed, 06 Mar 2024 00:00:00 +0000

What follows is a continuation of a talk I gave at RTS Washington’s Sed Contra series. The series of is intended to be a casual space for conversation about difficult or controversial topics. Since I decided to write up my presentation “conference style,” I thought I’d chop it up into bits and post it on the blog. Here’s part 3 (and links for the other parts should appear above).

Is the theology coherent?

So much, then for the text of the NT. What about its theology? Here, again, there are two objections. The first objection can be simply put: the NT doesn’t have a theology. This would be a very serious problem since even the soft-inerrantist would argue that the NT can be relied upon in theological matters. Sure, it gets the evolution of Adam wrong; sure, it’s outdated with respect to the authorship of the Torah; but its theological core can be trusted. But what if there is no theological core?

This too is an old claim, and one that seems to have gotten “stuck” in the critical mindset even though it’s been thoroughly debunked. It goes back to F. C. Baur and the idea that there were various schools of Christianity competing with one another. In the NT we have, as Dunn puts it, not Christianity but rather Christianities. Now, depending on what one means by that statement, it’s perfectly true. I daresay it’s even consistent with what the NT says about itself! Jesus and Paul and Peter and James and John all have different audiences, different pastoral concerns, different theological emphases, different personalities and upbringings, different contexts and challenges. The Bible not only acknowledges this, but celebrates it. It even brings it into the foreground of its central message, since Jesus tells his disciples “you will be my witnesses to the ends of the earth,” a promise that all of them see fulfilled, at least partially, in the conversion of the Gentiles (Acts 1:7). As Paul puts it, Jesus “has made the two groups one and has destroyed the barrier…to create one new humanity out of the two” (Eph. 2:14-16). Indeed, he rebukes Peter, reminding him that he is “a Judean who lives like a Gentile” (Gal. 2:14). For the first time in human history we have a religion that is trans-geographical, trans-national, trans-cultural and hyper global, and yet one in which cultural heritage is not repudiated or absorbed, but saved and glorified. Would we not expect a diversity of expression in such a religion? Vos concludes as much:

It is urged that the discovery of so considerable an amount of variableness and differentiation in the Bible must be fatal to the belief in its absoluteness and infallibleness. If Paul has one point of view and Peter another, then each can be at best only approximately correct. This would actually follow, if the truth did not carry in itself a multiformity of aspects. But infallibleness is not inseparable from dull uniformity. The truth is inherently rich and complex, because God is so Himself.

Vos, Biblical Theology, 14

Truth is complex, patoring is hard, and yet the church is able to unite around its common confession. That, at least, is the testimony of Acts, which is itself anticipated by Jesus’ own teaching. In Acts 15 we have the church speaking with one voice—Baur and others would find here reason to believe that Acts is therefore not historically reliable, which we will get to momentarily, but suffice it to say that we have reason to believe Paul and James and Peter all agree with Luke’s account—the church speaks as one: we are Judean and Greek, we are one body, we will affirm one another’s expression of our common faith in Jesus the Christ. Amidst the diversity of Christian expression–some Christians live like Judeans and are zealous for the law of Moses (Acts 21), and some live like Gentiles (and yet have forsaken the ways of their forefathers, 1 Pet. 1:18)–amidst the diversity there is, nevertheless, a common core: Christ is Lord.

This is the sum and head of Christian theology, not only for Paul and Peter and James, but also for Jesus himself: to approach God in work and worship through the mediation of His risen Son, Jesus of Nazareth. All of the NT teaches this, and it is an incredible and highly specific claim. At its core it is the claim that God has visited his people through his divine and pre-existent Son, now made like us in every respect. He was subjected to the cross for our sins and was raised for our salvation. This Son, who is one with the Father from the beginning, is now Lord of heaven and earth, and has poured out His Spirit upon all who call upon his name, building up the people of God until he returns. This is, in short, the “Apostles Creed,” and what NT book does not teach this? Is this not “Christianity?” Is this not One Faith? Of course there is diversity of expression, both in language and in practice, but that should not distract us from the fact that the NT writers saw themselves as together serving, in complimentary fashion, the One that they called “Lord,” Jesus the Christ.

(That these essential beliefs are shared by all NT writers is now beyond dispute, though some will still appeal to outdated scholarship on the Gospels.)

Is the NT ethical?

Another claim, and this too is an old one, asserts that the NT is not ethically up to our modern standards. There is a moral and social bankruptcy, it is claimed, at the core of the NT. This claim was popularized by “new atheists” like Richard Dawkins, who pointed to the patriarchalism of the NT writings, as well as their seeming endorsement of slavery (1 Peter 2:18ff). Others have argued that the crucifixion of Jesus, an event that the NT itself claims is in accordance with “God’s plan,” amounts to divine child abuse; indeed, the idea of a retributive God, who exacts an eye for an eye in the exercise of his justice, is primitive and contrary to the law of love. More recently, and here it’s worth noting that Dawkins finds himself now in the gallows he constructed for the Bible, LGBTQ+ supporters have argued that the Bible’s view of sexuality and gender is outdated and oppressive.

Like other objections to Scripture that we have examined, these are serious claims and worth point-by-point rebuttal. It is worth making the case, and the case has, in fact, been made time and time again, that the Bible is not sexist or racist and does not endorse slavery (but is, rather, the anthropological and historical foundation for the concept of universal human rights and dignity). It is worth reminding the world that it actually wants justice, and that retributive justice is really the only moral kind of justice. It’s worth reminding Christians that they often have been unloving and uncharitable and even oppressive to image-bearers in the LGBTQ+ community, while also standing pointing out the moral and anthropological bankruptcy of unbiblical views of the self and sexuality. All that is worth doing, but I’m not the one to do it.

My aim, as already stated, is general reliability. While I believe the Bible is more than a generally reasonable guide for human thinking about ethics and morality, that’s all I’m seeking to prove here. And in that respect all we need to point out is that all these criticisms of Biblical morality assume Biblical standards. Multiple historians and philosophers and ethicists and theologians, from Christian and non-Christian backgrounds, have made this point. The morality of the modern world, and especially the west, is historically and philosophically grounded in Christianity. Love as an ethical norm, the idea of universal human dignity, social pluralism and human freedom–these are all uniquely and irreducibly Christian ideas. If you adopt them, then in principle you are adoption the Biblical ethic as at least generally reliable.

Conclusion

In sum, then, the NT presents a cohesive theological vision, a comprehensive view of God, humanity, and the world, and their mutual relations to one another. What is more, that vision has been, and continues to be, a moral and existential guide for humanity, even for those who are strong critics of Christianity and the claims of the NT. It is neither theological primitive or morally bankrupt. As such, the theology of the NT is generally reliable and deserves to be heard and studied charitably.

Next up: the history of the NT.

Is the NT Reliable? Part 2: The Text of the New Testament

Tue, 27 Feb 2024 00:00:00 +0000

Let us embark, then, on the easy problem. There are four reasons typically put forward to discount the reliability of the NT. Under scrutiny we should consider the text itself, the theology represented in that text, and the historical accuracy of the events the text records. I’ll take each of these in turn. In this post we’ll deal with the New Testament Text.

The Text

Which Books?

First, the text itself. It sometimes comes as a surprise to Christians who grow up in the church that the text of the NT is a kind of composite reconstruction. It is a composite because it is only later in the 2nd and 3rd centuries that it is bound together as a single book; it doesn’t originate as the singular work of a creative genius with a unified plan and a cohesive vision, but rather as a collection of materials of various genres from a diverse group of authors across multiple decades. Moreover, the bundling of these books takes place only through much contention and debate and is eventually accomplished by a group of individuals so far removed from the original authors that the decision to pick these books seems to us to be arbitrary and, perhaps, not a little sinister. Why these books? Why were others excluded? Did the church get it right or did we inherit the anthology that we now call “The New Testament” as a result of some kind of grand historical accident, or worse: conspiracy?

To this objection two things need to be said. The first is that this process—the variety of the original authors and the messiness of its reception by the church—is entirely to be expected given the kind of work that the New Testament claims to be. It never claims to be a cohesive and singular work; on the contrary, the NT writers everywhere acknowledge that they are individual representatives of a larger body. They are “eyewitnesses,” and let me put the emphasis on the plural there. The whole point of Christianity is that it does not stem from the testimony of one man, but rather a plurality of women and men united only by the compelling evidence of what they saw. Paul, for example, never claims to be the “originator” of a religion, the creative genius behind a movement or sub-movement, but rather the “least” of a larger group of individuals, the testimony of whom he frequently commends to his audience alongside his own (1 Cor. 15:1-5). Moreover, he partners with others as he writes his own letters and pastors the churches under his care. The Thessalonian correspondence, we should remember, is only co-authored by Paul. Paul also believes that the success of the Corinthian church owes as much to the work of Apollos as to himself. Given this plurality, and given that there is no single witness “at the top” to legislate and enforce “the faith,” one would expect the dissemination, collection, and authentication of this foundational body of literature to be both complicated and gradual, as all natural historical processes are. The complexity and messiness of the Church’s authentication of canon is thus not an argument against the veracity of these documents; quite the contrary, it demonstrates the church’s desire to “vet” the materials it has received, passing along to future generations only those that are demonstrably authentic.

The second thing that should be said is that we have every indication that the church did a very good job. The “main books” of the NT—the Gospels, the letters of Paul, 1 Peter, and James—have never been subject to much, if any, dispute. On the flip side, the “main books” excluded from the NT—that is, those books that were at one time considered for inclusion but, in the end, didn’t make the cut—contain nothing within them that would call into question the reliability of those books that “made it.” And finally, the books that might be debated—my own beloved Hebrews, 2 Peter and Jude, and Revelation—are recognized even by critics as consistent with the mainline of Christian teaching. The canonical “core” of Christianity is not under dispute; these books provide the earliest and most vetted witness to Christianity available to historian and theologian alike, and while the edges might be fuzzy in certain places and at certain times, that fuzziness does not detract from the general witness of the Christian faith.

Which Texts?

There’s another problem though. Even if we accept that we have generally the right books, how can we know that the text we now have accurately and faithfully (that is, reliably) transmits the text that the original author wrote down? After all, are we not dealing with copies of copies of copies? Here we turn from the composite nature of the text to the topic of its reconstruction. The text that we have, many Christians are surprised to learn, is a scientifically studied compilation of 1000s upon 1000s of copies, no two of which (prior to the printing press) perfectly agree with one another.

This is, of course, not a new problem, but its impact on the perceived unreliability of the NT has been brought into the popular foreground by text-critics like Bart Ehrman. And let me say from the beginning, Bart Ehrman is a good scholar and a great text-critic. He has put his “keen and penetrating mind to the task”—and it is an important task, and one sadly neglected in contemporary evangelical circles—but sadly he has come to the wrong conclusion. Critics are fond of pointing out that we have tens of thousands of copies of the text of the NT, most of which are dated after the 4th and 5th centuries of the church, and that these copies contain thousands of variant readings. Our reception of the text of the NT is thus not a static thing, there’s no “standardizing body” that maintains the original, but is rather in flux as scholars analyze an ever-growing body of evidence of divergent texts. And to this I would say: true enough. But the conclusion that we should draw from the diversity of textual witness is not that the NT is unreliable. The opposite is the case. As has been pointed out many times, breadth and depth of textual witness is what we want when it comes to the reconstruction of ancient documents. More, in this case, is better. And that’s precisely what we have. We have more textual witnesses, earlier in origin, from a greater variety of hands and lands and languages, than any other ancient texts ever. If we are aiming at “reliable” in the “ordinary” sense, then the text of the NT is more reliable than any other ancient (pre-printing age) manuscript we possess. (And not even Bart Ehrman would, I think, dispute this; his criticism is actually mustered against the hard problem, not the easy problem as we have described it). If this text is deemed unreliable, then logically we must conclude that every text from the ancient world is in question, for we have better evidence here than anywhere else.

More to the point, the divergence of these manuscripts is almost always overstated by the critics. There are important differences, to be sure, but they never call into question the general reliability of the textual witness. And when it does–that is, when the variants have a significant exegetical impact on our interpretation of the text–there’s no conspiracy that needs to be uncovered. No one’s hiding anything here. I don’t know of a bible publisher that does not backet or footnote the major variants in their text. They’re well documented, and no one is trying to hide them from the boarder public. The vast majority of variants are minor, but the major ones are acknowledged and, I should say, not all that problematic.

Conclusion

The text, then, should be regarded as a reliable witness to what the first and second generation of Christians saw, believed, testified to, and saw fit to pass on to the generations to come. And with that, we will next turn to the theology of the text. Stay tuned!

Is the NT Reliable? Part 1: Reliable for What?

Fri, 23 Feb 2024 00:00:00 +0000

I was recently invited to speak at RTS Washington’s Sed Contra series of talks. The series of talks is intended to be a casual space for conversation about difficult or controversial topics. Since I decided to write up my presentation “conference style,” I thought I’d chop it up into bits and post it on the blog. Here’s part 1.

I have been tasked with answering the question: is the NT reliable? Now I recently discovered a particular law, Betteridge’s Law of Headlines, which states: “Any headline that ends in a question mark can be answered by the word ‘no.’” I suppose that the law holds in this particular case because one certainly could, and many certainly have, answer the posed question with “no,” but it will come as no surprise to anyone here that I intend to answer the question with a resounding “yes.”

The “Hard” Problem

But first I would like to divide the question. It’s important, before we proceed, to have a better sense of what we’re actually asking. To put it simply: reliable for what? RTS is an evangelical institution, and if you’re familiar with evangelicals you likely know that they believe the NT—indeed the whole Bible—is reliable for everything. Evangelicals who are being careful will add a qualification to that claim: it is reliable, which is to say “true,” concerning everything about which it speaks. Thus, the Chicago Statement of Inerrancy, which is a defining document for many evangelicals, states:

Holy Scripture, being God’s own Word, written by men prepared and superintended by His Spirit, is of infallible divine authority in all matters upon which it touches: it is to be believed, as God’s instruction, in all that it affirms; obeyed, as God’s command, in all that it requires; embraced, as God’s pledge, in all that it promises (Chicago, 2).

Now even more careful evangelicals will start talking at this point about things like genre, literary theory, authorial perspective, and historical situatedness. They will note, for example, that the Bible is not a science textbook and so never intends to speak about matters like the movement of quantum particles, the principles of natural selection, or the rotation of planets within the solar system—if it speaks on such matters, it does so with what we might call a “common sense” or “world as observed” perspective, much like we do when we say “the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.” In short, when affirming inerrancy it’s not only important to observe what the Bible says, but also how it says it, and careful readers need to pay attention to that distinction, just as they ordinarily do other things they read.

Yet, in the midst of all these clarifications, _all evangelicals believe that the Bible is wholly true, “_without error or fault in all its teaching, no less in what it states about God’s acts in creation, about the events of world history, and about its own literary origins under God, than in its witness to God’s saving grace in individual lives” (Chicago 4). I’m going to call this “the hard problem” of NT reliability, and I’m not (here at least) going to argue that it is true, at least not directly. I’m going to (at least initially) make things easier on myself and establish the truth of what I’m going to call “the easy problem.”

The Easy Problem

The Easy Problem is this: is the NT generally reliable? That is, does it meet the ordinary standards of reliability that we require when we are talking to people about their day, about what happened to them during the war, about how they ended up in the challenging situation in which they now find themselves, about the injustice that occurred and their guilt or innocence with respect to that event? In short: does the NT meet the ordinary standards that we have when it comes to testimony? This is admittedly easier than the Hard Problem, much easier in fact. When it comes to personal testimony we naturally accept certain things that might be called “errors” by some. We accept things like bias, perspective, miss-remembering, conflation of events, narrative truncation, hyperbole, editing, etc. We don’t require someone to be “without error or fault” in everything they say to accept their testimony as true. This is usually what we mean when we use the word “reliable.” When we say that someone is reliable, that a newspaper is reliable, that an instructional video on YouTube is reliable, a comedian is reliable, we mean that they are generally trustworthy in a manner appropriate to the relationship that we sustain to that person or thing. Our friend is on time and engaged, the newspaper is reasonably unbiased and informed, the DIYer is accurate and helpful, the comedian is funny. That’s the task I’m setting myself: is the NT reliable in the ordinary ways in which we define reliability.

Yes, yes it is. Stay tuned for the next post for that discussion.

A Brief History of Time (According to 2 Peter)

Wed, 24 Jan 2024 00:00:00 +0000

Physics investigates, among other things, what we might call “the laws of the universe,” and I’m all in. I love all the books and videos targeting the amateur physicist (some favorites include: Minute Physics, Sci Show (not just physics), PBS Space Time, Kurzgesagt, and Sixty Symbols). And yet, one of the things that language like “the laws of physics” implies is a kind of absolute materialist detachment. The laws of the universe are what they are because they are. This is actually one of the big unanswered problems in physics: how did the laws of the universe get to be what they are? Does Planck’s constant equal 6.62607015×10−34 J⋅Hz−1 because it has to be that number, or are there other values that may exist in other possible universes, or did some cosmic being turn a dial somewhere to set it at that number?

Carene Nabula, from the JWST. Credit: NASA, ESA, CSA, STSCI

This is not a post about physics, though. Like everything on this silly little blog this is a post about stories. Or, more particularly, I want to claim here that the “laws” of physics (and chemistry and biology) are what they are because they are part of a cohesive story that God is writing in time. Physics is subservient to the narrative. We should use math and telescopes and experimentation to study these things, not Scripture, but Scripture gives us the narrative backdrop for why the world around us works the way it does. The laws of physics are anchored by a story; they are functions of a metanarrative.

An Age Long Past, an Age Yet to Come

Peter does not know about Planck’s constant. He has a different picture of the universe than I do. And yet he believes that the workings of the world are tied to decisions that God has made.

“For they deliberately overlook this fact, that the heavens existed long ago, and the earth was formed out of water and through water by the word of God, 6 and that by means of these the world that then existed was deluged with water and perished.”

2 Peter 3:5-6

The “they” referred to in the passage are these individuals Peter calls “scoffers;” they’re something like cynics. Peter tells us that their fundamental claim about the world is that it will continue on, that the future will be like the past, that there is no final judgement or climactic end or new beginning. Time is a straight infinite line. Now, I know I’m oversimplifying, and we shouldn’t anachronistically map ancient cosmological philosophy onto modern scientific theories, but the point is nevertheless clear: the world will continue on, same as it ever was.

Peter rebuts this claim with a simple observation: the world hasn’t always been the same. There once was another world. Time, according to Peter, can be divided into various periods, and it seems like within those different periods things work slightly differently, according to God’s purpose and design. Peter tells us that there was an Age before the present Age–an age long past–and there will be a New Age in the sometime-future–an age yet to come. That former age (what shall we call it? The Primeval Age?) was buried under water, and from that water a new age was born. Maybe the laws of physics and biology were the same back then (but maybe not?), but at the very least God’s way of relating to the world and his people (which we sometimes call a “covenant”) changes as time moved from that age to the next. So the two ages are different, and that difference is a sign to the scoffers and to the church that God is at work and will bring about his purposes and promises.

This image from the NASA/ESA/CSA James Webb Space Telescope features an H II region in the Large Magellanic Cloud (LMC), a satellite galaxy of our Milky Way. For more like this: https://webb.nasa.gov/

These Last Days

What is more, Peter believes his own ministry is part of a newer age in which God is at work, an age he calls “The Last Days.” Time is periodized. There is coherence and continuity between the periods, but there are also differences. Like the Primeval Age, this age will come to a climactic end. The old age was destroyed and reborn by means of water; this age will be destroyed and reborn by means of fire. The rebirth aspect of this conclusion should be emphasized, since it is so often missed. Fire (like water) is an appropriate image for Peter’s apocalyptic reflections because it is both an image of destruction and rebirth. The “metal” of this world will melt, to be sure, but from that a new and more perfect age will be reforged. In that future time there will be no death; humanity will have fully realized their identity as “partakers in the divine nature” (2 Peter 1:4); righteousness will dwell (3:13).

The next age will be, to borrow from 1 Peter, “imperishable” (1 Peter 1:4), and I do not know how that can be if the 2nd Law of Thermodynamics is still in place.

Cognitive Metaphor Theory is True, but is it Useful?

Mon, 04 Dec 2023 00:00:00 +0000

What follows is the draft script of a paper I presented at the annual meeting of the Evangelical Theological Society in San Antonio on November 14th 2023.

Introduction

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

It’s worth noting that when John Locke condemned the use of metaphorical language as “perfect cheats” he was, in fact, speaking metaphorically. The irony exposes a fundamental truth: figurative language is far more pervasive in our thought and discourse than we generally appreciate. It’s hiding everywhere, and Conceptual Metaphor Theory (CMT) provides a persuasive explanation of why that is: human beings cannot understand their world without it. We structure and frame our thought and discourse about abstract concepts like death, friendship, and love from more physical and tangible human experiences. “Life is a game,” we say, because our visceral familiarity with games and sports inform our concept of “living life;” we can “win” or “lose” it, and in it we “earn points” but “cheaters never prosper” and in the end “nice guys finish last” ((My principle sources for CMT relevant for this article are Zoltan Kovecses, Metaphor: A Practical Introduction, 2nd Edition, 2e edition. (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010); G. Lakoff and M. Turner, More Than Cool Reason: A Field Guide to Poetic Metaphor (Chicago: University of Chicago, 1989); George Lakoff, Metaphors We Live By (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1980); Mark Johnson, The Meaning of the Body: Aesthetics of Human Understanding, Reprint edition. (Chicago London: University of Chicago Press, 2008).))

This is all well and good, but is it exegetically useful? CMT may be a helpful explanation of how our brains work, but can it actually generate or establish new exegetical conclusions? Sure, the “life is a game” association explains why Paul, at the end of his life, declares “I have finished the race” (2 Tim 4:7), but does it tell me anything about what that means?Does it disclose anything that I didn’t already know, or couldn’t come to better appreciate by using the more standard and traditional tools in my historical-critical toolbox? Or, to put the question of this paper succinctly: is CMT merely descriptive—useful in so far as it describes the dynamics of human thinking—or is it methodologically generative—useful because it provides a tool for uncovering the meaning of a metaphor that would not be accessible otherwise? Is it useful? ((Many biblical scholars, including myself, have applied the insights of CMT to exegesis; to name a few: William P. Brown, Seeing the Psalms: A Theology of Metaphor, 1 edition. (Louisville, Ky: Westminster John Knox Press, 2002); Erin M. Heim, Adoption in Galatians and Romans (Leiden ; Boston: BRILL, 2017); B. Howe, Because You Bear This Name: Conceptual Metaphor and the Moral Meaning of 1 Peter (Boston: Brill, 2006); Charles Owiredu, “Sin Is a Person: Some Ontological Metaphors in the Bible,” Acta Theologica 41.1 (2021): 87–100, https://doi.org/10.18820/23099089/actat.v41i1.6; Nicole L. Tilford, Sensing World, Sensing Wisdom: The Cognitive Foundation of Biblical Metaphors, First edition. (Atlanta: SBL Press, 2017); Ellen van Wolde, “Words Become Worlds: Semantic Studies of Genesis 1-11,” in Words Become Worlds (Brill, 2021), https://brill.com/display/title/2327.))

Well, as I just learned yesterday, there’s apparently a law—and this is a real thing, Betteridge’s law of headlines—there’s a law that “any headline that ends in a question mark can be answered by the word no.” I’m afraid that I submitted my proposal for this paper before I learned about that law, so I should say up front that I do not intend to answer my question with a no. As a scholar who has spent years reading and applying a wide range of models for understanding metaphor, and as one who absolutely respects gatherings like these, in which we share serious ideas and receive serious feedback, I refuse to utilize such cheap journalistic tricks to garner attention. My position is far more nuanced and refined to be so reduced to a “no,” or even, for that matter, a simple “yes!” CMT is true, but is it useful? My thesis is: kind of.

To be more specific: in this presentation I will argue that CMT does provide an efficient and non-redundant tool set for exegetical analysis of figurative language in Scripture. It does this in at least three areas. (1) Linguistically and anthropologically, it highlights structural patterns of human thinking and communication that establish continuity and connection between modern and ancient audiences. (2) Historically, it encourages the exegete to study and personalize the particular kinds of experiences that would have structured the original author’s conceptual world and how those experiences inform the metaphorical association under scrutiny. (3) Pastorally, it opens up opportunities to explore other possible metaphorical associations consistent with, but not explicitly affirmed by, the original author.

Defining Terms

Before moving to the substance of the discussion we need to define a couple of terms. This is, after all, a conference paper; we must honor the rules of the game.

CMT

First, CMT. I’m assuming that if you’ve chosen to be here rather than at one of the other more exciting discussions, then you have a basic knowledge of what CMT is. Pioneered and popularized by theorists like Lakoff, Johnson, and Turner, Cognitive (or conceptual) Metaphor Theory posits that metaphors and other figurative language, far from being merely ornamental replacements for otherwise more univocal language, are a fundamental and irreducible component of human thought. Metaphors arise as we humans seek to understand, systematize, and explain the nature of our reality and experiences. CMT presents itself as an alternative to older approaches, whether it be to the simplistic “replacement” theories of Aristotle and Locke, or the complex network of signifying relationships posited by structuralists, or the more artistic and literary theories offered by Ricoeur and the New Hermeneuts. The source and operating power behind metaphorical language is not rhetorical persuasion or the pursuit of beauty or the creative reimagining of reality; no, it’s a basic building block of thought itself.

Furthermore, like all aspects of human thought, CMT observes that metaphorical associates are inherently and inseparably embodied. It is, in this respect, a sub-discipline of the now vast field of Cognitive Linguistics, in which meaning, meaningfulness, and communication cannot be separated from personal and enculturated experiences. We will have more to say about this later, but for our present purposes we can note that the “stuff” out of which metaphorical associations are made, and thus through which we understand our world, are the component parts of lived experience, which in turn are necessarily and inseparably situated within fundamental material and anthropological elements: bodies, sensory experience, society, culture, history, and the physical universe, to name a few.

The significance of this observation can be particularly and forcefully seen when it comes to abstract ideas–ideas that we often consider “basic” or “universal.” Consider the way we talk about something like human maturation—the kind of physical, emotional, and spiritual development that occurs from infancy to adulthood. We use a variety of metaphorical domains to conceptualize that process. For example, PEOPLE are PLANTS, so our kids “grow up” and “blossom,” or maybe they’re “late bloomers;” teachers “cultivate the mind of a child;" Paul “planted,” Apollos “watered,” and God “gave the growth” (1 Cor. 3:6). But what does it really mean to mature as a human person? Try to describe it without using a metaphor. It’s hard. How about death? Falling in love? Calling and career? It’s tempting to think that these descriptions, conventional though they may be, are merely artistic descriptions of something we otherwise no more scientifically and precisely. CMT’s claim is that the reverse is actually true—these metaphorical structures provide the way in which we know about these things. They are irreducible components of (at least certain ways of) knowing.

True

Our next definition: true. Maybe the definition of “true” is obvious, but the word deserves further comment since I’m not arguing the case but rather simply assuming that CMT is something like true. I want to say briefly, though, that I’m not claiming that CMT is the only true model for thinking about metaphor, or that it is the whole truth. It is a model among models, and is good at certain things and not, in my own view, at others. So for our purposes here I mean by “true” that CMT “explains at least some aspect of metaphorical language/discourse that other theories do not, or are less apt at accounting for.” In that respect, it is my judgement that CMT, and also Cognitive Linguistics, of which it is a component part, have proven themselves incredibly useful for moving the discipline of forward.

But what discipline are we talking about? That brings us to the final definition.

Useful

What do I mean by “useful?” Here I would like to be careful. One obvious response to my titular question is “if the theory is true, then it is obviously useful.” I agree. The explanatory force of CMT—the fact that it is something like “true”—is in itself useful. It helps us to better understand how human beings conceptualize their world, and particularly how we “know” abstract and non-material aspects of our basic experience. What is death? Defining death as “the cessation of certain neurological pathways that produce sustained consciousness alongside other metabolic processes by which the body maintains itself” does not really capture the meaning of death. That’s not, in the end, what death is. CMT in this case describes a mode of knowing, an epistemological process by which we, as God’s creatures, come to understand the complexity of the real, the meaning of which (in my view) is not to be equated with a positivistic or materialistic description of things, but is in fact more than such a description. CMT is a useful epistemological category. ((Now, as an aside, some in the cognitive camp would of course demure that this is but wishful thinking. The materialists in the bunch might object to the word “know” and the correlation I’ve made between CMT and epistemology. Some might conclude from CMT theorists that in fact what we “know” about death and love and life and the rest of it isn’t really knowledge—things really are what physics and biology say they are, and we describe meaning to those things through consciousness and embodied cognition and the brain’s relentless work of metaphoricalizing the world. To this line of thinking I am legally required, as one trained in a Van Tillian approach to philosophy, theology, and apologetics, to mention at this point that though analogical knowledge is not necessarily “absolute” knowledge, univocally related to things as they are known by God, nevertheless that does not make it untrue. In fact, at some basic level all our knowledge participates in this analogical process, and yet it is a true, albeit human and finite, way of thinking God’s thoughts after him.))

However, despite the fact that this paper ended up in the ST section of ETS, such theological and epistemological reflections are not my real concern. That’s not what I mean by “useful.” I’m a professional exegete, and an amateur historian and linguist, and so I want to know if this approach to metaphor contributes to my exegetical and hermeneutical toolbox. Can I better understand the text by self-consciously applying the insights of CMT? The fact that CMT is true does not necessarily entail that it is useful in this sense. CMT may tell me a great deal about how human cognition works, but does that knowledge directly help me better understand the text? After all, if my brain already works this way when it comes to metaphor, why do I need to know that it works this way in order to understand metaphor? Knowing how breathing works doesn’t help me breath better (or does it?), so why would knowing how metaphor works help me appropriate them better?

And while we’re on the topic of useful, let’s put the question of “how useful” on the table. What I mean is there’s a very good reason for avoiding CMT. Actually, there’s a very good reason for avoid Cognitive Linguistics in general, and CMT in particular. It’s hard. It’s difficult. Maybe it’s like using quantum mechanics to calculate what time you while arrive home; maybe you’ll get a more accurate measurement, but it’s unnecessary and would probably take you more time than the trip itself. G. B. Caird wrote in his now classic The Language and Imagery of the Bible that, with respect to linguistics, he was “just an amateur.” That’s how a notable and world-renowned scholar, historian, and exegete felt about his own appropriation of linguistics some 80 years ago, and the field of linguistics has marched ever on. Most biblical scholars will never be more than hobbyists in these areas (and we probably should do a better job of behaving accordingly). CMT feels this pinch. To apply it in anything other than a superficial way requires a depth of training, and the results at that point do not seem worth it.

So by “useful” I mean something fairly specific. First, “essential.” That is, CMT needs to provide either a unique or more efficient path to the conclusion than alternative models. Second, “significant.” The conclusions need to be important enough that they are worth the time, or at least not ineffective when done at the level of an amateur. Now obviously this value is relative to where you are. If your work requires you to write a lexicon, then CMT is going to be extremely significant. But if you’re content to trust a lexicon, then less so. I see a similar relationship with other disciplines, like textual criticism. We can thus measure usefulness by the significance of the conclusion, the efficiency of the method, and the necessity of the method.

Some Suggestions for Usefulness

And so is it useful in this sense? Yes. I have six preliminary suggestions for acknowledging and rating its relative usefulness, organized into three categories.

Linguistically/Anthropologically

Linguistically and anthropologically, it highlights structural patterns of human thinking and communication that establish continuity and connection between modern and ancient audiences.

1. A language system

First, CMT provides us a language and system for describing the relationships between metaphors and human thought. The emphasis here is on that last phrase “and human thought” or “embodied experience.” We of course already have good technical language for describing the literary and lexicographical aspects of metaphor, but what CMT provides is the cognitive connection. This is something new, and it’s something that cognitive linguistics is fairly strong at overall. The whole point of the method is to understand and describe the features of language and communication in terms of embodied experience; it is not content to merely describe the linguistic system but to see the linguistic system in its relation to human thought processes, modes of knowing, in short: cognition. Structuralism does not give us this because in structuralism the description must be enclosed in the linguistic system. Literary theorists like Ricoeur and Bakhtin (where I have done more academic work) likewise are not interested in such a description, mostly because they resist thinking about language as a system at all; they are more interested in metaphor as a creative and imaginative process. With CMT, by contrast, metaphor is embodied, enculturated, and a function of lived experience. Having scientific verbage to describe that process provides the exegete with another set of tools they can use to probe “the mind of the author.”

For example, the author of Hebrews talks about the presence of God as drawing near to a heavenly “tent” (Heb. 8:1-2); it’s a fairly robust and consistent description of eschatological presence in terms of the tabernacle experience of Israel. CMT provides us language to talk about this; the tabernacle cult is the source domain, the Christian life the target. But why tent? Why not temple? Well, I have to go back to Hebrews 3-4; we are “wilderness wanderers.” CMT provides a description of that metaphorical mapping as well. That’s a LIFE is a JOURNEY metaphor, and now I can see and explain what Hebrews is doing. It is blending metaphorical domains, and the LIFE is a JOURNEY domain (which, it’s worth noting, is a fundamental human experience shared across time and culture) structures the various mappings that take place in the CHRISTIANS are PRIESTS domain (which is not as universal) such that we land on tabernacle rather than temple. Tents are good for journeys; temples less so. I could further extend this by making use of “bidirectional mapping,” where the target domain (the Christian Life) helps the reader understand the source domain (the wilderness cult). We don’t need to do that nw, but we can note here that it can be done. CMT gives me language for all of this.

This “use” of CMT is more descriptive than generative, but it is useful. It provides a model and organizational system by which I can describe the thought of both author and audience, how that thought coheres, why it works the way it does, and how it is grounded in lived and enculturated experience.

2. Increased self-conscious awareness.

Related to this, CMT brings to the foreground cognitive and communicative processes that would otherwise be intuitive, and therefore not self-consciously addressed or recognized. In foregrounding an intuitive process it subjects our thinking to critical analysis, which in turn provides opportunity for extension, development, and even change. (As an aside: I feel very similarly about speech-act theory. It’s a robust description of something we do naturally and intuitively, but since I do it naturally and intuitively I don’t really need speech act theory to do it well. However, it makes me self-conscious about my language, and because it does that I can more quickly and efficiently identify what’s going on in challenging hermeneutical situations).

In most cases this aspect of CMT will not turn up something “new.” It’s not going to generate a discovery that one couldn’t arrive at by some other method, at least with respect to authorial intent (though I do want to revisit this in a minute when we come to the personal appropriation of metaphors). However, while the increased self-consciousness may not generate new knowledge, I must say that it very much increases efficiency of analysis. It doesn’t take all that long working with CMT before the basic organizational categories become second nature. I can’t “unsee” LIFE is a JOURNEY or LOVE is HEAT or DEBATE is COMBAT. And as soon as I see these things in the biblical text a lot of exegetical observations simply pop into place. I would refer to the preexisting example of the tent as a JOURNEY idea. Likewise we could talk about PEOPLE ARE BUILDINGS, for which temple is obviously a more adequate vehicle. CMT increases my general awareness of metaphorical modes of thinking and, as such, allows me to do the work more quickly.

3. The emphasis on experience and natural knowing

This ability of CMT to bring intuitive cognitive processes to the foreground is additionally helpful because it “ordinary-afies” authors and the authorial process. We often make Biblical Study harder than it needs to be. I see this often in my own work on typology and literary interpretation, but it’s there in more grammatical-historical approaches to exegesis as well. Take Eph. 6, the Christian in complete armor. How many times have we read pages and pages on the way Roman sandals were constructed, why soldiers wore them, how they are associated with “readiness.” We may be over-complicating exegesis. After all LIFE is a BATTLE, and Paul’s discussion here is simply generated from that very conventional way of thinking. Going into historical detail may not be the best use of our time; the point is not the structure of the Roman belt, the point is the surprise that truth is a weapon.

CMT thus simplifies exegesis; it can work to un-encumber it from over analysis and, in so doing, putting the text back into the hands of normal readers.

Historically

This last point could be read as anti-historical or anti-intellectual, but that need not be the case. Historically, CMT encourages the exegete to study and personalize the particular kinds of experiences that would have structured the original author’s conceptual world and how those experiences inform the metaphorical association under scrutiny. I have two sub points here.

4. Better historiography and cultural study

First, CMT provides a useful reminder that if we are to understand authors we need to understand their embodied and enculturated experience of the world. CMT calls us yet again to the important work of historical research. Does CMT provide unique avenues for that kind of historical study? Maybe it does. One of the insights of CMT is it puts a lot of weight on fundamental experiences. It is a reminder that the more common and natural and basic the experience, the more likely it will be incorporated as an “image-schema” in our worldview. In this sense, like history and anthropology more generally, CMT can be used to explain and expose the thought-world of ancient thinkers, but as it does so it pays closer attention to the common than it does to the uncommon. We can do all the work we want on ANE cultic practices, comparing and contrasting the Hebrew bible’s presentation with its surroundings, and integrating all of it within ancient cosmology and religion. But have we ever slaughtered an animal for food? Which is more fundamental when it comes to understanding the Passover (and, by typological transference, the Lord’s Supper)? Which is more properly basic? And yet, in all our study about sacrifice in the ancient world, probably most readers of Scripture have not drained an animal of its blood—I haven’t, and I’m from Texas—and yet it’s the latter knowledge that is more fundamental to the imagery than the former. CMT is a reminder that when we are doing our historical and cultural work we need to pay attention to the fundamentals, not just the higher order of though with which we are most comfortable.

5. The use of the imagination as a tool of knowledge

On the other hand, and I’m sorry but I’m going to go a bit further with the Passover lamb idea—on the other hand I don’t need to have experienced the slaughtering of an animal to understand the metaphor. I can actually “build” that experience out of other experiences that I have had. How am I able to do that? Because of my imagination. My imagination is able to construct an experience that I’ve never experienced out of more fundamental experiences. This, too, is an incite that cognitive theory brings to the surface.

How is this useful to us? CMT is a reminder that my brain naturally does this and provides me again with tools to understand what my brain is doing and, perhaps, do it better and more self-consciously. The imagination is a useful research tool. Imagination assists historical-critical exegesis. I’m told in Genesis that God separated the waters above from the waters below, and I’m told that a kind of barrier or firmament keeps those waters at bay. How am I supposed to understand this? One avenue is to do a deep dive into ancient Hebrews cosmology. That’s useful. But CMT reminds me that there’s another more basic process at work: lived experience. So another method suddenly opens up to me as a student of Scripture. I could, and go with me here, look up. I can divest myself of what I know about the universe and simply describe the world in the way I’m experiencing it. I can use my imagination to speculate about how those heavenly waters are restrained. I can use my imagination to fill in the gaps of what it’s like to shepherd sheep.

This need not replace a more historically rigorous approach, but it can supplement and compliment it, and there are two advantages here.

First, it’s less susceptible to historical prejudice, to the innate tendency to look down on pre-scientific cultures. The language they use and the way they conceptualize their world isn’t the way it is because they’re “pre-scientific” or “primitive” or “backwards;” it’s because it’s grounded in experience. They are describing the world as they are experiencing it, just as we do; after all, even in our modern cosmology the sun still “rises and sets.”

Second, and here we can transition to my final point, this way of doing it—engaging our imagination and setting it along the trajectory of thought embedded in the text—is often a more effective tool for understanding the impact that the text has. When God stretches a protective firmament around the earth, he is protecting me from the deluge of waters that threaten it; God has built the firmament, and it will not fail unless he wills it (2 Peter 3)..

Pastorally and Epistemologically

And on that note I have my sixth and final suggestion for the usefulness of CMT. I’m not entirely sure how to classify this one, but I find it the most intriguing of the lot, and potentially the most controversial. I have chosen to categorize this as a “pastorally” and/or “epistemologically” useful function of CMT for exegesis, by which I mean this: CMT opens up opportunities to explore other possible metaphorical associations consistent with, but not explicitly affirmed by, the original author.

6. It generates new knowledge

It can be used, in short, to generate and communicate new knowledge. Now, again, CMT is not trying to be an epistemology, nor is it trying to describe a mode of study; rather, CMT is designed to provide an account of how new “knowledge” (if we’re comfortable calling it that) is created. However, in so far as CMT exposes what we do intuitively to study and criticism, perhaps we can use its insights to cultivate new ways of understanding old things.

For example: what does it mean to be “in” Christ? What does it mean to die? The Bible gives me a trajectory of source domains to think about those topics. I’m given legal categories, familial categories, kingdom/political categories, etc. And yet the body of human knowledge—the totality of lived experience, and what we know about that experience—does not cease with the ancient world. There is no reason to think that that are so called “primal” metaphorical ideas, like LIFE is a JOURNEY—to which nothing new can be added. Let’s take something the we only know about because of our modern scientific cosmology: gravity. RELATIONSHIPS are GRAVITATIONAL. We were “pulled together;” she’s my “star;” your life should be “in orbit” around the church. Is that not another way of understanding Christological union, and one which is not reducible to other biblical metaphors? The Christian life is always in Christological orbit. My scientific knowledge of gravity gives me a new set of explanations for how my world works, and raises new kinds of questions, the answers to which require new metaphorical mappings, and in the end increase the body of human knowledge. Yes, I would be doing this naturally, but CMT helps me own the process and do it consciously rather than unconsciously.

Conclusions

So what should we conclude about CMT? In general, that in exposing patterns of human thought to scrutiny, study, development, and critique we can do a lot of what we ordinarily do better. It’s kinda like exercise. I don’t need to know how my muscles work in order to do pull-ups or deadlifts, but knowing that information does help me do both. It helps me to think about where I position my hands on the bar, what muscles I’m trying to focus on and activate, how often I should do certain kinds of exercise in order to maximize my gains. It’s not necessary, but it is useful.

Sola Scriptura. Also, God is Love

Thu, 02 Nov 2023 00:00:00 +0000

I was recently given the privilege of preaching at Wallace Presbyterian’s annual Reformation Day service, and I was much encouraged. It was a great gathering of NAPARC churches in the DMV area, and the comradery, cheer, and adoration expressed in the service testified to the enduring spirit of unity and zeal of the reformation among our churches.

My part of the service was the sermon, on 2 Peter 3. Apparently it was recorded! Fair warning: the message is a bit of a matryoshka doll; it’s an exhortation to love embedded in a encouragement for apologetics embedded in a dissertation about sola scriptura embedded in a Reformation Day sermon.

Wallace Church · 10.29.2023e - Scoffers Scoffing and Scripture - 2 Peter 3 - Thomas Keene

Confessionalism Promotes Academic Integrity

Tue, 24 Oct 2023 00:00:00 +0000

The WordPress “Headline Analyzer” algorithm has determined that my title is not all that provocative or interesting, scoring a mere 22/100. When I re-titled it “top ten reasons why confessional institutions are better than the ‘free academy’” it scored 84/100; however, because I’m a responsible academician and refuse to cave to click-bate, I’m sticking with the original and more boring (and accurate) title.

If my reading of the academic landscape is correct, then most scholars, even those in historically confessional institutions, would likely disagree with or qualify my titular statement. After all, doesn’t being “confessional” mean that certain kinds of questions are, by definition, verboten? Wouldn’t that in turn mean that academics in those institutions have to sacrifice the “science” of biblical and theological study upon the altar of confessional consistency? At the very least it should be axiomatic that scholars at non-confessional institutions should regard the products of their confessional cousins as suspect, right?

Not at all. I believe the opposite is the case. Confessionalism, properly defined and winsomely practiced, provides a better and more productive academic environment than the “free-thinking” alternatives. I should qualify things before we continue: I recognize that this article presents an “idealized” view of how confessional academics work. If any of the following seems too rosy and glowy, feel free to insert copious “oughts” and “shoulds” in the list. With that qualification out of the way, here are a couple of reasons why confessionalism promotes academic research and integrity (with more to come).

Confessional Research is Slow

Slow doesn’t sound good but it is. Scholars that work in confessional institutions don’t often make the research headlines, and they’re usually not trying to make the headlines. They (hopefully) do not idolize the past, but they also don’t dismiss the knowledge and wisdom of previous generations. When they encounter a difficult text in Scripture they consult their tradition, and while they (should) feel free to disagree with that tradition if there’s textual warrent–the norming norm of all theology is Scripture–they ought also be reluctant to dismiss it. Slow can be valuable. Slow doesn’t mean that we ignore contemporary issues or drag our feet with regard to the tough questions; rather, it means that we are careful with the latest discoveries and reluctant to reject the wisdom handed down to us. We spend time assessing, debating, and integrating the best of what’s new with the best of what’s tried and tested, which will hopefully result in something fuller and more robust in the long term. But for more on that, see the next point.

