Winter

"A year soon runs its length and never returns the same,
And the end seldom seems to belong to the beginning...
And thus in many yesterdays the year passes
And winter comes back again as the world would have it, in the way of things."

-Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, translated W. S. Merwin

Breaking the Silence

It's been quite a while, I know. I've been toying with the idea of taking down the blog entirely, since I feel I don't have the time to update regularly. Still, I came across something today that is too good not to share, so we'll give this another go. Oh, and I'm going to re-enable comments, just for the heck of it.

I have been reading A Hidden Wholeness, by Parker Palmer, for one of my classes. The book itself probably deserves a whole post, but I came across this gem near the end that I just had to post. Palmer is talking about how "broken hearts" may not be only a bad thing, that a broken heart might mean "a heart broken open into new capacity". On this subject, he tells the following Hasidic story:

The pupil comes to the rebbe and asks, "Why does Torah tell us to 'place these words upon your hearts'? Why does it not tell us to place these holy words in our hearts?"
The rebbe answers, 'It is because as we are, our hearts are closed, and we cannot place the holy words in our hearts. So we place them on top of our hearts. And there they stay until, one day, the heart breaks, and the words fall in."

I'll leave you with that, the image of God's holy word breaking our hearts open so that it can finally reach inside.

A Day in the Life

Well, I have two weeks of CPE under my belt now. Orientation is finished, and things are settling into a rhythm. I've even done my first 24-hour on call. I've gotten to know my fellow interns and the residents (who have been at the hospital since last August), as well as Ted, the director, and Ken, the manager, of the Pastoral Care and Education department. So what is a day in the life of a CPE student like?

We begin each day at 8:00 (or 0800, since hospitals also use military time) with morning report. The chaplain who was on call the night before tells the rest of the chaplains about any traumas/pages, and makes referrals if necessary. Then the chaplain who is beginning his or her on call shift does a short prayer or devotion, and the group breaks up.

On Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday mornings, we have class. The classes take a variety of forms—some are lecture-like, in others one intern presents a verbatim of a visit he or she made in the hospital, and others are open-agenda group discussions. We have two class sessions each of these mornings, with a break in the middle to go to interdisciplinary rounds.

The rest of the time is basically free for us to use. A large portion of this time is spent visiting patients or families. We also have time for reading and writing. In my case, the Behavioral Health service line has a very structured schedule—they eat meals together at set times and have scheduled group activities—so I can do very few visits in the morning. I spend the morning doing other work and make most of my visits in the afternoon. We also have one-on-one sessions with our CPE instructor, Ken, about once a week.

Our on call requirements work out to about one on call a week. It goes from 0800 (8 am) to 0800 the next day, though someone else will hold the pager in the morning if the on call chaplain has class. When on call, the chaplain's main responsibility is to report to every trauma or class one medical, and to do triage with the other chaplains.

That's CPE in a nut shell, at least for York Hospital (every CPE site seems to work a little differently). It's a lot of work, and it's challenging in many respects. It's also a powerful and unique learning experience. I will try to post again soon.

An Open Letter

Hello everyone.

I am posting this because today was my second day of CPE (Clinical Pastoral Education). CPE is one of the required field education experiences for my seminary program; it's basically a hospital chaplaincy internship. I am working at York Hospital full time from now until August 7. Tomorrow I will get to choose my "service line" (medical, surgical, oncology, cardiovascular, or behavioral health), which will be my main focus for the summer, in addition to on-call work in the Emergency Department. My first 24-hour on-call is June 4.

I just wanted to let you all know what I'm up to, and to apologize in advance for dropping off the radar for the whole summer. By the time I get home from York (sometime between 5:30 and 6:00, when I'm not on call), I will probably only have enough energy to cook dinner and fall into bed. CPE is a very intensive program in many respects, and while I am excited about the learning opportunity, I doubt that I will have much time or energy to stay in touch with people.

So, wish me the best, and I'll try to post updates now and then if I'm able.

-Jennie

God Go With You 'Till We Meet Again

Today was commencement for the LTSG seniors. I just wanted to take a moment to congratulate them and express my heartfelt admiration for the work they've done.

Seniors, it has been a pleasure and an honor to get to know you. You truly deserve congratulations. Best wishes for your futures, and in the words of the hymn, "God go with you 'till we meet again."

Last Sunday (and last sermon) at Teaching Parish

This past Sunday was the final one for Steve and I at our Teaching Parish site. We went out with a bit of a bang, because we were both preaching as well (Steve preached for two services, I preached for the other two). I have to say, although I will not miss the commute every weekend and the amount of time I spent at Teaching Parish, it is a bit of a sad parting. Grace Lutheran was a great learning site, and our mentors, Pastor Kevin and Pastor Martha, did a great job. Still, I'm on to new things, and Grace will probably be hosting a new Teaching Parish student in the fall.

My sermon is below; I thought it went all right, but not great—then again, it's the end of the semester and I'm burnt out, so I probably don't have a very positive outlook right now. There were at least a few people who said it really spoke to them, so I'll count that as a success. Plus, the children's sermon (in which I proved that Steve was not a ghost) went off without a hitch, so that was a big relief. The text in the lectionary was Luke 24:36b-48, but we read through to the end of the book (verse 53). Enjoy!


Once, there was a girl who was baptized as a child and brought up in the Christian faith. Her faith was strong throughout her teenage years and she was active in the church—singing in the choir, going on confirmation retreats, helping with service events. But when she went away to college, she stopped going to church and gradually, she lost her faith. For many years after that, she did not believe in God.
—Can faith be lost? Can it be found again?
There was a group of friends talking about faith. One of them had been a Christian his whole life; another had recently joined a church. They spoke about how wonderful faith was, and what a comfort it was for them. The third friend became uncomfortable. The other two asked what was wrong; he replied, “I don’t have faith.” The friends told him that it was easy, he just had to believe in Jesus and go to church. But their friend answered, “No, it’s not that simple. If I could believe, I would, but I just can’t.”
—Where does faith come from? Can we find it if we try hard enough?
There was a man who grew up without any faith; his family was not religious, and he never went to church or read the Bible. He had a powerful conversion experience—he was inspired to accept Jesus Christ as his savior. He felt born again. His wife suggested that he be baptized, and the man replied, “Baptism? What’s that? Is that something I should know about?”
—What counts for faith? How