Confessionalism Promotes Creativity

Related to the above, confessionalism forces scholars to ask questions that non-confessionalists can safely ignore. When I, as an exegete and NT scholar, encounter a problematic text, or a difficult to appropriate historical observation, I instantly have to wrestle with the relationship between that text and my theological inheritance. I can’t dismiss either (and that’s not because I pragmatically want to “keep my job;” it’s because I’ve taken an oath before God and the church, and I took that oath because I value the tradition in which I stand). The text is ultimately authoritative, and so I must, in the end, go where the text leads, but my tradition provides a tested and non-simplistic interpretative grid for all of Scripture, so I’m going to look to that tradition for a framework of understanding. The result of this is new questions–questions that would not otherwise arise if I were unconcerned about the history of interpretation. New questions are the seed-bed of new knowledge, which is the very definition of creativity. Confessionalism enhances discovery because it forces a unique sets of questions and reinforces a “long and slow” approach to developing answers to those questions.

Confessionalism is Transparent

Prior to the rise of relativism and postmodernism, the idea that we could pursue an “unbiased” perspective on the world was viewed as both possible and desirable, but now we know that we are not blank slates. We come with our own viewpoints, partially determined by our context and experiences. In my own seminary education, I was taught that there are no “brute facts,” that we interpret everything through the lens of our relationship with The Creator of All Things; we should seek to “think God’s thoughts after him” (a phrase I will borrow from Cornelius Van Til). If all this is true, it means that we can’t (and shouldn’t) be unbiased. Does that mean that there’s no path to “objective truth” (defined here, at least, to mean “God’s thoughts”)? May it never be! We can still pursue objective truth, but we must do so recognizing the limitations of our own experiences and perspective.

All this means that the path forward academically in a post-postmodern context requires being transparent about ones beliefs, values, and even to some extent our personal experiences. Some of that is built into confessionalism. The confessional academic isn’t pretending she is unbiased; on the contrary, she is transparent about the place from which she is analyzing and assessing the data. In response, those who read the work produced by confessional academics should not treat that transparency as a disadvantage (resulting in a dismissive attitude toward the research), but rather as an advantage, since the presuppositions and values of their interlocutor have been acknowledged from the outset. In fact, perhaps the unique confessional standpoint of their colleagues will result in a new perspective or point of view with which to process their own presuppositions and values.

Confessionalism Resists Exceptionalism and Idiosyncrasy

By contrast to the “slow” and “value-forward” perspective of confessionalism, the academy more generally encourages novelty and discovery, even at the cost of “upheaval” of traditional values and the existing “canon” of human knowledge. This is all well and good; questions and criticism and even upheaval are all values to be maintained in the right circumstances. But when novelty is a value in and of itself it can lead to a kind of radicalism and exceptionalism that is unhelpful. This has become increasingly prevalent across the academic landscape. New and idiosyncratic views are proclaimed and promoted as fact, spread quickly, generate headlines, and often result in a great deal of headache for the institution in question. In the end, a slow and careful approach would have been better. Quirks and idiosyncrasy can actually be helpful; no one wants a dull uniformity in institutional outlook. But when the idiosyncratic because the center of the circle, problems will inevitably arise. Confessionalism helps us to keep the main thing the main thing, while nevertheless integrating the new and novel and idiosyncratic.

More to Come

There are other advantages to confessionalism worth mentioning, but they will have to wait for the next post!

Is being biblical and confessional an academic liability?

Wed, 18 Oct 2023 00:00:00 +0000

I teach at an academic institution (Reformed Theological Seminary in Washington DC, but that’s not the point of this post, and all opinions are my own) that prides itself on being both confessional and biblical, and while those two predicates may be popular in certain circles, they are more and more seen as an academic liability. I’m guessing that if I were to go out on the streets and take a poll of what people are looking for in seminary graduate education that neither “biblical” nor “confessional” would make the top 10. I’ll go even further: narrowing the field to Christians with a high view of Scripture, I might still be hard pressed to find biblical and confessional at the top of the list. Maybe biblical, almost definitely not confessional

Why? Because in various ways both ideas are seen as a kind of academic liability. The values of the academy are progress, relevance, development, creativity, freedom of inquiry, cultural engagement, and practical skills. Now I have those values too, but I also believe that being biblical and confessional is the most robust and efficient way of meeting those goals.

Biblical

Let’s start with biblical. The problem with being principally and thoroughly biblical is obvious: the Bible is outdated and outmoded. It doesn’t address the kinds of challenges and problems that most modern Christians are struggling with. Even in evangelical circles the way we talk about the Bible betrays this attitude: we need to “make the Bible relevant.” The assumption is that it’s not relevant, at least not with some serious redecorating; it has to be made relevant.

That attitude towards the Bible usually arises out of a misunderstanding of what the Bible is. It’s not a theology textbook or a “guidebook for life.” I know that most educated evangelicals wouldn’t speak that simplistically about what the Bible is, but nevertheless that seems to be the operating assumption about how the Bible is useful, even among those with some hermeneutical sophistication. It’s useful in so far as I can mine it for theological truth or apply it in my daily life.

That’s not actually how the Bible talks about itself. It’s certainly useful for “faith and practice,” but that’s neither what the Bible is or why it was given to us. No, the Bible is a witness. It’s living testimony about something that God has done and is doing. In particular, it’s proclamation to the world that God has set his King on the Cosmic Throne, that Jesus has been accounted worthy to open the scroll. It gives us the cosmic meta-narrative, the way in which God saves the world by enthroning Jesus as its Adamic King, for the Jew first and also the Greek. Moreover, it proclaims the King’s invitation to any and all that this is the time to enter His great and glorious kingdom.

If that’s the case, then the Bible is the most relevant thing in all the world. Only here do we find a fully realized history of all things. Only here do we find a cosmic account of salvation. Here we learn how Jesus became King over all things, and how only because of him and his people will the world’s groaning turn to glory. If this is not relevant then literally nothing is relevant; if the biblical story is not true and Christ is not on the throne and his children have not been raised, then all of this is sound and fury signifying nothing.

Confessional

What about confessional? This too seems to be seen as a liability, especially in the academy. It’s a straitjacket. A fence line. A barrier. A dry Spirit-less orthodoxy. Confessionalism closes down curiosity, inquiry, and communication. Absolutely not! Confessionalism is about standing in the great tradition. It’s about hearing how the Spirit as he has ministered and guided the church for generations before us.

Can you imagine a doctor or a scientist declaring that they wanted to start from scratch? Refusing to learn from the past? You know what we should really question: germ theory. No! They take the knowledge and wisdom they’ve inherited and build upon it. And so do we. We gather with the great cloud of witnesses throughout church history—witnesses that have seen the faith tested by war, by heresy, by upheaval and disease and vain philosophy, witnesses who amidst those tests found the faith to be a shield and guard in every continent, culture, and context—we gather with such saints and we say yes, amen, pass me the baton and let’s finish the race. Confessionalism doesn’t muzzle curiosity, inquiry, and communication; no, it’s the place where all three begin, and in this way the church is always building up and out, rather than endlessly rebuilding and renovating what’s already there.

Both is Good

And both together? Biblical and confessional, in this economy? That’s why I love working for the institution that has called me to service. Some might look at these two ideas and think they are in competition. Should we be biblical or should we be confessional? But “why not both? Both is good!” We are confessional, which means we stand in the great tradition and ask “what’s next.” And we are Biblical, which means that when we ask that question we turn to the Word of Christ, working through the Spirit, and find it both fit and suitable for the building up of the church, for the race that we are called to run.

The Law was Added: A Paraphrase of Galatians 3:15-29

Thu, 12 Oct 2023 00:00:00 +0000

When working through a text I often find it is helpful to write out an extended paraphrase–which is not the same as a translation–of the passage in question. Doing this forces you to answer those “second order” exegetical questions that don’t necessarily show up in the translation. It forces you to express the meaning of the text in (roughly) the order, cadence, tone, and language of the text. It takes a ton of time, but I always find that it is worth it, especially when there are a lot of little problems to solve and miscellaneous questions to answer.

I found myself doing just that today with Galatians 3. As I was reading it I felt I understood the “gist,” but there were a lot of verses here and there I found challenging. For example, why does Paul say go into the seeming digressing in 3:19-22 about “intermediaries” and God being “one?” How does that fit into the overall point? Also, he seems to use words like “law” to mean “Covenant of Moses,” but does “promise” then mean “Covenant of Abraham?” If so, what hypothetical “law” is being described in 3:21?

So here’s my current working paraphrase. I owe a heavy debt to Ridderbos’ commentary, and I often “leaned on” the ESV translation (since that’s what I will be preaching this text from). I use brackets “[ and ]” to express logic I think is implied by the text, or missing premises, or other thoughts related to the passage that are not strictly “in” the passage. Critique appreciated, the comments are open!

There’s another reason why you should be confident that you have received the inheritance of salvation through the promise, that is the covenant made with Abraham, and not through the law, that is, the Mosaic covenant. This reason comes from ordinary life. This is how covenants work even in our own daily experience: it cannot be modified or cancelled after it has been formally certified. In our case there was already a covenant in place before the Covenant of Law came, namely, the Covenant of Promise made with Abraham. This covenant was made with Abraham’s seed—that is, to a single line of offspring, which ultimately is fulfilled in the promised Messiah, the Son who is the Christ.

The Covenant of Law came later—a lot later in fact, about 430 years!—and it was not given in order to annul or amend the prior Covenant of Promise. The Covenant of Promise was certified and confirmed by God himself, and the Covenant of Law cannot and does not void that promise. Therefore the inheritance—which is to say all of salvation, and preeminently justification and the sending of the Spirit—was never to come by adherence to the Covenant of Law. That would be to contradict the earlier Covenant, which God assured to Abraham not through conditions and commandments, but by his promise.

Ok, but then why add the Covenant of Law at all? What purpose would it serve? Why not just fulfill the Covenant of Promise without any intermediate Mosaic period? [Why do we need a national covenant, one which would establish the seed as national Israel)? The law was added to illustrate, illuminate, incubate, impede but also aggravate the problem of transgression.[1] [The Covenant of Promise, after all, does not address the deadly power of transgression, but simply promises blessing.] It was added in order to do this until the offspring promised should come into the world and receive the promised inheritance. What is more, the fact that it was put in place by various intermediaries—Moses for one, but even he received it through angels (rather than directly from God, who is one)—further proves that it cannot and does not annul the Covenant of Promise, which was ratified directly by God Himself.

Is the Covenant of Law then working against the Covenant of Promise? Absolutely not. If a different set of commandments could have been given, a different covenant of laws, one which was able to guarantee new-creation life (which is to say, the blessings of the promise) to its recipients, then righteousness would certainly have come by adherence to that covenant’s laws. Since that was not possible [as no set of laws can solve the problem of sin, but only make it worse], The Scripture (you will remember that we read from Deuteronomy earlier that “everyone who does not do all of the law is under a curse”) was given to enclose and contain all sinful things under the power and rule of sin. He did this so that the blessing promised in the Covenant of Promise might be given to those who believe through faith in Jesus Christ

What was life like under the Covenant of Law, before the era of faith came in the coming of Jesus? [I know it personally, since I was there!] It was like being kept in custody, like being confined while waiting for something, in this case waiting for the era of faith to be revealed? The Covenant of Law was thus like a kind of warden or custodian or tutor that watched over us until the Christ should come, so that we might be justified not under the era of the Law, but under the Covenant of Faith.

Now though the Era of Faith is here, and so we are no longer under the custody of a warden. Rather, we have reached maturity. In Christ Jesus you are all—we are all!—sons of God [which means we have received the promised inheritance]. For when you were baptized, you were baptized in Christ, and therefore you have put on Christ. Because we have put on Christ there are no longer the divisions and classifications that there were in the old age; there is no Jew or Greek, no slave or free person, no male or female. Everybody is one in Christ Jesus. This is the sum of it all: if you belong to the Christ, then you are the one seed of Abraham. You have received the promised inheritance that has been given to the Son of God.

[1] Ridderbos’ commentary: two options for the sense of the “because:” either (1) to restrain transgression, or (2) in line with Rom 4:15 and 5:20 to call it forth “and make them manifest. This is to say more than that by means of the law sin could be acknowledge as transgression in its proper and terrible character: it is to say also that by means of the law sin should come out into the open and multiple itself…. This had to take place so that the indispensability of Christ would come to be rightly understood” (138).

Don't Lose the Languages

Fri, 06 Oct 2023 00:00:00 +0000

As a teacher of Greek the question I get asked most is definitely: “how do I keep my Greek?” I have to restrain myself from rolling my eyes at this point because the answer is so simple, and because the person asking the question already knows the answer. There’s only one way to do it. There’s no shortcut, no trick, no special preservative. You can’t wrap up the languages in shrink wrap and stick them in the refrigerator.

The only way to keep your Greek and Hebrew is to read Greek and Hebrew.

Muscle Atrophy

I think you probably already knew that was the answer. You just didn’t want to admit it. But the languages are just like everything else: if you don’t use it, you’ll loose it.

There are a lot of parallels between language learning (or learning in general) and exercise. The only way to retain muscle strength is to continue to use those muscles. If you fail to exercise, your muscles will atrophy and your gains will be lost. The result: dad bod. Correspondingly, if you want to gain muscle there’s really only one solution: progressive overload. You have to push your body and increase the normal amount of stress you apply to those muscles.

Greek and Hebrew are the same way. If you want to keep them, you have to use them. If you want to get better, you need to read more widely and more deeply. So what we really need is not a trick or a gimmick, but a reading plan. In the rest of this post, I will offer two. The first is designed for maintenance–we’re aiming for “just enough” to keep what we’ve already gained, but recognizing that there’s limited time in our busy schedules. In the second plan we are aiming for gains; how can we make progress in our understanding of the languages (without reverting back to the “bad old days” of route memorization).

All Day Pace

The trick is to keep things manageable. You want to set a pace that you can maintain, but one robust enough that you accomplish your goal.

First, get a Greek Reader’s NT and a Hebrew Reader’s OT. These versions of the Bible provide definitions of rare words, uncommon parsings, and other resources in the footer of the main text. That allows you to “keep reading” without having to grab a lexicon or grammar when you get stuck. You’ll also want a grammar cheat sheet; often you can find versions that fit snuggly in the binding of your Bible.

https://youtu.be/J6qWuLrtyuc?si=1AslkwM7BsAXur5w

Now set a reading goal. This will depend on your skill level and available time. Even a verse a day can be helpful. And on that note, definitely sign up for A Daily Dose of Greek and A Daily Dose of Hebrew. Start by seeing how much you can translate in about 30 minutes from a Reader’s Bible in a “moderately difficult” passage. The Gospels are a good place for Greek, and Ruth for Hebrew

Third: stop using commentaries that aren’t anchored in the original languages. At least don’t make that your main usage case. Use commentaries on the Hebrew and Greek text, both because this is what you should be doing anyway (perhaps I post on that will be forthcoming), and also because it will help you develop in the languages. You will learn what scholars think is important (which is often, but not always, actually important), what debates are out there, what’s relatively sure and what’s relatively unknown about the text. You get to enter the conversation around the Greek and Hebrew, and that’s a good thing. What is more, this synergizes with preparation for teaching and preaching and Bible study, so it’s kinda like “free points.”

https://youtu.be/bdydZuPdlMU?si=pIccoF7mo8RgLCCe

Finally, and this is another “free points” tip, whenever you are preparing for a sermon or for teaching, prepare at least a subset of verses from the original languages. You may not be able to do this for the whole passage, but perhaps there’s a particularly important verse that you are addressing. Or perhaps there’s a point that requires the translation to look a certain way. Check the originals and translate them from scratch.

Progressive Overload

Setting a good “all/every day pace” will help you maintain what you’ve already learned, and you may even see modest improvement. But what if you want to “get gud?” Just like with exercise, progressive overload is the key. Here’s what you can be doing to stretch yourself and make some significant gains, roughly in order of importance. Of course, you may run into periods of time when you simply can’t work out this much, in which case just go back to the “every day pace” plan for maintenance.

First, every time you work on a sermon or other project, translate the key passage from scratch and keep a running document of your translations. I have a multi-column word document that I use for this. Each book gets a separate document, each verse has its own row, and the columns are various exegetical notes and a finished translation. (By the way, this will help you figure out your own translation “style,” though I recommend aiming at highly readable). There are of course other ways of doing this–journaling Bibles, free hand notebooks, etc., but I like my document approach because it’s searchable and easily extensible.

Another great thing to do that synergizes with regular study is to do syntactical and discourse diagramming using the Hebrew and Greek. If those words mean nothing to you, then welcome to a new and exciting world of exegetical nerdom. There’s a lot of good resources to get you started, but give biblearc.com a try for starters.

Third, work through your original grammar again, this time slowly and looking up all those verses that are referenced.

Fourth: read Silva and/or Carson. If you find Silva gets you interested in linguistics, and it should, go here.

Fifth, read around the Bible. Read non-biblical works that are written in the Biblical languages, starting with material closest to Biblical “sphere” and then moving outwards in concentric circles. So for Greek, start with the Septuagint. Hey! There’s even a Reader’s Version published by RTS faculty! Then move to the early Fathers, like 1 Clement. Give the apocryphal literature a try. Then dive into the classics: Herodotus is a fun place to start, or Euripedes if you’re read for a real challenge. Sadly, your options are more limited for ancient Hebrew, but there’s also a wider array of Biblical literature here. If you want to stretch yourself you could always dive into Aramaic, or other cousin languages like Ugaritic.

Finaly, though if you’ve made it this far, you’re probably already doing this, dive into specialized topics in the languages. Subscribe to blogs like Koine Greek. Read secondary literature on topics you’re interested in like verbal aspect theory, or constituent postponement in Hebrew, or advanced studies in the article. Your grammar will highlight some of the most significant resources, and I’m sure your original instructor in the languages would be happy to nerd-out with you.

Conclusion

Back to the main idea, though: there’s no substitute to just reading. There are some secondary tools, but the goal of these is to make reading easier and more productive. They are supplements to reading, not shortcuts. So it’s really easy: if you keep reading, you’ll keep the languages.

Paul was not a Theologian

Tue, 26 Sep 2023 00:00:00 +0000

Here’s my claim: “Paul was not a theologian.” Click bait? Absolutely, but hear me out. Typical readings of Paul orient themselves (either consciously or sub-consciously) around the claim that Paul is something like “the greatest theologian in church history.” I don’t necessarily disagree with that claim (though if there’s going to be a competition, I’d like to put forward the author of Hebrews). The problem is I don’t think it’s very useful. Approaching Paul as a kind of “master theologian” begins in the wrong spot. He is a master theologian, but theological meditation is neither what motivates his writing or animates his ministry. Paul was not a theologian, he was a pastor. Paul’s theological endeavors are secondary to his pastoral purpose; he uses theology to address and resolve pastoral problems.

There’s more wrong here than right.

A way of reading

The “Paul as theologian” model of reading his letters begins at the wrong end. When we think of Paul as a theologian we think that his primary aim and work is the study of theology. I love theologians; I have several friends who are theologians! Well, I have at least one friend who is a theologian (you know who you are). What is more, I personally love theology and believe deep theological knowledge makes better pastors, teachers, exegetes, philosophers, and historians. I also agree that in some very important ways “everyone is a theologian.” Nevertheless, the term “theologian” as a job description or principle goal (which I take as implied in the sentence “Paul was the greatest Christian theologian”) implies that Paul’s principle aim is the study, development, and dissemination of good theology (and, correspondingly, that the primary aim for us as readers is to understand, extract, and expound on that theology). That’s not Paul’s primary aim. His primary aim is far more local and mundane. In most of his letters he is scrambling to address pastoral problems. His theology develops in service to concrete and diverse pastoral situations.

Why is this important? If we approach Paul’s letters as if they are “answers” to theological questions, or alternatively “rebuttals” of theological error, or “treatises” on theological topics, we will fail to appropriately interpret his words in light of the pastoral situation that they intend to address. While most careful exegetes will avoid egregious errors here, the problem is “theology first” approach to Paul can result in a passive bias that obscures things like tone, purpose, and occasionality in Paul’s letters.

Galatians is one such case. If we approach it as a king of “complete treatise” on the relationship between faith and works we can miss important nuance. We could come to the conclusion, for example, that Paul’s statement “if you are circumcises, Christ will not profit you” is always and everywhere true. It’s not. It’s specific to this situation. Or we could conclude that it’s wrong for Jewish Christians to continue to worship at the temple; that also appears to not be the case, since Paul himself participates in temple ritual in Acts 21. Romans is another example. While it’s less situationally driven than Galatians, it’s not really “Paul’s Systematic Theology,” as it is sometimes claimed. Paul has a number of pastoral aims he wants to accomplish, though he’s not transparent about that until we get to Romans 15-16. (By the way, if you’re looking for something that can be more fittingly called “Paul’s Systematic Theology,” may I suggest Ephesians, though even here I think “Missionary Introduction Letter” might be better).

Theology in Context

This is, of course, not to say that Paul is not theological, or that we should consider theology unimportant. It is, rather, a reminder that Paul’s theological interests and development are “fitted” to his pastoral focus. It’s important, then, to read Paul’s letters within their specific pastoral context. We need to develop a “pastor first” way of reading Paul, even as we do the important work of describing his theological claims and contributions.

It’s not a new claim, nor is it particularly insightful, but it does provide a helpful reading strategy. Try it on for size. What do you notice when you approach Paul’s letters as personal and pastoral, rather than didactic and theological? Maybe some things will “pop” more than they did previously, or maybe you will see something new. This happened to me recently in think about 1 Cor. 13, the “greatest of these is love” passage. It’s a beautiful passage that stands on its own. It’s a theological and poetic masterpiece on the nature and power of love. But it’s also a sub-point to a pastoral issue: the selfish and distracting use of spiritual gifts in the church. Paul is pastoring here, and an important pastoral point arises when one notices that: the Gifts of the Spirit are in service to the Fruit of the Spirit. The fruit is eternal, the gifts are not; they abide only in so far as they cultivate the fruit.

Can you see this with a “theology first” reading model? Absolutely. But it “pops” in a pastor first mode. The pastor model forces me to keep asking, “what problem does this theological truth address? How is it useful for the church? How does it fit the pastoral need?” Those questions will not only make us better readers, they hopefully make us better shepherds.

Only John Witnessed the Ascension Twice

Fri, 14 Jul 2023 00:00:00 +0000

As far as I can tell, there’s only one apostle that had the privilege of seeing the ascension twice, at two different times in his life, and from two different points of view: John, the “disciple that Jesus loved” (John 21:7).

By “the ascension” I mean that moment in history when Jesus ascended to heaven and was enthroned at the right hand of the Father. Jesus prophecies about this event multiple times in his ministry (for example, in John 2:19), and he gives his disciples a good bit of detail about the matter in his farewell speech to them in John 14-17. The epistles will spend a good bit of time talking about the theological significance of this key event in redemptive history (prime of place goes to Phil. 2:5-11 and Hebrews 2:5ff). But none of the Gospels show us the event. It’s not until Acts 1 that we get to watch the eyes of the Eleven follow their master Jesus rising into the heavens (Acts 1:9).

John was there. He watched from his terrestrial perch, and eventually Jesus disappeared behind a cloud, and John’s eyes were not strong enough to see more than that.

And then, sometime later, Jesus gave John a different perch.

A Heavenly View

The next spot we need to go is Revelation 5. Take a look. It may not be immediately obvious that this chapter is about the ascension, that it describes the same events that Luke describes in Acts 1. After all, John is many decades older than he was in Acts 1 when he sees the things he sees in Revelation 5. And Revelation, we know, is about things that will happen in the future, not things that have happened in the past, right?

Sort of. Certainly the vision that John experiences–the vision that constitutes the book of Revelation (Rev 1:9)–is something that takes place long after the events of Acts 1. But it is not necessarily the case that the vision is of an event that takes place after Acts 1. That is, John may be seeing the past, not the future. In fact, there are several instances in Revelation that must be about the past (from John’s perspective). For example, the woman of Revelation 12 gives birth to a male child who is taken up into heaven and becomes the King of the universe. Can this be a description of anything other than the birth of Jesus? And surely this child being “caught up” to God is yet another description of the ascension (12:5)? Revelation is not primarily about the future; Revelation is about how the past affects the future. Or, more particularly, Revelation is about the future implications of the ascension of Jesus.

And the first time that the ascension is presented is Revelation 5. Actually, Revelations 5 is about the entirety of human history up to and including the ascension. Take another look. The problem or tension that this narrative addresses is the search for one worthy to open the scroll. What is this scroll? Why is this scroll so important? You need to know a bit about Ezekiel and Isaiah and Daniel for it all to fit together, but if you’ve read those prophets it’s not particularly mysterious. This scroll represents the plan of God; it’s Father’s blueprint for making all things work together for His glory and the world’s good. The problem: no one is found worthy to read and execute that plan. There’s no king who will follow God. A worldwide search has been conducted; all of Adam’s children have been scrutinized. None are found worthy. The plan of God for the good of the world cannot be executed, for it was always designed to be implemented by a Son of Adam, and neither Adam nor his sons are able to do this thing.

But lo! A new King comes forward! This one is a lion, but also a lamb slaughtered for atonement. This one is worthy. Worthy to do what? To reign. To reign as King, to execute the plan of God, to bring about the glorification of the world and the judgement of all the children of Adam.

Two Points of View

Revelation 5 is the “other side” of the ascension. It’s what happens after Jesus passes through that cloud that obscures the disciples vision. It is that moment when Jesus sits at the seat promised to Adam, but which Adam abrogated. It is the seat promised to David, but David was, in the end, not worthy to occupy. “The Lord said to my Lord” (Matt. 22:44); David himself looked for the one who would be worthy to sit on the throne that God promised to David.

John saw the ascension twice. The first time he saw it looking up from the earth, and Jesus rose into the clouds, and his vision of the coronation was thus obscured. The second time he was taken up into the heavens, and he saw Jesus come up from the earth, and enthroned at the right hand of the Father.

And then Jesus opened the scroll.

Why is there no verb in Ephesians 3:1?

Sat, 24 Jun 2023 00:00:00 +0000

This series features “real questions” from students and emails, lightly edited to protect the innocent. In this case double spaces between sentences were removed from the original question because you only need one space between sentences people! (Seriously though, this was a great question).

The Question

Dr. Keene, I’m confused by Ephesians 3:1… it seems to be an introductory clause to verse 2, but it has no verb. Is there a verbal word that I am missing, or is the action of the clause implied? Also, ὁ is post-articular to Παῦλος, which seems odd. Does ὁ modify Παῦλος? Or is it some kind of stand-alone article?

As it stands now, my literal translation is: “For this reason, I, Paul, for the bonds of Christ Jesus on behalf of your nations”.

(Note: my practice is not to consult an English translation until I am satisfied with my best effort at a translation.)

Response

Ah yes! Welcome to Paul! Paul (and I personally love him for this as it justifies my own proclivities) likes to interrupt himself. That little ει γε introduces a relative clause, which normally would be “relative” to a main verb, but you have no main verb! Maybe the main verb will show up after the relative clause? Nope. Paul continues on in 3:2ff to address the concerns of the relative clause (what if you haven’t heard of me?) and does not return to the thought of the introductory clause, leaving the phrase grammatically unresolved. The verb is not implied, it’s simply missing. Paul interrupts himself. To paraphrase: “Because of this, I, Paul, a prisoner of Jesus Christ for you Gentiles–but wait! Perhaps you’ve never heard of me! I should introduce myself first!”

Will Paul ever finish his original thought? We’ve got to keep reading. Where does he finish the opening and give us the result of the “reason?” In my reading it isn’t until 3:7, which incidentally begins a new sentence. He interrupted himself, and now he starts over in a way that is slightly transformed by the material of his interruption.

Paul does this often. It’s a rhetorical strategy here, but a didactic one in other places, like Rom. 5:12 (he interrupts himself at 5:13 and does not return to his original thought until 5:18!)

I like your translation strategy! Be in dialog with translations and try to understand the logic of the decisions they make, but doing it yourself first can help you better understand the translation strategy.

Some technical notes: the ὁ doesn’t go with Paul but with δεσμιος; it’s an apposition construction, which will be in the same case/gender/number as the main noun. That’s actually what’s going on with ὑπὲρ ὑμῶν τῶν ἐθνῶν as well: “for you, which is to say, the Gentiles” instead of “your nations.”

Does Christmas Really Matter?

Mon, 26 Dec 2022 00:00:00 +0000

The first Christmas changed everything forever. ((This post is adapted from a devotional I wrote for my church, McLean Presbyterian.)) And let’s be clear about what that means. Christmas is not an idea, not an emotion or an attitude or an ethos or symbol. Christmas isn’t a metaphor; it’s an event. It’s a fact of history. It really happened, and when it happened everything changed. The King of Kings is born!

“Unto us a son is given” (Isa 9:6). The world has been given a “son.” Why is that helpful? Did the world need a son? Yes; yes we did. Since the failure and fall of Adam the whole world has needed a Son (Luke 3:38), a New Adam (Rom.5), a Good King. Christmas marks the day when the world received its King. That’s what Isaiah 9:6 prophesies, and what Christmas is ultimately about: the world has been given a King that is good; and he is good in all the ways: “wonderful,” “wise,” “strong,” “father-like,” “peaceful,” everlastingly. That’s the fundamental reality of Christmas, and as our church returns to the Gospel of Mark in the coming weeks, the implications of this will become increasingly evident: this King will demonstrate his goodness by coming into His city, dying for His people, and ascending forty days later to sit on a heavenly throne (Mark 8:27-9:13).

That’s the true meaning of Christmas. But then Christmas is over. We go back to work. The kids start fighting again. Old wounds are remembered, or worse: re-applied. The lights come down, the tree is dragged out to the curb, and the snow (if there was any) is now black with dirt and salt and soot. All remains is the cold. The problems of the world assail us, and it’s all just days really. The 25th isn’t special if the 26th is just like the 24th. Did everything really change? Did anything change?

It did. We have hope now, and here’s how that works.

First, we need to remember that even after Jesus’ resurrection we’re still living in a wilderness (Heb. 3:7-4). This is why it sometimes feels like nothing changed. “We do not yet see all things subject to him” (Heb. 2:8). The world still feels like the world, and the world is a wilderness (Heb. 3:7-4:16). Suffering, decay, loss, fear, anxiety, conflict, sadness, pain—these things abide, and they test and tempt trouble us as we continue our journey to promised land. It’s better now, to be sure, but death and decay still encumber this world and so the world continues to groan for its redemption (Rom 8:18-30). What’s next? We are called to persevere, to press on, to hold fast.

Second, though: the New World has already begun! Jesus really does sit enthroned. We may not see all things subject to him, but we do see Jesus “crowned in glory and honor” (Heb. 2:9). Things are better now. Jesus has poured out His Spirit on all flesh, he has bound the strong man, his messengers proclaim the gospel to the ends of the earth, he continually intercedes for us in a heavenly tabernacle. What’s next? We draw near to Jesus as he drew near to us (Heb. 10:26-29), finding comfort and help as we journey, and praying as he taught us to pray: “your will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.”

Finally, since Christmas fulfills God’s promise to “visit his people” (Luke 1:68), it is also a reminder that he will visit us again. A “rest remains” for the people of God (Heb. 4:9-11). The world will not always be a wilderness; no, an “imperishable” world awaits (1 Cor. 15:52; 1 Peter 1:7). It will be an entirely different order, with different physics and different biology and different social structures. Onn this new earth life cannot but flourish, and love will abide in ever increasing measure. What’s next? We live for the next world, even as we continue to wander in this one. We sing anew that same old song of advent, now infused with a greater hope, “come thou long expected Jesus.” He has come already, and will come again. Come Lord Jesus; come quickly.

From Paper to Pulpit

Mon, 19 Dec 2022 00:00:00 +0000

Returning to our “real questions” series, this particular issue deserves a full post, but for now, some initial reflections.

The Question

“As I research and gather information and insight for the exegetical paper in this class, I have began to wonder how I might harness my study to craft a sermon from the same passage. What is your experience in transforming a purely exegetical work into a digestible sermon? Is this a worthwhile practice?

Response: Don’t Preach your Papers (but there’s still hope)

Great question. I’ve been wanting to write a longer blog post about this, so perhaps your question will let me get my thoughts in order!

Rule 1: Don’t preach your papers!

Some might find that rule a bit obvious, but I’ve heard a lot of sermons that are actually papers, especially from those “fresh out” of seminary. Sure, some changes are made here and there, taking out the footnotes and not relying on technical analysis of the Greek, and perhaps the preacher even reformats it a bit so that it’s fits a more “oral” delivery, but they are still papers in form and function. How so? Because a paper is ordered around a thesis. The temptation is to think that a sermon is similar, but the center of the sermon is different. In fact, the center of the sermon is different enough that it constitutes an entirely different genre of discourse (in my view, at least).

A sermon, in contrast to a paper, isn’t ordered and organized and determined by a thesis, but rather by an exhortation. The center of the sermon–the thing around which it is in orbit–is it’s exhortational purpose, not its doctrinal or exegetical content. (It should be doctrinal and exegetical, of course, but that’s not what makes it what it is). An exegetical paper makes a claim about the meaning of a particular text and uses the tools of exegesis to prove that claim. By contrast a sermon provides a second-order reflection. It uses the text to address and resolve a practical and pastoral problem. A paper is organized around what the text means, but a sermon is organized around the problem the text solves.

So the first thing I would do in “converting” your paper to a sermon is apply the text to your own life and context. How does it address your mind? Your will? Your affections? Your challenges and trials? Make a list of practical implications of the text and pray through that list.

Is one of the items on your list particularly significant, either to you or to the text? That’s the main point of your sermon. Put that thing in exhortational form. Frame it as a problem for which the text offers a biblical solution. Now build your sermon around that (and give it a bit of dramatic flow). As you do that you will pull from your paper. The work is done. The math is all there. It just needs to be packaged as a sermon.

The Beginning of Things tells you Stuff: Determining Genre

Fri, 02 Dec 2022 00:00:00 +0000

In the previous two posts of this series argued that one of the reasons we have trouble understanding the Bible is because we do not read it in the ordinary way that books are to be read. ((This article original appeared on the Christward Collective.)) We assume that because the Bible is the Word of God (which it most definitely is), and because it is therefore inspired and inerrant, that it must consequently “break the rules” of ordinary human communication. I argued, by contrast, that the miracle of the Bible is that it speaks to us about extra-ordinary things (and with extra-ordinary accuracy) in a nevertheless ordinary way. We concluded, then, that one should read any biblical book, be it a letter or a narrative or a history or a compendium of wisdom or a doctrinal treatise, in the same way that you would read any other book of that type. Read any biblical discourse as if it were a particularly exemplary instance of other similar kinds of discourse, even though the ultimate author of this discourse is the One True God.

Which brings us to the present topic, because obviously the next question that arises is “what kind of discourse am I actually reading?” Let’s say you’re reading the “epistle” to the Hebrews and, following the advice above, you want to read it in the ordinary way similar discourses are read. Well, what is an epistle and how are epistles normally read? Do epistles have the same function 2000 years ago that they do today? And is Hebrews even an epistle? ((It isn’t.)) The answers to those kinds of questions are very important to our present thesis; one can’t read Hebrews (or any other book) in an “ordinary” way if one doesn’t really know the kind of thing that Hebrews is.

Which is why we have to talk about genre.

What is genre?

What is genre? How might we define the term? One linguist describes it as “discourse type.” ((Young, Intermediate New Testament Greek.)) That is to say, genre is a description of the kind of “communicative event” that we are currently trying to interpret. Let’s say someone is speaking to you. What are they trying to tell you? Are they telling you a story? Are they giving you instructions? Are they asking you to do something? Maybe they are stating an opinion. Perhaps they are relating something that happened to them today so that you might offer them sympathy or council. Each of these represents a different type of discourse and determining the type of discourse that your currently hearing will, in turn, determine how you interpret it and react to it.

Scientists do the same with animals. Both cats and dogs have four legs—in that respect they are similar—but they differ in so far as dogs are awesome and cats are not, and that dissimilarity means they are classified differently. Similarity and dissimilarity is the key to identifying “type,” and genre is “discourse type.” Genre is classification; you are looking at a discourse and describing how it is similar to some discourses and dissimilar to others.

You have likely heard it said that interpretation requires context. Genre is “literary context.” Genre defines how a certain literary event fits within culturally adjacent literary events. To ask about a work’s “genre” is to ask “how is this work similar to other works, and how does that allow me to better interpret what it is trying to accomplish?” Furthermore, determining discourse type, or literary context, is key to interpreting what you are reading. Imagine you get it wrong. Imagine, for example, that you confuse fiction with non-fiction, or satire with genuine news, or the political stump speech with actual policy, or South Park with a child’s cartoon show. You’re likely in for some interpretive troubles. If you want to interpret any of these things correctly, you need to know how the genre works.

How do I determine genre?

If all this sounds a bit too theoretical, here’s the good news: for the most part you identify the genre of a book intuitively and without issue. Most of us can’t help but be immersed in our surrounding culture, and as such we are constantly exposed to diverse types of “literary events,” each of which represent a different subset of literary genres. We thus learn about genre the same way we learn our native language: through constant exposure in natural settings. That’s why you don’t need to be told about the “rules” operative in fiction, or newspaper articles, or the op-ed, or sci-fi, or the latest rom-com.

Ordinarily everything “just works,” and the reason everything just works is because the author and the audience share a wealth of assumptions about the type of discourse they are reading or watching or listening to. Let’s say you’re planning an evening of watching Netflix and your suggestion list features a category described as “Gripping and Dark British Detective TV Drama.” “That’s highly specific,” you think, but actually you intuitively know exactly what you are in for. The overarching story is going to be sad and tragic (drama), and it’s going to take some time to get to the point (TV), but the stakes are high because at least one person has been murdered (Detective) and, furthermore, the clues (clues, not evidence, which is what distinguishes the British mystery from the American) required to unravel said murder are convoluted and therefore require special insight/intelligence/misanthropy (British); what is more, the detective will probably have a disturbing past (dark), and the mystery will take several episodes to resolve (gripping). If you love detective stories, and have therefore immersed yourself in the genre, you know exactly what to expect.

In such cases determining genre is straightforward. Just remember this simple guide: “The beginning of things tells you stuff.”

Pay careful attention to the opening section of any discourse. The first five minutes of a movie, the first chapter or so of a novel, the opening introduction of a sermon, the first paragraph of a newspaper article—all of these “first moments” are specifically designed to orient you to the thing that you are reading or hearing or watching. Remember, authors generally want to be understood, and because they want to be understood they want to set you up to read well. Furthermore, as we said before, genre is ordinarily intuitive, and as such a writer will use the “ordinary” rules to signal to you the kind of thing you are reading. A particularly good writer or story teller may be creative about it, and you may not even see what they are doing, but in those first moments they are “introducing” you to the work they are creating. They are inviting you in, and they use dozens of little words and phrases and images to make sure you start off in the right place.

Consider the first five minutes of the original Star Wars. Space. Emptiness filled with innumerable stars. Then a blast of lasers and an impossibly large starship chasing an improbably small one across the scene. An obviously evil villain. A woman in white. Androids. And suddenly you’re on a desert planet in search of a hero. Within minutes you know exactly what kind of movie you’re watching, even if you can’t put a name to it. This is a “sci-fi space western (with an underdog hero).” If you’re particularly good at this kind of thing, you may even be expecting the hero to be some sort of “chosen one.”

Or consider the “epistle” to the Hebrews. Read over the first chapter. Does it sound like other epistles in the New Testament? Nope. Not even a little bit. No author is mentioned, nor any audience. It lacks the features we have come to expect from ordinary letters. What does it sound like? Perhaps one of the speeches by Peter or Paul in Acts? Or maybe one of the homilies of Jesus in Matthew? So maybe it’s more like a sermon than a letter? Now check out the ending in Heb. 13. Hmmm. Well it finishes like a letter, but overall it still feels more like a sermon, and in fact it actually identifies itself as “a word of exhortation” in Heb. 13:22. So, as one commentator (F. F. Bruce) puts it, Hebrews is a “sermon, with some personal remarks at the end.” The ending complicated matters a bit, but the beginning of the discourse set us on the proper path: Hebrews is not an epistle; it’s a sermon.

How Genre Affects Reading

Photo by Thirdman on Pexels.com

Identifying genre will have an incredible affect on your reading of Scripture. It’s as important to reading the Bible as tuning an instrument is to playing music. Understanding the genre of a work helps you read in harmony with what is written. It “attunes” you to its structure, purpose, and language. Genre is literary attunement.

Let’s keep going with Hebrews as our example. It matters that it’s not a letter. True letters like Philemon or Galatians are written to very specific people for a very specific reason. You write a letter to say thanks or express condolences or ask a favor or give instruction. If Hebrews isn’t a letter then it shouldn’t be read like Philemon or Galatians (in which the historical moment is key to interpretation), or like a doctrinal treatise (for which the didactic elements are most important), but rather like the sermons in Acts or the homilies of Jesus. How do we read sermons? What makes them different than traditional letters? Well, there may be some degree of historical specificity to a sermon, but they tend to be more “generalized” than letters. They also tend to be organized around exhortation rather than argumentation. Sermons contain argumentation, to be sure, but the point and purpose of a homily is, in the end, the imperative: “believe” or “behave” or, in the case of Hebrews, “hold fast” (Heb. 10:23).

Noticing that can help you solve a lot of problems when it comes to interpreting a book like Hebrews. It’s common in Hebrews to try and reconstruct the situation within which the author was writing. Was he addressing Jews who were tempted to return to temple worship? Maybe, but if so the author doesn’t describe the situation in the way we have come to expect from letters (consider, for example, Galatians or the Corinthian Correspondence). Such a historical reconstruction is not as important for understanding a sermon like Hebrews as it is a polemical letter like Galatians. Why? Because sermons are more general and therefore less “situationally immediate” than letters. Regardless of the specific temptation, the point is hold fast.

Where to Go from Here

“The beginning of things tells you stuff” rule will serve you well in many circumstances, but it’s not a magic bullet. Though we ordinarily identify genre intuitively, mistakes do occur, even in our own culture. We start reading a standard newspaper article only to realize we are actually in an op-ed or piece of “fake news.” Hopefully the process of reading, combined with our own cultural awareness, corrects the mistake before we find ourselves embarrassed, but sometimes we just simply “didn’t get it.”

These mistakes are compounded when we interpret literary works far removed from our own cultural context. Extra thought and analysis are required in these cases to make sure we don’t get on the wrong train. The Bible is an ancient book, and God speaks through it “in many ways” (Heb. 1:1). As a result, it’s not always easy to determine genre. Or we may have correctly classified the genre of a book—the Psalms as Hebrew poetry, for example—but nevertheless have only a limited understanding of how that genre worked at the time—Hebrew poetry does not behave in the same way modern English poetry behaves.

So there is more work to be done. A good study bible or special introduction or commentary can go a long way to helping you bridge the gap, but the best way forward is to immerse yourself in the “many times and many ways” that God has spoken to us.

Another way to Read the Lord's Prayer

Wed, 16 Nov 2022 00:00:00 +0000

The Lord’s Prayer isn’t just a timeless prayer; it’s also a timely one.

What’s that supposed to mean? Well, a timeless prayer is a prayer that can be used as a kind of model, a prayer for everyone, and in fact a prayer that is appropriate for any situation. The Lord’s Prayer is definitely that.

But there’s another aspect to the Lord’s Prayer that is worth considering. It’s also a timely prayer, by which I mean that it is fit for a particular occasion. It is the kind of prayer that addresses the moment. Or, to put it another way, there’s a beautiful and productive ambiguity in the phrase “the Lord’s Prayer.” Is this prayer “the Lord’s” because it’s the prayer that Jesus taught his disciples to pray? Or, alternatively, is it “the Lord’s” because it’s the kind of prayer Jesus prayed?

Why not both?

The Prayer Jesus Taught Us to Pray

Most treatments of the Lord’s Prayer begin by approaching it as a timeless prayer, as a model to be studied and emulated in one’s own personal practice and worship, as the way Jesus instructed his disciples to pray. Jesus’ own words encourage that approach: “pray then like this” (Matt. 6:9). As Jesus answers the question posed by his disciples—how then should we pray?—he actually prays a model prayer. He doesn’t give them rules or principles (“start with adoration, then confession,…”); no, he drops to his knees and prays. He answers their question about prayer with a prayer.

“The smoke of the incense, together with the prayers of God’s people, went up before God from the angel’s hand” (Rev. 8:4).

That is significant. His answer implies that what follows is a kind of model or rubric. It is the sum of all prayers. In all our prayers we pray this way. When Jesus prays his answer he thereby gives his disciples a path to follow, a form to repeat, a pattern upon which they can iterate and create. The Lord’s Prayer is a cross-generational and always relevant guide for God’s people as they approach God with praise and petition. It is a timeless prayer, and exploring the timeless character of this prayer has provided God’s people with countless fruitful perspectives on the nature of Christian prayer.

A Prayer that Jesus Prayed

There is, however, another implication to this observation. The fact that Jesus answered his disciples by actually praying provides for us another layer of theological and pastoral reflection on the Lord’s prayer. This is the kind of prayer that Jesus prayed. It’s “the Lord’s” because he in fact prayed it. He prayed it first; he prayed it best; he prayed it sincerely and reverently.

This observation lets us meditate on the Lord’s Prayer from a different angle. This prayer is not just the kind of prayer that our Lord taught, but rather the kind of prayer our Lord prayed. It is not just a timeless prayer; it is also a timely one. This prayer is not just fit for all seasons, it is also one fit for this present moment, this period of Jesus’ own life and work. The two ideas are not mutually exclusive, but they are different, nonetheless. The former emphasis focuses on the way in which we are to pray the prayer, but the latter emphasizes how the prayer fits Jesus’ own need, his own work, and the way in which the person and work of Jesus is embodied in this particular prayer.

The King’s Petitions

In this series of posts, then, we will be taking a different approach to the six petitions that constitute the Lord’s Prayer. Rather than considering them along the personal and ecclesiological angle–“what are Christians praying for when they petition God to ‘give us this day our daily bread?’”–we will be considering them from a Christological and historical angle: what was Jesus praying for when he petitioned God for bread, and how did God answer that prayer? What about “thy Kingdom come?” And yes, of course: could Jesus authentically pray “forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors?”

The answers to those questions will have a twofold benefit. On the one hand, they will actually help us to pray better prayers–in understanding how Jesus prayed, we will grow in prayer. But there is an even more important benefit: in hearing Jesus’ own prayers we will better appreciate the heart, mind, and will of our Lord. We get to witness how the Son speaks to His own Father, and the love he has for his many sisters and brothers.

The Problem with Reading the Bible Verse-by-Verse

Mon, 07 Nov 2022 00:00:00 +0000

In a previous post we established that good Bible reading requires us read the Bible as God speaking to us in a manner that we can naturally understand. But how do we actually do that? ((Note: a version of this article was originally published on Christward Collective.))

It’s harder than you might think. Over the years we have trained ourselves to read the Bible in an unnatural way, so we’re going to have to break some bad habits. We are trained to read the Bible verse-by-verse, but in keeping with the “ordinary reading principle” we need to change our habits. We should ordinarily be reading the Bible paragraph-by-paragraph or, even better, book-by-book.

This is not how you read other books, is it?

**Read the book (not around the book)**

This may sound obvious, but the first and most important rule for interpreting and appropriating any biblical book is to actually read the book. Our ability to read well is often disrupted by a multitude of distractions, and those distractions halt reading. So read the book as it was meant to be read—that is, in a steady stream without pauses or breaks. You need to immerse yourself in the text.

That sounds easy enough, but it’s actually harder than you might think. The “distractions” that I’m referring to—the distractions that will cause you to lose focus or lead you down the wrong interpretative path—are not all environmental or circumstantial. I’m not really talking about avoiding the annoying thing your kids are doing right now, or the weird noise coming from the radiator. I’m talking about the typical things we do as we read the Bible. Notes. Commentaries. Internet searches. Word studies.

Those things are good, don’t get me wrong, but they will short- circuit the reading process. You can use these things later. Don’t start with the commentaries, or the introduction in your study bible. Ignore the notes. As a general rule: don’t read other things while you’re reading this thing. Don’t let other voices distract you from this voice. Give the author of the book you are reading the respect of being heard, rather than talked about.

Actually, the problem is bigger than you think. As long as we’re talking about distracting things that change or short-circuit ordinary reading, let’s talk briefly about how most versions of the Bible are printer. It’s full of little bits and bobs that change the way you read. Sections headings. Footnotes. Cross references. Introductions for each biblical book. Red lettering. Text boxes with explanatory information. Let’s not stop there, because even if you take all those things out of it, those verse numbers and chapter numbers are not original to the text either. What is more, they break up the text into little chunks (often arbitrarily), and we do not naturally read in little chunks, we read in big chunks. You read ordinary books section by section, not word by word, but all the footnotes and verse numbers condition us to read the Bible verse by verse.

So I’d like to recommend buying a $20 book that will change your life. A Reader’s Bible. A Reader’s Bible removes all these secondary distracting bits. They are available for many of the most popular translations. You can get an ESV version here, or an NIV here. The first time you open it you’ll notice the difference. It looks like an “ordinary” book because all this extra stuff is removed, and I can almost guarantee you that it will change how you read. Anytime I’m preaching or teaching through a new book I start by reading that book in my reader’s ESV. This is also my go to for devotionals and personal reading. Obviously for bible studies and sermon prep I will need the verse numbers, but I start by reading the book the natural and ordinary way. A reader’s bible is great for that.

Have someone else do the reading for you

Another great tool is the audiobook. Now that may not, at first, seem all that “natural.” The disciples and earliest Christians didn’t have audiobooks! Ah, but they did! Remember that for many thousands of years the expectation was that these books would be first read aloud. For most individuals in the church—whether the earliest recipients of a given epistle, or the average church congregant prior to the modern era—the only access one had to Scripture was through public reading. Actually, the Bible itself witnesses to this. In Revelation, for example, John opens by blessing the one who “reads aloud the words of this prophecy, and blessed are those who hear” (1:3). John’s expectation is that this would be heard, and (probably) all at one in a single sitting. John expects that your access to his work is through someone reading it to you, and may they and you be blessed by it. So grab an audio bible—there are great free resources online—and push play.

Again, the result of this shift is bigger than just a shift in format. It will not only change how you read, it will change the way in which your reading is interpreted. Hearing the Bible engages a different part of your brain. What is more, it forces you to read in big chunks, rather than bits. You don’t have time to pause and think; on the contrary, you are “swept along.” Stephen King, in preparation for writing a sequel to one of his previous books, stated in an interview that he went back and listened to the audio recording of the original book. He found it fascinating. The audio version forced him to be swept along with the narrative. He didn’t have time for nitpicking, for questioning, for details. He was the passenger and could do little more than enjoy the ride. In other words, he was forced to receive the tale as one of his readers might read it. He couldn’t say “oh, I should have used this word instead of that word.” As such, it was perfect preparation for the sequel because it reminded him of the ethos and feel of the world he created, and thereby enabled him to jump back into the world for its sequel.

So it’s not only the case that having the Bible read to you corresponds with Biblical precedent and expectations, it’s also uniquely advantageous. It immerses you in the word in a living and personal manner, and as such it is particularly useful for interpretation. Of course, the best avenue for this is reading with and to other Christians, and especially in the context of public worship. But an audiobook is a helpful tool as well, and there are some great audio versions out there.

Read it All at Once, in a Single Sitting

Finally, as you sit down to read, commit yourself to reading the whole book, or at least a substantial portion of it. Force yourself to read large chunks, without pausing or backing up. As we mentioned above, we are conditioned to read the Bible in small bits rather than big bits. We pull it apart, slice it up, divide it into pieces. We only study it after it’s been dissected and cut up into its component parts, and then we wonder why it seems lifeless. Again, there is a stage in the reading process where this is appropriate and helpful (see the entries in this series), but this isn’t the way we ordinarily approach communication, and so we shouldn’t start there.

As you read, don’t back up. Don’t stop. Keep going. You might not understand this word or that verse or even whole paragraphs, but don’t be discouraged. You can always go back later and ask those kinds of questions. First get a sense of the forest. Read forwards. Don’t go back. Until you’re done.

Once you’re finished, sit back and meditate on what you read. What was it all about? Why was it written down? What impact does it have on my life? Keep these questions broad. You’re trying to capture the whole, not the parts.

Conclusion

This isn’t a new methodology. This is how you read other books and literature. The goal is to read “naturally,” that is, to read the work in a manner consistent with its intent and expectations. You want to reconstruct, as closely as possible, the way the author of the work assumes you will appropriate it, and that’s probably not verse by verse. Read big chunks, then do the difficult work of asking “what does it all mean.”

I will Tell you a Mystery: Translating μυστήριον

Thu, 03 Nov 2022 00:00:00 +0000

A student recently posed an interesting translation curiosity. I’d be interested to hear from others about this one!

The Question

Hello, Dr. Keene.

I noticed in looking at μυστήριον that the ESV translates the occurrences of this word in the Gospels as some form of “secret,” while in the Epistles it has the word as some variation of “mystery.” Do you know why they made this choice?

I saw that other translations - NASB, NKJV - use “mystery” in the Gospels, so I assume there’s a reason the ESV went the direction they did.

My Response

Is it fairly consistent in the Gospels, or did you have a specific verse in mind? I’m wondering how uniform the ESV is in this. In the end, I’m going to have to say “I don’t know;” it’s hard to get into a translation committee’s collective mind to figure that out. However, I do have some thoughts about the way the word is used in the Gospels in contrast to Paul.

The term is an interesting one. It tends to take on specialized “technical” characteristics by some authors in the NT. In the Gospels, Jesus consistently asks his disciples and followers to keep the testimony that he is the Messiah “secret.” The information is discernable, but the time has not yet come to reveal it in full. The OT promises that a Messiah will come, and as Jesus does his work on the earth the signs are there for all to see. But it’s not yet time for it to be publicly announced. This is sometimes referred to in scholarship as “The Messianic Secret.”

Some think that Paul is just taking up the idea from Jesus, but I don’t think so (nor do most scholars). For Paul, the μυστηριον is not Jesus’ Messianic identity, once kept private but subsequently publicly announced. Paul uses the word in connection with a series of themes surrounding the cosmic scope of Jesus’ work, particularly as His redemption fully and freely incorporates the Gentiles. The μυστήριον for Paul is less the “secret” of Christ’s Messianic identity and more like the “surprise” that the Gospel, as it is fulfilled in the resurrection and Pentecost, goes out beyond the Jews; it goes directly to the Gentiles too, and to the ends of the earth. This differs from Jesus’ “secret” because it is not discernable before Pentecost; that God would fulfill his promises in this way and with such cosmic prodigality is a surprise “kept hidden” until the end finally came (Col. 1:26).

The Gated Community: Heaven's Open Gates

Thu, 27 Oct 2022 00:00:00 +0000

I had the opportunity to preach at my former church last week, Christ the King Presbyterian in Conshohocken PA. The sermon was a look at the way the idea of “Gates” develops from Psalm 24 through Matthew 16:13-28 and concluding in Rev. 21:9-27. You can listen to it here or directly below.

The Bible isn't Just Extraordinary, It's Also Ordinary

Mon, 24 Oct 2022 00:00:00 +0000

Sitting down to read the Bible isn’t enough. We need to learn how to read it well; and, reading it well is actually more difficult than one might think. Many of us want to grow in our relationship with God, in our knowledge of what he has taught, and in our spiritual lives, and we know that reading the Bible is central to that goal, but we often find our bible reading frustratingly fruitless. What am I supposed to be getting from this text? How does it teach me about Jesus? How does it help me to grow?

Don’t be discouraged. Reading, like anything else, is a skill that needs to be learned, practiced, and trained. You might think “I know how to read,” and once you know how to read it’s simply a matter of increasing your vocabulary. Reading is easy and intuitive, and therefore shouldn’t require any extra training once the skill is acquired. It’s like riding a bike.

But that’s not true. It’s not true for “ordinary” books, and it’s not true for the Bible. In fact, there’s a justly famous book called How to Read a Book (which, I must admit, I have not read, but members of my family have!) that addresses the complexities of reading. Reading requires developing certain skills and, like anything else, practicing those skills over and over and over again! That’s true for ordinary books, and it’s also true for the Bible.

Reading Naturally

It’s likely that you read the Bible differently than you read other books.

Think about the last book you pulled off the shelf. Maybe it was something sophisticated like The Brothers Karamazov, or maybe it was something historical like Chernow’s biography Hamilton. My kids and I are reading through The Lord of the Rings. Maybe you are currently knee-deep in some theological tome or poetic pursuit. Regardless of what you are reading, ask yourself how you read it. Where did you sit? Did you do anything else at the same time? What kind of questions did you ask? What were you trying to “get out of it?” Describe the reading process. How many times did you pull out a commentary? How about a dictionary? Did you pause and meditate after each sentence, or did you read straight through? How long did it take you? If something was confusing did you just move on, or did you make sure you fully understood paragraph ‘A’ before moving on to paragraph ‘B’? Maybe you’re a pretty varied reader and thus would answer those questions differently depending on the book in question—you slowly savor poetry, but devour fiction, for instance. When do you switch over to a different process and why?

The point of all this is to describe what “natural reading” looks like (and what it looks like given different circumstances or types of writing). How do you ordinarily read? Whether you are sitting down with a newspaper, or blog post, or beach reading, or even a textbook, your reading “process” is very natural. You instinctively approach those diverse types of material differently, and you don’t overthink it. It’s natural and intuitive, and for the most part I bet you feel like you got something out of what you read, even though some things were confusing or unexpected.

Your copy of Harry Potter probably doesn’t look like this.

So back to the Bible. Describe your reading process when you approach a biblical book. What do your devotions look like? Do you proceed sentence by sentence, chapter by chapter, or book by book? What kinds of questions do you ask as you read? How long does it take you to read a page of the Bible vs. a page of, say, Harry Potter? How long do you spend on questions like “what does this word mean” or “what’s going on in this paragraph?”

My guess is that you read the Bible totally differently than you read anything else. This is an indication that you are likely approaching Scripture unnaturally. You are not reading it as “ordinary” communication. There’s an unspoken assumption that the skills required to read the Bible are of a different order than the skills required for common books. The Bible breaks the normal rules, and therefore should be studied and appropriated differently.

But the Bible isn’t ordinary!

But wait! That’s because the Bible isn’t ordinary! The Bible isn’t just another book!

Verily and amen! In the first place, it’s God’s word. The Westminster Confession of Faith describes Scripture as “given by the inspiration of God to be the rule of faith and life;” God is its author, and therefore it is to be believed and obeyed “because it is the Word of God” (WCF 1.2, 1.4). So it’s not ordinary. Unlike any other book, the Bible is “inspired” (2 Tim. 3:16), and as such has a multitude of divine characteristics (like its authority, perspicuity, necessity, and sufficiency, to name the classic ones). The Bible is therefore infallible and inerrant, and also relevant to all human beings in all ages, and given for us and for our salvation. That makes it unique and miraculous.

The Bible is also ancient and culturally removed from us, and as such is not like the most recent bestseller. It is an ancient book and reading an ancient book “naturally” is harder that reading something from one’s contemporary cultural context. Writing conventions in contemporary literature differ from those of the ancients, and so a “natural” reading will differ as well. What is more, the Bible represents the work of multiple human authors–men, women, Jews, Greeks, slaves, kings, fishermen, and carpenters, and its final form spans several millennia and three languages. It is God who speaks in these pages, and the God who thus speaks did so first “long ago, at many times and in many ways…by the prophets” and subsequently “in these last days…by his Son” (Heb. 1:1-2). The Bible isn’t ordinary! You’ve never encountered a book like this!

Since the Bible is not ordinary, so it requires two sets of skills. As the word of God, the Bible requires what we might call Spiritual skills (Matt. 11:15; Rom. 1:21; 1 Cor. 1:6-16). Those skills are important, and we can address those later on. For now, though, we need to consider that these Spiritual skills do not invalidate the necessity of more “natural” and “ordinary” reading skills–the one’s we grow up learning by reading things that are not the Bible.

The Bible is Supernatural Revelation in Natural Language

Or, to put it another way, the extraordinariness of the Bible does not invalidate its ordinariness. Why? Because inspiration doesn’t mean that God “breaks the rules” of ordinary human communication. ((OK, sometimes he does, like when he reveals himself through a dream (to Daniel for example), or when one of his prophets speaks in tongues, but these exceptions actually serve to emphasize the point we are making. These instances are not ordinary, which is precisely why Paul calls the Corinthians to make sure interpreters are present when people are speaking in tongues (1 Cor. 14:6-12). Without an interpreter to translate the non-ordinary into ordinary language, the prophecy is unintelligible, and therefore less ideal than straightforward communication.)) God has chosen to reveal himself to us through ordinary languages spoken by ordinary people using the preexisting literary conventions of the day. .

This has been the case from the beginning. God speaks to his people in words they can naturally understand and in a manner consistent with their social conventions. He does not use a special “Holy Ghost” language but rather the lingua franca of the times (Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek). He does not invent new modes of speech or genres but utilizes the ordinary conventions of the day, which is why Biblical histories like Acts seem very much like the kinds of historical narratives with which we are familiar.

In other words, while the Bible is always extra-ordinary, it is such through the use of the ordinary ways that human beings speak to one another. It is supernatural revelation that God has given in natural language. The Bible is special and unique, but it is not special and unique in this way, that is, in the manner by which it communicates truth to human beings. That’s why the Westminster Standards go on to describe the meaning of the Bible as accessible “through a due use of ordinary means” (WCF 1.7).

The Natural Reading Principle

The hermeneutical payoff of all this is simple: we need to read the Bible naturally. We need to read it as God speaking to us through ordinary language. We need to read in such a way that our interpretation respects the “Natural Reading Principle;” that is, is the conclusion I am coming too accessible to everyone, including the original audience of Scripture, through a “due use of ordinary means?” Am I respecting the natural way readers are supposed to read, or am I treating the words of Scripture like they are some kind of code or magical artifact?

I suspect we are reading the Bible more unnaturally than we should. That may feel discouraging, but in the end the Natural Reading Principle is meant as an encouragement! Though you may have approached the Bible the wrong way in the past, the good news is that you have all the tools at your disposal to retrain the way your read. You already know how to read ordinary books, intuitively and naturally, and those same skills are easier to apply to Scripture than you might think.

We’ll look at some of the particulars in subsequent posts.

Let the Text Question You: Exegesis is Application

Thu, 20 Oct 2022 00:00:00 +0000

I must confess that I don’t want to write this post. I sat down this morning to see what was next in the queue for the old blog, saw that it was “use the text to probe your own heart and mind,” and then immediately thought “yeah, I don’t want to do that.” I don’t want to write the post, to be sure, but the real issue is I don’t want to read the Bible in a probative, corrective, meditative, introspective, and convicting way.

The Heart of the Matter

The trouble is, if I have not used God’s word to probe my own heart–if I haven’t allowed the text to do its proper work of “teaching, reproof, correction, and training in righteousness”–then I have not truly exegeted the text.

That’s actually a somewhat controversial way of putting the matter. Exegesis is supposed to be about “what the text says.” Exegesis is objective, and the truths encountered in that process are, in principle, true regardless of my personal engagement with them. Personal application, by contrast, is a second and subsequent step, connected to exegesis, but independent of it.

There’s some truth in this way of parsing the process, but consider Paul’s attitude toward the OT: it “was written for our instruction, that through perseverance and the encouragement of the Scriptures we might have hope” (Rom. 15:4). This is particularly striking. The meaning of the text for Paul is not subsumed by the past, nor is it reducible to “what it meant;” rather, it’s true purpose is fulfilled in so far as it impacts the reader. It is for us “upon whom the end of the ages has come” (1 Cor. 10:11). The text has purpose, and the purpose of the text is encouragement, hope, reproof, training, and until it accomplishes those things, it hasn’t yet been truly understood.

Questioning Ourselves

In addition to investigating the text, then, we must also use the text to investigate our own heart, mind, and soul. The last several entries in this series have been concerned with asking better questions, and here a new set of questions arises. We need to be questioning ourselves. “Why are you cast down, O my soul” (Ps. 43:5)? “Who do you say that I am” (Mark 8:29)?

This is hard work. It is hard work because it requires us to be perpetually engaged in two types of activities. First, we have to understand the text, but second, we need to use the text to understand ourselves. This second step requires meditation, introspection, and prayer. It requires spiritual discipline and, in fact, the revelation of the Spirit (1 Cor. 1). These skills do not come naturally to us, but they are necessary for biblical understanding.

What should I ask?

What kinds of questions should I be asking? Remember that the text is addressing us as whole persons. God is conforming us to the image of his Son, and he does that by addressing our mind, our heart, and our wills. God wants us to think differently, to “feel” differently, and to act differently. These are helpful categories for self-examination.

Ask questions about what you believe and think. Are there beliefs that you hold that are contrary to the text? Are there things that the Bible asserts that offend you? Explore that a bit. What is generating the offense? Is it simply that the Bible asserts that proposition A is true, but you believe not-A? Maybe it goes deeper than that. Maybe there’s a whole network of beliefs that you hold that mutually reinforce one another. We Western Evangelical readers tend, for example, to be pretty radically individualistic. We determine our own identity, carve our own path, and naturally resist the intrusion of others when it comes to who we are and what we do. You are who you are in private. The Bible has a very different approach–you are your social relationships. When we read “submit yourself to every human institution” we take offense. We take offense because it is a real challenge to give up my sense of freedom and autonomy. But as we explore the issue more deeply we realize that it also calls into question a whole set of values and beliefs that I’ve never actually questioned. Maybe I’m not my own? Maybe I belong, body and soul, to my Lord Jesus Christ, who is in turn head of the Church, which means that other people get to define who I am and what I do? The text requires me to question what I know, what I believe, and what I value.
Ask questions about your feelings. Now the word “feelings” is a pretty loose word. A better word might be “affections,” but “feelings” works too, and I like it because it’s so very ordinary. Let’s not over-spiritualize or over-complicate this. How does the text make you feel? Question the disposition of your heart and the delights of your soul. The Psalms are an amazing resource here. I’ll quote Psalm 43:5 again: “why are you cast down O my soul?” I love this verse. The Psalmist is talking to himself, questioning their own emotional state and, in the end, calling the soul to “feel” differently. “Put your hope in God.” That’s not, by the way, the only proper response to feeling “cast down;” Psalm 88 ends with much less hope. The point, though, is that our emotions are important, and that as we consider them through the lens of Scripture we are able to understand, validate, and even change them.
Ask questions about your motives and actions. The final component of self-analysis is our will. Why do we do what we do? And of course it’s complicated! Take a look at Romans 7. “I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not, but what I hate I do not do” (Rom. 7:15). There’s of course a big debate about the precise meaning of Romans 7, but that really doesn’t matter here, for all of the views share this in common: our wills and desires are very mixed up. That doesn’t mean, however, that we can’t make progress. Why did you respond the way you did? Investigate the matter. Your actions are a great way of uncovering our secret idols.

Let the Text Speak

“He who has ears, let him hear” (Rev. 2-3). The text has a purpose. When God speaks, he is accomplishing something in our minds, our hearts, and our wills. On the one hand, that requires us to be willing to question ourselves, to actively engage in that kind of self-analysis that is time-consuming, challenging, and often troubling.

But this process is not endlessly introspective. We are not naval gazing. Our introspection is guided by Scripture. As we question our souls we are really just turning Scripture inward. In the end, it’s God that asks the questions. We are involved in the process, investigation ourselves on his behalf, as it were, but in the end we can only know ourselves in so far as God begins the inquiry. Look at God’s first question to Adam in the garden: “where are you” (Gen. 3:9)? How does Adam respond? He does not say “behind the mulberry bush.” No, he confesses his sin. When God questions Adam, Adam is able to understand himself in a new way. We do not understand ourselves, but God does, so let God’s word question your soul.

How to Write a Seminary Paper, Part 4: Research as Conversation

Thu, 13 Oct 2022 00:00:00 +0000

You’ve got a thesis (or hypothesis), which is the most important thing. You’ve also started your research. Then it all gets a bit overwhelming. There’s so much to read, so many issues to discuss, and it often feels like you’ve got so little to contribute. Once you start to your research you realize that the issue isn’t “where to begin?” but rather “when will it all end?”

Photo by Melike Benli: https://www.pexels.com/photo/a-bunch-of-open-books-in-rows-9247610/

The short and discouraging answer to that question is: “it doesn’t.” There will always be more to do. You can’t be exhaustive and you shouldn’t try. This is why your seminary professor will likely roll their eyes when you ask something like “how many sources do I need?” It’s a fair enough question on one level, but it betrays a task oriented approach to the matter that actually misunderstands the point of research. The presupposition behind this kind of approach is everywhere: research is about gathering data. If that is what research is, then there’s always going to be more data, and you will never be done.

I prefer a different model for thinking about research. It’s not “gathering data” or collecting evidence but rather “engaging in conversation.” Especially in the humanities, “conversation” is a better model for thinking about research than “data” because it provides a set of values that helps answer certain kinds of practical writing questions. How do I know when a conversation is “done?” When both parties in the conversation are understood and satisfied with their contribution to the whole. How do I know who I should introduce into the conversation? I should vector in anyone interested, paying special respect to those who might be able to further the discussion (expertise) or those who would benefit from it (experience). What is my role in the conversation? Not to provide the final word–the One True Answer–but to moderate the discussion, and hopefully make a modest contribution.

Why do we research?

If research is a conversation, then we do not research in order to “gather data” or “win the argument.” We are trying to further the discussion. That means, on the one hand, that we do not want to be the kind of conversationalist that grumbles their way through the dinner party, griping about how we are never understood and everyone else with opinions on a topic is hopelessly wrong or an impossible bore. On the other, we don’t monopolize the room, talking on and on about our own thoughts and ideas without interacting or engaging those around us.

We research because we believe that other people have similar interests and ideas, but different perspectives and levels of expertise. As such, they can contribute something to the conversation that I cannot. We yield the floor to other voices in conversation because we want to learn from them, or laugh with them, or nod in agreement. As we listen, we grow; we nuance our own views and better appreciate those areas where we disagree. Research is similar; it involves us in an ongoing dialog in which we have chosen to participate. If that dialog is going to continue to be healthy and helpful, it means that I must respect all the parties thus far engaged, and I do that by honoring the voices of the other while also adding my own expertise and opinions to the discussion.

What should we research?

Continuing with our “conversation” model of research, we should remember that behind every blog post, article, monograph, or book there exists a person. That person does not view themselves as shouting into the void, but rather talking with and trying to persuade other persons. You are that person, dear reader! Reading and research means being the hearer in an on-going conversation.

But now you are the writer, which means your roll has shifted. You are now the moderator of a new conversation, and you have the priveledge and opportunity of including in that conversation the voices you think will move the conversation forward. That’s the heart of the answer to the question “what should I research?” Read, appropriate, and give a platform to those voices that will most efficiently bring the conversation to a new high point.

That will mean different things for different kinds of writing. Here we are dealing with academic writing in the theological sphere, and so the conversation partners you won’t to engage with are varied.

Engage contemporary voices. Some seminary students think the only voices worth listening to are ancient voices. “There’s nothing new under the sun,” they say, and that’s true from a certain point of view. In most cases, though, when you write you are entering into a conversation that is presently ongoing. The present state of the conversation matters. New discoveries have been made. New insights are under debate. What is more, the present state of the conversation is usually your most accessible entry point. You are the guy or gall at the party that sees a group in a huddle talking and you think to yourself, “I want to be in that group.” How does that work? It means you approach the huddle, listen for a while, maybe say something interesting, then suddenly the circle expands a bit and you find yourself inside rather than outside. When researching, look for that group of people already talking about what you want to talk about, in the present moment, and listen to their questions and insights. Your paper is your “something interesting” contribution to that discussion.
Engage ancient voices. Another group of seminary students think the ancients have nothing to contribute, but this is an example of “historical prejudice.” The Bible has been a topic of discussion since it was written, and if you engage the conversation as if no one prior to your generation had anything valuable to contribute, your engagement will inevitably be shallow.
Engage diverse voices. It’s always fun to sit around a campfire with “your people” and share the same old stories and pat each other on the back. There’s value to that. But it doesn’t move the conversation forward, and that’s our goal. Academic papers shouldn’t reinforce preexisting “clicks” and prejudices. They should expand our knowledge. Introduce your readers (and yourself!) to different conversation partners. Read outside of your group. Engage with different denominations, different perspectives, different cultures, and do so with a willingness to hear and to learn.
Engage voices at or above your “level.” This one sounds a bit elitist, I know, but it’s not meant to be. I’m not trying to nullify the value of talking about the Bible with kids, or unbelievers, or new Christians, or non-academics. I’ve argued for the value of those kinds of conversations here. It’s just that they don’t ordinarily “fit” in an academic paper. Remember who you are talking with and also to whom you are talking. The “genre” of academic paper is “academic conversation,” which means your primary conversation partners should be your intellectual peers. No more Study Bibles, Wikipedia entries, casual blogs, etc. Sermons are not replacements for exegetical commentaries; tweets are not evidence; blogs and websites are usually not as carefully vetted. Keep casual pop-cultural references to a minimum (ie, use them when they advance the discussion). You’re talking with other professionals and dedicated amateurs. You may not feel like these women and men are your peers, but this is the group you are speaking with, so meet them at their level.

When are we done researching?

So how do I know that my research is “done?” Well, in one sense, it’s never done, but unlike the data/evidence model of research, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. That’s the beauty of the conversational model. The story goes ever on and on, and so does the discussion. There is no topic on this green earth about which the last word has been said. But of course, at some point this particular conversation has to conclude. At some point we need to all go home. The beauty of conversation is that you can leave it, and then come back to it at a later point, and the coming back to it later is beautified by the fact that we have all had time to ruminate on what has already been said, develop our thoughts a bit, pick up where we left off, and then move forward.

So how do I know that this conversation has come to a conclusion? I don’t want to be over-simplistic, but the answer is pretty simple: when there’s nothing left to be said. I think that’s actually pretty helpful. There’s an old joke about committees: “everything that needs to be said has been said, but not everyone has said it.” When it comes to conversations, the same rule applies. Give space for every voice that furthers the conversation, making sure that no insight or objection remains unconsidered, and then be done.

“Enough of the metaphors! How many sources should I cite in my paper?” OK, I get that, but it really depends. How many different ideas and perspectives contribute to your thesis? They should also find representation–not every particular person, but those that best contribute to the dialog you are trying to have. What are you trying to contribute to the conversation? If your voice is discordant with those around you, more research and evidence will be required; by contrast, if you’re trying to harmonize with other voices, a few representative figures will suffice. The goal, remember, is to move the conversation forward. Do as much research as necessary to do that with honor and integrity, then be done.

Conclusion

This “guide” might be disappointing because it does not give concrete rules for research, but I hope that what it lacks in specificity it makes up for in ethos and values.

Seeing New Things in Old Texts: More Tips for Exegetical Inquiry

Tue, 04 Oct 2022 00:00:00 +0000

In the previous post I argued that one of the most important skills you can develop as an exegete is asking good questions of the text. Give yourself the challenge of coming up with as many questions as you can regarding a paragraph or so of Scripture. It’s actually pretty difficult! It requires practice and skill, just like anything else in life. How do you cultivate exegetical inquisitiveness? What are some ways to ask more questions of the text?

Switch your angle of vision

From a New Angle

The first time you read a text you will naturally sympathize with certain characters, or resonate with a particular train of thought. Some phrases will just hit you, and others will not. After multiple readings, we can get “stuck in a rut;” we grow content with our prior understanding of the text and are unable to see things anew. One way to see the text differently is to see it from a different angle. Deliberately switch your reading posture (both figuratively and possibly literally). In photography there’s a technique called forced perspective, where the photographer intentionally manipulates the natural viewing angle in order to bring out some emphasis or feature that wouldn’t normally be noticed. That’s what you’re going for here; you want to deliberately read “against” your natural perspective in order to bring new light on the text.

There are a couple of ways to do this.

One of the easiest, especially in narrative texts, is to make a different character in the text the main character. Reader’s have a tendency to naturally sympathize with particular character types and to see the events through that character’s eyes (because we are most like that character). ((This book is a wonderful exploration of that idea.)) Take the story of “The Prodigal Son.” Of course, even in that way of describing the story we have “picked” a character. The story is about the son that leaves. And when we read the text through that lens the main point is the way in which the father freely and joyfully receives his son back into the family. By contrast, Tim Keller’s book The Prodigal God switches our perspective: it’s not the son who is irresponsible, it is the father. The lavish prodigality of God in his mercy and grace is a kind of scandal–certainly the older brother was scandalized! This change of perspective does not invalidate the “old” meaning of the text, but it opens up new interpretive possibilities. The text “sings” again. What if the main character is the older brother? How about a neighbor watching all of this go down? All of the characters in the text are men; what might mom say? How about the sisters? And remember the goal is just to ask questions at this point; you don’t need all the answers. You’re aiming for curiosity, wonder, and awe–that “new naïveté” that we talked about last time.
This is less straightforward when it comes to non-narrative texts like the Psalms or Proverbs of Paul’s epistles, but you can get creative here as well. How would the “Judiaizers” that Paul opposes in Galatians (notice, by the way, that Paul never calls them that–he describes them as “troublers” who “desire to be under Torah”) have read his words? What if James or Peter got ahold of the letter? Or consider Hebrews. The majority report in some circles still claims that this letter was written to Jews tempted to return to temple sacrifices. Let’s assume that’s true (I don’t think it is, but that’s another post). How might a Gentile at the time of writing appropriate it? There’s often a narrative “behind” the letter or proverb or instruction, a presumed story and history that occasions the writing. Change your perspective of view in the story behind the discourse.
Another way to do this is to re-imagine yourself. This is related to the above, but this reading strategy is more about forcing myself into someone-else’s shoes as a reader. In the above I’m shifting the angle of the text; what if it was in orbit around a different character or idea? By contrast, here I am the one changing. What if I had a different story? A different set of challenges? How, for example, might a story about a loving father who embraces their wayward son impact someone who grew up without a father? Or what about someone whose father was perpetually withholding or never pleased with his children? Or, Galatians again: the issue is circumcision. How might that issue impact female believers differently? Does Paul’s letter not apply to women. If it does, then how and why? What does “life under the law” look like for women, and how does the freedom we all now have in Christ change ones experience? By the way: it absolutely does, according to Paul, since “there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ” (3:28). ((That’s not to suggest an answer to the question, about which there is of course much debate, but to argue that there is in fact a trajectory to explore here, and one which Paul anticipates.)) Step into someone else’s shoes and think through their questions. What things in the text would challenge them? What might they be able to appreciate better than you can? What would their questions be?
Related to this, and I can’t say this enough: read with other people, especially first-timers and those outside your comfort zone. I remember when one of my kids came over to me in tears: “dad, I can’t believe you said I should read this book of the Bible! It’s inappropriate for me.” She was reading John’s gospel. What text do you think she was in? John 6: “you must eat my flesh and drink my blood” (John 6:53). I intuitively read that text as expressing a spiritual truth, not a literal one. But she didn’t take it that way. And you know what, neither did Jesus’ original audience! Her reading was closer to the original than mine. Jesus’ claim there is supposed to be shocking and uncomfortable, but I had never responded to it that way. “It’s just a metaphor.” But kids can help you inquire anew about the text. Read with the community of faith.

Read Outside Your Tradition

On that note, it’s worth saying that we can also read outside of our particular faith communities. A lot of people read the Bible. Some of them share my beliefs, but not my background and experiences. I should be reading how sisters and brothers in China or Indonesia or Scotland are reading and appropriating the Bible; how do they apply Scripture to their own contexts and cultures? What do they hear from these texts?

There are also a lot of commentators on Scripture that don’t believe what I believe. Some are Christians and our differences are minor. Others hate the God of the Bible. Still others deem themselves more neutral and are just reading the Bible for its literary or historical value. Can I benefit from engaging such conversation partners? Absolutely. I have been tremendously helped by scholars and readers from a wide range of traditions: Roman Catholic, baptistic, metthodist, feminist and liberationist commentators who have brought to my attention features of the text I had never noticed. Do you know how many people Jesus fed at “The Feeding of the Five Thousand?” Such a familiar passage, and such an obvious answer. 5000 right? That’s what I thought until last week, but it’s wrong. Read it again.

Read things Other than the Bible

Finally, read things that are not the Bible, or about the Bible. Read more broadly. Poetry, fiction, history, scientific literature–all of these will help you be a better reader of Scripture. Why? You’ll notice that all of the recommendations so far require you to have a pretty cultivated ability to think “as if.” You’re shifting your perspective, trying to change the way your brain naturally works. God actually gave us a tool for that. It’s called “the imagination.” What if horses were silver white and had a magical horn on their heads? Suddenly I’m projecting a new world onto the screen of my brain. That’s what the imagination does; it engages the “what if” part of our brains that causes us to see differently.

Wide reading (and watching, and listening, and conversing) exercises that muscle in our brain. The beauty of story is that they enable us to experience things we have never experienced. Through the telling of the story, appropriated by the imagination, I’m actually having an experience that I would not otherwise have. It’s not the same, to be sure, but it’s still real. We get to live in someone else’s world for a bit, and then we come back into our own, and we are a bit different now. Stories, whether true or not, change us and enable us to see the world differently.

Those who read widely and eclectically are able to read the Bible with new eyes more readily. They’ve exercised their imagination.

Next Up

That’s probably enough for now, but we’re not done yet. Keep an eye out for a future post on reading the Bible in order to investigate our hearts.

Exegetical Inquiry: The Question is more important than the Answer

Wed, 28 Sep 2022 00:00:00 +0000

If you’re trying to do rigorous exegesis of the Bible, but don’t know Hebrew or Greek, you may feel a bit handicapped. After all, students of the languages will regularly testify that they have transformed their ability to interpret Scripture. “They help me read the Bible more closely.” “I now see details in Scripture that I never noticed before.” “The Bible in English is black and white, while the Greek and Hebrew are technicolor.” Or to update that metaphor: “reading the Bible in one’s native tongue is oh so 480p; the Greek and the Hebrews is 8K HDR w/ Atmos Surround.”

I don’t disagree with the conclusion, but I do disagree with one of the premises. ((This does need to be nuanced at some point. I would not deny the languages are important. They are vitally so. Read to the end if you want to see how I address that.)) Part of the (post hoc ergo propter hoc) logic embedded in these testimonies is that knowing the languages caused or enabled this upgraded level of exegetical inquiry. That’s usually not the case. It’s not actually the languages that are leveling up the exegesis. The upgrade is actually the result of the languages slowing us down, forcing us to ask questions and puzzle over the text, creating a since of unfamiliarity and foreignness when it comes to the Bible. The languages make the Bible strange again.

And here’s the good news: you can do this too! You can ask great questions without any linguistic training, in the comfort of your own home! Nothing can replace the languages, but there are simple ways that you can force yourself to slow down and investigate the text in a manner similar to working out of the Hebrew or Greek.

Ask a lot of questions

Photo by Steven Wright on Unsplash

The best way to slow yourself down is to inquire of the text. At root that’s all exegesis is: asking questions generated by the text and searching for answers to those questions in and around the text. That may seem a bit obvious, but we forget that the first stage in the process is actually having questions. We often use the text as a kind of compendium of answers, but when we treat it that way we actually end up where we started. We don’t learn anything unless we investigate the text and use the text to investigate ourselves.

So the first step is to ask a lot of questions. Go through the text sentence by sentence, phrase by phrase, and even word by word, turning it this way and that. (This should not, by the way, take the place of a more natural and ordinary reading process. This step assumes you’ve already read the Bible in a more ordinary way). As you slow down and dig into the texture of the text, start making a list of questions. Ask every question you can think of. Ask obvious questions (even if you already know the answer), non-obvious questions, unanswerable questions, personal questions, questions you think other people might have, even questions that might feel “edgy” or irreverent at first. As long as the questions are honest (that is, not disingenuous) and on-topic (that is, about the text and/or generated by the text), they count.

Here’s the trick though: ask a lot of questions. You will need to push yourself, because asking good questions takes work and your brain will get tired. Mental curiosity and inquisitiveness is a muscle that you will need to exercise, and exercise (I’m hear) requires you to push yourself beyond your normal comfort levels. Make it a challenge; “I’m going to ask 10 honest and on-topic questions about this verse.” And keep going.

Don’t trust your assumptions

At some point it will seem like the well has run dry. How do you keep going? One way to kill any investigation is to assume you already know all there is to know. This is true when it comes to Scripture as well. You may have extensive theological knowledge, decades of practical and pastoral wisdom, and a wealth of exegetical insights, but don’t assume from the outset that you understand. This isn’t to say that we reinvent the wheel every time we approach the text, but have a healthy humility when it comes to what we already “know.”

You are trying to get to what Paul Ricœur called a “new naïveté.” We think exegesis is at its best when we arrive at “the answer,” when we reach “understanding,” but actually exegesis is at its best when the text seems strange and alien to us. We need to make the text strange again. You can see this at work when you read a text you’ve heard preached 1000 times. What else needs to be said about the Good Samaritan? The main point is pretty straightforward (everybody is your neighbor), the historical details well-understood (Samaritans were not “good guys” for Jesus’ audience), and the pastoral payoff seems obvious (show mercy to anyone in need). Exegetically speaking, the investigation seems “dead.” How do I proceed?

At least one way to make the text strange again is to question your own assumptions. One great way to do that is to read with those outside your tradition. Did you know that Augustine (and others in the early church) thought that the innkeeper symbolized the Apostles, and particularly Paul? What’s that about? You might not agree with that conclusion, but why not? What assumptions is Augustine making that make such a reading plausible?

Another way of probing your assumptions is to read the text with “first-timers.” Read with people who are unfamiliar with the text and ask them what they think it means. This is not in an effort to teach them what the text really means, but to hear their questions and assumptions as a guide for yourself. You’re the learner here. Again, you might not agree with them, but it will help you get outside of your own thought-circles and see the text afresh.

Notice the “oddities”

Another way you can reach a new naïveté is by playing up the “oddities” of the text. These are the things in the text that might “bother” us. When it comes to the Bible we are often tempted to skip over these things. We don’t want to imply that the Bible is odd–it’s the word of God! It’s perfect in every way! Yes, but precisely because it is the word of God, it will contain deep mysteries. All language is “other” in the sense that it comes from someone else’s mind, and that means there are going to be things that seem foreign and alien to us. For that matter, even our own minds can seem foreign and alien to us! “What are you cast down, O my soul” (Ps. 42)? Don’t be afraid of these things.

Here’s an example: I’ve always been taught that 1 Thessalonians was written by Paul. But in 1 Thess. 1:1 we read “Paul, Silas, and Timothy.” Who really wrote this letter? Is it “purely” Paul, or is it written by a (small) committee? Why put the two other names there if Paul was the creative genius behind the content? Perhaps Silas and Timothy are Paul’s scribes? But why both of them then? How does authorship work in the ancient world anyway?

In all this we are not questioning scripture, but rather our own assumptions about the text.

More to come

That’s enough to get us started, but check back here next week for Part 2! Try some of these out, and next week I’ll include more tips to for cultivating our humility, curiosity, and textual inquisitiveness.

A brief note on the original languages

Before closing, though it should be noted that we are not denying here the importance of the original languages. They are invaluable. The methods we are outlining here are extremely helpful, but they cannot ultimately replace the value of the languages. Why? Not because Greek and Hebrew are magic in some way, but because the Greek and the Hebrew enable you to ask even more questions. You have access to questions that are hidden by the translation, and that’s not because translations are bad, it’s because they are translations and as such have to make decisions on your behalf. The languages thus provide an even higher degree of fidelity, but still: you can get a good way there with better investigative methods.

Should I be more "literal" or more "readable" when translating the Bible?

Fri, 23 Sep 2022 00:00:00 +0000

This series features “real questions” from students and emails, lightly edited to protect the innocent. Welcome to “episode 2.”

The Question

I had a quick question (I hope) about our exegetical assignments. They ask us to “provide a literal yet understandable English translation.” I know this may be a nonsensical question, but would it be better to err on the side of literalism, or being understandable?

Response

In real life (that is, not in Greek class) that decision really depends on what you’re trying to accomplish. I’m a fan of “idiosyncratic” and clunky translations for personal use, but I’m not a fan of them for public use. I also don’t have a problem with “highly interpretative” translations, as long as you are aware of their limits. I’ve written about that here: Why the NLT is Good, actually – Sign and Shadow.

In general, though, I would try to aim at greater readability. The word “literal” is a tricky one. In the context of Greek class, it means something like “non-paraphrastic.” Because this is a seminary class we want to see the Greek “behind” the English. The NASB does that well–I can read the NASB and usually guess what’s going on in the Greek, making the NASB more “literal.” But notice that this is only useful to the one who knows Greek. Your average reader can’t use this feature of the NASB, and the result is that they are left with questions that they can’t really answer. A “literal” translation is most useful for those who already know Greek; it’s not as useful for a general audience.

To put it another way, since all translations are interpretive, and since there’s really no such thing as a “literal” translation, the question is really a matter of “how many exegetical decisions am I going to answer in my translation.” The more questions you leave ambiguous, the more burden you put on the reader–they now have to answer all those questions. The more exegetical questions you answer, the less burden you put on the reader (but the cost of this is that the reader no longer knows there’s a question, since you’ve already embedded your answer into the translation).

As an exegete, I think you should push yourself to answer more, rather than less, questions. It’s a win win win. It’s a good exercise for you personally (win), and it hones not only your skills in Greek, but in English and general communication as well (win), and it usually provides your reader a better experience (win). The cost is that you “lose” access to the original, but that loss isn’t really a loss because, after all, you know Greek!

Everything I need to Know about Revelation I Learned in the First Eight Verses

Wed, 21 Sep 2022 00:00:00 +0000

There’s a saying I’m kinda fond of, though it’s not very sophisticated: “the beginning of things tells you stuff.” The idea is that writers tend to show their readers how to engage with and appropriate their work within the opening lines of their work. I’ve written about that elsewhere, and it’s true for most works, both ancient and modern, but it’s especially true of Revelation.

There is so much we learn about the book in the first few verses. Moreover, what we learn in that short space has a systemic impact on how we interpret the book. Revelation seems so difficult and confusing, but John has actually given us firm footholds in the opening of his letter. He’s guiding his readers in how Revelation is to be read.

Here’s an incomplete and “in brief” list of some of the essentials.

Jesus is the first recipient of Revelation, not John. Most English Bibles title the book “The Revelation to John,” but that’s only partially correct. This is actually the very first thing that John tells us. This book constitutes “the revelation” that “God gave to him” (1:1), and the “him” in that clause can’t be anyone other than “Jesus Christ.” The verse goes on to explain how this book got into John’s hands. The Father first gave it to Jesus (and you can read about that in Rev. 5), then Jesus passed it along to John via an Angel, and John in turn wrote it down and sent it to the churches (Rev. 1:2). There’s a lot to unpack here, but remember when Jesus told the disciples that “not even the Son of Man knows the day or the hour” (Mark 13:32)? Well, the obvious next question is: when will that information be disclosed? Revelation is that disclosure, and it was disclosed first to the only one accounted worthy (Rev. 5:9). Then, and marvel at this my friends, the one worthy chose to disclose all these things to us (Rev. 1:19).
The first form of this Revelation was seen, not imagined, written, read, or heard. We haven’t left the first two verses yet. Revelation is “shown” to Jesus, then to John, then to the church. The first and primary iteration by which the Father revealed these things is through visions.
By contrast, the church at large only receives Revelation in its written form (1:19 again), not its visual form. John “writes what he saw.” The writing down of that which was first seen involves a kind of “conversion” of media. We’re moving from the visual, to the verbal. This in itself has multiple implications. Here’s two:
- First, we can note that communicating information visually and communicating information verbally require different skillsets. How do you “novelize” a movie? How do you describe the impact that a personal experience to friends without lamely concluding “you just had to be there?” It’s tough, and it requires a lot of artistic and literary and story-telling skill. John has those skills (he wrote a Gospel!), and he uses them to “show” the church what he saw.
- Second, and equally importantly, there is a corresponding burden on the reader to now “recreate” the vision from the written word. John is supposed to write what he sees. The reader, in their turn, is supposed to “see” what is written. There’s a burden on both writer and reader here. Our burden is to visualize the word written. You have a ready tool for this, given to you by God. It’s called the “imagination.” Use it.
Revelation is best read out loud and all at once. Notice now Rev. 1:3: “Blessed is the one who reads, and those who hear.” Why the shift in tenses? Authors naturally “project” their idealized reader. They write in anticipation of how they expect their reader to read what is written. What does John assume about the ordinary way in which Revelation will be “read?” Well, in the first place, he expects that most of his audience won’t be reading it at all! They will be “hearing” it. Someone will read it to them, most likely in a corporate or worship setting. That implies that Revelation is going to be appropriated “all at once.” This has multiple hermeneutical implications:
- The hearer is not going to have time to pause and think about every detail. Rather, John expects Revelation to be a bit “overwhelming” when it is first heard.
- Your goal, then, is not to unpack every image, to understand every bit and piece. It’s to immerse yourself in the literature, just like you would with a movie or wonderfully crafted book. Turn off the analytical side of your brain (for now at least) and let Revelation consume you. Loose yourself in it. A great way to do this is to listen to it read to you. Get an audio-Bible, and don’t hit the pause button.
Revelation is actually a letter. It has a letter form in Rev. 1:4, and at no point do we “exit” that letter framing. That means that Revelation doesn’t just contain letters (Rev. 2-3), it is a letter. All of Revelation is for these seven ancient churches. That has massive implications for how it is to be read.
- If it’s a letter, it must be understandable by those to whom it was originally written. I’ve written about that here and here. The point is reinforced by the repetition of the phrase “the time is near” (Rev. 1:3) throughout the book. Revelation is urgent, even for it’s 1st century audience.
- However, the fact that Revelation is a letter to these seven ancient churches does not mean that it’s not also a letter for us. Why seven churches? That number has symbolic value. These churches are representatives for the whole church, the Church Catholic, the One True Church in all ages. As such, it is both for them and for us.
- But, and this is important, it most be both/and; any reading of Revelation that severs it from its relevance for its original audience is a mistake. Corresponding, any reading that severs Revelation from the church in all ages is a mistake. Revelation is urgent for everyone.
Although Revelation is a letter, it’s also a prophecy. It’s got two genres! And we should be clear about this: it’s not prophecy in the modern sense, but in the ancient Jewish sense. If you want to understand how Revelation works, immerse yourself in the OT prophets, particular Ezekiel, Daniel, Zechariah, and Isaiah.
Two genres? That’s not enough for Revelation! There’s a third genre hiding in the background. It’s right there in the title. The word “Revelation” could have an “ordinary” meaning, “that which is revealed.” But in Jewish and Christian circles in the ancient world it also had a very specialized meaning. It could refer to a kind of religious literature, a genre. The Book of Revelation is also an “Apocalypse.” We have several apocalypses from the ancient world. We have apocalypses in the Bible (portions of Ezekiel, Zechariah, Isaiah, Daniel 7-12) and we have apocalypses around the Bible (1 Enoch was quite popular, though never considered canonical). I’ve written more about that here.
Revelation is about Everything. You can tell this from the various titles that are used to describe the Father and Son in the book. They are each alpha and omega. They are both described as the one “is and who was and who is to come” (1:8). Jesus has dominion over “all tribes of the earth” (1:7). Revelation is not just about local and temporal concerns, it is about all thing, and how all things are brought to glory through the Christ.

Each of these points deserves a post in its own right, but really the idea of the present entry boils down to this: you are already well equipped to productively read this wonderful book. You don’t have to understand it all to get something out of it. If you are able to immerse yourself in it and stand in awe of the Victorious Lamb, you are doing well.

The Gated Community: A Biblical Theology of Gates

Thu, 15 Sep 2022 00:00:00 +0000

I recently had the privilege of writing about “Gates” over at TableTalk. Here’s an excerpt:

The high walls of the new Jerusalem are punctuated by a dozen gates (that’s a lot), and these gates “will never be shut by day—and there will be no night there” (Rev. 21:25; see Josh. 2:5). Indeed, the gates are always open, providing free and unhindered access so that all may “bring into it the glory and the honor of the nations” (Rev. 21:26). So many gates! And they are always open? This is a stunning and brazen display of confidence, security, peace, and camaraderie. By contrast, the gates of hell are shut. The devil would have us think that this is a sign of strength, but in reality it is fear that bars these gates.

You can read the whole thing here.

I was also able to preach on the subject at New Hope Presbyterian, which represents a bit of an expansion of the idea.

When to use the original languages. Part 3: The Point you are Making Must Be Sufficiently Important

Mon, 12 Sep 2022 00:00:00 +0000

Three things must be true before you drop your knowledge of the original Hebrew or Greek in a sermon or paper or Bible Study. First, the knowledge must, in fact, be “your knowledge,” ie., you actually know the languages. Second, there should be no other way in which you can make the point you are trying to make, and there probably is and it’s probably a better way.

Which brings us to the third qualification: is it worth it?

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

There’s a Cost

There are two principles hiding behind that question. The first principle is this: there is cost to appealing to the languages. There’s a risk involved. That risk might be a minor one. For example, in appealing to the Hebrew or Greek you might alienate that segment of your audience that finds such appeals “too confusing” or “over my head” or “elitist.” Those individuals might not be correct in their assessment, but is it worth it? If you can make your point another way, or if the issue is trivial, do you really need to appeal to the technicalities of Hebrew syntax? Is it worth alienating your audience?

In many of our ecclesiological circles, however, there are a good number of people who love it when the pastor talks about the Hebrew and Greek. You’re not alienating them at all; on the contrary, you’re giving them candy! But beware, there’s a cost here as well. If they don’t know Greek/Hebrew, then it’s likely that the candy you are giving them isn’t good for them. They are likely under the assumption that the “original languages” are possessed with a kind of magic, a deep meaning that they cannot get from their plebian translations. In appealing to the original languages you may be reinforcing that conclusion, sowing the seeds of distrust of translation, or worse, cultivating mistaken conclusions about biblical interpretation. Is it worth it? Well, maybe the result is something positive, like humility in our approach to Scripture or the importance of diligent study or the value of a multitude of voices in our interpretive endeavors? Probably not. Most likely they are hearing something more like “you have to be an expert to really understand (and I am that expert).”

TMI

The second principle behind the “is it worth it” question is this: not all information is worth sharing. Though that might sound controversial and counterintuitive–isn’t “the truth” always worth knowing?–in reality we make daily use of this invaluable principle. When someone asks you for directions (because, I guess, they left their cell phone at home maybe?) you don’t describe in meticulous detail the various and sundry structures they will pass along their route, or the historical significance behind the location they are trying to visit. You just tell them what they need to know: straight, then two lefts, then a right on Church Road. You only get more detailed than that if there is some confusion or objection or misunderstanding (“do you mean the Church Road or Church Street?”). When someone asks “how’s it going,” you don’t go into details about your RLS or IBS or PTSD or ADD or OHPI (“Other Highly Personal Issue”). When someone asks me “what’s your dissertation about?” I say “Hebrews 8:2b” because, well, they probably don’t really want to know, and if they do they’ll ask a follow-up question. Keep it simple.

The general principle we operate with in ordinary human communication is not “the whole truth” but rather “that portion of the truth warranted by the present circumstances.” There is such a thing as Too Much Information, and the fact that we have an acronym for such a thing indicates that we all intuitively know what it is and when it applies (even if we also recognize that we are frequently guilty of providing such extraneous details). Keep it simple unless there’s an indication that you should complexify the situation.

Why would you not want to share information about Greek/Hebrew lexicography and syntax? Well, at this point we can revisit our first point: there’s always a cost to sharing information. But there’s another concern to consider. What’s the point? Or, to put it more pointedly, if the information doesn’t further your argument or exhortation, then it’s not worth sharing.

The Point Determines the Content

Which brings us to the crucial question: “what information is warranted by the point I’m trying to make right now.” Ordinarily we answer that question intuitively. Ordinarily I know that when someone asks me “how’s it going” they are really just saying “hey!” and don’t want a play-by-play of my day. But in the right context, with the right inflection of voice, and from the right person, I know that what they really are asking me about my struggles or health or Spiritual condition. Ordinarily I’m able to spot that too. I’m able to slip into one or the other type of conversations fairly easily most of the time, and in both cases I judge the content I share by the assumed objective of the conversation. The first is merely a greeting–an open-ended opening–while the second is sharing one-another’s burdens.

Most sermons and public-facing teaching should be (imo) oriented around “the problem that the text solves.” The point of your sermon, the counseling couch, the bible study or coffee-shop discussion, isn’t “knowledge for the sake of knowledge.” It’s sharing our struggles, or calling one another to perseverance, and solving problems, and lamenting our sorrows, and following Jesus–more Love O Christ to Thee. I’m extraordinarily passionate about Greek syntax, but I must admit it’s very rare that such knowledge is indispensable for furthering those particular goals.

Save Time: Stop Doing Word Studies

Tue, 06 Sep 2022 00:00:00 +0000

Word studies are a favorite tool of Biblical exegetes, but usually aren’t worth the time. Why not? Because either (1) the work has already been done for you, or (2) what you are trying to “find” can’t be found using a word study.

Word Studies and Word Meaning

First, of course, we need to define what we mean by “word study.” Many exegetes embark on word analysis under the assumption that there is a deeper and truer meaning for a particular word than can be represented by their English translation. In the original language a particular word under consideration has a depth and richness that can only be truly appreciated by analyzing all the occasions that the word is used in the rest of Scripture. Once I have compiled that information, I am able to determine what the word “really” means. I’m going to call this (admittedly simplistic) approach to word study a “brute force” approach because it usually involves using a concordance (or software) to find all lexical and grammatical parallels to a particular word or phrase.

The problem with this kind of analysis is twofold. First, the meaning of a word is not the sum total of everything it could mean. Words have a range of meaning, and in most cases your goal as an interpreter is to pick the meaning within that range that best fits the context. Under normal circumstances, only one meaning within the range will “activate” for the reader. That means that the method of word study described above is a hermeneutical fallacy: “illegitimate totality transfer.” ((You can read about this, and other fallacies, in D. A. Carson’s excellent Exegetical Fallacies.))

The second reason this kind of analysis is problematic is that this work has already been done for you. If you are doing word study right, that is, if you are looking at the multiplicity of ways in which a word is used in order to determine its potential range of meaning, then I’ve got good news for you! If you are looking for word meaning, just use a lexicon. A good critical lexicon (BDAG for Greek, BDB or Hallot for Hebrew) will look at all the ways a particular word is used in a subset of literature, then collate and compile it in a (relatively) easy to use entry. Generations of work have gone into this. Scholars have poured their lives into this kind of analysis, then passed that work onto the next generation to continue the labor. Don’t reinvent the wheel; use a lexicon. Look up the word in question, think through the range of usage, then then pick the sense most obviously “activated” by the context.

The Richness of Words

Are we denying, then, that words have a depth and richness to them? When John, for example, uses the word λογός (“word”) to describe the Divine Son, and when he continues to link that word to fuller theological concepts in the course of his writing, isn’t that significant? The word “word” is “special” in John, and a word study will help me demonstrate and analyze that, right? Yes and no. Yes, it will help because a “brute force” style word study as described above will expose the ways other texts and ideas intersect with John’s usage. But in the end, “no:” brute force word studies lack the literary, historical, cultural, and conceptual tools needed to do this kind of work efficiently and comprehensively.

Let’s switch to English for a minute. If, in the course of teaching, I say the word “Inconceivable!” in a particular way, it will likely “trigger” a mental image of a movie scene for a certain (increasingly aging) subset of the class. The sense of the word goes “beyond” the dictionary definition in this case. If I’m a student in the class and miss the reference, but see a couple of my neighbors chuckle politely at the teacher’s outdated allusion, I might come to realize that there’s a “subtext” to the word. And yet looking it up in the lexicon isn’t going to help. The reference isn’t a function of word meaning (and, conversely, the reference doesn’t change what the word means). So what will help me figure out what’s going on? Word studies to the rescue?

No. A word study won’t help either. Searching for every instance of usage for the word “inconceivable” is going to turn up too much data. It’s inefficient. Furthermore, even if I’m able to hypothetically lock in on the “subtext” of the reference (probably not that hard in this case with the right web search), I haven’t really reached understanding yet. I have to watch the whole movie first. And I probably need to watch it in the context of other 80s/90s flicks to figure out why this was a cultural moment for Gen-X. I won’t “get it” until I embed myself a bit into a now fading age of cinema.

What Should I Be Doing Instead of Word Studies

Word studies as described above are not the best tool for this kind of hermeneutical task. There often (but not always) is a depth in the usage of particular words and phrases, but that depth is not a function of the dictionary definition or “meaning” of the word. It is a function of how the word triggers particular cultural moments and concepts and stories and ideas. The best tool for that kind of analysis is cultural engagement. It is to live in and within the historical “intertext” of the word. That’s obviously hard when it comes to interpreting Scripture. For an outdated 80s reference I just need to find dad’s old VHS collection, or figure out which streaming service owns the rights these days. But the Bible is much older. How do we study the “intertext” of Biblical words?

Word studies can be a part of that process, but it’s really just the first step, and an inefficient one at that. They don’t really help you find what you’re looking for because what you are looking for is a function of culture and theology and the inter-connectedness of texts, not word meaning. Back to λογός (“word”). I can get out a concordance and compile every reference, but that’s a lot of work, and only a small subset of those occurrences are going to be relevant. There’s a better way. First, I need to determine that the word is “special,” that John means it to be rich with intertext. Literary tools are your guideposts here, and with John it’s a no-brainer. He loves images; he excels at sub-texting other sections of Scripture (John would love memes, I think), and he uses these metaphorical skills to do heavy theological lifting.

As we do that literary work, we find that John is pulling on some obvious biblical parallels, like Genesis 1-3. If you’re familiar with your Bible, this isn’t subtle. It just “triggers” intuitively, much like “inconceivable” does for 80s kids. ((And it’s worth noting that a “brute force” approach–that is, a word-search on λογος–wouldn’t actually return Gen. 1-3 as a result)) Why? Because you’ve immersed yourself in the culture and literature–in this case, the culture projected by the Bible. It might also trigger Pss. 8 and 139, even though the word “word” does not appear in those psalms. The creational concept is in both, though, as is the tie between creation and an Adamic representative (so no concordance will alert you to this).

There are ways to go still deeper, to expose the “not so obvious” connections (though the obvious ones should be your primary guide). At this point we could talk about Biblical Theology, typology, intertextual analysis, metaphor theory, cultural anthropology, and plain old history. Once you know how to use these tools (and some are more intuitive, and more useful, than others), you will find that they are far more robust and far more efficient. Sadly, this post isn’t really about how to use these tools, it’s simply a reminder that they are there, and they are awesome.

So free up your time. Stop doing word studies. What should you do instead? The absolute best thing you can do is immerse yourself in Scripture. Stop picking the Bible apart into little bits and start reading comprehensively. Second, start developing your facility with exegetical tools like Biblical Theology and typology. Third, start reading “around” the Bible. Language is a function of culture and history as well as syntax and grammar; upgrade your understanding of the ancient world and how it works.

Real Questions: What does "the" mean?

Fri, 12 Aug 2022 00:00:00 +0000

Today marks the beginning of a new series on this blog: “real questions.” The more I teach and study the more I’m convinced that there’s nothing like a good question when it comes to advancing the body of human knowledge. A good question benefits both the asker and the asked! The asker (hopefully) gets an answer that assists and clarifies; the asked has the opportunity to reflect, refine, and reconsider. It’s a win win.

What’s more, when the question is asked in a group setting, everyone gets the benefit of multiple answers. It generates something bigger than the sum of the parts. The Q/A turns into a discussion, and everyone benefits. Win win win.

I spend a LOT of time answering questions sent by email, or in student forums, etc. So I thought it’s time to package these up in a manner more fitting the “group setting.” Let’s discuss together! Below you’ll find the first “real question” (moderately altered for clarity and anonymity) along with my original answer (complete with inaccuracies and weaknesses) as a starting point for discussion. In this series I’m going to commit to only “moderate” editing of my answers–cleaning up grammar or adding/removing sentences for context and clarity. The goal is not “the answer” but (and yes I know this is cheesy) “the search.”

The Question: How to Translate the word “The”

So without further delay, here’s our first question:

Photo by Skyler Gerald on Unsplash

It has been very interesting in this class to see how flexible the article can be in Greek. The most surprising areas are when the article is used as a pronoun or as a function marker. But I will say that at times the subtle differences were frustrating and hard to translate. I struggled to distinguish (for example) between the “Well Known” usage of the article and the “Par Excellence,” usage (referring to Wallace’s Syntax p. 101). The exercise in the end felt futile. I ended up just translating the word “the” and could not feel the impact of the exercise in my translation. Now, admittedly, that could be my lack of experience in using that table! But I was hoping that maybe you could share an instance where understanding those articular distinctions added some exegetical significance to your thinking on a passage.

My Response

Good thoughts! Remember that we Greek Geeks are nerds at heart. We love to classify things. Those classifications are often helpful because they describe the “linguistic logic” of what’s going on. They express in precise terms how the word or grammar is used; that is, the various kinds of things that writers and speakers ordinarily do with words. There is no abstract and independent “system” out there. The “rules” of grammar are really just descriptions of ordinary usage; they’re not really rules at all. That means (to get to your question) that often a grammar will precisely define two different “types” of usage, but in practice those differences aren’t precise at all.

And often they will translate identically. The English article has similar subtleties to the Greek. I passed a restaurant today called “The Burger Joint.” What’s the function of the article there? Is it trying to imply “this is the burger joint you want to be at–the one all your friends are talking about?” (ie, “Well Known”). Or is it, “this is the perfect Burger Joint, the one that defines what every burger joint should be” (“par excellence”). (I literally thought about that question for at least 10 minutes on my drive home). It’s the same word in both cases; the reader intuitively selects one without much thought (unless you’re a grammar nerd). The point: when translating from the Greek, these subtleties won’t always show up in translation. That’s why it probably feels “low impact.” But such questions are worth thinking about because, though subtle, the rhetorical and semantic functions are different in many contexts. The subtlety can be the difference between appealing to the masses on the one hand (well known), or to the elite on the other (par excellence), and if you had a job in marketing, rather than biblical interpretation, those subtleties could cost you big bucks.

So which is it for “The Burger Joint?” Well-known, or Par-Excellence? I suspect there will be a clear winner if you polled most native English speakers.

Why the NLT is Good, actually

Fri, 24 Sep 2021 00:00:00 +0000

It’s common in certain circles to hate on the New Living Translation. That hate is undeserved. I posted about that recently, promising to say more if the tweet got 500 likes, which it did.

So, here’s the case I’m going to make: the NLT is good because it consistently follows its clearly stated translation philosophy and thus faithfully renders the Greek and Hebrew text into ordinary English.

What Makes a Translation “Good” or “Bad”?

We should talk a bit about what makes a translation good or bad. There is, of course, some subjectivity here, but we need to appreciate that such an assessment is not bound by personal taste. You may not particularly like a translation, but it might still be a good translation. Alternatively, you may have an emotional attachment to the way some translations phrase a particular line of Scripture, either because you memorized it that way or because it has entered the liturgical grammar of the church. I am thinking here of such “tried and true” wordings like “Hallowed be thy name” for Matt. 6:9. That translation is accurate, faithful to the Greek, time tested, and beautiful. But is it a good translation?

Well, that depends. When was the last time you used the word “hallowed” in an ordinary English conversation? Or I’ll do you one better: when was the last time you read it in a non-religious book? It’s probably been awhile (although the Harry Potter fans out there can testify). Tried and true it may be, but this translation does not represent how we naturally speak and it’s not a normal part of our vocabulary (and the Greek word it translates, ἁγιάζω, is perfectly “normal” in its social-rhetorical context). ((“But,” someone might say, “the Lord’s Prayer is, in fact, a prayer, and we should use a higher literary register when speaking to our Heavenly Father.” A fair point, but is that what Jesus is doing in this prayer? The Lord’s prayer is almost obsessively “ordinary.” It’s short, to the point, simple, straightforward. In fact, that seems to be the Jesus’ point! Don’t heap up flowery words and excessive formality and outward show when you pray. Just talk.))

As a working guideline, then, I propose we evaluate translations on the basis of three criteria. A good translation (1) has a well-defined, well-reasoned, and useful translation philosophy, (2) applies that philosophy consistently and appropriately to the “many parts and various ways” God has spoken to us in his word (Heb. 1:1), and (3) uses the “best of what’s around” to understand the original Hebrew and Greek text. The NLT gets an “A” in all three of these categories (edit: “okay, maybe a “B+” in the second category, which is notoriously difficult to “capture” in translation), as I will establish in a bit, but first let’s deal with the elephant in the room.

Why the NLT feels (to some) like a bad translation

Photo by Siora Photography on Unsplash

Many have an instantly negative reaction to the NLT when they first start reading it. In my experience, this is most true for those who come to the NLT having already been “steeped in church.” Many of us grew up in the faith reading and using one of the more “literal” or traditional translations like the RSV, old NIV, NASB, or ESV. ((I don’t particularly care for language like “literal,” but it’s a word we appear to be stuck with.)) As a result, we’ve grown so accustomed to certain words and phrases that we think they are normal. “Hallowed” is a common word in our Christian Social Lexicon, alongside “fellowship” and “grace” and “propitiation” and “righteousness.” Outside of Christian circles those words are all less ordinary, but we are used to them so we don’t think twice when we read them in the Bible. So then we come to the Lord’s Prayer in the NLT and we read

Our Father in Heaven, may your name be kept holy. (The Greek: Πάτερ ἡμῶν ὁ ἐν τοῖς οὐρανοῖς· ἁγιασθήτω τὸ ὄνομά σου)

Matt. 6:9 (NLT)

They’ve changed the Bible! Except they haven’t. True, “hallowed” isn’t there, but they didn’t “change” anything; they just replaced the traditional word that you’re used to with a phrase that you might actually use in real life. They “ordinarified”™ it. They had to use more words to do this, but there was nothing sacred about the word “hallowed” (if you’ll forgive the pun), so why stick with it?

This brings us to a second frustration many have with the NLT, and here we have a more substantive criticism. The NLT feels like a bad translation because it’s very interpretive in a lot of cases. Here is where the Greek and Hebrew nerds (like myself) wring their hands and gripe to their fellows. If you consider our previous example, you might see the problem in a small way in Matt. 6:9. The NLT has translated a single word in Greek (a third person singular imperative, ἁγιασθήτω, “be sanctified”) ((If I were trying to “literally” capture the Greek, I might do something like “hollify your name,” or “be hollified,” but those are even worse then hallowed, since “hollify” isn’t really a word at all. As another note, all the main-line translations “soften” the imperatives in the Lord’s Prayer, but that’s a side-track we shouldn’t explore at the moment.)) with a rather lengthy English equivalent (“may your name be kept holy”). Compared to “hallowed,” the phrase “may [it] be kept holy” seems far more free in its translation. What’s more, in English it no longer sounds like an imperative. The NLT thus seems far removed from the Greek.

However, these are minor issues. Let’s turn to a better example: Rev 2:4.

But I have this complaint against you. You don’t love me or each other as you did at first! (The Greek: ἀλλὰ ἔχω κατὰ σοῦ ὅτι τὴν ἀγάπην σου τὴν πρώτην ἀφῆκες.)

Rev. 2:4 (NLT)

The phrase translated “you don’t love me or each other as you did at first” translates a much sparser Greek text: τὴν ἀγάπην σου τὴν πρώτην ἀφῆκες, “you have lost your first love.” What a difference! The NLT has added so much! And I’ll confess that I wish the translators had made some different decisions here, but I understand why they didn’t.

You see, there’s an ambiguity in the original—an ambiguity that is “kept” in many translations. There’s a number of exegetical questions that naturally arise as translators wrestle with the original Greek. This is a bit technical, so bear with me. The problem arises because the noun “love” (αγαπη) is what linguists call a “verbal noun.” That is, it is a noun that used to be a verb. It may look like a noun in the present sentence, but in reality its present form is a “transformation” of its primordial verbal state. As such, it still has verb-like qualities that attach to it. For example, it must have an implied “subject” and “direct object.” Who is doing the loving (the “subject” of our “verb”)? That’s obvious, the “you” being addressed in the passage. But whom are these “subjects” failing to love (the “object” of our “verb”)? That’s not obvious. ((The author could have made it obvious to us by including a prepositional phrase here (for example “love for Jesus” or “love for each other”), but John chose not to. Why?)) It could be Jesus, or it could be the church, or it could be outsiders, or it could be all three, or it could be unresolvably ambiguous. ((Ambiguity is a function of all human language; it doesn’t represent a “mistake” on the part of the author.))

Here’s the rub: it has to be one of those options. No-one gets to not make a decision here. If the translator/interpreter doesn’t make a decision, the reader will inevitably supply the option that they think is most intuitive, probably without thinking about it. Most translations (ESV, RSV, NIV, NKJV, NASB) leave the English ambiguous, which means they are ultimately punting the decision to the reader. The reader has to now puzzle out what “first love” means (or, more likely, blissfully supply a meaning without thinking about it). The NLT snatches that decision away. It makes the decision for you. And to many, that seems like a bad thing. ((Another example in this verse is the phrase “at first,” translating τὴν πρώτην. Since αγαπη is a verbal noun, this adjective can be read as either a true adjective or as an adverb. It could be something like “your foremost love,” taking it to refer to the love that is higher and better than other loves, or it could be “the love you had at the first,” taking it adverbially as a description of “when” the love occurred. Most translations opt for the latter and, unlike the ambiguity involved in the former example, decide to embed that decision in their translations.)) It’s bad because the translation committee has made the decision for you; they have “supplied” an interpretation and thus no longer leave the matter in the hands of the reader. In short: the NLT is too “interpretive.”

And the thing is, it is very interpretive. I wish they had left it ambiguous in that verse. Why didn’t they? Because a_mbiguity is harder to read._ Clarity and specificity go together. If you leave it ambiguous you necessarily put the burden of interpretation on the reader. Which means that the NLT isn’t really being interpretive here—that is, it’s not arbitrarily imposing an interpretation on the reader in some sort of arbitrary and unwarranted way—they are just being consistent with their translation philosophy. The Greek necessarily presents a hermeneutical puzzle; the translators weighed the evidence and came to the conclusion that John is being intentionally ambiguous here, that he intends the object of the love to be both Jesus and the church. Having made that conclusion, they represent it in their translation. All translations do this, and they do it all the time; ((Don’t even get me started on the ESV and the “faith of Christ” debate in Galatians)) the NLT just does it more often because it has to given its translation philosophy, which is to make things easier on the reader. I may disagree with the decision they made, but that doesn’t change the fact that they had to make a decision, given their translation philosophy.

The Usefulness of the NLT’s Translation Philosophy

So a lot of the assessment so far leans heavily on the NLT’s translation philosophy, which of course raises a question: is it a good one? First, it’s worth saying that even if you’re not particularly crazy about the NLT, either in practice or in its philosophy, you can’t deny that it is highly thought through and well described. There is no mystery about what the translation team is trying to accomplish. Here’s a bit from their site:

The translators of the New Living Translation set out to render the message of the original texts of Scripture into clear, contemporary English. As they did so, they kept the concerns of both formal-equivalence and meaning-based in mind.

Questions? – NLT | New Living Translation (wpmu.azurewebsites.net)

They work through what that means in some detail, and there’s more technical information should you desire to do a deep-dive. For our purposes, though, let’s simplify by stating that the NLT’s ultimate goal is natural and readable contemporary English. In many cases that means there’s little “change” from the Greek, but when the translators hit anything that might cause confusion for contemporary readers, they are immediately going to shift from a more “formal-equivalence” orientation (trying to remain faithful to the actual words and order of the original text) to a “meaning-based” orientation (focusing on what the text “means” instead of the specific ways in which it is constructed). That shift is going to look more “interpretive,” as I describe it above, but notice that the shift isn’t arbitrary. The goal isn’t to embed the translators’ personal and idiosyncratic ideas into the text, it’s to clarify the meaning of the text for the contemporary English speaker.

Here’s how they put it:

NLT translators rendered the message more toward the meaning when the literal rendering was hard to understand, was misleading, or yielded archaic or foreign wording. They clarified difficult metaphors and terms to aid in the reader’s understanding. The translators first struggled with the meaning of the words and phrases in the ancient context; then they rendered the message into clear, natural English. Their goal was to be both faithful to the ancient texts and eminently readable.

Let’s map this onto our previous two examples. I imagine that the thought process behind the removal of the word “hallowed” was that it “yielded archaic or foreign wording.” Likewise, the more expansive translation of “first love” is justified by the desire to avoid a “misleading” translation, since most scholars hold that the object of “love” in this verse is “love for one another” and most readers casually assume it’s about a love for Jesus. In both cases the translators have prioritized “meaning” over “wording,” and while that might be disorienting at first, the decisions are non-arbitrary, well-reasoned, and useful.

Which brings us to that last adjective, “useful.” While the emphasis on “meaning” over “equivalency” might not be your particular cup of tea, it has a useful function and fills the gap left behind by other good English translations. Almost all other translations assume some level of competency with “the way Christians talk.” All communities develop a kind of “sub-language” that is normal for them. Christians do this too, and that’s not a criticism; it’s a natural function of human language (that sometimes ends up being funny). We’ve grown used to “ancient” words and phrases that the rest of the world finds confusing; we regularly put up with “Yoda-speak” in our translations because neither Greek nor Hebrew utilize word order to establish grammatical connections in the same way that English does. We also have a “specialized” way in which we use words like “grace” and “faith” and “fellowship” and “assembly” that seem foreign to “ordinary” people. That’s not wrong, and it doesn’t make any of the translations that rely on that tradition “bad,” but it does mean that such translations (and the language use) require more from their readers.

Ordinary English

So what if you want to create a translation that doesn’t require as much knowledge of “the way Christians talk?” Well, you use ordinary English words combined with ordinary English grammatical conventions, which is what the NLT is clearly trying to do. On this note, it’s worth pointing out that many of the positive comments on the aforementioned Twitter thread. Many noted that the simplicity of the NLT makes it “great for kids, ESL folks, and new believers.” I agree, but I’d like to push back a bit on that. It is, of course, great for all those categories of people. That’s actually how I first began seriously reading the NLT. My kids asked for a “grown-up Bible” and so I gave them both NLTs. But it was while reading the NLT together during devotionals that I began to really enjoy it. Then I wanted my own copy. And since I’m a grown man, I bought my own copy! And now that copy is a part of my regular reading rotation. Why? Because what makes the NLT great for kids and ESL folks and new believers is precisely what makes it great for everybody: it’s ordinariness.

“Ordinary.” I think this is what captures the NLT’s translation philosophy more than anything else. Readable, yes, sure. But what makes it so readable is that it uses ordinary English. It reads like we speak. It’s written within a common register. It’s wrong to say that the NLT is “dumbed-down.” That’s not it at all. It’s no more dumbed-down than a conversation with your spouse is dumbed-down. You don’t use words like “inasmuch” and “hallowed” when you talk to real people. You don’t use semicolons either. You use ordinary language. ((Of course we always write differently than we speak, so this distinction breaks down. All writing will have a literary character to it that the spoken word does not and need not have, but the analogy still holds.)) That’s the joy of the NLT: it’s just ordinary. It’s not written into a “higher religious register,” nor does it rest on the reader’s preexisting knowledge of Bible terms and religious idioms (“sackcloth and ashes,” for example). It’s written in the ordinary register within which we modern English speakers think, speak, and write.

What is more, the NLT applies it’s philosophy very consistently. I have found remarkably few verses that seem arbitrarily translated to me. (By “arbitrary” I mean a verse that embeds some precise exegetical decision not warranted by either the text or the philosophy of translation). That’s one of the chief ways in which a translation can end up being “bad,” when it makes translation decisions on the basis of some extra-textual theological ideology, or when it applies its philosophy selectively so as not to disturb the traditional views of its audience or, worse, the idiosyncratic views of the translator. What is more, the NLT is clearly conversant with the latest in linguistic, historical, and theological research. This should be somewhat obvious when you consider the pedigree of translators involved in the project, but it is confirmed in my mind by the number of good exegetical decisions I see the NLT making. Even when I disagree with the decision, there’s a body of literature and research behind it

Some Gripes

God’s word is perfect, but no translation is. I do have some gripes. Well, I have lots of gripes. That’s one of the benefits of learning the original languages; you earn the right to gripe about this or that word choice or phrasing. But most of my gripes are minor and not worth the time. Two bigger items are worth mentioning, though, because they are both a direct result of the translation philosophy behind the NLT.

First, placing the priority on “ordinary” language means that certain “special” words don’t get translated consistently. I noticed this the other day while reading John 6:41-43. We are told there that the people “murmer in disagreement” over Jesus’ words, to which Jesus responds “stop complaining about what I said.” The word translated “murmer” and “complain” is the same Greek word–already that’s a problem because you loose the coherence of the people’s actions and Jesus’ response. However, compare this to other translations, the majority of which alight on the word “grumble” as the best translation. The word “grumble” recalls Exo. 16:2 (and other verses) where Israel “grumbled” against Moses (and, by transference, against God). The Biblical-Theological connection is a bit shadowed as a result (although the NLT does reads “complained” in Exo. 16:2). The “ordinariness” of “complain” short-circuits what might be an “ah-ha” moment for the reader. Now, having said that, words are not the sole anchor of Biblical-Theological connectivity, but they do help.

The second gripe concerns genre and authorial style. Translating everything in a “common” or “ordinary” style, as we have described it, has a tendency to strip certain kinds of passages of their unique literary character. Luke 1:1-4, for example, is some of the most literary and sophisticated Greek in the NT, second only to Hebrews. Luke 1:5, by contrast, seems to drop back down into more of an “ordinary” register. Read the first few verses of Luke in the NLT and see if you can spot the difference. I can’t. The stylistic difference is less clear in the NLT than it is in the Greek and even in other English translations. The literary style of the original writer has been “flattened” in deference to the style anticipated by the translation philosophy and the modern audience. Yet this, too, is only a partial criticism, since the “flattening” under consideration is a direct result of the translation philosophy and is to some extent unavoidable. What is more, all translations tend to “flatten” stylistic differences among the various books of the Bible, it’s just that most of these other translations “flatten” them “upwards” toward a more literary style (“hallowed be thy name”), rather than “downward” to a more ordinary style.

One bonus gripe, and for this one I want to take direct aim at Tyndale: why is there no Reader’s Bible for the NLT???? This is your thing! I can help. Call me, maybe.

Conclusion

The claim here is not that the NLT is the best translation—I’m convinced that such debates are pretty useless. We should also appreciate that different translations are useful for different things, and so your “daily carry” might not be the same translation you use for research and study or in the your church’s liturgy. But with these qualifications laid down, I would recommend the NLT as both faithful and useful. It has, in fact, become my go-to “just reading” Bible, and since the end result of that has been that I actually read the Bible more, I would commend it to you.

Four Ways to Preach Jesus from James

Fri, 06 Nov 2020 00:00:00 +0000

So let’s return then to our original question: what should I do with this imperative heavy book? How do I read something so targeted towards my behavior? How, to put it succinctly, do I see Christ and the gospel in James, which seems on the surface far more focused on ethics than it is on Jesus?

In the post I sketch out four approaches to seeing Jesus in this often challenging book.

Jesus Taught These Things

“He is like a tree planted by streams of water that yields its fruit in its season, and its leaf does not wither. In all that he does, he prospers” (Psa. 1:3). Photo by Faye Cornish on Unsplash

First, and bringing our discussion of wisdom back into the mix, we can point out here that every sage sits at the feet of a master. Every sage is both a student and a master. The sage passes along the wisdom that they inherited from their master. That leads us to a natural question with regard to this book: at whose feet did James sit? And the answer to that question is pretty obvious. Though we find echoes of Proverbs and Ecclesiastes and other ancient wisdom literature throughout James, the preeminent sage we encounter in the book is Christ himself.

The echoes of Christ’s teaching resound throughout this short epistle. Time prevents us from exploring this with any detail, but both the content and the style reflects Jesus’ own ministry. ((Bauckham’s short book on James is a treasure trove of examples here; Bauckham, R. James: Wisdom of James, Disciple of Jesus the Sage. London: Routledge, 1999.)) James often uses phrases that Jesus used, and draws on ideas that Jesus taught, and even borrows metaphors and parables that Jesus spoke. Rather than spell these out, read through the first chapter of James and look for them; or, better yet, go through the whole book again and underline every time you get that feeling “I think I’ve heard this before.” Or even better still, read through the Sermon and the Mount and come back to James; you won’t be disappointed.

Now interestingly, at no point is James directly quoting Jesus in these verses. Yet throughout we find a consistent similarity—an “echo” or impression. This is very consistent with Jewish wisdom literature in James’ day. James is offering a second-order reflection on the tradition of wisdom that he himself received. ((McCartney, D. G. “The Wisdom of James the Just.” Southern Babtist Journal of Theology 4, no. 3 (2000): 52–64.)) He has heard it and meditated on it and applied it, and now he passes it along to us, after years of personal experience in the course of trial and challenge. It is now James’ wisdom. It is as if James has taken a cutting from the tree of wisdom that Jesus himself cultivated and has now planted it in a new field. The result is something organically connected to that which James received, and yet unmistakably new and different. Jesus is thus James’ teacher and master, and this book is a passing along of what James has learned.

This is the first way that we keep Jesus in focus as we read this book—how we read the book as pointing to Jesus. The gospel is more than just the forgiveness that Christ brings or the redemption that he accomplished. That is part of the gospel, to be sure, but when we preach Christ we also preach what he taught. James gives us the teaching of Jesus applied to the age in which the church finds itself. It is the dissemination of Jesus’ teaching through the mature meditations of his servant James. James then gives us a window into the wisdom of God, wisdom which Jesus passed along to us, and which gives us new birth so that we might be “a kind of firstfruits of his creatures” (Jas. 1:18).

Jesus Did These Things

Even more than this, James exposits for us the kind of wisdom that Jesus exemplifies in his own life. Jesus not only taught these things, he did them. James tells us to “be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves” (2:22). Jesus did the word. He alone did these things perfectly and in perfect righteousness.

We can say even more than this. It is precisely through doing these things—following God’s wisdom in a world full of temptation and persecution—that Jesus was able to endure the cross and come into his glory (Luke 24:26; 1 Peter 1:10-12). He is “the Lord of glory” (2:1), and his path to glory was through wisdom, and in particular the wisdom that embraced humiliation in order to achieve the glory (Jas. 4:6-10).

Take our old friend (or, rather, poisonous enemy!) the tongue, which James discusses at length in James 3:1-12). Jesus tamed his tongue, and because he tamed his tongue he knew when to speak and when to remain silent. He was silent before Pilate. Pilate wanted Jesus to argue, to defend himself, to rail against the injustice of it all. Jesus was silent when the soldiers mocked him on the cross. He was silent when they asked him to call upon the angels to assist him. Jesus knew when it was time to remain silent, and through the wisdom of silence he submitted to the will of God. Jesus demonstrates the efficacy of wisdom applied. Another sage tells us that wisdom is “the fruit of righteousness is a tree of life, and whoever captures souls is wise” (Prov. 11:30). Jesus was wise and through his wisdom pursued righteousness, and so he became the tree of life, engrafting many souls into his person and working.

This is the second way we focus on Christ through the imperatives and instructions of James. We find James not only passing along the teaching of our savior, but describing his character and work. We can read James as a set of imperatives and a guide to life, but we can also read it as a description of the life of the King. It is not just imperative, it is also indicate. When we shine a bright light upon the shape of James, the shadow that is cast is inevitable that of Jesus. So here we meet Jesus yet again because here we find his values and actions described for us. Read James, then, and meditate on how these verses reflect the perfections of your redeemer.

Jesus Enables These Things

And, of course, we are to strive to become an imitator of this same Jesus! We must reflect him in our own lives. How does James help me in this task?

On the one hand, as we noted before, James says almost nothing about the Holy Spirit. Cultivating the filling of the Spirit is Paul’s go-to language for growing in Christ-likeness, but James lacks the descriptiveness of Paul in Romans 6 or Galatians 5. The gospel, Paul says in Rom. 6, is not just about being forgiven, though it certain is about that, it is also about being transformed, and therefore living a new life. It’s about “walking by the Spirit,” and certainly Paul’s vision of what that looks like is very similar to that of James (Gal. 5). James, however, doesn’t explicitly or systematically connect our obedience with Christ’s Spirit-empowerment. He does not say things like “do this through the power of Christ that is at work in you,” and the fact that he doesn’t do that makes James sound legalistic and law-centered, rather than grace-based and Spirit-focused.

To read James’ lack of pneumatology as legalism is a mistake, however. For James, as much as Paul, it is Jesus that enables and empowers obedience, though it is appropriate to recognize that he does not dedicate extended time to that idea (that, after all, is not the purpose of his book, which is to cultivate wisdom not explain theological concepts), nor does he use the same language to get at it as Paul and Peter do (since, as we might expect, James is more content to talk about these matters as Jesus did, and in Jesus’ teaching the work of the Spirit is still veiled). Nevertheless, despite the brevity and diversity of the treatment, the idea that it is only by the power of Jesus that we are enabled to live lives pleasing to God is in the background in James.

You find it in how James talks about the word and the law. The word is wisdom, and it is implanted not just in our heads, but also in our hearts. “Receive with meekness the implanted word, which is able to save your souls” (1:21). The word and the law go together, and “the one who looks into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and perseveres… he will be blessed in his doing” (1:25). It’s easy to assume that James means the same thing by “law” here as Paul when he uses the term in Galatians. Again, that would be a mistake. Notice that for James it is the “perfect” law. Or, in James 2:8, the “royal law.” Why does he describe it so? One can hardly imagine Paul using such terms (“freedom,” “perfect,” “royal”) to describe the law. Is James speaking of something different? I think so. James is talking about the law as it is interpreted by and fulfilled in Jesus Christ. It is royal because it is given by the Messiah, God’s king. It is perfect because it has now been fulfilled in Christ’s person and work. James is referring to what the hymn writer called “the law by Christ fulfilled.”

His topic is therefore different than that of Paul’s in Galatians 2. The point of comparison would be more Galatians 5 or Romans 6. The point is not how we are justified, but rather how we are sanctified (or, to use the language James uses, how we “mature” and become “perfect and complete” (Jas. 1:2-3), and when we talk about the mode and power of sanctification, James describes it as “implanted.” We are given the power of Christ in our hearts. The word is being placed inside of us, planted in our very souls, and only because it has been planted there by the lawgiver are we then able to put these things into practice.

This is the third way we see and preach Christ in James. We are directed again and again to our savior as the word incarnate. It is Christ that we have received, and it is Christ that is at work within us, to do and to will according to his law, which is freedom and life. We can therefore preach the commands of James with integrity, without fear that doing so is legalistic, because we are preaching about the power of Christ to make us like unto him. The work of Christ outside of us (justification, forgiveness) is gospel, but the work of Christ inside us (sanctification, maturation) is no less so.

Jesus Forgives our Failure in These Things

Finally, though it is not a major theme in the epistle, James does remind us that Jesus the lawgiver is also Jesus the judge, and therefore Jesus the redeemer. I have left this until last for two reasons. First, it is in some ways the most obvious and natural for those of us preaching and teaching in protestant circles. When the command comes, our natural response is (and should be!) “I cannot keep that command, Jesus have mercy on me, the sinner.” That is a good application of imperatival texts, and it is also a necessary application, but it is not the only application. In fact, and here we come to the second reason why I put this one last, it’s also not very frequent in James. James assumes this is true, but it’s not the point of his work. He wants us to grow and mature, to become “doers of the word,” and he takes it for granted that we will repent and confess as we fall short.

Yet the forgiveness idea is definitely present. “The prayer of faith will save the one who is sick, and the Lord will raise him up. And if he has committed sins, he will be forgiven” (5:15). It’s hard not to see the tale of the healing of the paralytic in that verse. The same Lord who heals sickness is the Lord who forgives sins (Matt. 9:1-8). The two are connected. As James closes his ethical exhortation, his “program of perfection,” he talks about healing and forgiveness. ((Cheung, L. L. The Genre, Composition and Hermeneutics of the Epistle of James. Carlisle, Cumbria: Paternoster, 2003.)) He addresses our brokenness, both physical and spiritual, and he reminds us that Christ is the savior from that brokenness. The Lord will heal; the Lord will forgive. He “gives more grace” (Jas. 4:6).

This is the fourth way we see Christ preached throughout James. The wisdom of James exposes our sins—the words of the wise are like goads (Ecc. 12:11)!—and as it does say it draws us back again to the only one authorized and empowered to forgive those sins, Jesus Christ. This is, as we have already made clear, not the only way to see and teach and preach Christ from James–we also preach Christ as our Rabbi, as our Example, and as our Power—but it is still a good way. In James we encounter Christ our Forgiver.

Conclusion

James, then, is an anthology of wisdom. It is the wisdom of the ancient sages, and of the Great Sage Jesus, distilled through the life, meditation, and experience of the Christ’s servant James for the diaspora church. It thus directs us to Christ our Rabbi, Christ our Example, Christ our Power, and Christ our Forgiver.

The Working Wisdom of James

Mon, 02 Nov 2020 00:00:00 +0000

Many of the literary features particular to James, such as the imperatival tone, the prophetic imagery, the use of metaphor and illustrative parable, and the tendency towards aphorism, far from being problems to be solved, are in fact guideposts for modern readers to better appropriate and appreciate this book. They are indicators of the literary character and genre of the book. What type of book is the “Epistle of James” and why might that help us?

Part of the challenge in reading James Christologically is that we are set up from the beginning to misunderstand the kind of book that James is. Your Bible likely titles James as an “Epistle.” That’s not entirely mistaken, but determining the genre of James–that is, the “type” of discourse that we are engaged in–is more complicated than that. What is more, orienting ourselves to the genre of any particular work is key to understanding it. While James has some “letter-like” qualities, it has more in common with Jewish wisdom literature and prophetic homily than the letters of Paul. Appreciating the wisdom character of this book will help us better understand James’ goals and purpose. ((While this approach to James seems increasingly congenial popular, I’m particularly indebted to the work of R. Bauckham, James: Wisdom of James, Disciple of Jesus the Sage (London: Routledge, 1999); L. L. Cheung, The Genre, Composition and Hermeneutics of the Epistle of James (Carlisle, Cumbria: Paternoster, 2003); D. McCartney, James (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2009); D. G. McCartney, “The Wisdom of James the Just,” Southern Babtist Journal of Theology 4, no. 3 (2000): 52–64.))

James is an Epistle, Sort of

On the one hand, James begins exactly like we would expect an epistle to begin. An ancient Greek or Roman epistle only requires three words to get going: (1) the name of the person writing (“James”), (2) the names of those to whom it was written (“the twelve tribes”), and a greeting (in the case of James, “greetings”). James uses more than three words, but you really only need three. James has all that, so James is obviously a letter. However, skipping to the end, notice that James doesn’t end like a letter. Furthermore, the contents of this letter, as we have already noted, don’t line up with what we are expecting from other letters that we have read, such as those of Paul and Peter.

It is worth noting, then, that there are different kinds of letters. Some letters are very specific and concrete. If you get a thank you note for a Christmas present, you are reading an “occasional letter”—it’s about a specific thing that you did at a specific time, and it addresses that thing concretely and for a particular purpose (to offer thanks). If, by contrast, you got a Christmas card in the mail, you know that the picture and the “Christmas letter” included are not for you in particular, but are chosen as appropriate for a more general audience. This was written to everyone and you are therefore only relatively special. Perhaps the Christmas letter also includes a few handwritten sentences to you specifically, but the bulk of it is “general” and therefore less occasional that the thank you note.

So which kind of letter is James? There is a big clue in the first sentence of the epistle. It is addressed “to the twelve tribes of the diaspora” (1:1). That’s a very broad audience. It’s addressed to all Jews throughout the Roman world. Even if we limit that to Jewish Christians (which might be a good idea), it’s still a very broad audience. That tells you something important about how to read the book. It’s very unlikely that it is going to deal with specific issues that this or that church is struggling with. If it deals with an issue, it’s going to be one with which all the churches are likely struggling. It’s going to address money, for example, but not a building campaign. It’s going to deal with suffering, but not the persecution happening in Palestine.

So James is an epistle, but as an epistle it lacks “situational immediacy.” ((F. Francis, “The Form and Function of the Opening and Closing Paragraphs of James and 1 John,” Zeitschrift Für Die Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 61 (1970): 117)) It’s not like Galatians or Philemon. Those epistles are driven by very specific and particular concerns that their author wants to address. This one is more general, which means we need to look closer at the content in order to determine its genre and purpose.

James is Wisdom Literature

In truth, an author can take the conventions of a letter and bundle anything they want to inside it. Just the other day I received a letter in the mail from a friend; it consisted of a post-it note with some personal remarks (“appreciated our discussion, thought this might be of interest to you”) attached to an article. How do I read such a letter? The letter convention is simply being used to pass along something other than a letter, in this case an article.

This is similar to what is going on in James. James is using the letter convention to pass along something that is not really (or not just) a letter. It is a letter in form, but something else in content. So what kind of literature do we find in James?

Read through James 1 again, this time asking the question “what does it sound like?” Are there any other biblical (or non-biblical) books this reminds you of? Any other biblical writers that sound like this? Is there one central idea in the chapter, or is it multiple things strewn together? How do these ideas flow, and how are they connected?

When I read James 1 I don’t hear the kind of tight logical flow of Romans. I also don’t hear the careful and structured theological development of Hebrews or 1 Peter. Nor is it the impassioned polemic of Galatians. The style and content feels less occasional. And when it comes to what the book is about, I would be hard-pressed to isolate any one verse as the “thesis statement.” On the contrary, the author seems to be jumping from topic to topic without a lot of predictability. The ideas seem to connect, to be sure, but the connection is more literary than logical. For example, the author concludes 1:4 with the promise that the one who remains steadfast will be “lacking in nothing,” and then he immediately picks up the language in 1:5 with “if any lacks wisdom.” The two are connected, but there is no logical reason to move from “lacking nothing” to “lacking wisdom.” The connection is more artistic and stylistic than it is discursive and didactic.

So what does all this sound like? It sounds like Proverbs or Ecclesiastes. It sounds like the teaching of Jesus, particularly in his Sermon on the Mount (and Jesus in turn seems to be guided by the wisdom and prophetic books of the Old Testament). In short, it sounds like Jewish Wisdom literature. We actually have a number of examples of such literature, both in the Bible and from other sources in the ancient world, and James seems to be doing something similar. He is taking up the task of instructing his audience in wisdom. ((Bauckham, James))

How to Read Wisdom

So how does one read ancient wisdom literature? We need to be attentive to the rules and conventions by which wisdom imparts truth. On the one hand, wisdom is not “case law.” It does not attempt to envision every possible scenario and tell you what to do in that scenario. Rather, it is more principial, and leaves it to you to work out the details of when and how to apply the insight. Wisdom tells you both “look before you leap” and “he who hesitates is lost,” and then leaves it to you to figure out how to respond in any given situation.

For this reason, ancient wisdom literature tends to be provocative and probative. It wants you to think differently about everything, even the most fundamental aspects of our lives. James, for example, tells us is 3:6 that “the tongue is a fire, a world of unrighteousness.” Our words are poison, and our tongue cannot be tamed. It does not go on to qualify these remarks. It leaves us with a naked truth: everything we say does harm. So what am I supposed to do with that!? How am I supposed to apply that? James doesn’t go on to spell it out for you. Should I remain silent for the rest of my life? Should I repent and pray that the Lord will transform my tongue? Can the tongue be redeemed? James delights in leaving you unsettled about such questions. He wants to unsettle you because you need to be unsettled, lest you too quickly justify yourself and your words. Jesus does this all the time; “if your right eye causes you to stumble” then cut it out, he says (Matt. 5:29). How do I apply that? That’s unsettling. Most of us immediately jump to “Jesus doesn’t really mean it, not literally,” and maybe he doesn’t, but he does want to leave me unsettled. He wants me to ponder the truth that it would be better to go through life without eyes and arms than to sin.

That’s what wisdom does. It is true and good, but it is true and good in a slightly less straightforward way than, say, case law. The law tells me what to do if my ox hurts itself in a neighbor’s field on the sabbath, but wisdom probes deeper, exposing how I think about possessions, about worship, about my neighbor, all the while calling me to do good.

James and Jesus

These characteristic of James actually helps approach our original question: where do we find the Gospel of Jesus Christ in this book? It is true that James does not contain a lot of explicit Christological reflection. It favors the imperative over the indicative, we might say. And yet Jesus is not so far away as we might think. Perhaps in James the emphasis is not on what Jesus did, as important as that might be, but on what he taught (and why he taught it). It is wisdom for the work of living as a follower of Christ; it is the working wisdom by which, through Christ, we are being made “perfect and complete, lacking in nothing” (Jas. 1:3).

We will turn to that in Part 3 this series.

Reading James: The Challenge

Fri, 30 Oct 2020 00:00:00 +0000

“I’m really struggling to preach about Jesus from the book of James.”

A Sunday School teacher at our church recently approached me about the topic. The class is enjoying the book, and so is the teacher, but it’s become apparent that it’s hard to “get to Jesus” through typical exegetical methods. “I feel like every week I preach Christ the same way: ‘James commands us to do this or that, I consistently fail to do this or that, and so Jesus forgives me for this or that.’ Am I missing something?”

No. And Yes.

On the one hand, “no,” this Sunday School teacher is not missing something. It’s difficult to “get to Jesus” in James precisely because James doesn’t talk much about Jesus. Missing something? Quite the contrary; by respecting the tone and tenor of the text, and by attempting to match that tone and tenor in the teaching, something very important is happening: James is being respected as a unique and valuable witness to the faith.

On the other hand, it’s likely that “yes,” several things are missing, but nothing that can’t be recovered by a “due use of ordinary means” (WCF 1.7). To be more specific, it’s likely that a greater appreciation of the genre and literary style of James will result in a fuller understanding of the Christology of the book.

In other words (and here we come to the thesis of this series of posts): a natural and exegetical reading of James presents the modern reader with certain challenges, but in the end it’s precisely these challenges that function as the very hermeneutical clues that direct the reader to the Gospel in James: the “royal law” of Jesus Christ is the “implanted word,” and that word has in turn “brought us forth…that we should be a kind of first-fruits of his creatures” (Jas. 2:8; 1:18, 21).

We begin this series, then, with an examination of the challenges in James. Those challenges will provoke us to reconsider the genre and literary character of the book, which in the end will serve to indicate for us its Christological substructure.

The Challenges of Reading James

I’ve written elsewhere that the key to understanding any particular book of the Bible is, first and foremost, to read the entirety of the book in a natural and ordinary way (which is harder than it sounds: part 1, part 2). Try to read it as if you are reading it for the first time, paying attention to the things that make it interesting and unique. Then sit back and answer some “forest” level questions. What was the book about? Describe its style. The tone. The flow. How did the author go about making his or her point? How was this book similar to other books you have read, and how was it different?

When you do this with James, a couple of things likely jump out at you from the very beginning. There are a lot of commands in this book! It all sounds very demanding and authoritative. It’s very much focused on our behavior, on what we do and why we do it. At times it even sounds quite harsh, for example by condemning hypocrites and evildoers (Jas. 2:8-9, 19; 5:1-6), or by ridiculing folly and sinful behavior (4:13-17). Some might even accuse James of being legalistic—in fact, many have made just this accusation, even going so far as to warn people against reading this book. We will want to challenge this conclusion, but before doing so we need to recognize another aspect of the epistle.

In addition to being more focused on our behavior than other books of the Bible, James also seems less focused on what we generally consider to be “the gospel.” James seems to have an over-abundance of commands and a simultaneously short-supply of Christology. You may have noticed as you were reading that there are only two places where Jesus is explicitly mentioned (1:1 and 2:1), and both of them are (seemingly) in passing. There is no extended Christological discussion like those we find in Paul (Eph. 1, Rom 3:21-6:23), nor does Christology appear to be part of the theological logic of the epistle, as we might argue for other highly imperatival-heavy books like Philemon, Hebrews, or 1 Peter. Additionally, there is no discussion of the Holy Spirit in the believer’s life; instead James extols the power of the “royal law,” “the perfect law, the law of liberty," and “the word of truth” (Jas. 2:8, 1:25, 1:18).

The challenge here should not be underestimated. We are not imagining things when we see these differences, and so we shouldn’t pretend like they don’t exist. It’s easy when reading a book that challenges your assumptions to treat its unexpected features as problems to be solved, or even to ignore them entirely, but in reality what you have here is a gift. Far from being problems, these kinds of observations are precisely the kinds of things that help us to understand James better.

The Irony of the Problem

The “difficult” sections of James are the keys to their own resolution. The heavy focus on imperatives, the condemnation of hypocrisy, and the confrontational style of James direct the astute reader of the Bible to similar literary precedents: Proverbs, prophetic judgement, and Jesus’ own teaching.

How do the similarities (and differences) between James and these other Biblical documents help us resolve the problem? Because genre and style matter. And we will turn to that topic in our next post in the series.

When to Use Your Language Knowledge, Part 2: Only if it's Absolutely Necessary (and it probably isn't)

Thu, 06 Aug 2020 00:00:00 +0000

When is it appropriate to use the original languages of the Bible to prove or establish or accent a point you are trying to make? I have been arguing that three conditions must be true before you pummel your conversant with your knowledge of the Hebrew, Greek, or Aramaic text. First, you need to actually know the languages. The second condition, and here we turn to the subject of the present post: there must be no other possible way to make to point you intend to make.

Suppose you do know the original languages; maybe your knowledge of Hebrew is actually pretty good, thank you very much, and therefore you meet the first condition. Should you use your specialized knowledge to prove your point? I’m increasingly convinced that in most ordinary conversations–that is, in any discussion wherein any conversant doesn’t know Hebrew or Greek--neither Greek nor Hebrew should be appealed to as evidence.

To state my thesis positively: even if you can utilize your knowledge of Greek or Hebrew syntax and vocabulary, there’s probably a better way to prove your point, and you should take that route instead. Why? Because appealing to the grammar or the vocabulary of the original languages will likely not prove the point you hope to prove, nor should it persuade the audience you seek to persuade.

Proof

I still get surprised when people ask me what the Greek of this or that text “really says.” I’m not surprised that people want to better understand their Bibles–that’s a very good thing. I’m also not surprised that educated Christians think that the Greek and Hebrew is an important component of that process. It most certainly is, and if you want to be an expert in Biblical exegesis you should learn the languages. The surprise, rather, is that people still treat the original languages as if they are a silver bullet, the magical wand that will resolve the various debates and conflicts with which Christ’s church continues to wrestle.

Usually the opposite is the case. Knowledge of the languages exposes you to the problems involved in exegesis, not the answers.

Take as an example Galatians 2:16. Let’s use the ESV (because, well, I already argued that I should).

We know that a person is not justified by works of the law but through faith in Jesus Christ, so we also have believed in Christ Jesus, in order to be justified by faith in Christ and not by works of the law, because by works of the law no one will be justified.

Consider the phrase “faith in Jesus Christ.” Despite the fact that the mainline evangelical translations are all in accord here, there’s nevertheless a huge scholarly debate on the subject. Why? Not because of the English; because of the Greek. The “original Greek” is πίστεως Ἰησοῦ Χριστοῦ, which can be translated in one of two ways, either (1) “faith in Christ” (an objective genitive, wherein the genitive “Jesus Christ” is the direct object of the deep-structure verb πιστεύω, “faith in, trust”), or (2) “the faithfulness of Christ” (a subjective genitive, wherein the genitive “Jesus Christ” is the subject of the deep-structure verb). Either is equally grammatically possible. Neither grammar nor vocabulary solves the issue. Paul is not more likely to use one over the other. It is perfectly grammatically ambiguous (and the KJV captures the ambiguity with its translation, “faith of Christ).” The Greek introduces you to a question, not an answer.

The same ambiguity attaches to a similar English phrase: “love of Christ.” Does one mean by that phrase “my love for Christ” or “Christ’s love for me?” You can’t answer the question based on the grammar of the phrase. You also probably wouldn’t look up the word “love” in the dictionary, or the word “Christ.” The two alternatives are equally plausible. How would you determine which one is right? What information do you need to figure it out? Easy: you need the rest of the sentence. You need the context within which the phrase “love of Christ” was used. “Why do I sacrifice my own personal happiness in service to the church? Why that is easy! I do it for Jesus. The ’love of Christ’ compels me.” Or alternatively: “Why do I sacrifice my own personal happiness in service to the church? Why that is easy! I do it because Jesus loved me first. The ’love of Christ’ compels me.” A minor change, but in each case the word “of” does very different grammatical work. In the first the word “of” means something like “for”: my love for Christ. In the second, the same word establishes a very different relationship: Christ’s love for me.

Why do you naturally read an ambiguous grammatical construction like “love of Christ” as “my love for Christ” or “Christ’s love for me?” The context. The surrounding situation and sentences “activate” certain possible meanings of an otherwise ambiguous phrase. Context determines meaning. Grammar is ambiguous. Vocabulary is ambiguous. Both are necessary and determinative, but few interpretive dilemmas are solved in terms of one or the other. If they were, marital disputes would be easily resolved by appealing to a Middle School Grammar textbook. They aren’t. Why? Because meaning isn’t reducible to grammar and vocabular. Meaning is always grammar and vocabulary within a particular relational, literary, and cultural context.

Context Determines Meaning

One linguistic scholar, James Barr (no friend to evangelicalism in general, but right on this point), makes the case well when he argues that “the linguistic bearer of the theological statement is usually the sentence and the still larger literary complex and not the word or the morphological and syntactical mechanisms.”

What does that mean? It means that the meaning of a sentence cannot be exhaustively explained in terms of its grammar or its syntax. Or, to put it in a particularly scary way: even if one knows both (1) all the rules of a particular language (that is, its grammar), and also (2) all the words of a particular language (that is, its lexicon), they are still not equipped to understand any given utterance within that language unless they’ve been adequately informed about the historical and conversation context of that utterance.

It means that most exegetical decisions are ultimately decided not on the basis of some external grammatical system. That’s not how we determine what things mean in English. The English sentence “where you at?” makes perfect sense, but breaks innumerable grammatical rules. Nor can exegetical decisions be based on the discrete definitions of individual words: “Netflix and chill” does not mean what you think it means. Meaning is not reducible to (grammatical) rules and (lexical) definitions. Meaning involves both of those things, but grammar and syntax must be understood within a particular context.

Exegetical Proof

What does all this have to do with using Greek and Hebrew to make your case? In most cases, even if you know the languages, the proof that your interpretation is correct is not found (exclusively) in the details of grammatical syntax or lexical semantics (vocabulary). Even if you are exegeting the Greek, the proof that your answer to the question is the correct answer is determined by the context, which is to say, by the rest of the sentence, the paragraph, the book, the historical situation in which that word or phrase was uttered.

So unless your translation has woefully botched the entire paragraph and book being translated (possible, but not likely, at least for most mainstream translations), you should have enough evidence to prove your point from the surrounding context to make your point. What is more, such evidence is better evidence because it can often function to prove your point not only in the English, but also in the Hebrew or Greek.

Grammar and vocabulary usually will not suffice as exegetical proof. Context will. Find a contextual way to prove that your exegesis is true, either from the immediate sentence or paragraph (best!), biblical book, authorial style, or from the rest of Scripture.

Persuasion

Not only are grammatical and lexical particulars of a language insufficient to prove a particular point, they are also rarely persuasive. Or, to be more accurate: they shouldn’t be. Here’s were things get a bit complicated.

The reason things get complicated here is because often grammatical and syntactical particulars are persuasive. When someone gets up and screams “but in the original Hebrew!” many will simply believe whatever follows. It’s at this point that we need to be careful. What is happening when an “expert” tells you this or that is true, and you have no access to the data?

We have a logical term for that kind of argument. It’s called an “argument from authority.” As far as arguments go, it is considered a logical fallacy. You shouldn’t believe something simply because someone claims to be an authority on the subject. And let’s be honest with one another for a moment. Most of the time when a congregant believes a preacher because they appealed “to the Greek” it’s essentially because the congregant believes the preacher is an authority on the subject, which may or may not be true.

The question for you the preacher is whether or not you want your congregant to believe what you say on the basis of your authority or on the basis of proper proof. Do you want your “sheep” or “student” or “counselee” to believe you because you are “more of an expert” on the languages, or because you have taken the time to exposit the Scriptures.

Yes, I know it’s not an either/or. But when you combine this thought with the previous point (proof requires context), there are manifold reasons why you shouldn’t pull the “trump card” of “But In The Original Languages.”

By using the broader context of the sentence, paragraph, book, and Bible (and ordinarily in that order, by the way, but that’s a separate post) to prove your point, you are not only providing better proof (since that’s how you should be doing it anyway, even if you’re a Greek/Hebrew expert), you are also teaching your people how to exegete the Scriptures with the tools available to them (and for that, start with my series on exegeting without the languages). You are not only telling them what the text means, you are showing them how to arrive at that conclusion themselves. You are making yourself redundant. Go ahead. That’s the way Jesus wanted it anyway.

Better Evidence

All this to say, you can draw on evidence other than syntax and vocabulary to prove your point, at least when attempting to persuade an audience that does not have access to the original languages.

Without pretending that this is an exhaustive list, here’s a ranked hierarchy of evidence you should consider. What determines the ranking/order? The principle that “the more immediate/proximate context should usually be preferred over more general contexts.” The more “local” (or proximate) the evidence, the more weighty. Evidence derived from the paragraph is more weighty than evidence derived from “Paul’s style,” for example. That’s a rule of thumb, and not a rule, but on that basis, here is a suggestive list:

The sentence. Are there any words in the sentence that might help you determine what a particular word means? If you have multiple options for translating a particular word, what makes “most sense” within the sentence? What is least disruptive to the overall sentence? Same thing for grammatical questions.
The paragraph. What phrase best fits the overall logic of the paragraph you are exegeting? Don’t treat bible verses as independent units; they are part of an overarching argument or story or poetic image. How does the verse contribute to the whole? As an example, consider again Gal. 2:16. I would argue that “faith in Christ” is the proper way to translate the phrase because it parallels the phrase “works of the law.” The solution isn’t found in the grammar, but in the overall argument of the paragraph.
The work. What is the main purpose of the book you are reading? That’s not always an easy question to answer. Sometimes the author will helpfully tell you “the main point is this” (Heb. 8:1), but sometimes they won’t. And author’s can have multiple goals. Nevertheless, the purpose will set a trajectory of interpretation.
The author. Author’s try not to contradict themselves. And inspired author’s never do (though this might not be persuasive to everyone in your audience). Appealing to the logic, style, theology, and overall outlook of the human author of Scripture is usually worthwhile. One qualification: remember that we have more evidence in this regard for Paul, than, say James.
Genre. Literary works come in types. Letters. Narratives. Histories. Parables. Poems. Apocalypses. Different literary types have different rules attached. Read each different type of book in terms of the rules associated with that book. An op-ed is not the same as real news; an apocalypse is not the same as historical narrative; an epistle is not a doctrinal treatise.
Scripture as a whole. One unassailable tenant of Reformed exegesis is the “Scripture interprets Scripture” principle. It is often helpful to show how the word coheres. If you can’t prove your point from this passage, you can always vector in a similar passage for help.

There are, in short, a plethora of ways in which you can make your point. Leave the languages out of it, at least when it comes to sermons and Sunday schools and counseling sessions. The languages are invaluable for personal study and deeper insight into the word, but they are rarely necessary to prove your point to someone who doesn’t have access to that information.

The Best Translation to use for (Public) Exegesis

Wed, 22 Jul 2020 00:00:00 +0000

If you’re just joining us, we’ve been discussing how to do rigorous exegesis if you don’t know the original languages. In the previous post I argued that first you should “pick an English (or respective native-language) translation” and trust it, while appreciating its limits.

I also promised that I would tell you which English translation is the best. This post is an attempt to deliver on that promise.

What is the Best Translation to Use when Exegeting the Bible?

There’s a very simple answer to that question: whatever translation your church uses.

In most cases, your default translation should be the one that the majority of people that you are talking to on a weekly basis are regularly using themselves. That doesn’t mean that it’s the only translation you should consult (we will talk about how to do that in a subsequent post), nor does it mean that you need to wave a “Best Translation Ever” flag every time you quote it, but it does mean that any exegetical argumentation you make should usually be grounded in that translation. It means this is the translation you are working from, and it means that if you cannot prove your point from this translation on its own merits then you might want to consider whether or not it is a point worth making.

Perhaps some justification is in order.

Most Translations are Great

First, I think it’s important to recognize that most of the mainstream translations are great. Like actually great. Thousands of years of theological reflection, centuries of English translation tradition and historical research, decades of self-conscious thought in areas like hermeneutics, linguistics, and discourse theory have all contributed to some of the most reliable, time-tested, and artistically sensitive translations known to humankind.

Of course, all translations (even the great ones) are also limited (because they are translations), and all translations have their own goals and values (which we cannot weigh in the present post), but as long as you are aware of this, and refrain from over-concluding, you will be fine with any of the major translations. So stop worrying about which is best.

Having said this, a couple of qualifications are in order. Paraphrases, for example, are sometimes mistaken for translations. The Message comes to mind here. There’s nothing wrong with The Message; I’ve read it, I like it, and I’ve used it in certain contexts, but it’s not a translation and shouldn’t be approached or used as if it was (and I’m pretty sure Eugene Peterson would agree). On the other-end of the spectrum, hyper-expansive “translations” like the Amplified Bible should be avoided. I’d also generally counsel against using an individual scholar’s translation or an idiosyncratic niche translation in a corporate context. While these can be helpful to study in some cases, a committee-reviewed translation is usually preferable because it balances corporate concerns with a defined interpretive framework suitable for a broad audience. Finally, some of our readers may be ministering in countries for which there are only a couple of native-language translations available, if any at all, in which case the present argument still applies, but requires serious practical modifications.

Qualifications aside, here’s the bottom line: if your church is using a non-idiosyncratic and generally well-respected mainstream translation, just go with that and be done with it. For some of you this is going to be disappointing because you’re going to have to “settle” on something less-than-perfect (or, worse, on a translation that is not your personal favorite). Trust me, I know! But it’s ok. We all have to settle in the end, and in the end the payoff is worth it.

How so?

Using your Church’s Translation Has a Lot of Advantages

If we can all agree, as argued above, that there is no “best” translation (and if you can’t, just go with it for another 500 words or so, since you might be persuaded on alternative grounds) there are several very concrete reasons why you should just “settle” with you church’s translation. Even if it’s not the best idealistically or philologically or linguistically or exegetically or historically, its probably still the best in terms of your daily (public) use.

How can that be true?! Best is best, right? Nope. Everyone translation is a compromise, which means that we need to consider the many pragmatic advantages of using your particular community’s “favored translation.” And the advantages are legion.

Here’s a short list. (And it’s mostly just a suggestive list here; further argumentation regarding the merits of each element is beyond the present post, but feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments).

It encourages community dialog. When everyone is using the same version, everyone is able to participate in the discussion. As soon as you bring alternative translations into the mix (especially in a polemical context), you enter a debate that cannot be adjudicated without knowledge of the original languages.
It “democratizes” serious study of God’s Word. For Paul, “knowledge and insight” is not something relegated to the experts; rather, it is to be corporately pursued. “And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight” (Phil. 1:9). Leaders and teachers and preachers have a special and unique responsibility here (Jas. 3:1ff), but that does not invalidate the universal accessibility of the word to all readers (WCF 1:7).
It encourages ordinary Christians to read their Bibles (by reminding them that they have access to the very Word of God). I’ll never forget the one time I referenced the Greek in a sermon. Someone came up to me afterwards and asked, “So I guess I shouldn’t be using this translation. Which one should I be using?” I had eroded their trust in their translation (which was also the one our church preaches from). This, of course, was not a good and necessary conclusion for the person to come to, and I told them that, but how many people come to the same conclusion and don’t ask the preacher afterwards? Of course we must be cautious about an undue reliance on the accuracy of translations, but we also need to be aware of the dangers of inadvertently convincing Christians that they don’t have God’s word available to them.
It discourages contentious debates. Paul tells us to avoid contentious debates (Tit. 3:9). Of course he doesn’t mean we shouldn’t fight for the truth (consider, for example, Galatians!) or reason together about what this or that word “really means in Greek.” Of course we should be (humbly) debating about definitions and clausal structures and whether or not this or that should be translated as an “objective” or a “subjective” genitive! But what we shouldn’t be doing is encouraging people who don’t know Greek to have those kinds of discussions, or to pretend that such debates define what it means to be a “real” Christian or a “true” believer.
It forces you to prove your point on more exegetically and biblically sound grounds. We will talk about this in subsequent posts in this series, but suffice it to say for the present moment: context determines meaning. If you can’t prove your point from the rest of the sentence or paragraph or book that you are exegeting, then it’s probably not a good argument.

In sum, then, the advantages of using your church’s translation as your own personal “default” translation for study and exposition far outweigh the disadvantages. There are often other and better ways to make the exegetical point you want to make than by saying “our translation is wrong, but this one has it right.” Sometimes that might be true, but it’s usually not the best way to accomplish your goal. This is the case whether or not you have access to the original languages, but it’s particularly important to consider here.

Next up: How to use your chosen translation

To reiterate, this does not mean that the translation you pick is flawless or faultless, nor should you imply that to your congregation. All I am saying at this point is that it’s home base. It’s your go to, your default, your bread-and-butter when it comes to both private exegesis and public persuasion. This is where you start, both in your own study and in your conversation with those to whom you are ministering. Why? Because it’s common ground.

It might not be your favorite translation; it might not be the one you memorized as a kid, or the one that represents your hermeneutical and theological ideal, but you need to regard it as yours. Why? Because it’s the one your church uses.

Just Not Good Business

Fri, 17 Jul 2020 00:00:00 +0000

I recently had the opportunity to contribute to Tabletalk Magazine for their issue on “The Parables of Jesus.” Most of Jesus’ parables are relatively lengthy and complex, but I was given the two shortest, for which I was very grateful (and not just because of the 900 word limit). There’s something very powerful about the compact metaphor. They’re sticky. And they provoke our curiosity.

Here’s a snippet:

The parable of the pearl of great price looks even more surprising and more challenging in this regard. On the surface, it might appear that not much is happening in the second parable that isn’t already more clearly stated in the first. In both, the searcher sells all he has to gain the prize—but there seems to be a bit of a twist in the pearl parable. There is an irrationality in the merchant’s action that begs consideration. The merchant doesn’t sell everything in order to obtain something of greater value, as in the previous parable. On the contrary, the merchant sells everything—including (presumably) his existing pearl inventory—to buy one single pearl. That’s simply not good business. His actions demonstrate that he’s not in the pearl business for the money; he’s in it for the pearls, and now he has found The Pearl. He’s not really a merchant but a pearl collector, and to own this pearl is to own the only pearl that matters. Why did the merchant sell everything to become the (homeless?) owner of a single pearl? For the love of this pearl. For, again, the joy of it. That’s the twist of the second parable; ironically, the merchant is apparently less financially motivated than the field worker, for the merchant sacrifices everything not for the hope of greater income but for the simple joy of possessing the pearl.

Read the all 900 words here.

How do I do good exegesis if I don't know Hebrew or Greek? (Part 1)

Thu, 11 Jun 2020 00:00:00 +0000

Let’s say that you want to do some serious exegetical work on a passage of Scripture–perhaps you need to write an exegetical paper, or you’re running this week’s Bible Study, or counseling a client through a trauma, or answering your friend’s very specific and theological questions in a coffee shop–but you don’t know the original languages and therefore feel some lack of confidence when it comes to explaining what the biblical text really means.

Can you deeply and analytically study and reflect on a text of Scripture without making use of the original languages, and if so, how?

The question is particularly important if you’ve already been convinced, as I’ve argued previously, that you shouldn’t make definitive conclusions based on the original languages if you don’t possess a working knowledge of them. The present post began as a kind-of appendix to that argument, but on further reflection deserves a series itself.

“So I shouldn’t come to definitive exegetical conclusions from the Hebrew and Greek if I don’t know the original languages?” one might respond. “If that’s the case, is it still possible for me to mount an exegetical case for my position, and if so, how do I do that?”

The short answer: yes it’s very much possible, but it is vitally important that you account for the limitations of working with the text “in translation.” If you want to properly exegete a passage without the evidence provided by the Hebrew and Greek, you need to (1) trust a native language translation while simultaneously (2) being perpetually aware of its limitations.

The Very Word of God

Before moving forward, it’s important to appreciate the oliphaunt in the room; there’s a related question in all this: do I need the original languages to understand the Bible?

The short and very true answer to that is a simple and unqualified “no,” and that “no” is both theological and practical. Theologically, the protestant church has always maintained the efficacy (but imperfection) of the vernacular. You don’t need access to the Greek or Hebrew (or Aramaic or Latin) to make use of the Word of God; rather, the original languages “are to be translated,” so that every nation “may worship him in an acceptable manner” (WCF 1.8). Translations are sufficient to enable acceptable worship of God Almighty, and that is a high praise!

What is more, the Reformed tradition has consistently maintained the efficacy of preaching as a means by which the Christian hears the very word of God. All Christians who humbly hear God’s word faithfully preached in their native language are, by the power of the Holy Spirit, hearing “the very word of God.”

But

But there’s a “but.” Of course there’s a “but.” Our confessional standards, which we have already quoted in affirming the legitimacy of translation, also affirm the “but” that we will develop forthwith:

The Old Testament in Hebrew (which was the native language of the people of God of old), and the New Testament in Greek (which, at the time of the writing of it, was most generally known to the nations), being immediately inspired by God, and, by his singular care and providence, kept pure in all ages, are therefore authentical; so as, in all controversies of religion, the church is finally to appeal unto them.

Westminster Confession of Faith 1.8.

The original languages have a kind of preeminence, both historically and theologically. They are special because they are original (and for no other reason). Or to put it another way, they are special precisely because they are not translations.

Lost in Translation

Switching from theology proper to practical hermeneutics, the “but” we anticipated above (“can I understand the Bible in translation? Yes, but…”) is this: every translation is, by definition, and therefore necessarily and irreducibly, a translation.

Profound, I know: translations are translations. Why does that matter? Simple: all translations, by necessity, are limited. There is no perfect translation, and that’s not because humans are fallible and sometimes we get it wrong. It’s because every language and culture and time and moment and community is different. Translations can never be anything more than a translation. They can be a good translation, or they can be a bad translation; but they are inevitably still “just” a translation.

Moving from one language to another language is not like moving from base 10 math to base 2 or base 15 or base 12 math. It’s not like converting dollars to pounds to whatever the Canadian dollar is. Language is not reducible to an algorithm. Language is a highly temporal, local, and cultural phenomenon; it is a nexus point of ideas, symbols, ethical norms, cultural expectations, philosophical ideals, shared (and unshared) stories, grammatical mechanics, etc. You can’t represent that mathematically. Translation is always interpretation because translation isn’t conversion; it’s literature, and it’s philosophy, and poetics, and its fashion, ethics, anthropology, politics, religion, history, games, memes… everything! No translation can perfectly translate all that.

So our “short answer” articulated above (“yes,” you can construct a rigorous exegetical argument from a translated version of your passage even if you do not understand the original Hebrew or Greek), though accurate, does need to be nuanced. While good translations accurately communicate the central message of the original, they should should not be equated with the original. On the contrary:

Translations are (usually) Excellent Interpretations

Translations are always interpretations. That may discourage you, but it need not. It does not invalidate anything we have said before. Yes translations are interpretations, but they are often very good interpretations, and are therefore worthy of one’s trust.

To put the matter in terms of the Westminster Standards, many generations of theologians, linguists, archaeologists, and scientists have, over the course of many generations, made a “due use of ordinary means” (WCF 1.7) to provide the English speaking church with many excellent translations. We are all beneficiaries of a rich, multi-generational, and multi-cultural band of translators who have studied grammar and history and anthropology and archaeology and historical philosophy and linguistics and ancient Near Eastern sociology and Ugaritic and Christian History and … well, every discipline under the sun.

The result of these multi-disciplinary studies are: the committees that approved the ESV and the NIV, NLT, NASB, RSV, NEB, NKJV, KJV, MEV, … etc. All great translations.

But none of them are perfect. Why? Because they’re translations, and translations can’t be perfect. The confession and the linguistics agree on this point: to translate is to fall short of the original.

Conclusion

And that’s our first point. How do I exegete appropriately if I am reliant on a translation?

First and foremost, remember that every translation is limited. All translations necessarily involve interpretations, and there’s no circumventing that truth. There’s no perfect translation, no commentary that captures it all, no software than can decode the original, no tool or book or “code” that can get to the “true” meaning apart from rigorous, historical, and systemic appropriation of the languages in their native setting. As such, nothing beats knowledge of Hebrew and Greek.

Second, and almost as importantly, most of the translations used by our churches are excellent. In the next post I will address which is the best translation (and in that regard I hope to surprise you, if just bit). Choosing the right translation for your context is enormously important, but is also probably easier than you think.

To be continued…

So next up: “What is the best (English) translation?” Or, to pose the question in terms of the thesis of presented above: which translation should I trust?

Also: we still need to talk about how to use even the best on translations, because, as we have argued each of them is limited. When we say something is limited, we are implying that it is not useful in every possible case. That’s what I am claiming here about translations. All of them are useful, but we need to be careful about how we use them. All of them have their limits, and it is imperative that we know what those limits are.

Announcing a New Podcast!

Wed, 01 Apr 2020 00:00:00 +0000

Join the faculty of Reformed Theological Seminary in Washington DC (Drs. Peter Lee, Thomas Keene, Scott Redd, and Paul Jeon) as we discuss weekly news, relevant issues, and all matters Biblical and theological.

We began this podcast as a way of keep in touch with students and ministering to our community (not to mention the fact that we just like spending time together and discussing theology). Our hope, though, is that it would be of interest to a broader community, so please feel free to subscribe and listen in.

You can find us at all the ordinary spots:

You can listen to the first two episodes now, and look for more on a weekly basis.

https://soundcloud.com/rtswashington/practicing-presence-in-quarantine

https://soundcloud.com/rtswashington/faculty-podcast-episode-2-anxiety-in-troubled-times

All Prayer is Corporate Prayer

Mon, 23 Mar 2020 00:00:00 +0000

In these times of social distancing I hate to begin a blog post (my first after such a long delay!) with the now cliche opener “in these times of social distancing,” but, well, when the shoe fits… So, without further ado:

In these times of social distancing I’ve been thinking a bit about the corporate nature of prayer. I was reminded again today of how Witsius exposits the “our” in the opening of the Lord’s Prayer. Why does our Lord tell us to pray “Our Father?” The question is all the more pointed when we consider that the Lord’s Prayer is framed as a “secret” prayer in contrast to the kinds of “public” prayers prayed by the hypocrites (Matt. 6:5-6).

Witsius reminds us that all prayer is essentially corporate prayer:

’Our Father’…expresses likewise Charity towards our neighbour, whom we include in our prayer as a partaker, either actually or prospectively, of the same grace and adoption with ourselves…. It means that, wheresoever the person praying happens to be situated, even though he may happen to be alone, he must always pray in the plural number."

Witsius is encouraging us to make our prayers plural, and that is certainly salutary. But it’s also important to remember that when we pray we are always praying to the “Father,” which in turn implies that prayer is always familial. The rest of the family is implied in our prayer to the Father, who has many offspring. We should seek to pray in the plural, but we can also remember that our prayers are already plural.

Prayer is thus always a kind of gathering, even when it is private. All prayer is corporate prayer, for in it we inevitably include our family, our neighbors, our church, Christ’s kingdom. When we approach the Father, it is always and inevitably alongside our many sisters and brothers.

How can we stay connected in these isolating times? Continue to pray.

The Seven Letters in Revelation are Sermons on the Rest of the Book

Wed, 15 Aug 2018 00:00:00 +0000

(Note: you can find a simplified version of this article here).

Imagine you are tasked with preaching the entirety of Revelation to your congregation in a single sermon. The whole book. One sermon. Majoring on relevance and application. How would you do it?

Or maybe it’s a more casual question from a friend at the coffee shop: “So what’s the deal with Revelation? Se

[caption id=“attachment_512” align=“alignright” width=“300”] Patrick Fore[/caption]

ems pretty cryptic and weird and nothing like my life or relevant to the modern world. Explain that to me.” You’ve got until the coffee gets cold. Go.

What would such a sermon (or conversation) look like? How would you consolidate 22 chapters of some of the most intense, complex, disputed, and visceral material in the Bible into an easily applicable and understandable (three-point) sermon or summary, tailored for the person you are talking to? Is there a way to leap-frog all the modern controversies regarding the book and simply tell people what they need to hear? And how do you focus on the practical implications of the book without getting bogged down in the infinitely complex minutiae?

Easy. Copy John. He’s done it for you already. Revelation 2-3 provides you with seven exemplary interpretations and applications of the book as a whole.

Revelation is a Letter

If you want to understand the book of Revelation you need to appreciate that it is a letter. To be clear: Revelation doesn’t just contain letters, the whole thing is a letter. It’s other things too, which makes interpretation complicated, but it never ceases to be a letter.

This should be obvious, because Revelation actually tells you that it’s a letter in the first chapter:

I was in the Spirit on the Lord’s day, and I heard behind me a loud voice like a trumpet saying, “Write what you see in a book and send it to the seven churches, to Ephesus and to Smyrna and the Pergamum and to Thyatira and to Sardis and to Philadelphia and to Laodicea” (Rev. 1:10-11).

Now it’s well recognized that a portion of Revelation is a letter, as chapters 2-3 of the book are obviously letters (“to the angel of the church in Ephesus write,” Rev. 2:1). But look back at those verses in 1:10-11. They clearly apply not to some subset of the book (ie, chapters 2-3), but rather to the book as a whole. The seven churches that are mentioned in 1:10 are the same seven churches of Rev. 2-3. Seven letters, seven churches. What is John supposed to write to these seven churches? Not just what he hears (2:1) but also “what you see.” Which means that John’s vision in 4-22 is no less a part of what he is supposed to give to these churches. The whole book begins with a vision (“write what you see,” 1:11), and the rest of the book (after the letters) resumes that vision:

After this I looked, and behold, a door standing open in heaven! And the first voice, which I had heard speaking to me like a trumpet, said, “Come up here, and I will show you what must take place after this" (Rev. 4:1).

This is a significant and undervalued key for interpreting the whole book. Everyone acknowledges that Revelation contains letters, but they then revert to other genres for Rev. 4-22 (namely prophecy and apocalypse). Here’s the deal, though. Revelation doesn’t just contain letters, it also is a letter. It’s easy to treat Rev. 2-3 as a kind of aside or parenthesis in the book, but if Revelation as a whole is a letter then these letters aren’t mere asides, they are central to the book’s purpose and content.

This observation doesn’t change the fact that Revelation is also a prophecy and a vision. Revelation is a couple of things all at once. It is simultaneously a vision (or apocalypse), and a prophecy, and a letter. The problem, though, is that we often forget that it is a letter. We normally think of Revelation in terms of its apocalyptic character, and therefore treat it as something strange and otherworldly and abnormal. If you ask someone what Revelation is about they will tell you about judgements and demons and the Beast and something about 666 and perhaps the False Prophet and the Antichrist and locusts and hellfire and the New Heavens…. All that is apocalyptic, and all that is important; it’s also hard and visceral and controversial and confrontational. It’s what makes the book challenging. We can’t ignore the apocalyptic character of Revelation. But it is also a letter, and letters are highly ordinary. Letters are easy.

Seeing the letter character of Revelation makes it easier to interpret

Why are letters easy? Think about the last time you received a letter (or email or text or other modern equivalent). Why did you receive it? The purpose of the letter was probably quite clear. It was likely to thank you for a gift, or to ask you about something, or to instruct you in some way. Letters are straightforward. You know exactly why you are receiving it. Some of the details may be obscure (“who’s this person they keep referring to?”), but the intent is usually clear. You always know the why, even if the what is obscure. In fact, you probably only need to look at the return address to know the intent of the letter you are receiving. The purpose is usually obvious.

Though the structure of letters has changed since ancient times, the purpose and intent has not. Ancient letters fall into a relatively small number of easily discernible intents. To encourage. To thank. To praise. To exhort. To request. So which one is Revelation?

It’s in this respect that we can look at Rev. 2-3 as a hermeneutical key to the rest of the book. Read through chapters 2-3 and describe the purpose of these letters. Is the primary point to inform or to thank or to instruct/exhort? Clearly it’s the last of those. These letters are imperatival. They are not primarily designed to inform these churches about future events, or to thank them for what they have done, but rather to exhort them in their present circumstances. The future is certainly part of the picture, but the point is the present actionable item, whether that be to persevere, to repent, to return to one’s first love. The purpose of the entire book is to exhort these 7 churches in Asia.

Revelation 2-3 as Exhortational Guide

All of this gives us a general guide for interpreting Revelation: the apocalyptic and prophetic character of Revelation ultimately serves its ultimate and far more obvious exhortational goals. This book wasn’t written to provide you with a cryptic proof that so-and-so is the antichrist, or that the world will come to an end on October 29th 2022. It was written to remind you that the State (in all its forms) is a Beast, and that pleasure is seductive, and that wolves come dressed as shepherds, and that God wins, and that the overcomers will be written in the book of life.

And all of those themes are very clearly and propositionally articulated in chapters 2-3.

Which brings us to our conclusion. The seven letters are models for interpreting the one letter. John has embedded the exhortational key(s) to this prophetic and apocalyptic book in its first few chapters. If you are looking for a model for preaching Revelation, look no further than Revelation! The kinds of exhortations that one might derive from Rev. 4-22 are right there in Rev. 2-3. Letters have a point, and the point is usually obvious. So what is the point of Rev. 4-22? Why, Rev. 2-3 of course. The kinds of exhortations we find in Rev. 2-3 are the same kinds of exhortations that constitute “the point” of 4-22.

That’s not to say that Rev. 4-22 contains merely “illustrations” or “parables” or “morality tales.” No, the rest of the book is a prophecy and an apocalypse, but defining what that means is beyond the confines of this post. So keeping matters relatively simple for the sake of the present argument, let’s distinguish between content and purpose. The content of Rev. 4-22 is an apocalyptic prophecy describing the entirety of Redemptive History beginning (roughly) with the First Resurrection and concluding (definitively) in the Second Resurrection. It’s about the future. But why provide the church with such a prophecy? Not to describe but rather to exhort. The content of Rev 4-22 is historical but the point is exhortational. Which brings us back around to our opening question. How am I being exhorted? In a manner consistent with the pattern laid out in Rev 2-3.

Revelation 2-3 lays down for us a pattern for exhortation. That doesn’t mean that everything that needs to be said has already been said, or that you should just stand up on Sunday and read one of these letters to your congregation, or recite it at the coffee shop. It means that Rev. 4-22 is for churches that are resisting persecution but have lost their first love, or who need encouragement in the midst of slander, or who have been infiltrated by false prophets, or tolerate syncretism, or who are really dead inside. It’s for churches that are faithful and long for their reward or, by contrast, are apathetic and need to be warned. It’s for churches like ours in fact.

Find your church, or yourself, on the list, and preach Rev 4-22 like John did.

When to use the original languages. Part 1: Only if you know them!

Tue, 31 Jul 2018 00:00:00 +0000

So you think that the person you’re talking to (or preaching at) needs to fully appreciate what the Greek or Hebrew really says? I recently tweeted out the following conditions that must be true before you answer that question affirmatively:

https://twitter.com/tommykeene/status/1022218968868810754

I’ve been interacting with a number of students about this, and it seems it would be good to expound on it a bit. And so my next blog series is born! The point of this series is to argue that, unless you are currently engaged in an academic discussion, it is probably best to leave the original languages out of it. In non-academic settings the use of Greek and Hebrew is either wrong-headed or counter-productive.

Before moving forward, though, it’s important to note that nothing I’m about to say means that the original languages are unimportant. They are vitally important, for a great many reasons, and if you are training for ministry you should definitely learn Greek and Hebrew if you are able. The question we are discussing here is not “should I learn Greek and Hebrew” but rather “when should I talk about the Greek and Hebrew?” And the answer to that question is “probably not very often.” If you are not currently dialoguing with someone who knows the original languages (or thinks they do), then it is usually counterproductive to discuss them.

There are exceptions, of course, and this series is organized around determining whether or not the particular situation you are in constitutes such an exception. tl;dr: it probably doesn’t.

The Three Conditions

Three things must be true before you “prove” or “nuance” or “clarify” something by an appeal to the original languages.

You actually know the original languages.
There is not other way to make the point that you are making.
The point you are making is sufficiently important.

We can’t handle all three in this post, so let’s start with the first and leave the others for subsequent entries.

Condition 1: You actually know the original languages

In many ways this should be the most obvious principle, but is likely also the most transgressed: before you wax eloquently about what the Hebrew “really” means, you probably should know a bit about Hebrew. I’m not saying you need an exhaustive understanding of the language, or that you have single-handedly produced the best translation of 2 Kings currently on the market, but if you don’t have a rudimentary understanding of the language, and (also) a rudimentary understanding of the way in which languages work, then you probably should keep your mouth shut.

Why? Because whatever knowledge you intend to pass on is untested and unexamined, and what is more, untestable and unexaminable (by you at least). Where did you come by that Greek/Hebrew nugget anyway (if you don’t know the languages)? From somebody else, of course! You are taking someone else’s word for it. You have no way of testing or confirming that information. You may trust the source you are quoting, and the source may be trustworthy, but in the end you have no way of arguing with your source because she or he is an expert, and you are not. You are relying on an argument from authority.

Let’s be clear: an argument from authority is not necessarily a bad thing. In fact, we believe tons of things on the basis of authority. I believe that the earth is round because qualified and trusted people tell me that it is round, despite arguments to the contrary by sources I regard as untrustworthy, even though I have neither (1) been in space or (2) done the math. If you asked me to prove that the earth is round, I couldn’t do it. I’d have a lot of circumstantial evidence, of course, like pictures from NASA, and I’d probably say something about the disappearing horizon and the position of the sun, but really I couldn’t put all that together as a “proof.” I trust experts in the field sufficiently to elevate such circumstantial evidence to “proof.”

So if arguments from authority aren’t necessarily a bad thing, why can’t I slide them into my present conversation or sermon? Well, you can, provided it’s appropriate, necessary, and sufficiently qualified, but usually those conditions don’t obtain. In most cases you are in what we might call an “ordinary” conversation, and in an ordinary conversation both parties have a sufficiently overlapping worldview, which is to say that appeals to authority are essentially shared. Whether the audience is a counselee or a friend or an entire congregation, you both come to the table with the assumption that the ESV or NIV or NKJV or NASB is a faithful (if not perfect) translation of the Hebrew and Greek. What is more, neither of you have the chops to disagree with the translation upon which you rely. You are dependent on the authorities; the trick is to acknowledge that and reason appropriately (which we will get to below). In such cases, the “debate” is not really about the Greek or the Hebrew, but rather the authorities. You’re not really appealing to “the Greek” but to John Piper or D. A. Carson or C. R. Campbell. So package it as such. Instead of “this Greek word means…,” you should be saying “Carson argues that this means….”

Now there are situations when you exit the Ordinary and can appropriately assert the authority of another. Let’s consider a hypothetical conversation between me (a theology nerd who can’t do math and has never been to space) and a flat-earther. I don’t have much hope for the fruitfulness of such arguments (since rejection of authority seems endemic to flat-earth ideology), but it might be helpful for me to mention those NASA pictures I saw and the disappearing horizon and the math that others have done. I will do so self-consciously, recognizing that I myself have not “done the math,” and being quite up-front that I couldn’t do the math even if I wanted to. But I would cite the authorities. I wouldn’t cite them (ideally) as MY knowledge or as MY expertise (and right there we have a pretty humbling critique of most of our appeals to authority), but I would cite them, and thereby call my interlocutor to engage my betters. These kinds of situations are rare, but they do happen, so if a group of mormons drops by and starts talking about the Greek in John 1, by all means appeal to the Greek, but do so in a way that recognizes that the knowledge is not yours and point them to the correct authority.

Why is this such a big deal?

Inappropriately using the original languages can have some pretty serious consequences. In this case, the main consequence is passing along false information. Since you do not have the knowledge to check the conclusions, you can’t really know that what you are saying is true. Even the most “simple” translation issue usually has two sides, and it is often the case that those two sides have reasonable arguments to make. How will you adjudicate? What is more, you could end up implying that you are knowledgeable about such matters when you really aren’t.

This is especially dangerous when the decision you make contradicts the translation you or your audience trusts. Appealing to what the Greek/Hebrew “really” means will gradually erode your audiences’ trust in their English Bibles. The mainstream translations (ESV/NIV/NKJV/RSV/NASB) were put together by a panel of experts. That doesn’t mean they are always right, or that they don’t have their biases, but it does mean that we are probably not in a position to adjudicate their decisions. Don’t pick a fight you can’t win.

How do I do good exegesis if I don’t know the languages?

The next logical question is: how do I properly exegete a passage if I don’t know and therefore shouldn’t utilize the original languages? In general, you pick a translation, stick with it, and be humble about your (and its) limitations. It’s often good to compare translations with one another, but resist the urge to decide which one is “better” in this or that instance, since frankly you don’t know. The point of comparison is to see if there are any major issues and debates, not to solve those debates. In your argument stick to one translation throughout, rather than picking the translation that proves the point you want to make. This forces you to stick with what you know and will help you resist the natural desire to overconclude.

If you are making an argument that requires the word or phrase be translated thus-and-so, and other major translations don’t translate it that way, then it’s probably not an argument you should be making. That’s not only because you don’t have the required skills to adjudicate the debate, though that is true, it’s also because the argument itself either isn’t very important or isn’t very good (but we’ll get to that in subsequent posts). If you are relying on an individual word or short phrase for your conclusion then your conclusion stands on a weak support. There is a pretty important principle of interpretation embedded here: context determines meaning. The vehicle by which meaning is transported from book to brain is the sentence and paragraph, not the individual words. Translations may therefore differ on words and phrases, but the overall meaning of the paragraph is still clear. Your exegesis and argument should therefore rely heavily on these contextual markers rather than on the grammatical structure and lexical semantics of individual phrases.

Bottom line: trust your translation, but do realize that it is a translation and don’t put a weight upon it that a translation is unable to bear.

How to Write a Seminary Paper: Part 3. The Argument

Sat, 07 Apr 2018 00:00:00 +0000

In our first post we looked at what makes a good thesis. In our second post we applied those insights to paper research. Now we turn to a third point: using your research to persuade your audience that your thesis is true, otherwise known as your argument. Finally we get to talk about actually writing your paper.

Before we begin, though, we should repeat ourselves and say that a good argument depends on a good thesis. If you’re not sure why that would be the case, I’d suggest you start with the previous posts in this series, because the present post won’t make a lot of sense without them. Or, to put it another way, the first post of this series is, in fact, the thesis of the whole, and so if you don’t understand the first post, you won’t understand the significance of what you are reading now.

So what are you reading now? By way of reminder, a good paper involves three things: (1) a question, (2) an answer (the thesis), and (3) an argument (persuasion). A good paper is nothing more than a good argument for a good answer to a good question. So what qualifies as a good argument? That’s the subject matter of the present post, and here’s our thesis:

A good argument is a reasoned, focused, and understandable demonstration that your thesis is true. Let’s embark on that now.

The Three Cs of a Good Argument

Every paper is an argument. Now when you hear that word “argument,” your instincts might be primarily negative. We shouldn’t argue! We shouldn’t be contentious! Well, maybe not, but when we are trying to say that “thus and so” is true, we should be prepared to persuade our audience that we are right, and to do that we need to put forward reasons. That’s what we mean here by “argument.” The bulk of your paper is designed to persuade, to argue a case, to prove that you are right.

Now the art of persuasion goes back a long way–the Greek rhetoricians spent countless hours discussing that topic–and so there are no shortage of guides on rhetoric out there. Let’s not pretend that the following is going to be anywhere near sufficient. Consider this to be little more than an introduction. To that end, we are going to talk about the three characteristics of a persuasive argument, each of which just so happens to begin with the letter C!

If your thesis is the foundation of your paper, these Three Cs are the load-bearing walls. They are the structural support without which you have no substantive argument. Your argument may not be pretty and it may not be elegant, but if these three are in place it will stand. You can always go back and pretty your paper up later–a fresh coat of paint, some pictures here and there–but don’t bother with any of that if you don’t have the structural support necessary for your argument to stand.

The three Cs are content, coherence, and clarity. Each of these “Cs” addresses one aspect of our original thesis. If a good argument is a reasoned, focused, and understandable demonstration that your thesis is true, then “content” addresses the reasons, “coherence” the focus, and “clarity” the understandability.

Content

The first of these three is, in some ways, the most obvious. This is the material out of which your argument is formed and shaped. This is all of the stuff you have been collecting through your research–evidence from Scripture, relevant historical and cultural background information, the history of interpretation on a passage, other people’s arguments and counterarguments concerning this or that idea, and of course your own thoughts and responses to each of these.

Now anybody can take a load of material and slap it down on paper, but that won’t make for a good argument. You need to make sure that it’s the right material, and that it is rightly weighted, and that it is presented in the right way. Your material needs to be (1) relevant, (2) accurate and factual, (3) analyzed and reasoned, (4) persuasive, and (5) fair.

Relevant. Don’t fill your paper with filler. Stay focused on proving your thesis. If a bit of material is irrelevant to your argument–ie, it does not further the point that you are making–then leave it out, no matter how interesting you may find it or how much time you spent on it during your research phase. For example, one mistake I see many writers making is to spend a lot of time explaining what a particular word means in the Greek or the Hebrew. The original languages are of course valuable, and we actually need a whole post devoted to them, but for now just remember: if it’s not necessary to your argument, then leave it out. You argument rarely requires that a word mean this instead of that, and if it does it may mean that your argument is a bit precarious to begin with.
Accurate and factual. To the best of your ability, make sure your content is true. That’s actually harder than it may at first seem. This requires more than just avoiding “Fake News.” The commitment to accuracy is about more than simply “not lying” or misrepresenting information. It involves checking your sources to make sure they are not misquoting someone or misunderstanding something. It involves tracking down that information you remember hearing from someone somewhere to make sure you are remembering it correctly. It involves reading those with whom you disagree with diligence and charity. It requires you to avoid presumptions as much as possible and to diligently research everything you come across. Which brings us to the next point:
Analyzed and reasoned. The commitment to truth involves a correspondingly analytical method. At some point you have to trust what you are reading, but always remember that we all make mistakes, we all take shortcuts, we are all sinners who distort the truth in our sinfulness. That means you need to analyze your sources. If they reference Gal. 7:14 as proof of their point, you better look up Gal. 7:14 and spend some time thinking about it (which in this case won’t take you very long). If they spend time arguing that so-and-so was wrong, you better make sure you read a bit of so-and-so as well in order to make sure they understood so-and-so correctly in the first place. This may end up requiring you to disagree with ideas and authorities that you previously though unassailable, but it’s worth the work and will only make your argument stronger. Writing a paper requires more than quoting the experts; it requires (humbly, respectfully, and biblically) dialoguing with them, and often even critiquing them.
Persuasive. The first three items on this list are all fairly objective, but at this point you need to start thinking about your audience. Something can be true and not persuasive. I can cite numerous statistics about the dangers of smoking and still fail to persuade someone to give up the habit. Being persuasive requires more than knowing the facts; it requires knowing your audience. Maybe my audience (the chain smoker, for example) has an information problem, in which case all they need to know are the facts and statistics, but maybe the problem isn’t a matter of information, but rather one of willpower, in which case I need to appeal to some desire or motive greater than their desire to smoke, like traveling the world with their adult children or outliving their worst enemy. And thus the commercial is born! Who is your audience? Why might they resist your argument? What would be persuasive to them? Is there a (non-manipulative) way to address their concern? The answers to those questions require you to think concretely about who you are trying to persuade, which in the case of the seminary paper is probably pretty narrow (your professor), but in most cases is fairly complex and possibly very broad (for example: academics in general, skeptical non-Christians, your church congregation, your peers, friends and family, a presbytery or session, etc). Marketers and literary theorists call this your “ideal audience,” and your paper should be tailored (to some extent) to that group. For further reading, consider some good marketing books like Make it Stick.
Fair. Anyone can win an argument by trolling. People who are savvy about people can always manipulate others into agreeing with them. If you are the type that can win a crowd, regardless of the truthfulness of your statements, then pay particular care here. Be fair. Say things that are true. Sure, a good way to win over your professor is to favorably quote your professor, but maybe your professor is wrong. Do not sacrifice your integrity for the sake of persuasion. Don’t play the Hitler card just to win the debate. This isn’t a political election; it’s an academic paper. Treat your sources fairly; give your interlocutors the benefit of the doubt; be able to explain the ideas of your opponents better than they can themselves. If your thesis needs to be “toned down” in the process, then tone it down.

Coherence

The material that constitutes your paper may seem like the most important component of your argument, but it’s really just one leg on a three-legged stool. Your material also needs to be shaped. The material is just play-dough. If it is not properly shaped, it is formless and void. It is not an argument. The next two Cs deal with the shaping of your content, and the first and more esoteric of the two we call “coherence.”

What is coherence? Coherence refers to the way in which your essay holds itself together. It’s what makes your essay a single thing, rather than a hodgepodge of interesting and somewhat related ideas. Coherence is what gives your essay unity and oneness. It’s what allows your reader to step back and say “this essay was about X.” In the course of making your argument, you are going to be tempted to walk down many rabbit trails–matters that are neat and impressive and important but, in the end, irrelevant to your thesis. Producing a coherent paper requires the diligent avoidance of such rabbit trails (and often the liberal use of footnotes).

Back to the Thesis

Now if you’re thinking at this point “but wait, we’ve already talked about this! It’s my thesis that gives my paper unity!” then bravo! If you are not thinking that, then it’s time for some remedial math; go back and reread the first post of this series. Your argument has coherence insofar as it collectively demonstrates the truthfulness of your thesis. Let’s unpack why that’s the case.

Different genres of communication demonstrate coherence differently. A story, for example, has coherence insofar as all of its plot elements are resolved by the climax–that is, it all fits together “in the end.” An exhortation, by contrast, finds its coherence in the action unto which the speaker is exhorting you. A coffee-shop conversation has coherence because it is bound by time and place and the rules of conversation (and the same conversation would likely seem incoherent if “published.)”

A paper has coherence in so far as the material therein progressively proves a thesis. Rabbit trails unrelated to the thesis, extraneous information, paragraphs that are detached from the preceding and/or subsequent paragraph–these things disrupt the flow and thereby result in incoherence.

Everything must further your thesis. Everything. If it doesn’t further your thesis, cut it. Maybe your emotionally attached to the material? Cut it. Paste it in some other document–I maintain an “ideas” document for useful but presently irrelevant writing–but cut it for now. Consul yourself that the excised material may be the seeds of another paper. A good writer is like a good gardener: most of your efforts are going to be spent weeding and pruning.

Coherence and Flow

If you’ve done this, you’re on the right track, but you’re not done yet. The first step is ensuring that everything relates to your thesis, you are doing a good job, but you’re not done yet. Imagine I took a perfect paper and shuffled up all the pages. Everything would be related to the thesis, right? So by definition the paper would be coherent, right?

Of course not, and the reason is that the way in which you proceed matters. Order matters. A coherent argument progressively proves a thesis. That means that your argument needs to be properly ordered. It needs to be ordered in such a way that your reader can follow you argument in a linear way.

The way in which your paper is ordered is going to depend on the kind of argument that you are making. Maybe you feel that your thesis is true because you have seven independent grounds for believing it. In that case you are making an inductive argument. Your paper should analyze each piece of evidence in its turn, courtroom style, considering counterarguments as you go along, and then state that your thesis is the most likely conclusion to draw from such evidence. Perhaps, by contrast, you believe your thesis is logically necessary on the basis of some other truth you and your audience already believe. In that case you have a deductive argument and should work from premises to conclusion. Perhaps your thesis involves the will more than the mind–you want to persuade your audience to do something, not just believe something. In that case, while you should likely talk about evidence and logic (as above), your argument is going to be structure around the appeal to act (which is what makes a sermon different than a paper).

The point here is not to give detailed instructions on proper order–that is well beyond the constraints of this post–but rather to argue that order is important. Consider the best way to make your case, and shape your material accordingly.

Other Ways of Providing Coherence

Structure is the most important and foundational way of giving your argument coherence, but for that extra boost, consider the following:

“Beads,” or repeated words or phrases. Repetition is a great way of providing coherence. Pick out key phrases in your thesis, or “memes” in your argument, and sprinkle them at appropriate points throughout your paper. Be warned, though, that you have to be tactful in this. Repetition can get, well, repetitive. Don’t overdo it, but if you have a particularly witty or catchy way of putting something, sprinkle it throughout. For example, in Part 2 of this series, I did that with the phrase “move along.” It captured the essence of what I wanted to say while at the same time being brief and to the point (with the added bonus of being meme-worthy).
Repetition with crescendo. This is a form of the above, but here you are adding something with each iteration. You are repeating an idea, but also adding to it, creating a kind of “snowball” or “avalanche” affect over the course of the essay. For a great example of this look at the Epistle to the Hebrews. The exhortations in that epistle are essentially identical, but with a gradual crescendo that finds 10:26ff as its culmination.
Transitional phrases. Begin and end lots of your paragraph with “discourse markers.” Discourse markers are all those little words that establish relationships between ideas: words like “therefore,” “and,” “but,” “witherfor,” and of course “hitherwhereunto.” These words may be small, but they play an inestimably large role in the argumentative paper. You are creating logical links between your paragraphs, and that establishes flow or logical dependency. Do the next five paragraphs offer evidence for a conclusion? Great! Begin this subsection by saying “The evidence for this is as follows. First, ….” Is the current paragraph the conclusion of a lengthy argument, or is it the implicit result of the previous paragraph? There’s a word for that! “Therefore, ….” Make liberal use of these wonderful words.
Consistency of style. Don’t distract your reader with bright colors, weird fonts, inconsistent margins, or other gimmicks. If you can’t write it in plain text, don’t bother. Pick a normal font and stick with it. Don’t change the size. If you copy/paste something, make sure it’s formatted appropriately to fit the style of your paper. Resist italics. Resist bold. Let your words do the work.

Clarity

The final element of a good argument is clarity. If you’ve spent the appropriate amount of time on reasoned content and focused coherence, you have already done a good bit of the work required to write an understandable paper. But pitfalls yet remain. The key idea here: make reading easy on your reader. Being clear means making reading easy. That’s it. Make it easy on your reader. You’re writing a paper, not poetry or a mystery novel. Just say what you mean in the most efficient way possible.

How? Here are some tips to make you a more clear writer:

Know your grammar. I’m sorry to say it, but good grammar results in better papers. I’m not a grammar Nazi. I love to break the rules. But grammar matters. If the comma is obviously in the wrong place, then it will distract your reader. If something is spelled wrong, your reader is going to have to pause and figure out what you mean. If you’re not naturally good at this, it is your responsibility to find a friend or family member who can proof-read your paper. If your forced to right a paper in a language that is not your first, then make an extra effort to find a native English speaker who can do this for you. That may feel like an “asking a ride to the airport” level of favor, and it is, but it’s necessary.
Keep it simple. It’s the myth that refuses to die. Intelligence requires obscurantism. If you can understand it, it must not be that important or insightful to begin with. Correspondingly, if you what you are saying is important, it’s probably complicated. Usually, however, there is a path that doesn’t require trudging over high mountain peaks. If there is an easier path, take it.
Pick the smallest word that works. Related to the above, many believe that bigger words contain bigger ideas. Persuading requires the use of fancy words. It doesn’t. This is a paper, not poetry. Pick the smallest word that makes your point. Sometimes you need to pull out the word “eschatological,” and if you need that word (as you often will in a seminary paper), then use it. But if “heavenly” or “ultimate” or “final” will do, use that instead. Remember (as we mentioned in the first post) that no one wants to read your paper, and adding unnecessarily obtuse words won’t help that. This doesn’t mean you can’t pursue beauty. Saying something in a particularly delightful way is always a good thing (because it makes people want to read your paper!), but if the rest of the paper is a mess, it won’t matter. If the garden is full of weeds, the rose in the middle will not be appreciated.
Don’t overuse foreign languages. If you don’t need the Greek, don’t use it. If an English phrase will do, avoid the Latin phrase. Again, this is general advice. In a seminary paper the use of Greek and Latin and Hebrew are often necessary, but don’t use foreign languages for the sake of showing you know these foreign languages.
Read your paper out loud before you submit it. This is an old rule but a good one. Reading your paper activates a different part of your brain, and as a result you will see grammatical and clarity problems that you wouldn’t have been able to spot otherwise.

Conclusion

The bulk of your paper is the argument. The heart of your paper is the thesis, but most of it is actually the argument. Those two are related. If you don’t have a good thesis, you can’t mount an acceptable argument, and if you don’t have an acceptable argument, your thesis is really just an unproven opinion or idea. But if these two elements are in place, you will have a great paper, which means that at this point in the series (having covered the thesis, the research, and the argument) we are well on our way. There may be some details to fill in and some perfecting to do, but these are the major legs on our stool. Congratulations! Go forth and write! And for those of you seeking perfection, stay tuned.

Next up in this series: “the game.” Because writing a paper is about winning!

Witsius: We not only pray TO God, but FOR Him

Fri, 24 Nov 2017 00:00:00 +0000

The first petition of the Lord’s pray calls upon God to “hallow” his own name, which is remarkable for at least three reasons. Witsius argues that this is remarkable for three reasons:

It is a very extraordinary and almost incredible familiarity of intercourse which a man is permitted to maintain with God in holy prayer…. To be conducted to the throne of grace by the only begotten Son of God…is a priviledge high still. But the most wonderful of all, and one which almost exceeds belief, is that a man should be allowed to plead, not only for himself and for his neighbor, but for God,–that the kingdom of God and the glory of God should be the subject of his prayer,–as if God were unwilling to be glorious, or to exercise dominion except in answer to the prayers of believers (Witsius, 186).

So first, it’s remarkable that we can ask God to do something at all. The very fact that we can petition the God of the universe is a wonder. Second, it’s remarkable that Christ and the Holy Spirit assist our prayer. But third, that we are to pray not just to God, but about and for him. We aren’t asking for a bicycle; we are getting busy in God’s own personal business. We are presuming to be a partner with God in the hallowing of his own name! Jesus is encouraging us to take an active interest in what God does with respect to his own glory and honor.

Witsius goes on:

The honour of praying for God, which is thus granted to a human being, ought to be so highly prized by a believing soul that, loving God above all things, even above itself, it should overlook for a time its own concerns, until the matters which relate to the the glory and kingdom of God have been carefully settled.

Amen! In the rest of the chapter he explains how we can hallow God’s name–can God’s name be more hallowed than it already is? It’s a great read.

How to Write a Seminary Paper: Part 2, Researching (And Perfecting) Your Thesis

Mon, 20 Nov 2017 00:00:00 +0000

In our first post we looked at the most important aspect of a good seminary paper: the thesis. But the thesis is actually only one leg of a three legged school. A good seminary paper (or any paper, sermon, public speech, or argument, for that matter) contains three components: (1) a good question, (2) a good answer, and (3) a good argument.

Our first post, then, looked extensively at the answer (the thesis), and briefly at the question. But what makes for a good argument? A good argument is a reasonable, focused, and understandable demonstration that your thesis is true. We’ll use that definition for the next two posts (which is why I took the extra time to to embolden it ;) ).

So let’s unpack it a bit. In this post we will discuss how your argument is tied to your thesis, and how that tie affects the way you research. (And in the next post, we will look at how that tie affects the way you write).

Your research is determined by your thesis

First of all, and here we are really just repeating ourselves, your argument is about your thesis. And that means that your research, which is designed to demonstrate your argument, is also determined by your thesis. Research your thesis, and don’t get sidetracked.

Now the tough love. If you don’t have a decent thesis then don’t bother (unless you just need to pass the class, in which case get ’er done, but plan on a B- at best). Everything you are about to do _depends on your thesis, s_o if you haven’t read the first post in this series about the importance of the thesis, then you don’t deserve to read this post. Seriously, no soup for you. Move along. Nothing to see here.

But if you understand that a good thesis is not only essential, but in fact determines the rest of your paper and the research for that paper, then you are currently in a very good position. If you have a good thesis then the hard part is over and your overall workload is far more manageable. You’re ready to read and research and analyze and write, and as you engage in all of these tasks you will intuitively know what is relevant and what can wait for another day.

But that way of putting it raises an important question. Do you actually have a good thesis?

Thesis or Hypothesis?

What if your thesis isn’t all that good yet? No problem. From the perspective of research, which is the point of this post, you actually only need a good hypothesis, which is defined (for our purposes) as a preliminary thesis. If a thesis is an answer to a good question, then a hypothesis is a preliminary answer to a good question. The hypothesis is preliminary thesis. It may be preliminary because your answer is vague and general and you wish to make it more concrete. It may be preliminary because you believe it but have not proven it. It may be preliminary because you are uncertain if it’s true. It may be preliminary because you are not sure you are asking the right question. Nevertheless, for whatever reason your thesis is preliminary, and so really isn’t a thesis but a hypothesis. That’s not a bad thing and it doesn’t mean you can’t write a good paper. It’s part of the process.

Think of it this way. If a paper is designed to make an argument, and an argument simply answers an important question in a persuasive manner, then a paper is as much determined by a question as it is by a position. That’s good news (provided you have a good question). You don’t need a perfect answer to write a paper; all you need is a good question and a preliminary answer. Your research (hopefully) transforms the preliminary answer into the persuasive answer.

Which brings us to your research. Research is nothing more than trying to discover a reasonable and persuasive answer to your question.

So whether or not you have a great thesis, at the very least make sure you have a good question and an at least preliminary answer to that question. If you’ve only got a hypothesis, you are on the right journey, but you haven’t yet reached “cognitive rest” (a term that I have taken from John Frame’s Doctrine of the Knowledge of God). Research will help you find the rest you need, and your hypothesis provides the trajectory along which that research can travel.

How to stay focused (what to research, and what to ignore)

As you research and write you will be tempted by various distractions. All sorts of interesting rabbit trails will present themselves to you. They will beckon you, like they beckoned Alice, to Wonderland. Tell these rabbits “no.” The issue may be important, but as soon as you spot that it is ultimately irrelevant to your thesis, put it in a “someday I’ll explore this” list and move on. So, for example, while the authorship of a particular book may be incredibly important generally, if it doesn’t help your reader better understand your thesis, don’t talk about it.

This is incredibly helpful because it limits the work you need to do. You don’t need to solve every problem; you only need to solve this problem (and, of course, all the problems that upon which this problem depend). Furthermore, you don’t need to convince every person; you only need to convince your (ideal) audience. Don’t do more than your need to do. Stay focused. Don’t get distracted, either in writing or in research. Prove your point and move on.

Revise Your Thesis

Now you may need to tweak your thesis along the way–the process of research (and writing!) will almost inevitably result in alteration, increased specification, and maybe even repudiation of your thesis. That’s ok and to be expected, but (for now) you have the thing you need to direct your research. The thesis is more than just the point that you are making; it is the path by which you are conducting your investigation. As you conduct your investigation–analyzing the evidence, asking new questions, and questioning old assumptions–you may find that your (hypo)thesis can no longer stand in its originally stated form. Don’t be afraid of that. Just edit it accordingly and adjust your research trajectory to match this new hypo(thesis), then move along.

The thesis (or hypothesis) is the first thing that you should write, and it’s the final thing you should edit. Your thesis is always a work in progress. Precisely because your thesis is the key to your paper, it’s also the most changeable sentence. As you research you are going to want to alter, revise, and perfect your thesis (and, again, see the previous post in this series regarding how to do that).

Excursus: How to handle tangential issues

As we mentioned above, as you research, you will come across countless issues that are related to your thesis but not critical to it. How do you handle important issues that may or may not be relevant to your paper? Or, to put if more crassly, what if the issue is “sort of” related? How should you handle “tangential” topics? What if you come across an issue that seems really interesting but doesn’t, in the end, forward your point?

It depends.

If your thesis would ultimately stand regardless of the truth or falsity of that topic, then explore the issue a bit to make sure that you are correct in that conclusion. On the one hand, you don’t dismiss topics out of hand, but you don’t want to exhaust yourself in them either. Your goal is to study it just enough to establish that the issue is irrelevant to your thesis. In your written argument (as we will discuss in the next post), you will give such concerns the luxury of a footnote–state the issue, acknowledge that it is important (but in the end doesn’t much matter in the present paper because of x, y, and z), and cite an article or two for further investigation. Your research should be just extensive enough to do this, and then you should move along.

But what if the issue is relevant to your thesis, and is also hotly debated, but most of your audience will assume that the position you take on the issue is the true one? That’s a bit more difficult, but the same principles apply. Remember that you are trying to convince your audience that your thesis is true, so if your audience generally presumes that one of your premises is true, then don’t spend too much time on it. For example, let’s say that the argument you are making requires that Paul wrote Ephesians. As you (presumably) know, many scholars reject Pauline authorship of Ephesians, so you will be tempted at this point to spend a good deal of time arguing that Paul wrote Ephesians. Don’t. Don’t waste your time. Why? Because in the paper you are about to write you are not addressing such skeptics, so in that paper you can simply state in a footnote that you are making this assumption, and that scholars who reject it can still learn something from your article (hopefully), and that the best argument you have read to date on Pauline authorship of Ephesians (ie, the article most likely to convince a skeptic) is such-and-such. Then move along. Your paper is not about Pauline authorship, it’s about something else, so research the something else.

Easier Said than Done

The whole point of this post is to encourage you to stay focused as you research. Don’t get distracted by interesting and important issues that are irrelevant to your thesis.

But that’s easier said than done. Here are some practical strategies for doing this.

Keep an “ideas” journal. Have it with you at all times. If you get a brilliant idea, write a sentence or two about it. Be sure to describe the context that generated the idea–the paper you were researching, the book you were reading, the dream you were dreaming, or the movie you were watching–so you can retrace your steps at a later date. Then move along.
Most papers don’t need an excursus. I say that knowing full well that the present blog post contains an excursus. Most excurses our actually papers in disguise, or an indication that you need to reorder the paper that you are currently writing. The excursis above should actually be a bullet-point below (but is slightly too long for that), or integrated into an earlier paragraph (which I spotted while editing, but decided to leave it in order to make this point). If you find yourself wanting to research material that will only be an excursus, reference it in a footnote and develop it in your next paper.
Annotate everything you read. That’s not always easy, but it’s easier now than it used to be. The basic idea here is to keep a running “thought journal” as it relates to your research. That can be as easy as highlighting passages of your books that you find helpful. It can be writing in the margins (which I know is heresy for some, and I apologize). It can involve a separate piece of notepaper in which you are taking notes. Or maybe it’s that old fashioned note-card system. I use Zotero for this because it allows my to annotate what I’m reading and also cite it in whatever I am writing (I’ll have a seperate post about Zotero later in this series). Obviously, DO NOT write in library books. Find a system that works for you and stick with it.
Remember that the same thesis can be addressed to different audiences. Let’s say you’ve spent a lot of time proving that Paul’s epistle to the Ephesians is a kind of Pauline “Credo” or “Systematic Statement of Paul’s Theology.” You may have good evidence that such is the case, but that evidence is going to be assessed differently by those who accept Paul’s authorship of Ephesians and those who do not. The easy way through that dilemma is to write only to those who accept Pauline authorship of Ephesians, and that would make for a good paper. The better way through is to write two papers for two different audiences, one for evangelicals and one for critics (or, even better, three audiences: evangelicals, critics, and skeptics). If you’re going this route, though, remember to tailor your thesis (and therefore your research) to your audience. For evangelicals it’s “Ephesians is different than other Pauline epistles because it is not addressed to some particular issue that Paul is trying to solve, but serves rather as a kind if introduction to Paul’s teaching and mission.” For skeptics the same paper might have as its thesis: “while many reject Ephesians as Pauline, when we consider the lack of situational immediacy reflected in this epistle, we find that non-Pauline authorship is no longer necessary to explain the differences between this document and others universally regarded as belonging to Paul.”
The goal in all this is to avoid distraction. I’m sure you’ve already developed techniques for avoid distration. How do you avoid distraction in ordinary life? Adapt those to your research. For me it’s a combination of journaling, note-taking, and old-fashioned GTD capture tools. What’s it for you? Adapt it to research, because of the writing and reading of books there is no end.

Research can be intimidating, but usually we make it out to be more intimidating than it needs to be. Proving an argument–even the simplest of arguments–requires a lot of work. Don’t make it harder by diving into every debate or interesting insight. Stay focused on your task as you research, and once your paper is finsihed, kick back, relax, and read all that stuff you didn’t have time for before.

Pray in the Plural

Sat, 18 Nov 2017 00:00:00 +0000

I am really appreciating Witsius on the Lord’s Prayer (which is what I am currently preaching through at CTK). His insights are striking and perspective-changing, and his analysis is exhaustive.

He is, in fact, the only one I’ve read so far that spends any significant time on the “ourness” of Jesus’ encouragement to pray to “Our Father.” Here’s how he puts it:

“Our Father” expresses likewise Charity towards our neighbor, which we include in our prayer as they partake, either actually or prospectively, of the same grace and adoption as ourselves…. It means that, wheresoever the person praying happens to be situated, even though he may happen to be alone, he must always pray in the plural number.

Or, as WSC 100 has it: we are to pray “with and for others.” Prayer is always corporate, even when it is private.

How to Write a Seminary Paper: Part 1, The Thesis

Thu, 02 Nov 2017 00:00:00 +0000

It’s that time of year again. No, not Halloween. Not Thanksgiving. Those are just warning signs of the impending doom that awaits. The impending doom, of course, is the end of the semester at seminary. That’s right. Your semester paper is almost due!

Writing is important. Your paper isn’t just homework. This isn’t busywork. This isn’t one of those things that you do in school that you will never do again. Writing is an important skill in any career, and it is a necessity if you are training for pastoral ministry. The skills you will learn from writing a good seminary paper will translate into sermon prep, newsletter articles, emails to church members, bible studies, Sunday School classes, and congregational letters. You need these skills. Seminary papers provide a great opportunity to learn how to write, so don’t waste your homework!

How do you write a seminary paper? I want to answer that in the following paragraphs, but first I must admit that this post is entirely selfish. I’m tired of reading bad papers. Actually, I’m willing to bet that if you asked any teacher “what is the worst part of your job” they would answer “grading papers.” It’s at least in the top 3. Why? I’m glad you asked, because that brings us to our first principle of good paper writing!

The Most Important Principle

No one wants to read your paper.

This is the most important principle for writing a good paper. It’s like that scene in Band of Brothers where Ronald Speirs tells Blithe, “the only hope you have is to accept the fact that you’re already dead, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you’ll be able to function as a soldier’s supposed to function.” If you want to write a good paper remember first and foremost that no one wants to read it. The sooner you accept that, the sooner you will be able to write as a writer is supposed to write. No one wants to read what you are writing. There are 1000 things they would rather read, and they are probably only reading in the first place because the internet is down.

Just to be clear, it’s not you. It’s not personal. The problem is that you have been asked to write an academic paper. The problem is the genre. Most people find academic papers boring. You find them boring, and surprise surprise, your teacher finds them boring. Even most academics find them boring. So why write an academic paper then? Why not just dispense with the whole genre? Because they serve an important purpose.

The academic paper is designed to extend the body of human knowledge by proving that something is true and persuading others of its truthfulness. You can only truly extend the body of human knowledge by engaging in rigorous and robust examination of the evidence. Sure, you can take cheap shots and short cuts by engaging in ad-hominem arguments or logically fallacious magic acts, but in those cases you are just persuading without increasing the body of human knowledge. A good academic paper does both–proves and persuades–and therefore requires rigor in the writing. That’s asking a lot from your reader. It’s asking a lot from you, of course, but it’s asking a lot more from your reader because your reader has a much higher cost/reward ratio. It’s hard to read an academic paper, and unlike you, your reader doesn’t have to finish what they’ve started. Furthermore, since most of us are naturally lazy, your reader is naturally predisposed against reading what you have spent so much time writing.

Which means, as we’ve said, no one wants to read your paper. So what are you going to do about that? Easy. You’re going to make it as easy on your reader as humanly possible. And that begins with the first paragraph.

It’s All About the Thesis

Making it easy on your reader begins with your thesis. A good thesis makes a good paper. You’ve probably heard that before. We are taught in Middle School that if you have a good thesis, and stick with it, then we will end up with a good paper. The problem, though, is that no one tells us how to write a good thesis! What makes for a good thesis?

Three characteristics of a good thesis

A good thesis has three characteristics.

A good thesis is easy to find

The first characteristic of a good thesis is that no one needs to go looking for it. It’s right there, calling your name. A good thesis is obvious and easily identifiable. The person reading your paper should be able to point to a particular sentence in your paper and say “there it is!” There’s an absolutely foolproof way of doing this. Begin your thesis sentence with the phrase “The thesis of this paper is….” You poets can even vary that a bit! “The point we want to address here is…” or “I will prove the following in this paper…”

I know, that seems so uninteresting! Where’s the sense of mystery? Where’s the poetry? Do I really need to spell it out for everyone? Should I really make it so obvious? Yes! Yes you should, because remember no one wants to read your paper. This isn’t a mystery novel. This isn’t the next best seller. You are quietly contributing to the body of human knowledge by engaging in careful and nuanced debate on the basis of the evidence available to you at this particular time. No one wants to read that kind of thing! So make it easy on them: tell them what they are about to read and why it is significant. Don’t withhold the main point until the end. Don’t hide your thesis. Don’t make them go hunting for the payoff.

Think of it this way. A good academic paper requires three things: (1) a good question, (2) a good answer, and (3) a good argument. The bulk of your paper is going to be an argument that your answer to a specific question is the right answer. That is what an academic paper is. It’s an argument. An argument that your answer is correct. So where does your thesis fit in? The thesis is the answer_._ Your thesis is the answer to the question that you are asking, and the rest of the paper is the argument that your thesis is correct.

Which means, in the end, that making your thesis as clearly identifiable as possible isn’t boring at all. It’s just good sense. It means that you audience will be able to more easily able to follow the exciting argument to come!

A Good Thesis is Concrete

The second characteristic of a good thesis is that it is concrete. What do we mean by concrete? We mean that it is as specific as possible. Or to put it another way, building on the previous section, a good thesis will provide a specific answer to a narrow question. A good thesis is a specific and defensible answer to a good question.

Let’s consider a case study. Let’s say you are tasked with writing a paper on 1 Corinthians 15:1-11. Look it up first to remind yourself of the passage. OK, let’s pretend you’ve been in the commentaries and the lectures for the semester and maybe listened to a sermon or two. What would constitute a good thesis for this passage? You need something specific and defensible in 10-15 pages of text.

Here’s a bad thesis. “In this paper we are going to explore and explain 1 Corinthians 15:1-11.” Why is that a bad thesis? Because it is not specific. You paper could be about 100 different things! You have not made any claims. You are not defending any territory. You are not making an argument. You are simply wandering off into the wilderness of and seeing what you see. The end result will be an incoherent hodgepodge of miscellaneous things you find interesting about 1 Cor. 15:1-11. It won’t be a paper. A paper is an argument; it is an argument that proves an answer. An exploration, by contrast, is a series of musings loosely organized around a theme. Those musings may be insightful, but they do not constitute a paper. Make a claim and prove it.

OK, round two. Same passage, different thesis. “In this paper I will argue that Paul defines the gospel in terms of the death and resurrection of Christ.” Much better! You are staking a claim, and what is more, the claim is demonstrable. It may be a bit obvious, at least as it’s presently worded (see the next characteristic below), but it’s a claim nonetheless, and I know what to expect from your paper. I expect you to talk about Paul’s definition of the gospel, and I expect you to argue that it is centered around the death and resurrection of Christ. What makes it superior? Its specificity. I know what you are arguing for, which makes it easier to process the rest of your paper. In fact, it’s specific enough that you could probably exclude the biblical reference (1 Cor. 15:1-11) and I would still be able to guess what passage you were referencing within a couple of guesses. You’ve made it easier on me, the reader, and as a result I am grateful.

This second attempt, however, is not perfect. It’s a B+ thesis. To improve it, let’s look at the third characteristic of a good thesis.

A Good Thesis is Interesting

A good thesis will motivate your reader to continue reading. A good thesis will surprise your reader, and that surprise will in turn provoke your reader to continue reading. The problem with thesis above is that many of your readers are going to respond “yeah, I already know that, so I guess I’ll find something else to read.” It’s a good thesis, but it might not grab the attention of many readers, so it’s not a great thesis. A great thesis generates interest, and that initial interest is the inertia you need to propel your reader through the detailed argument that constitutes the bulk of your academic paper. Interest is inertia.

There are, of course, a legion of ways to create surprise, not all of which are worthy of a good academic paper. We are all, of course, familiar with “click bait”–big claims and provocative propositions that prove to whither on examination. We’ve all fallen for that morning show’s headline, “Coffee causes Cancer,” only to be relieved by the equally silly headline from the competitor’s channel: “Latest Study proves Coffee Prevents Cancer.” Such bombastic and attention-grabbing theses are unworthy of the true scholar. An academic paper is an attempt to increase the body of human knowledge, not generate the next meme. We have to surprise our audience with integrity.

So how do we generate interest? How do we come up with an interesting thesis? It’s a real challenge, and that challenge is made all the more challenging by the fact that for us Biblical scholars the subject matter of our thesis is several thousand years old. The text we are talking about has been studied and restudied 1000s of times. Is there anything new to be said? Probably not. So, before moving on, I want to say that you should be content with the first two characteristics of a good thesis. If your thesis is clearly identifiable and specific, then be proud. You did it. B++.

For you over-achievers, though, here’s some advice. There are a number of ways of constructing an interesting thesis without compromising integrity. What follows is just a sketch, and meant to be more suggestive than definitive, but maybe you will find it helpful. I’ll keep 1 Cor. 15:1-11 as our case study for illustrative purposes.

Present an old truth in a new way, or with reference to a new situation. The great thing about this option is you’re not changing the substance of your boring thesis, you’re just reframing it so it is more informative. You are telling your reader “you may think you understand this, but you haven’t yet fully appreciated it yet. “In 1 Cor. 15 Paul defines the gospel, and that gospel actually has two historical events as its center, not just one. Paul centers the gospel on not just the death of Christ, but his death and resurrection.”
Challenge the natural way we think about something. This is another great option accessible to everyone, and a companion of the previous example. “In Cor. 15 Paul centers his gospel not on the process of salvation–how we get saved–but rather an the event of salvation–the death and resurrection of Christ.”
Place the old truth next to some new idea or comparator. Ever notice that a familiar color looks totally different when it’s next to competing colors? I confess I sometimes pull out my black pants thinking they are my dark navy pants; how to tell the difference? Put them against something I know is black and see what they look like then. Look at the text next to something new. “Paul’s gospel, which finds as its center an historical event that took place in the past, is radically different from the gospel of the American dream, which finds as its center a hope for the future.”
Highlight a detail that is under-appreciated. “Twice Paul uses the phrase ‘in accordance with the Scriptures’ to define the gospel. What scriptures is he referring to?”
Sort through ongoing debates and suggest a path forward. “How should we define the gospel? Some find 1 Cor. 15 to be Paul’s central definition of the subject, and others see it as more tangential and circumstantial. In this paper we summarize the currently scholarly stance on the subject in the hopes of seeing a way through the debate….”
Challenging a consensus by arguing for a minority report. “Though most scholars regard 1 Cor. 15 as essentially disconnected from the rest of 1 Corinthians, when we way the evidence we see that so and so was correct in regarding it as the hinge on which the whole epistle turns.”
Ask a question that you don’t think has been asked before. “In 1 Cor. 15:1-11 Paul defines the gospel. But where does that definition end? Does the gospel include Christ’s appearance to the disciples, and last of all to Paul? Is Paul’s appointment as an apostle part of the gospel, and if so, in what sense?” You may find in the course of your research that this question is not as unknown as you thought, in which case just jump up to the above suggestions. This may be an opportunity, for example, to challenge the consensus or to think about the issue in a different way.
Actually add something new to the body of knowledge. This is the apex and summit of the good thesis. This is the perfect thesis. If you find something truly new, something that truly adds to the universal body of human knowledge, then it’s time to send out your ThM and PhD application. Still write the paper, though, and hand it into your professor, because he or she might have some helpful critique, direction, and correction!

These are just a few options, but they should get you started

The introductory paragraph(s)

So we now have a good thesis, but where are we going to put it? Put your thesis in the first paragraph. If the thesis is the “main course” of your paper, then the first paragraph is apartif. It’s sole purpose is to set up the thesis. A good first paragraph will highlight the glory that is your thesis, and so a good first paragraph sets the stage for the rest of your paper.

Let’s put it another way. We said above that a good paper requires (1) a good question, (2) a good answer, and (3) a good argument. The thesis, as we have already established, is actually the “good answer.” If that’s the case, we need to state our thesis as early in the paper as possible, which is likely the first paragraph. If the thesis is the answer, then it stands to reason that the question should come first! In the first paragraph you are setting up the central question and providing the concluding answer.

So here’s a great structure for your first paragraph (or two if you need two):

First sentence: a concrete question that grabs the attention of your reader and generates interest in the answer.
Next 2-4 sentences: a set of contextual or situational statements that establish, for those in doubt, that the question you have asked is important, relevant, and interesting.
Final sentence: your thesis statement, which is to say, the answer to the question that you are asking.

You might be thinking at this point that there is no artistry here. No mystery! Actually, if you set up your first paragraph in this way you should have plenty of mystery. Your first paragraph follows a tight narrative structure. You create a problem, show why that problem is difficult and important, and then relieve the tension created by that problem with your thesis. This highlights the importance of your thesis for your audience. The fact that you’ve given away the ending is not really a problem because, remember, you are writing an academic paper, not a novel. This is not a mystery drama. No one wants to read this, so you are making it easy on your reader by giving them all the tools necessary to process the data as they go.

Your thesis makes or breaks your paper, and your first paragraph highlights the beauty of your thesis. If you have these components in place, you can be confident that you are on the right track. You still have to make an argument, of course; your thesis is as yet unproven and untested. Your journey has, in some ways, just begun. But you have a map, and what is more, so does your future reader.

Next up in our paper writing series: “the argument.” You can find that here. In fact, why not subscribe; that way you can catch all the subsequent guides to come!

New Blog Name and Address: Sign and Shadow

Mon, 09 Oct 2017 00:00:00 +0000

Well, I’m sad to say it, but given the feedback I’ve received probably no one else will be: unfinalizable.com is now signandshadow.com.

Apparently the word “unfinalizable,” in addition to being unpronounceable, was too esoteric. I intended the name to capture the “always relevant” character of God’s word–though it is indeed ancient and at times “hard to understand” (2 Pet. 3:16), it is nevertheless always “useful” (2 Tim 3:16). More than that, as Peter puts it, it is an “imperishable seed” that cannot fail to grow and flourish and increase in our lives “forever” (1 Peter 1:25).

However, clarity is more important. The new title comes from Hebrews and also captures the “always relevant” idea, while also referencing the work I did on typology for my dissertation, and most importantly adding to all of this the fact that the whole of Scripture points us to our great High Priest Jesus Christ. Here’s my translation of Hebrews 8:5, 6, which uses this language:

The levitical priests serve a sign and shadow of the heavenly things… But now Christ has attained a more excellent ministry, in as much as he is the minister of a better covenant–one which was established on better promises.

The Old Covenant is a sign and shadow of the new. It is an image of what will be. Similarly in the here and now, though we do not yet see perfectly what we will be in the age to come, though we do not yet know as we will know in heaven, “we do see Christ,” our champion, pioneer, archetype, savior, and Lord (Heb 2:5-11).

More to come, but for now note the name change!

David Garland's Mark Commentary is Free This Month

Thu, 07 Sep 2017 00:00:00 +0000

Garland’s NICAC commentary on Mark is excellent, and you can get it free this month from Logos! We just went through Mark at our church, and this was a very helpful resource. Details here: Free This Month: NIV Application Commentary Mark | LogosTalk

Thank you Logos... This is Great

Tue, 22 Aug 2017 00:00:00 +0000

Get the Free Version of Logos, Just for Scholars https://blog.logos.com/2017/08/get-free-version-logos-just-scholars/

"Thing" is now a Thing: What do recent changes to the English dictionary tells us about the meaning of Biblical words?

Sat, 01 Jul 2017 00:00:00 +0000

I’m just settling back into normal life after a week teaching “Advanced Biblical Exegesis” at RTS in Washington DC, and sure enough, just hours after I said said the sentence “it is actually good and necessary for the Oxford English Dictionary to release regular updates to its prestigious repository of words and their meanings,” the OED released just such an update. What is more, the actual update provides an interesting and helpful illustration of how words work, and how the way words work helps us interpret Biblical words. Have you ever looked at a translation and wondered “what does that word really mean?” If you have, you’re probably asking the wrong question.

“Thing” is now a Thing

One of the most interesting updates, in my opinion, is the addition of a new sense/usage to that very ordinary of English words, “thing.” In their summary, Oxford describes it this way:

The noun thing has been part of the English lexicon for more than a thousand years, but the OED now defines a new meaning which has only arisen in the past two decades. The new sense is defined as ‘a genuine or established phenomenon or practice’, and is often used in questions conveying surprise or incredulity, such as ‘is that even a thing?’ The earliest citation is from 2000, in an episode of the U.S. television programme, The West Wing: ‘Did you know that “leaf peeping” was a thing?’

I love this example of how words shift and change, and not just because I used the phrase “this is actually a thing” so often over the last 40-hours of teaching this week that I actually became a bit self-conscious about it. I love it because it perfectly demonstrates how a new usage for an ordinary word has developed over the last 20 years, and how that usage has moved from fringe to popular to “standard” usage, and how this new development, though understandable to a contemporary English speaker, might seem odd or different to someone not embedded in contemporary culture.

“Changing” the English Language is not a Gimmick; it’s a Necessity

In other words, I love this example because it captures how, despite typical backlash, the OED isn’t really “changing” the English language, but rather “describing” the present state of that language. This kind of thing is rarely popular. Oxford’s decision to “change” the definition of the word “thing” seems wrong to most people. The decision to alter the meaning of a word goes against much of our intuition regarding words and their meanings. We think words mean certain things necessarily and absolutely, and as evidence for that belief, consider the fact that whenever a “definitions” body like the OED does this sort of thing, there is always an almost inevitable outcry. “They’re changing the language! How dare they! And in deference to those pesky kids these days!”

OK, I get that response. Tradition is important. It’s truly a loss (for example) that we have to now use the word “awesome” in place of the older “awful.” The word “awful” no longer means “inspiring reverential awe or fear;” that definition is “archaic,” as the OED notes, and if you want proof that they are right tell your beloved they are looking “awful” today. So I agree with the traditionalist (in linguistics, the “prescriptivist”) that this shift in usage is a loss. It’s a loss because we no longer have a word that captures the sense of awe that “awful” used to capture; in a world where the loftiest possible attributive, the word “awesome,” can be applied without irony to a donut…. well, we’ve lost something.

However, though it may be a loss, it’s not one we have the power to prevent, and we cannot turn back the clock, and so it is good and necessary and desirable that our dictionaries get updated. Consider the alternative, the other side of things. Imagine you are a non-native English speaker and need to figure out what everyone is talking about when they say they are going to “google” that. Or how are you going to figure out what they mean when they say “Oh, yeah, avocado toast is a thing?” Ordinary people are saying these words and phrases. If you don’t have some access to that, you can’t figure out what people mean by them.

In short, language shifts, and it does so without our permission and in spite of our best efforts. It is only by describing these new uses for old words, and by even adding entirely new words (“email,” “tweet,” and “google” as a verb, to name some other recent OED additions), that the normative book we call a “dictionary” remains both helpful and relevant. This is the great irony of the dictionary; it is only by “changing” the definitions of words that it remains useful and thereby authoritative and normative.

How Words Work: Usage Determines Meaning

Here, then, is the payoff to this discussion. The meaning of a word is not inherent, necessary, absolute, or unchangeable (though it can’t mean anything you want it to). The meaning of a word is determined by the variety of ways in which it is used, rather than by the word’s “ontology.” As Carson puts it in his excellent Exegetical Fallacies, the meaning of a word is not “bound up with its shape or its components” (1996, p8). (Carson, by the way, is building on Silva’s Biblical Words and their Meaning, which I would commend to those looking for a more theoretical approach to these matters). Words do not have “essential” meanings, and so you cannot determine the meaning of a word by its component parts.

So what does determine what a word means? If meaning isn’t inherent in the word, what provides the “norm” by which words are meaningful? In a word: usage. The way in which words are used determines their meaning. The word has no meaning outside it’s usage, and its variable usage is its meaning. Linguists call this the “semantic domain” of a word. Any particular word has a set of possible ways in which it is used, and that set of uses is then the semantic domain or “meaning” of the word. The English word “awful,” for example, can mean “very bad, extremely shocking, horrific, very unwell or troubled or, in archaic contexts: inspiring reverential awe” (OED). Each of these are different possibilities, and your goal as a hearer or reader is to pick the one that makes the most sense. If I say “they hit you in the face? That’s awful!” then the word awful probably means “very bad” or maybe “extremely shocking” (if, for example, we both know the person in question is not particularly violent). If I say “I’m feeling awful today” then I mean “unwell” or “troubled,” and you would decide between those two based on whether or not I was sneezing constantly or crying perpetually. Usage determines meaning, and you intuitively decide between variant uses on the basis of the context in which the word is used.

Biblical Words are Ordinary Words

What about Biblical words? Are they different? In short: no. One of the basic principles of Biblical interpretation is that Biblical words are ordinary words. They are not special. They don’t break the usual rules of how words are meaningful. That’s counterintuitive in our evangelical climate. We think the Greek and Hebrew words that occur in the bible are somehow “fuller” and more important than the “ordinary” words we use to talk about coffee shops, TV shows, or what happened today at work. After all, the Bible is the word of God (and yes, that’s true), and if that is the case doesn’t that mean that Biblical words are better, fuller, and more significant than ordinary words?

It is true that the Bible does extra-ordinary things. Awesome things! Supernatural things! The Bible reveals the unknowable God. The Bible never errs and never tells a falsehood. The Bible is simultaneously historical and timeless. The Bible does a lot of things that we, as mere humans, cannot do, and in that sense it is certainly special and even unique. It is, in fact, the innerant and infallible revelation of the Holy God.

And yet the remarkable thing is that the Bible does all this through the ordinary human language. Biblical Revelation is extraordinary, but the language it uses to convey these extraordinary things is, in fact, ordinary. Thus the word “logos” in Greek doesn’t mean something more than “word.” The word is used by John to talk about the revelation of God through the God-Man Jesus, but it doesn’t thereby cease to mean “word.” It’s being put to higher use, perhaps, but it doesn’t mean anything different than it meant for Herodotus or Euripedes. It doesn’t stop being an ordinary word, even if it is in fact metaphorically used to refer to an extraordinary person.

Determining what that Biblical Word Means

So what does that mean for Biblical interpretation? It means that in the Bible, just like in “ordinary” communication, the meaning of a word is determined by how people use it. Biblical words do not have magical properties. They are not supra-human. Their use is super-intended by God, but they are still being used in the ordinary ways that humans use words. That’s why the Scriptures are “perspicuous.” That’s why the meaning becomes clear “through a due use of ordinary means” (WCF 1:7).

So how do you figure out what a Biblical word means? Easy! In fact, the whole point of this entire article is that determining the meaning of a Greek and Hebrew word is actually fairly straightforward. How can that be, you ask? If I have to determine how most people 2000+ years ago used a word in order to determine its range of meaning, how could that possibly be easy? Doesn’t that require me to immerse myself in a depth and breadth of foreign and ancient literature, much of which I have little to no access to, and which is itself far more extensive than any one person can possibly read in their lifetime? Yep, it does. But guess what, it’s still easy. Why? Because it’s already done for you. This is what a Lexicon is. A Greek or Hebrew lexicon is a catalog of word usage by a particular community in a particular time and place.

So how do you figure out what a word means? Drop the word studies, the linguistic magic acts, the etymological rigmarole, and just look it up in a decent lexicon. Grab BDAG, HALOT, BDB, or some other well-established lexicon, look up your word, sift through the variety of ways it is used, and pick the definition (or “gloss”) that best fits the immediate context. Most of the time, the best thing to do is trust the dictionary. And hope it gets updated!

Read this before Teaching Revelation (or other Apocalyptic texts)

Thu, 22 Jun 2017 00:00:00 +0000

Interpreting, preaching, and teaching through books like Revelation, Zechariah, Ezekiel, and the latter half of Daniel can be a bit intimidating. There are some great technical resources out there for better understanding these apocalyptic texts (pride of place goes to Collins, The Apocalyptic Imagination), but most of these are pretty technical.

There is, however, a very short, readable, and practical resource that will help anyone process this important and powerful genre, and it’s freely available: David Helm’s An Approach to Apocalyptic Literature: A Primer for Preachers. Whether you’re an expert on this type of thing, or quite intimidated by it, this is a helpful little guide.

Why is the OT Sacrificial System so Bloody?

Thu, 08 Jun 2017 00:00:00 +0000

Modern readers can feel a little bit of reasonable queasiness when reading through the Torah–particularly the bits about the sacrificial system. It’s all so bloody! The NT book of Hebrews seems to sympathize a bit:

Indeed, under the law almost everything is purified with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins (Heb. 9:22).

There’s blood everywhere! Why? It seems so barbaric to us, so primitive and backwards. For the author of Hebrews, however, the bloodiness of the OT form of worship speaks volumes. It tells us something about ourselves that we don’t like to think about. Our world is constantly trying to convince us that “Baby, you’re a firework,” but the message of the Bible is “I am evil, born in sin” (see Ps. 51), and that message is vividly and perpetually on display in Israel’s sanctuary.

That’s actually a hard message to remember. I am too quick to forget that I am broken, sinful, and an abomination before a Holy God. What is more, human beings are constantly telling themselves that such cannot be the case; the kids are alright. It’ll all work out in the end. If we fool ourselves into believing hese things, we will inevitably approach God wrongly. That’s where all the blood comes in. The OT sacrificial system is a constant reminder that we are not, in fact, “all right.” In fact, as an OT saint approaches the tabernacle, the ceremonial law repeatedly and consistently proclaims “you’re not welcome here.” Or, more accurately, “come, but not to close.”

Not too close

To see the logic of this, we need to take a closer look at the Tabernacle, particularly it’s structure and function. Why the tabernacle? What does it do? What is it’s purpose? I argued in a previous post that the whole point of the tabernacle is to provide Israel with access to the presence of God. We need God to come with us in our wilderness wandering, and because God is gracious and forgiving, he provides a system by which his presence is guaranteed. He will come, and he secures his presence by providing a sacrifice to atone for our guilt.

[caption id=“attachment_292” align=“alignright” width=“300”] There’s beauty beyond, but the door is shut[/caption]

So the sacrificial system guarantees God’s presence, but at the same time it also quarantine’s God’s presence–or, rather, quarantines Israel from unencumbered access to God. It’s like an airlock on a spaceship, or a cleanroom at a pharmaceutical factory; certain people are allowed in if they follow certain procedures, but the place itself is guarded, protected, and not for the masses. As such, the tabernacle reminds them (us) that they (we) are guilty and polluted. It keeps them at a distance. Here’s Hebrews again:

The priests go regularly into the first section, performing their ritual duties, but into the second only the high priest goes, and he but once a year, and not without taking blood, which he offers for himself and for the unintentional sins of the people. By this the Holy Spirit indicates that the way into the holy places is not yet opened as long as the first section is still standing (Heb. 9:6-8).

The tabernacle is designed to provide Israel with the presence of God, but also and simultaneously remind them that the presence of God is dangerous, and remains dangerous, until the true High Priest should come. It perpetually keeps them at a arm’s length. Come, but not to close, and don’t stay long. The highly intricate rituals involved in the sacrificial system, the constant killing required, and ubiquitous shedding and spreading of animal blood, are all constant reminders of uncleanness, sin, guilt, and the enmity that exists because of those things. The rituals are, on the one hand, the means by which Israel draws near to her God, but they are at the same time reminders to be extremely cautious; this is a dangerous place for you. You are not fully welcome here–not yet at least.

To put it another way, as Hebrews goes on to do, and here is our main point, these sacrifices “cannot perfect the conscience of the worshiper” (Heb. 9:8). The sacrificial system provides access to the presence of God, but not without a lingering consciousness of a guilty conscience. The result is a wariness, a caution, a distance that cannot be bridged until one’s conscience is “perfected.” Correspondingly, our conscience cannot be perfected until God’s pleasure in us is unqualified. Is such a thing possible? Can we approach of holy God with a clear (“purified”) conscience?

The full assurance of faith

Yes! NT Saints, by contrast to their OT counterparts, have fuller access to the presence of God. We are, in fact, exhorted to “draw near…in full assurance of faith” (Heb 10:22). Why are we able to come into God’s presence with a confidence not possible for an OT believer? Is it because we are more faithful? Is it because our faith is more mature and less primitive? No; it’s because of the “new and living way that Christ opened for us.” It’s because an event has taken place–an event to which the Old sacrifices pointed and anticipated, but could not reproduce.

But when Christ appeared as a high priest of the good things that have come, then through the greater and more perfect tent (not made with hands, that is, not of this creation) he entered once for all into the holy places, not by means of the blood of goats and calves but by means of his own blood, thus securing an eternal redemption (Heb 9:11-12).

Jesus removes the lingering distance. His sacrifice is perfect because his life was perfect, and so he brings us directly into the presence of the Father. We no longer require the blood of bulls and goats to draw near to God’s presence–Christ’s blood, shed once and for all for the remission of sin, brings us into his presence. Washings are no longer required. No ceremony need be performed. No earthly holy place need be erected and cleansed and maintained. Why? Because the beloved Son already stands ready to receive us and to present us before His Father as Holy and honored (“behold, I and the children God has given me,” Heb. 2:13). We draw near not in fear, but with the confidence of faith, because Christ has entered on our behalf.

That’s not to say that in the New Covenant we have license to ignore our sin. Far from it! We have a clear conscience because of the sufficient sacrifice of Jesus Christ, but even as we consider that sacrifice, and the blessing we obtain thereby, we are reminded of our depravity and guilt. In the words of the hymn:

Ye who think of sin but lightly Nor suppose the evil great Here may view its nature rightly, Here its guilt may estimate.

This, then, is the perfection of the New Covenant: we see our sin all the more clearly, but at the same time we have a perfect peace because of Christ’s perfect priestly ministry.

In short, because God has delighted in the life and sacrificial death of his beloved Son, we who trust in him are to take confidence as we approach the throne of grace. God is pleased with us because he is pleased with his Son. The lingering guilt is removed, and so the distance is also removed. It’s no longer “come, but keep your distance;” now its simple “come!”

Confident Worship

Some lingering question I have: what does confident worship look like? What is the tangible difference that we experience now that was held from OT saints? Should they have been timid, but we can be bold (2 Cor. 3:12-17)? What’s the difference there? And of course we need to distinguish confidence from presumption–we still should approach God with confession of sin and acknowledgement of our guilt (1 John 1:5-10). What does “confident confession” look like?

The Deer is Dehydrated

Thu, 25 May 2017 00:00:00 +0000

One of my favorite psalms is Psalm 42. It’s on many people’s top 10s, so I’m not special in this regard. It famously opens:

As the deer pants for flowing streams, So pants my soul for you, O God. My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When shall I come and appear before God?

The problem is we usually read the psalm the wrong way. We read (or sing) these words as an expression of our desire for God. We think the main point is “this is how much I want to be in God’s presence.” As the psalm goes on, however, it becomes clear that the main issue isn’t my desire, but God’s absence. The reason the dear pants is because there is no water, and the reason the psalmist laments is because God is absent. There is no heavenly feast to enjoy, no spiritual experiences to comfort. Indeed:

My tears have been my food day and night, while they say to me all the day long, “Where is your God.”

This is a lament psalm, and in it the psalmist is honest about his struggles, about the absence of God’s presence. The psalmist pours out the depths of his Spiritual loneliness.

I love that psalms like this exist. We have lost the art of lament. We plaster over our Spiritual depression with religious-sounding platitudes. That’s not the Biblical model. The Bible encourages us to go to God with honest and reverent lament–to go to the very one whom we feel is not listening and pour out our souls before him. This is what “hope in God” looks like: continuing to turn to him, even when we feel his absence, as the only one who can truly fill us.

What is the role of the Holy Spirit in the OT?

Thu, 25 May 2017 00:00:00 +0000

This week I’m preaching on Hebrews 8, which describes the betterness of the New Covenant using Jeremiah 31. The passage raises the question: if the NT is so much better because of the presence of the Holy Spirit, by which God implants the word upon our hearts, what was the role of the Spirit in the Old Covenant?

That’s a tricky question, and this isn’t meant as anything like a complete answer, but here’s a brief attempt I published awhile back in an article on the Holy Spirit for Baker’s Illustrated Bible Dictionary:

The scarcity of the phrase “Holy Spirit” in the OT (only in Ps. 51:11 and Isa. 63:10) does not imply lack of interest or importance. While it should be recognized that the person of the Holy Spirit receives nothing like the systematic reflection devoted to it in the NT, when one includes correlative terms, such as “Spirit of God,” “my Spirit,” “wind,” or “breath,” it is apparent that OT writers attributed great significance to God’s Spirit. Thus the Spirit was at work in the beginning of creation (Gen. 1:2). Adam and Eve are uniquely given life by the breath of God (Gen. 2:7). The Spirit enables the building of the Tabernacle (Exod. 31:3), gives voice to the message of the prophets (Num. 11:29; cf. 2 Pet. 1:21), empowers Israel’s leaders (1 Sam 16:13), and provides access to God’s presence (Psa 51:11). Yet in all this, the work of the Spirit in the OT is preliminary, sporadic, occasional, and localized. Thus, the prophets long for a new age when God’s people will more perfectly enjoy the Spirit’s presence (Isa 32:15; 44:3, 61:1; Joel 2:28).

Like a Mother Hen

Wed, 24 May 2017 00:00:00 +0000

I recently preached on John 19:23-27 at Christ the King. That’s the passage where Jesus gives his mother into the care of the beloved disciple. It was a privilege to consider a “mother’s comfort” on Mother’s Day (especially as one who was blessed to receive such comfort growing up). Here it is, for those interested.

The title comes from Matthew 23:37, where Jesus describes himself as a mother hen, gathering and comforting and protecting her chicks. It’s an interesting passage, especially since it occurs in the context of Jesus condemning Jerusalem. Even in his anger, our God longs to comfort us, calling us to go to him as a child goes to his mother.

Words that Lost their Pop

Fri, 19 May 2017 00:00:00 +0000

[caption id=“attachment_187” align=“alignright” width=“150”] http://brandonvogt.com/bible-in-word-clouds/[/caption]

Have you ever noticed that we Christians use some words rather frequently in a religious or spiritual context, but almost never in what we might call “ordinary” life? I can think of a number, just off the top of my head: grace, covenant, mediator, heart, bless, testimony, saved, fellowship, witness, providence, justification…. And that’s without consulting this slightly irreverent video.

And before we move on, can you think of any others? Post them in the comments, because I’m working through my own list in preparation for a whole series on this sort of thing.

Ordinary Words

The thing is, all of these words are ordinary words. They’re not special. They are words that, at one time at least, ordinary people used regularly, whether they were Christian or pagan, spiritual or secular, educated or not educated. They aren’t particularly biblical or spiritual or sacred or “big” or common. They’re just words; they are words that ordinary people spoke in an ordinary context.

What do I mean by ordinary words? Well, there are really, in the end, two types of words: ordinary words and “special” words (or, better, there are words that are sometimes used in an “ordinary” way and other times are used in a “special” way). There are, of course, all manner of subcategories that we could devise for these two basic categories, but in the end, when you speak and write you are either speaking “ordinarily” or “specially.” You are either using a word in an ordinary way, or in a particularly significant way.

Take, as an example. the word “queue.” If I were British (which I’m not, but we’re reading the UK version of Harry Potter, and so let’s go with it), I could use this word in a normal way as a normal human being: “I’m going to queue up.” I’m getting in line, and no one would think I’m being particularly poetic or technical or pretentious. Of course, if I’m not British, and I said the same exact line at a Chipotle in Philadelphia (sans British accent), people would immediately assume I’m a pretentious snob and therefore not worth talking to. What’s more, there’s a third option; I could be a computer programmer (which I was, in a former life), in which case the same exact line (no pun intended) might refer to an iterative LISP algorithm. Probably not, but you never know! The point is, the same word can be used naturally--that is, as normal human beings would ordinarily use the word in ordinary situations–or unnaturally.

The problem arises when we interpret words spoken ordinarily as if they were spoken specially.

“Grace:” A Preliminary Example

The word “grace” deserves an entire article, but it’s also a great preliminary example of the problem. When was the last type you used the word “grace” in ordinary conversation (and by “ordinary” here we mean with a non-Christian about a non-religious topic)? I’m guessing it’s been awhile, but I’ll give you a bit of time to prove me wrong. …

Just in case I am wrong, I’ll ask a follow-up. When was the last time you heard a non-Christian coworker use the word? When was the last time you saw it in the newspaper (not a quote)? Novel? Netflix show? Movie? So far I haven’t seen the word once in any Harry Potter novels–the concept is there, but not the word–though maybe the internet can correct me on that one. Google has math on this. See the graph!

What does grace mean?

So what does the word mean when it occurs in the Bible, as it does many many times? Before we answer that, let’s get a verse to work with. How about Ephesians 2:8?

“For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God.” (Ephesians 2:8, ESV)

So what does grace mean? Well, what have you heard from the pulpit, or the commentary, or the Bible Dictionary? I’m guessing (and again, I’m happy to be wrong) that it’s some version of “unmerited favor.” There is truth to that definition; whenever grace is granted by God to sinful human beings it is, strictly and theologically speaking, “unmerited.” We don’t deserve it. Our verse explicitly affirms that fact–“this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God.”

But notice, Paul has to explicitly affirm that the grace is “the gift of God.” Why does Paul have to say that the grace we receive is unmerited? If “grace” means “unmerited,” why does Paul have to go on and specify it? It’s as if the word “grace” doesn’t inherently include the idea of “unmerited,” and so Paul has to clarify that, in this case, the grace that God shows is “not your own doing.” Why?

There’s a simple answer: grace doesn’t mean “unmerited favor.” Well, it does, for us Christians, but we Christians are using a “special” meaning, not an ordinary one; we are the computer scientist described above who talks about a “queue” to refer to a data structure. The “real world” uses the word to refer to someone who is graceful, courteous, beautiful, elegant, or pleasant. To be “full of grace” means to be pleasant, charming, elegant, beautiful. It means to be “favored” by all who look upon you. Oh to be full of grace! To be favored by all! And this is precisely what we are. We are favored by God! God is pleased with us; God favor us. Yet, we must always remember, “this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God.”

“Grace:” The Payoff

Not “unmerited favor,” then, but rather: “favor, which in our case is not merited.” There’s a difference! In the former case, the favor is qualified; it implies that God’s favor for you isn’t real favor, it’s a subordinate kind of favor, a metaphorical kind of favor, which we call “unmerited favor.” The latter is more biblical because favor itself isn’t qualified (though the cause of it is): “God favors you! He is as pleased with you as he is with his own Son! You are beautiful and favored by the Lord of the Universe. You are a son of God! Why? Not because of any merit in yourself, but because God gifted you this blessing through Christ.” The difference may appear subtle, but it isn’t. The first definition may be easier to remember, but it implies qualification; the second is more complex, but the favor granted isn’t lessened, but rather caused. The favor isn’t “less than” genuine favor; rather, it is the same kind of favor given to those who are beautiful in God’s eyes (that is Christ), but it is granted by Christ’s work, not our own.

Restoring the “Pop” to Words: A New Series

All this to say that we Christians need to think more about the words we use and the definitions we give. We encounter a lot of words in the Bible, not to mention our popular Christian sub-culture, that we don’t truly understand. The irony is that we don’t understand them because we have “specialized” them. We have turned ordinary words into special words, and now we only see the special and not the ordinary.

In the end, all meaningful words were, at one time, popular words. What words do we need to re-popularize? Next up: “mediator.”

Get a Free Version of Logos

Sat, 13 May 2017 00:00:00 +0000

Tim Challies has some great advice regarding Logos software here. If you are wondering when to buy books and resources from Logos, check out my analysis here.

An Anchor for the Soul

Fri, 10 Mar 2017 00:00:00 +0000

Hebrews is written to provide Christians with a well-founded confidence. Here’s 6:19:

We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul…"

The “this” being referred to is the unchangeable purpose of God, guaranteed by an oath, but what particularly struck me about this passage is the vivid language regarding our souls. God’s oath is an anchor for our soul.

By implication, then, our souls are by nature unanchored, untethered. Our souls are adrift. We don’t think that way; when we think about our souls at all, we consider them fairly stable things. They don’t move around or wander about. You can’t push or hurt or lose a soul, right? And then we get the bad news–a friend is upset with us, a loved one is sick, our job is in peril. Suddenly our soul won’t stay still.

When we are in peaceful waters, we don’t think we need an anchor. When the storm comes, though, the anchor is the soul’s only hope.

Pilgrims without a Pilgrimage

Mon, 06 Feb 2017 00:00:00 +0000

It’s no accident that we sometimes call the Christian Life a “pilgrimage.” It’s a common metaphor, of course. Life, after all, is a journey, an adventure. I choose a path; I walk a way; I march to some particular beat. We are travelers, or wanderers, or pilots. This is how we talk about life, and this is also how the Bible describes the Christian Life. In fact, if you want to understand the Christian life—What difficulties should I expect? What goal should I pursue? Is there somewhere I can go for help?—then may I humbly suggest the book of Hebrews? It gives you a central metaphor to think about your life as a Christ-follower: you are a wilderness wanderer; you are a pilgrim seeking a promised land.

Wilderness Wanderers

I have been preaching through the book of Hebrews in our evening service, and I can tell you quite honestly, I am both excited and terrified. On the one hand, this is my bread and butter, my favorite book, the thing I have been studying my entire professional life; and yet, precisely for all those reasons, and more besides (it is, after all, God’s Word), it has proven to be an incredibly humbling sermonic topic. It’s the book about which I have the most questions, and within which I find the most personal encouragement. How to plumb the depths?

To Whom was Hebrews Written?

Take, for example, the most basic of questions: to whom is this book written? Obvious, right? It’s right there in the title: “to the Hebrews.” Not so fast! Remember, the titles of our Biblical Books are not, strictly speaking, “biblical.” They are traditional, and though they are generally reliable, they are not inspired by God. They are often added by later scribes and interpreters. Therefore, the contents of the book, rather than the title, should drive any conclusion about its audience.

Following that good advice, early Christians noticed how “OT heavy” this book is, and concluded it must be to some group of Jews. Perhaps, given Hebrews 1 and Hebrews 9, some group of Jews that were tempted to venerate angels and wanted to return to OT temple worship. Now, while the book may, in fact, be written largely to Jewish Christians, and personally I suspect it is (though Vos argues otherwise), this is actually not a good argument. Of what NT book could it not be said that it is “OT heavy?” Galatians contains similarly intense discussions of the OT, and yet it is obviously written to Gentiles; in general, NT authors don’t seem at all shy about dropping OT exegesis.

The reliance on the OT only indicates that it is written to Christians, whether Jewish or Gentile. So what other evidence do we have about the audience? Surprisingly little; the epistle doesn’t give us a lot of clues here. Unlike, say, the Epistle to the Romans (Rom. 1:1; 15:22-29), Hebrews gives us precious little about its audience. They are second generation Christians (Heb. 2:3), they have not been persecuted unto death (Heb. 12:4), and they are not living in Rome (Heb. 13:24). Other than that, we have little specific information.

The Possibility of a General Audience

Yet, perhaps this lack of information is not so bad. Though we have no specific information, we have a TON of general information. Maybe Hebrews is a more “general” and generic epistle than has been previously recognized

Furthermore, maybe this is not a bad thing. Maybe it’s a good thing we aren’t given a lot of specifics. I have argued, in fact, that this generality allows for greater generalization. Why? Because in general terms we know exactly how our author thinks about his audience. Who are they? What makes them tick? What makes their lives difficult? What gives them joy and what causes them pain? The answer to all those questions is summed up in one profoundly productive metaphor:

“Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion, on the day of testing in the wilderness” (Heb. 3:7-8)

How is that helpful? If you are not immersed in the stories of the OT, it may not be immediately inspiring to you, but the author of Hebrews is actually telling his audience something very important about their life and context, about who they are. He is taking an OT story—the story of Israel in the wilderness—and applying it to their life. More than that; given the generality involved, the author is applying it to your life.

You are like them; your situation is like their situation; your goal is their goal. Like Israel of old, you have been delivered from Egypt and set free to serve your God. Like Israel of old, you are pursuing Promised Land. Like Israel of old, you are walking the ancient paths, following after your God as he guides you from Egypt into Promised Land. Like Israel of old, you journey with God through a wilderness.

The fact that the author is so general allows us to more easily see how this applies to us. The Christian life isn’t sometimes a wilderness; it’s not a wilderness because of some specific set of circumstances, or because we are like 1st century Jews or Romans. You don’t have to be tempted to return to outdated ritualistic practices to experience the kind of temptation that the original audience faced. The Christian life is always a wilderness, and furthermore it’s a wilderness precisely because we follow Christ. To follow Jesus is to journey with God through a wilderness.

The Christian Life

That may seem bleak, but this, sisters and brothers, is the Christian life. We are out of Egypt and we pursue the Promised Land, but precisely because we are out of Egypt and not-yet in the Promised Land, we are right now pilgrims in the wilderness. Furthermore, and returning to our key verse in Heb 3:8, God instructs us how to survive this wilderness life: “do not harden your heart…on the day of testing in the wilderness.”

Why such an exhortation? Because the wilderness is a dangerous place. Israel, you will remember, fell in the wilderness (Num. 16, 1 Cor 10). The first generation failed, and though God was faithful to His promises and brought the next generation through, the first generation perished in the wildness. Why? Because they allowed their hearts to harden. They succumbed to temptation.

This is not a uniquely OT danger; Jesus himself reminds us of this: remember that only one out of four seeds bore fruit (Matt. 13:1-23). We are surrounded by temptations, the cares of the present age. Apathy sets in; old sins renew their onslaught; the world presses down upon us; we begin to “drift away” (Heb. 2:1).

How should we then describe the Christian life? What is our challenge, and what is our goal? We seek to persevere in the wilderness. We are pilgrims, searching for Promised Land, beset by numerous temptations to turn aside. What is success? In a word: perseverance.

Pilgrims without a Pilgrimage

Perseverance is hard; the wilderness is dangerous. Is their hope for us? How do we persevere to the end? The answer: only by the power of Jesus Christ.

Here’s the remarkable thing: though we are pilgrims, like the Israelites of old, seeking a holy rest and a most holy place, nevertheless, we are pilgrims who, unlike Israel, make no pilgrimage_._ Let me explain.

Excursus: The New is Better

One of the main emphases of Hebrews is this: the New is better. The New Covenant is better than the Old Covenant. That should seem obvious, particularly given the fact that Hebrews specifically states “the covenant Jesus Christ mediates is better” (Heb. 8:6); nevertheless, some continue to object. I should say, at this point, that it is precisely the God-ordained betterness of this New Covenant that is at the heart of the title of this blog (and so, this continues my history of apologizing for not explaining the reason behind the cryptic title “unfinalizable,” but I promise I am coming to that, and in a word I can put it this way: all meaning is typology, and all typology is eschatology).

How, specifically, is the New better? The answer to that is simple: our Holy Sanctuary is better than their Holy Sanctuary. The Old Testament temple was the God-ordained center of religious life for Israel, and the True Temple is in Jerusalem. This creates something of a problem. If you wanted to be “near” God, you needed to go on a pilgrimage. That’s why Jesus’ parents go to Jerusalem annually (Luke 2:41-43; Deut. 16:16). That’s why the debate over where “people ought to worship” is such a big deal to the woman at the well (John 4:19-24), though worship location seems so foreign to us. The Jews knew, of course, that “the Most High does not dwell in houses made by hands,” but that does not change the fact that the various religious duties and blessings prescribed by the law centered on the Temple. To put it in New Testament terms, the means of grace are, to some extent, localized; they orbit around the temple, and therefore around Jerusalem.

A Better Sanctuary

Now that the Jesus has come, we have access to a greater Holy Place, in comparison to which the old Temple was but “a copy and a shadow” (Heb. 8:5).

“We have such a high priest, one who is seated at the right hand of the throne of the Majesty in heaven, a minister in the holy places, in the true tent that the Lord set up, not man” (Heb. 8:1-2).

And notice that this holy place is not a temple, but a tent. Why? Because tents are movable and temples are not. Wilderness wanderers need a tabernacle, not a temple. God does not require us to make a pilgrimage to take advantage of the power of His Presence; God comes with us on the journey.

So is there hope for us in our wilderness wandering? Yes, because Christ is always near! “Let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith” (Heb. 10:22). Since Christ has come down and dwelt among us, since he has sent his Spirit to dwell within us, we are now and forevermore “in Christ.” Do you need Spiritual water for your journey? Refreshment? Encouragement? Draw near in prayer, corporate worship, word and sacrament, for in these things the ministrations of Christ Himself are provided to you by the power of His Spirit.

(Note: this post is an expansion of an article published in Christ the King PCA’s newsletter.)

This Present Wilderness

Tue, 31 Jan 2017 00:00:00 +0000

I’m preaching on Hebrews 3 this coming Sunday at Christ the King Presbyterian Church. The passage is an important one, providing the central metaphor for the entire exhortation of this wonderful book, and as such it had a prominent place in my PhD dissertation.

One of the big struggles with this passage is that when we think of “the wilderness” we naturally think of something other than our normal experience. We live in a world of microwaves and digital watches, which, in the words of Douglas Adams, still seem like “a pretty neat idea.” No wilderness here. Technology is our savior from wilderness wandering; science is our Great High Priest.

But of course that’s not true. Every aspect of our Christian Life is a wilderness, whether or not you own a microwave or a smartwatch.

Which is why I liked this poem by Holly Ordway.

Temptation in the Wired Wilderness by Holly Ordway

Our Lord spent forty days and forty nights Resisting Satan in the wilderness. We picture barren rocks and sand; we might Add in a scrubby tree or two. I guess That’s where temptation ought to come, so we Can see it from at least a mile away, And be prepared, with Bibles, church retreats, And exhortations to stand firm.

Instead it wounds with cuts too small to see, In this our wired wilderness. We play And work in deserts of the digital: Abuzz with locust-noise of clicks and tweets And filled with lonely crowds. Our enemy Is faced and fought right here, or not at all.

Source: Poem: “Temptation in the Wired Wilderness” - God & Nature Magazine

Your Shoes on, and Your Bible Open

Wed, 25 Jan 2017 00:00:00 +0000

I recently posted about the perils of laziness and said nothing about spiritual laziness. I was reminded today that spiritual laziness is also a great temptation. I’ve been working through Tom Schreiner’s Commentary on Hebrews in preparation for a review I’m writing for the WTJ and appreciated his comments regarding 5:11. He translates it as follows:

We have a great deal to say about this, and its difficult to explain, since you have become too lazy to understand (Heb 5:11).

I like that translation better than my ESV (“dull of hearing”). It captures the problem apparent throughout Hebrews: a spiritual apathy that is gradually resulting in a “drifting away” (Heb. 2:1-4). They are lazy listeners (and we all know how frustrating it can be to talk to a lazy listener). Here’s how Schreiner puts it:

The problem isn’t the readers’ lack of intelligence, nor is it even the case that the subject is intellectually stretching. The entire problem lies in the spiritual…disinclination of the readers (169).

This is likely also the intent of Jesus’ frequent exhortation: “He who has ears, let him hear.” So as a spiritual corollary to “keep your shoes on,” we should also “keep our Bibles open.”

Don't Take off Your Shoes until Bedtime [Biblical Wisdom]

Fri, 20 Jan 2017 00:00:00 +0000

I’ve been thinking recently about how reticent I am to do something I don’t have to do. If it’s not urgent, it can wait, and if it can wait, it can wait for-ev-er (pronounced this way).

Often, though, the issue is not actual urgency. It’s personal laziness. The issue is that it’s too hard right now to do the thing I actually need to do, which is what my wife asked me to do weeks ago, which is the thing that’s been on my list of things to do for so long now, whether my wife asked me to do it or not. The problem is this thing I need to do is a thing I don’t want to do.

And often whether or not the thing actually gets done all boils down to whether or not I have my shoes on.

The Wisdom of the Wise

We should probably quote Scripture at this point. Here’s Proverbs 6:6-9:

Go to the ant, O sluggard consider her ways, and be wise Without chief, officer, or ruler She prepares her bread in summer and gathers her food in harvest. How long will you lie there, O sluggard? When will you rise from sleep?

That should be exhortation enough. The passage encourages us to consider the salubrious effects of self-initiated labor. I don’t need someone to tell me what to do (in contrast to T. H. White’s take on ant behavior); I can foresee what needs be done and make the necessary effort to do it. I can plan, initiate, and perform.

The passage goes on, however, to describe the attitude of apathy and laziness. The sluggard may convince themselves that their behavior is no big thing, but there are serious consequences to their actions. The ant behaves logically, and in accordance with nature; apathy and laziness, by contrast, is illogical and unnatural:

A little sleep, a little slumber, a little folding of the hands to rest, And poverty will come upon you like a robber… (Prov. 6:10)

Just a little rest, that’s all, and suddenly the whole day has slipped by. Anyone who has wasted the day away arguing with the internet knows this malady. Anyone who has decided that the work is not worth the reward—that the sacrifice is greater than the gain—understands the temptation. Apathy results in laziness, and laziness results in a flippant use of one’s time (which in the modern world usually manifests itself in some virtual reality).

As is often the case, though, there is a positive side to this biblical wisdom. Apathy breeds destruction, to be sure, but industry has its own reward. So it’s not just “don’t be lazy.” Wisdom also tells us about the advantages of industry:

Four things on earth are small, But they are exceedingly wise: The ants are a people not strong, yet they provide their food in the summer (Prov. 30:24-25).

The ants are small, but they have initiative. The ants are small, but they take action. The ants are small, but they have all they need: they have food, both in summer and in winter, because they know the patterns of the seasons, and gather ahead of time, thereby lacking nothing.

Keeping Your Shoes On

So how do shoes fit in? Like most people, I get home at 5 (or 6 or 7). Like most people, when I get home (at 5 or 6 or 7) I pop off my shoes and am ready to relax. And, like most people, at 5 (or 6 or 7) there’s still work to be done. Mouths to feed. Garbage to take out. Dishes to clean (do we even have time for devotions)? Most importantly: there are people around me who have real problems, and apparently they want to talk to me about them.

If you take your shoes off, it’s just that much harder to get the remaining work done. More inertia is now required. I have put myself, mentally at least, in the state of rest, not readiness.

If you Take your Shoes Off

The point of all this is that if you take your shoes off, physically or metaphorically, you aren’t ready to handle the problems life throws at you. Rest is good—we will get to that later in this series on wisdom—but the goodness of rest doesn’t outweigh the need for readiness. Rest is good and to be pursued; but always ready (1 Pet. 3:15).

Which brings me to the personal situation that occasioned this post. I have my shoes off (literally, not metaphorically); it’s 9pm, the garbage is WAY full (like even-if-I-pushed-hard-with-my-hand-it-wouldn’t-appear-to-be-not-full-full), and it’s super-below freezing outside (I miss you Texas). What do I do?

The answer is obvious. It all depends on whether or not I have my shoes on. If my shoes are still on, I do it. If they’re off, it’s too much trouble and I wait until tomorrow. It’s such an easy decision I don’t even notice it.

The Bible tells us to be always ready to do good.

When do you take off your shoes?

Biblical Wisdom: A New Blog Series

Wed, 18 Jan 2017 00:00:00 +0000

It’s no accident that the Bible gives us multiple types of ethical exhortation. Not everything is a command. God doesn’t just give us “thou shalt nots;” in fact, since the beginning, those have been the minority. God had plenty for Adam to do in the garden, and only one don’t. The rest of the Bible follows suit: a number of prohibitions, to be sure, and plenty of commands as well, but also encouragements, suggestions, visions, advice, riddles, and wisdom.

What is Wisdom?

Where does wisdom fit within this ethical smorgasbord? How does a proverb differ from a command? There are plenty of ways, and I’m desperately trying to resist being exhaustive in these blog posts (after all, it’s just a blog), but here’s a short list.

Wisdom isn’t “always and everywhere.” God’s commands are always commands: murder is always wrong; the Sabbath must be kept holy despite the fact that the football game conflicts with Sunday worship. Of course, no law can cover every circumstance, and so we get things like “case law,” which we find throughout Torah. But case law is still law, and law is designed to be as precise as possible. Wisdom isn’t that way. In fact, it’s often in conflict with itself. “Look before you leap;” “he who hesitates is lost.” “Answer not a fool according to his folly;” “answer a fool according to his folly” (Prov. 26:4-5). It takes wisdom to know when and where and how to apply wisdom.
Relatedly, then, wisdom is situational. At it’s best, it’s earthy and broken in, like Red Wing boots; you can’t trust them unless they’ve been through… life. Wisdom is the kind of thing one learns through experience, through mistakes, through abnormal pressure and pain and perseverance. It’s contingent, but no less important or significant as a result. The obedient fool can do as much damage as the wise rebel. The key is to be both at the same time. To obey God, and to do so with understanding, sympathy, and awareness of ones surroundings.
Wisdom isn’t always clear. Law is designed to be as clear and un-misunderstandable as possible, but there’s a riddle to wisdom. Should I do this or that? The answer to that question is easy when the decision is “should I steal or not steal.” The stakes are high on this exam; should I cheat or should I fail? No contest: you fail. Not all questions are that easy, however. My girls and I just watched The Sound of Music. Should I steal the distributor cap on the Nazi cars, allowing my friends to escape, or not? It’s war, and they’re evil; steal now, confess later.
Wisdom is unsettling. The law says “yes” and “no”; the laws says “you’re on the right path” or “you’re headed for trouble.” Wisdom says “it depends.” What’s more, it says “it depends” precisely in order to get you to think (rather than to “hedge” on right and wrong). “The words of the wise are like goads” (Ecc. 12:11). The wisdom of the wise forces your to consider, reconsider, and then to decide amidst lingering doubts.
Wisdom is personal. Related to all this, wisdom forces you to consider your relationship with God, and your relationship with your neighbor. “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom” (Prov. 1:7). Wisdom is relational, and relationships are personal. Did you obey? Yes. Did you love? Maybe. Wisdom will point out the difference between the two.

What should I expect from this series?

I just announced a series called “You Stole that From Us;” why a new series so soon? Well, honestly, this one is easier! I’ve got several drafts of the former series in the works, but I’m finding that it requires more research to do it in the way I would like. Wisdom requires more reflection than research. Research and reflection both take time, but research also requires footnotes.

Proverbs, James, and Ecclesiastes—the wisdom books of the Christian Bible—are books I spend much time in, and two of them I have preached through (Proverbs and James). So a series on wisdom provides a more “exploring together” mode of thinking, as opposed to a “here are the results of my research” approach. A goad, rather than a finished product.

Here are some ideas for the next couple of posts in this series. I’ve titled them in a manner directly contradictory to the characteristics of wisdom described above—that is, as commands. Suggestions for future posts are welcome!

Don’t Buy Fancy Ketchup (but mustard is OK)
Keep Your Shoes on until Bedtime
Avoid Wealth (and Poverty, but Especially Wealth)
Success is Secondary
You’re Not Important
People around You Should Be Kinda Weirded Out By Things You Do

So an encouraging series! Let me know what you think.

Paul's Theology is His History

Sat, 14 Jan 2017 00:00:00 +0000

Wrede brought an end to 19th century liberalism by famously demonstrating that Paul’s religion is his theology. The liberals wanted to seperate the two–the modern Christian can and should extract Paul’s Christ mysticism and ethic of love from Paul’s outdated ideas about a retributive God and coming judgement. Wrede rightly pointed out that this attempt to remove some pure religious fruit (ethics) while discarding such an unpalatable theological husk (judgement) was no longer tenable. Paul’s religious practice is grounded in his theological dogma; the two are welded together, permanently indisoluble.

Nevertheless the rationalistic search for a “pure” Christian religion continued, by Wrede (no friend to classic Christian orthodoxy) as well as his successors. Can we free religion from the outdated belief in an angry God? Can we have an ethic and a religious experience undetermined by the contingencies of history? Attempts have been and continue to be made, to be sure, either through the search for a historical Jesus–assumed to be an ethical teacher and not the apocalyptic preacher we find in the Gospels–or the the de-historizing approach of Bultmann.

And yet the New Testament consistently resists such attempts. We can actually reframe Wrede’s insight another way: Paul’s theology is his history.

[caption id="" align=“alignright” width=“300”] Christianity the World’s Most Falsifiable Religion[/caption]

What do we mean by that? For Paul, religion isn’t centered on philosophical ideals, theological propositions, pietistic efforts, or deontological morality. It’s about an historical event. Now before moving forward we need to appreciate why that’s a problem, at least for Enlightenment rationalists. If religion is in any way grounded in history, rather than human reason or “absolute” truth, then it is inevitably subject to falsification. If my belief or practice is somehow dependent on an event that occurred in space and time, then my belief or practice is dependent on that event having taken place. Religion, in so far as it is believed to transcend such mundane things as “events,” should not be grounded on them. Religion should not be falsifiable.

That’s not how Paul thinks. Quite the opposite:

If Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is in vain and your faith is in vain…. If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins (I Cor. 15:14, 17).

In fact, everything about Paul’s religion requires Christ’s resurrection. Paul’s gospel is centered on the event of Christ’s death and resurrection:

Now I would remind you, brothers, of the Gospel I preached to you:… that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures, and that he appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve" (1 Cor. 15:1-5).

The implications are enormous and far-reaching, but here I’d like to simply underline the point: you cannot seperate Christianity from history. Stronger still: Christianity is history. It is a metanarrative that stretches from First Adam to Last Adam, directed by God at every step of the way. It is not an ideal, a metaphor, a path, a way of life, a theological system. At least not primarily. It is an event. Or more accurately, it is a series of events that finds as its climax the great sum of everything that God has been accomplishing since creation: the ascension of the Christ.

Or, in the words of John Updike: “let us not mock God with metaphor. If He was raised, it is in His body.”

You Stole that from Us

Fri, 30 Dec 2016 00:00:00 +0000

I’ve been working through Larry Hurtado’s Destroyer of the Gods with great appreciation. Here’s the wonderful way he describes his aim:

The very features of early Christianity that made it odd and objectionable in the ancient Roman setting have become now unquestioned assumptions about religion in much of the modern world. But we likely do not realize how unusual, even off, these notions once were, and are still, the the larger context of human history. (Kindle location 129)

I’m not terribly far long, so I don’t know exactly what features he will examine, but it coordinates well with a sermon series idea I have been playing around with, called “You Stole that From Us.” The basic gist is that many of the assumptions we moderns hold to be self evident are actually borrowed from Christianity; moreover, thought they are now properly basic ideals, they were radical and world-changing in their own time.

The idea that all people are created equal, that any human life is valuable, that love conquers evil, that humility is a virtue, that selfless charity is honorable–these ideas are not the invention of modern liberal philosophers, nor are they universal values that cut across social and cultural boundaries. On the contrary, they are historically Christian in their origin. Even more specifically, they owe their philosophical and moral logic to the pattern of humiliation and exaltation that we find at the heart of the Christian religion in Christ’s death and resurrection. You stole that from us!

There’s an apologetic point to be made here, in addition to an historical one. Our culture wants to hold on to these ideals while at the same time ignoring their historical origin and philosophical warrant in the Christian religion. That won’t work. Take “all people are equal,” for example. That ethic simply does not work without the theology of creation and eschatology that we find in Scripture. It doesn’t work within materialist evolutionary philosophy. If God hasn’t made us equal, and if he doesn’t judge us impartially, then we are not, in point of fact, equal; rather, we are simply pretending that we are equal for the sake of social convenience.

That’s one example, and it needs some filling out, but you get the idea. Sadly, though, my preaching schedule will not permit such a series in the near future. So perhaps in the meantime it will make for a good Blog series. Look for it in the weeks to come!

This Natural Miracle

Sun, 13 Nov 2016 00:00:00 +0000

The Bee

Is God’s gift,

God’s plan, his path to flower,

His proof, mystery, victory

To me

So subtle is

The spade–

The key, the seed,

the melody, the song that

unites the life circle, an earthly symphony;

The bee, which on weed doth feed

Now I

To harmonize, and stem the tide

Of death–this present death of stinging pest–

Am ignorant of the music;

What remains to me?

Too late it seems

Too late for a new song

Late life the circle harmonies

God, sing.

Recent Review from Tim Challies of the ESV Reader's Bible

Sun, 02 Oct 2016 00:00:00 +0000

I recently blogged about why am ESV Readers Bible is a must have. Tim Challies recently reviews the multi-volume edition here.

Why you should buy a Reader's Bible right now

Thu, 22 Sep 2016 00:00:00 +0000

Why would you want a Bible with no verse numbers? Oh, and it also has no headings. No annotations. No notes. No references. No columns. No extras. Why would anyone want such a bible?

Here’s one reason: it will forever change the way you read God’s word.

My guess, if you’re reading this blog, is you probably want the kind of Bible that changes the way you read the Bible. If so, check out the ESV Reader’s Bible.

Most Bibles are formatted for searching and study, not for reading

[caption id=“attachment_75” align=“alignright” width=“276”] Check out Bible Design Blog for copious reviews and analysis.[/caption]

Most Bibles that you’ll pick up at the store are formatted in such a way to make it easy to find the place you need to be. They are packed full of verse numbers, cross-references, topical headings to inform you what the section you’re reading is “about,” and a handful of footnotes to help address translation or textual issues. Many also include a concordance, book introductions, study notes, maps, diagrams, and more. The more stuff the better right?

Well, it depends on what you’re looking for. If you’re trying to find an elusive verse, or trying to keep up with the discussion in a group Bible study, or following the logic of a sermon that is jumping from passage to passage, you probably want verse numbers and cross-references. If you want to dive more deeply into a sentence of phrase, or get answers to questions about this or that verse or book, then you’ll want the notes and helpful diagrams a study Bible provides.

But if you want to read—just read—then you are looking for immersion. All of these extra things ruin immersion. They’re like someone blowing gum behind you at the movies, or a phone beeping at you while your deep in a good book, or a parade of motorcycles blaring their way down Fayette on a peaceful Sunday morning. They’re distractions.

A Reader’s Bible encourages you to read the way writers write

All of those extras are helpful, don’t get me wrong, but they encourage you (often without you even noticing it) to read the Bible in tiny chunks. They force you to read verse by verse or even phrase by phrase.

That’s not how you read other books. That’s not how you read the latest mystery thriller, or classic fiction, or poetry, or a biopic, or a theological treatise, or a blog post. When was the last time you read something with numbered lines?

You don’t read other books verse-by-verse or line-by-line. You read them thought-by-thought. Why? Because that’s how writers write. Writer’s don’t (usually) expect you to pick apart their sentences and break them up into little bits. They pick their words carefully, of course, and they structure their work thoughtfully, but they do so in order to encourage their readers to keep reading. They don’t want their readers to stop and puzzle over this or that phrase. They want you to be surprised, sure, but not so surprised that you stop, so a good writer will write in such a way that you are constantly learning something new, but also constantly moving forward.

Reference and Study Bibles are wonderful, don’t get me wrong. They are a useful resource for study, to be sure, but they are not as useful for processing the Scriptures as their original authors meant them to be read and appropriated. Different tools are useful for different tasks. A knife is great for cutting vegetables, but it makes a terrible (and dangerous) pastry scraper, despite the fact that both might have similar shapes and made of similar materials.

The ESV Reader’s Bible is a great tool for reading. It’s formatted, beginning to end, to look like a “normal” book. Of course it’s not a normal book—it’s the word of God—and yet it’s precisely for that reason that we should be all the more desirous to strive for immersive reading.

We have a couple of copies available at the book table at Christ the King PCA in Conshohocken. Check them out!

Should I use Logos, Google, or Amazon for Digital Christian Books?

Tue, 30 Aug 2016 00:00:00 +0000

For the last 4 years I have told my students at Reformed Theological Seminary and Westminster Seminary to forego the expense of Logos (and, by extension, Accordance and BibleWorks, though each has different advantages and disadvantages) in favor of the relatively inexpensive subscription to BibleArc. I’m changing my tune a bit (though I still think the expense of Logos is formidable). My current recommendation for the cost-conscious Bible scholar is for a combination approach: (1) get a baseline package to logos to provide for an adequate library of daily resources (the bare necessities: a couple of English, Greek, and Hebrew Bibles, a Bible Dictionary or two, some helpful datasets, etc), combined with (2) an annual subscription to BibleArc for those who want to take advantage of Syntax and Discourse Analysis tools, and finally (3) a digital library of individually purchased reference books from the various platforms available, in the following order: Logos first, Google second, Amazon Kindle third.

The Power of Logos Software

The core justification for this recommendation is the power afforded by the Logos substructure (the “backend”). I’ve been buying books and biblical commentaries from Google Play (and Kindle, if the book in question was not available from Google) for awhile now. Google Books has a lot of wonderful features with regard to Biblical Commentaries, not the least of which has been real page scans (so you can see a scan of the actual page of the real-world book, which is useful for citation purposes, and also for any foreign-language problems generated by Greek and Hebrew scripts). This has made Google my go-to resource for e-books over the last two years. That is now changing.

If a Logos commentary or book is available, I’m willing to spend a bit more for it, as opposed to the same book from Google or Amazon.

Why? Because Logos provides the same technological benefits provided by Google or Amazon (availability on multiple devices, syncing of position, real page numbers, images, easy maneuverability, etc.) while also providing a host of tools that are of particular interest to pastors and Biblical scholars.

[caption id=“attachment_47” align=“alignright” width=“150”] Not just pop-ups from the Biblical Text, from the free Perseus Project too![/caption]

If I’m reading a commentary provided by Google, I need two screens open. I need one device to read the actual commentary, but if that commentary references a passage of Scripture (and hopefully it will frequently do so), I have to switch to another screen–either a Bible app in a separate device, or a Bible app on my tablet, phone, or computer. Not so with Logos; I simply hover over the references and I have a full presentation of the passage in question at my fingertips, in my Bible translation of choice. That’s the power of Logos; it’s tailored for students of the Bible, and it shows from the ground up.

What’s more, I can use that pop-up to delve more deeply into the Biblical text, or other related texts. Let’s say the commentary I’m reading says something like “David didn’t mean [x], he meant [y], as I have already proved in my analysis of verse [a:b].” Well, in any normal situation, I would have to then scroll back in the commentary to the discussion of [a:b], and probable also look up [a:b] in my Bible, and if I’m really intrigued by the topic, follow the footnotes for position [x] and [y] to see what other scholars are referenced there. Logos makes that all very easy to do with the magic of pop-ups. Simply hover over the hyperlink and you’re good to go for the most part (provided you have the available resources). (As a side note, hyperlinking mania can so often produce a distraction from what you are actually trying to study, but Logos does it right: immersion, rather than distraction).

This is the power of Logos, and it is provided by a dedicated team and advanced technical tools. Put simply: it’s great software tailored to Biblical study. It’s all the resources that the digital age has to offer harnessed for Biblical scholars. Google can offer you all the tools of the digital age, but they really don’t care about the unique needs of the Biblical scholar. Logos understands both. That’s its power and its promise.

The Expense of Logos Resources and the Adequacy of Online Tools

But it will come at a cost. Logos offers a lot of resources at nearly full price, and they offer bundles of resources at deep discounts. The bundles seem to be the way to go, if you can find one that’s cost-effective for you. I’ve compared package after package. Silver. Gold. Platinum. Silver Reformed. The list goes on. As is often the case with bundles, the attraction to these packages is “what am I missing out on.” I could get this set of books for $500 if I buy this package, but it’s $1500 if purchased separately; so how bad do I really want this set of books? Will I want them “someday”? If I don’t buy them now, will the price go up? Even if I don’t really want to spend $500 on that set of books, might it be worth it given all the other books included in the package (that I don’t really need, but would be nice to have)? It’s the king of crossroad decisions that you face when buying a new car, and it’s not pleasant. I want Bluetooth, but I don’t want navigation. Is there an option for that? Nope, there’s not, but you can buy an after-market stereo if you want. That’s how I felt about picking the “right” Logos package for me, and I ended up with the Bronze package, and a couple of after-market stereos. I’d recommend looking through a package that’s attractive to you and adding up the price of the “must have” resources in that package. Does it equal what you are paying? When you find one that’s close, that’s your package, and supplement with whatever after-market products you need.

Having said all that, most of the after-market products here are relatively reasonably priced. Most individual books are competitively priced in comparison with Kindle or Google Books. To be sure, they are, to a book, more expensive. In my experience, if a book is on all three services, it will be cheapest on Kindle, with Google Books a close second (and I’m willing to pay the up-charge if, and only if, it has real scanned pages), and Logos a 10% hike (at least) up from that. The big change in my thinking has been that I’m willing to pay that 10% (or more) up charge to Logos in order to get the integration with their other services. I love the pop-ups.

That’s for “regular” books and resources. What about those “high-end” tools like BDAG, HALOT, BHS, NA28, etc. They’re still ridiculously expensive. That’s not necessarily the fault of Logos. I suspected licensing issues. But whatever the cause, I feel reticent purchasing something that is so expensive and only works on one platform. I own hard copies of each (and the digital prices are, inexplicably, identical to the hard-copy prices), so I’m unwilling to invest in their digital counterparts. Tempted, but unwilling. I’ll stick to pin and paper for now.

One other thing I should mention–and this fact made my decision to purchase a base package a no-brainer–is that Logos offers “dynamic pricing.” If, at some time in the near or distant future, you find that the package your purchased is no longer adequate and you want to upgrade to a higher-end model, no problem. Logos will take what you have already purchased into account and offer you a fair discount. And from what I can tell it is, in fact, fair. I looked at the additional cost for a Gold package as an upgrade to my Bronze, and the price was commensurate. That provides a bit of peace of mind in regard to my purchasing decisions.

My Current Plan of Attack

All of these factors then brings me back to my original statement, and my personal plan of attack: I’m willing to purchase from Logos and even to prioritize it by paying a premium price in certain situations. I’m convinced in Logos as a platform. It is robust, sustainable, and for the most part competitive (though still on the expensive side of competitive). It is ahead of Google and Amazon in many of the features that matter to Biblical scholars and is well-respected and utilized by the scholarly community, so I don’t think it’s in danger of obsolescence. Given that, here’s my recommendation

Buy the least expensive base package that fits your needs. The options here range from a Logos Now subscription to the full Collector’s edition (which requires a second mortgage). I went with the Bronze package because it included all the English Bibles I needed (minus the NLT, which I purchased separately) and some additional things that were attractive to me, and was on sale at the time.
I am still really impressed with the resources available at BibleArc. I’d love a “one-stop-shop” for all my Biblical needs, but BibleArc provides a set of tools that Logos either doesn’t have yet or are more expensive through them. I will continue to get my discourse analysis and syntax diagramming tools through BibleArc, rather than Logos.
I’ll buy commentaries and other long-term reference-style resources from Logos, rather than Google or Amazon. They integrate so well with the Logos backend, and provide all the other benefits that Google and Amazon offer.
I’ll buy “one read” resources and other Christian books on whatever platform is cheapest. If it’s not a perpetual reference resource–that is, if I’m not going to consult it more than once or twice or thrice–then I’ll buy it as cheaply as possible.

Appendix: The SBLGNT Has Changed Everything

Having been in “the field” for awhile now, I’m conscious of the fact that my current recommendation is largely the result of the addition of Mike Holmes’ SBL Greek New Testament (SBLGNT) to the field of Biblical Studies, as well as the hard work of folks like Lexham Press, an imprint of Logos, to provide robust digital and inexpensive (sometimes free) resources and datasets to the scholarly community. I remember the dark ages when a truly modern Greek text could only be accessed behind a particularly impenetrable paywall, and basic English glosses of Greek and Hebrew words required BDAG and HALOT add-ins, which were quite costly (and non-transferable between software packages). Of course, NA28, BDAG, and HALOT are still sheltered behind a barb-wire paywall, but these resources are not necessary for daily preaching and teaching. Scholars need them, to be sure, to produce publishable quality work, but for the most part the pastor-scholar only needs three things: (1) a reliable and modern original-language text (provided by WLC, sort of, and the SBLGNT), (2) a thorough knowledge of Hebrew and Greek grammar (provided by oneself), and the availability of the general semantic domain for any individual word (provided by Lexham Press and others).

All that by way of thanks to those who have donated their time and brilliance to these digital tools.

Pray with Other People

Sun, 28 Aug 2016 00:00:00 +0000

We have lost the art of corporate prayer, which is a shame because corporate prayer is particularly blessed by our God.

The Problem with Corporate Prayer

At the root of the problem is that when we are engaged in corporate prayer—whether at the First Wednesday prayer meeting, or at one of our Home Fellowship Groups, or in Sunday worship—it is often the case that I’m not the one praying, and when we’re not praying, we lose interest. This is someone else’s prayer. It’s not really mine.

That’s the first idea that’s gotta go. When we are praying together we are praying with one another. One of us may be speaking and the others may be silent, but this is our prayer. Praying with other people means humbly allowing other people to pray on your behalf, to pray in your place. It means allowing them to intercede for you in the act of praying. When you are gathered, their prayer is your prayer–you are doing this thing together. My duty, then, is to hear, acknowledge, receive, and add my amen (not necessarily literally) to that which is being said.

Prayer Isn’t Just Private

Surely, though, private prayer is more important that corporate prayer? Surely I’m “closer” to God when it’s just me pouring out my heart?

Private and personal prayer is of course important and necessary. Jesus tells us that “your Father who sees in secret will reward you” for unseen and personal deeds of piety, and so he instructs us to “go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is secret” (Matt. 6:6). However, religion is not a merely private affair, though sometimes we like to think it is. Jesus wants us to pray with and for one-another. It is therefore no accident that when he provides for us a model prayer, it begins with the words “our Father.” Our Father. The prayer assumes it is being prayed by a crowd.

What is more, Jesus elsewhere reminds us that this kind of prayer is particularly blessed. “Again I say to you, if two of you agree on earth about anything they ask, it will be done for them by my Father in heaven. For where two or three are gathered in my name, there am I among them” (Matthew 18:19-20).[1] Thus the early church gathered together for prayer, putting into practice Jesus’ encouragement to do these things as a body, and not just in the privacy of our own homes (Acts 2:42).

The Power of Corporate Prayer

Why is corporate prayer so important? What effect does it have? Is it more powerful than private prayers?

When we say that corporate prayer is particularly blessed, we don’t mean that it is somehow “more powerful.” It’s not that corporate prayer is “louder” and so God is more likely to hear it, nor is there some kind of special magic in it. God is present with us in private prayers, and our private prayers are heard by God and answered by him in accordance with his will.Nevertheless, corporate prayers have a number of effects that private prayers, by their very nature, do not. It’s similar to music. There is beauty in the solo, the sonata, the aria; but there is a different kind of beauty in the choir or the orchestra. They provide a form of expression not available to the individual (and, of course, the lone violist can accomplish things that an orchestra cannot—there is a beauty appropriate to each).

So what are some of the advantages of corporate prayer? Here is an incomplete list to prime our thoughts (and I would delight to hear some of your answers as well).

Corporate prayer intensifies our petitions, our praises, our confession—all of our prayers. They add a weightiness to it. There is great mystery here, but what we can say for sure is that God is delighted with us when we function as a body, when we are of one mind, and when we approach him together.
Corporate prayer supplements our weaknesses. We all have different perspectives, concerns, and gifts. For example, some of us are able to remember everything that’s going on, and others are more forgetful. Some of us understand what a certain experience is like and can therefore more effectively intercede for a person going through it, while others have never had that experience and don’t know how to pray. When we pray as a group we are able to limit the effect of our weaknesses and pool our strengths. We are greater together that we are individually.
Corporate prayer both demonstrates our need for one another—our interdependence—and simultaneously fills that need. We are told time and again in Scripture that we need one another, that we can’t do this alone. Remember that Jesus himself asks for his disciples to pray with him (Matt. 26:36-46)! Corporate pray is both a humble recognition of that and also a fulfillment of the call to serve one another.Corporate prayer furthers our fellowship. Praying for someone binds you together—it makes you more a part of their lives and engages you in a common cause. Praying with someone does all of that even more powerfully. Don’t just pray for other people—particularly other people you care about and want to cultivate a friendship with—pray with
Corporate prayer creates and expresses our unity. We are one people Paul says, and when we pray we demonstrate that unity. What is more, we cultivate it. By His Spirit God binds us together in the act of praying.

Pray with other People

So commit to praying with other people. Corporate prayers don’t have to be long affairs. Pray short prayers. Pray with your spouse and children. With your Sunday School students. With the person next to you in the pew. Make every effort not to zone out during the pastoral prayer on Sunday, but rather add your (silent or audible) amen. Join us on First Wednesdays for our prayer meeting—your presence adds to the blessedness of that time. For in all of this we approach God as “Our Father,” and he hears his people.

Why Church?

Fri, 01 Jul 2016 00:00:00 +0000

Some of us have been at Christ the King since the day it was planted. Others of us have joined the body more recently (and are thus confused when older members start talking about “the fire-house era).” Still others are visiting for the first time. And yet I bet all of us have at some point hit on some version of the question “why do we [fill in the blank]?”

Why do we worship in such an ancient-looking building? What’s this “First Wednesday” prayer meeting I keep hearing about (and should I come this time)? Why do we sing mostly hymns in worship? What’s the difference between a benediction and an ascription? How can I get my kid to the bathroom without making a scene in front of all these people? Important stuff!

Over the Summer Eric and I will be preaching through a new series that we are calling “Why Church?” Over the course of this series we want to see what Scriptures says about the nature and work of the church, and also look at how each of us can be more fruitful within the body. Those are important issues that deserve our attention. After all, each of us, upon joining the church, vowed “to study its purity and peace.” If only there was a study guide! Or better yet, an FAQ for members of Christ’s Church! Well, good news, that’s precisely how we’ve designed our summer series.

The Fundamentals

We’ll look first at some of the most basic and fundamental questions. Underlying everything is that nagging question reflected in the title above: why church at all? Why church rather than no church? We live in a culture of skepticism towards the church, and that skepticism isn’t just from “the world,” it exists in the church itself. Is the church really all that important? Every time we wake up on a Sunday morning and ask “do I have to go to church today?” we are asking a form of this question. Most Christians seem to believe that the church is a kind of “bonus” for Christians, an added extra that’s generally a good idea but, on the whole, not altogether necessary. After all, you don’t have to go to church to be saved, right? That would be legalistic. Yet the Westminster Confession gives Christ’s Church much more significance, calling it “the kingdom of the Lord Jesus Christ, the house and family of God, out of which there is no ordinary possibility of salvation” (WCF 25.2). Isn’t that overstating it a bit? Is church really that significant?

Then there’s a whole set of other questions. The questions above relate to the necessity of the church, but what about its nature? What is Church? Most of us live with some version of “I’m not sure, but I know it when I see it,” but the question can get pretty tricky pretty quickly. Is the church kind of like a Christian club–a group of people united around a common interest or ideology? Is it a charitable institution? Should it be involved in political realities or should it stay away from such worldly concerns?

The Particulars

A lot of our questions about church are less philosophical, and we will turn to these next. How should we do church? Again, there are a lot of competing voices out there, and a lot of confusion. Some church leaders argue that for Christ’s Church to survive in post-Christian America we need to find a new way of doing church. Others argue exactly the opposite–the church must stand firm on the tried and tested forms that stretch back to Christ’s Apostles. That may sound philosophical to you, but it gets practical very quickly. What music should we sing? How long should the sermon be and what should it be about? Should the church focus outward on gathering the lost, or inward on discipling the sheep?

A lot of those questions focus on worship. Maybe you’ve wondered why we worship the way we do. Or maybe a particular element of our worship has never really “moved” you. Why is our worship service structured the way it is? What am I supposed to be feeling when I confess the faith? Should I bow my head during the benediction, or raise my hands, or just stand there? Sometimes the elements of worship can feel like a pile of Ikea parts: you can tell that they all go together, you’re just not sure how (or what you’re even building). One of our goals is to demystify what we do on Sunday with the hope that our worship would be more rewarding, more fruitful, and most of all, more honoring to God.

The Problems

Any good manual or FAQ needs a “Troubleshooting” section. The church is not a problem-free institution. How could it be? It’s full of sinners! Indeed, whole books in our Bible are written to address problems that arise in the church (1 Corinthians, 1 John). In our last section we will look at common problems that arise and how to address them. How can I be more connected to people in the body? What should I do when conflict arises? What if I just don’t feel like worshipping? What if my kids don’t like coming to church? It’s important for us to be honest about the difficulties that arise in the church this side of glory and to seek the wisdom of Christ as we work through them!

The Bride of Christ

To study the purity and peace of the Church! It’s an intimidating prospect, but also a delightful one. After all we are studying the bride of Christ! And one day she will be presented glorious and holy before the throneroom of God.

Let us rejoice and exult

and give him the glory,

for the marriage of the Lamb has come,

and his Bride has made herself ready;

it was granted her to clothe herself

with fine linen, bright and pure” (Rev. 19:7-8)

Spring Cleaning

Fri, 01 Apr 2016 00:00:00 +0000

Have you been doing any Spring Cleaning? There’s a reason, I think, that we like to get our homes (and lives) back in order this time of year. As the grass begins to green up, and flowers begin to bloom, and children go back outside to play, our hearts and souls shake themselves out of their winter slumbers. We want to take action. We want to plant and build and plan, and we are filled with a hope that our labors will bear fruit.

Spring is a reminder that we can, in fact, flourish.

God’s Plan

We were made to flourish. It’s the promise and command we first encounter in the garden: be fruitful and multiply. God did not intend for Adam and Eve to remain in a static state, as blissful as that state may have been. He intended them to progress from one stage of glory onward to another, to an even greater glory, one characterized by fullness and perfection. Eden was good, “very good” in fact, but it was also just a seed, the beginning of something wider and fuller and even more fruitful.

I was reminded about all this over Easter. The hope represented in the resurrection is more than a back-to-Eden hope. It is a promise of the fullness of perfection that results from Christ bringing about a New Creation. Christ in his resurrection and ascension establishes a Kingdom that will flourish into eternity. Sometimes we are so hard at work just surviving (especially in Winter) that we forget that God has a better plan for us. Sometimes we are so encumbered by the frailty of this present world that we forget that God’s plan is for us to flourish for eternity.

This is why Paul says: “If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God” (Col. 3:1). The things of this world, while good, are nevertheless perishable. Only the things of the Kingdom are imperishable, and so we must anchor our hearts and minds in heavenly things. It is Christ’s Kingdom, the New Creation, which will flourish forever, and so it is only in the pursuit of these heavenly things that human beings can truly flourish. In fact, as we by faith pursue the things that are above, we cannot but flourish (1 Peter 1:23ff).

Our Effort

So should I stop my spring cleaning? Should I forsake this earthly garden, doomed as it is to die come November? By no means! Paul isn’t telling us to ignore earthly things. He’s not saying we shouldn’t worry about cleaning house or planting gardens or planning for the future. On the contrary, he is reminding us of their purpose and place. These earthly and perishable things are designed to remind us of the imperishable things to come. In our sinful idolatry we worship the perishable, when in reality our thankfulness for these perishable things should cause us to worship the one who is imperishable.

So this Spring, as we clean and plant and build and plan and labor over perishable things, let your labors be a reminder of the pre-eminence of the imperishable things to come. Work as one who has set their mind on things above. As God blesses your labors here on earth, give thanks to him and remind your soul that this is but a foretaste of the glory in heaven. As you prosper by his grace, give generously to those in need. As you reap the joys of a job well-done, praise the Lord who brings the harvest. In these ways we anchor our hearts in things above even as we labor here on earth, and thus by Christ’s grace we will flourish forevermore.

Should I Make a New Year's Resolution?

Fri, 01 Jan 2016 00:00:00 +0000

Should I make a New Year’s Resolution?

It may be a cultural tradition, but is resolving to “do better this year” good theology? If I am saved by grace alone, through faith alone, why should I worry about making a New Year’s resolution? After all, God loves me “just as I am.”

True enough, but Paul reminds us that the gospel of salvation by faith is not contrary to a desire to grow, mature, and flourish as a Christian. In fact, when Paul rhetorically asks himself “Are we to continue in sin that grace may abound?” he answers without hesitation: “By no means! How can we who died to sin still live in it?” (Rom. 6:1-2). The faith-wrought power that saves us from the guilt of sin is also at work within us even now to redeem us from the power of sin, a process we often call “sanctification.” In fact, Paul compares this process of growing into maturity to running a race:

Do you not know that in a race all the runners run, but only one receives the prize? So run that you may obtain it. Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. So I do not run aimlessly; I do not box as one beating the air. But I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified (1 Corinthians 9:24-27; cf. 2 Tim. 4:6-8).

So while we are not obligated to make New Year’s resolutions, we are nevertheless always engaged in the process of self-improvement, not through our own power, but because the power of the Spirit is at works within us (self-improvement through Spirit-empowerment). So consider making a few resolutions this year–some might involve conquering indwelling sin, others directed at issues of self-control, and still others serving the church or spending more time with family.

How can I succeed at my resolutions?

We all know that keeping our resolutions is harder than making them, so how do we avoid the dreaded February Fail, March Miss, or April Apathy? There’s no silver bullet. Growth and maturity is difficult, which is why Paul compares it to athletic training. James says it requires trial, testing, faith, and steadfastness (Jas. 1:2-4). So what are some biblical principles for success?

Be reasonable

Resolve carefully. We need to recognize that this is difficult. When we seek to grow in faith and maturity we are fighting the three great enemies of human flourishing: the world, the flesh, and the devil. We fight with the power of the Holy Spirit, but we need to recognize that it is still hard, that we will slip, that God forgives those who seek him, that steadfastness is required. Being reasonable means setting manageable goals. Keep your list short–around three–and avoid grandiose and unobtainable objectives. Most importantly though, don’t quit when you slip; rather, seek God’s forgiveness (if sin was involved) and aid, remembering that Jesus “sympathizes with our weaknesses” (Heb. 4:15).

Be Spiritual

Resolve prayerfully. There are two ways to fall into legalism. The first is to think that I am saved by being good enough. The second, and more subtle, is to think I can keep improve without the power of the Holy Spirit. As we strive to keep our resolutions we need to constantly “draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Heb 4:16). Pray over your resolutions and seek the power of the Spirit as you train your body and heart. Take advantage of every means of grace–the word of God, the worship of the body, the sacraments. Remember, the only reason we can resolve in the first place is because the power of Christ is at work in us, so do not neglect that power once the going gets tough.

Be accountable

Resolve publically. Remember that Christ made us part of a body, surrounding us with other believers with the same struggles, the same hopes, and the same power at work. So find someone with whom you can share your resolutions–a parent, a spouse, a pastor, a friend. This not only makes the resolving more serious, it also connects you to people who love you and can help when things get difficult (and praise you when things are going well). Of course, not everyone needs to know, especially if your resolutions are sensitive, but someone should, and it is perfectly appropriate to ask that person to pray for you and to ask you how you are doing.

None of this will guarantee that this year will be your year. Yet we need to realize that as Christians we do not resolve as the rest of the world resolves. We work because Christ is at work, and that gives us hope as we seek to please our heavenly Father. As Paul puts it, “work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure” (Phil. 2:12-13).

We Wish You a Merry Christmas

Fri, 25 Dec 2015 00:00:00 +0000

We Wish you a Merry Christmas

One of the wonderful things about Christmas is that you begin to see everything through the lens of this Happy Season. For a brief couple of weeks, everything you do is slightly transformed. You listen to different music, you cook different foods, you shop differently and play differently. The home smells sweeter; the fires are warmer; friends seem merrier. Even our worship changes. In every area of our lives it’s just beginning to feel a lot like Christmas.

Everything is Different Now

That feeling of transformation is embedded in the Christmas Story itself. Christmas means things can be different. Better.

That spirit of optimism is reflected in the songs of Mary and Simeon, or those of Zechariah, the angels, the shepherds–indeed, everyone who hears this news bows down in worship and praise. Here’s Mary:

“My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked on the humble estate of his servant. For behold, from now on all generations will call me blessed. (Luke 1:46-48)

Mary is happy for this particular moment, to be sure. God has redeemed her from her “humble estate.” But notice that Christmas isn’t limited to the present moment, or to Mary. It’s not just a momentary redemption; Mary goes on to say that “from now on all generations will call me blessed.” The blessings poured out at Christmas endure for all generations. It’s a turning point in history, a monumental change and there’s no going back. From now on, things are different.

Or consider the praise of Simeon:

“Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation that you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles,

and for glory to your people Israel.” (Luke 2:29-32).

Simeon is a “righteous and devout” Jew “waiting for the consolation of Israel.” So when he hears the news it is no surprise that he rejoices since the Christ has come to bring “glory to your people Israel.” Yet like Mary, Simeon knows that the news is bigger than redemption for Israel. It is worldwide and all encompassing–”a light of revelation to the Gentiles.” Christ’s coming has cosmic effects. Everything is different, from this point and forevermore.

Bright Hope for Tomorrow

That’s why our lives and our homes and our work all change a bit during this season. Because of the Hope of Christ. Christmas means that our hope for world-wide redemption is not a vain chasing after the wind or an empty wish. Our hope is secured because the Christ has already come, and in his coming he has secured peace for the whole world, redemption from our sins, the defeat of suffering and death; indeed, all the promises of God are yes and amen in Jesus.

So while his fallen world may endure for a time, with all the trials that it presents, nevertheless things are different. The Christ has come, has shared in all of our sorrows, has defeated death on His cross, and has ascended as Lord of the Heavens and the Earth. Christmas was the start of all that, and in Christmas we have the promise that God will finish what he started.

So embrace the season and the delightful changes it brings. It is a sign to you, that a baby was once wrapped in swaddling cloths and laid in a manger. A baby who would change everything.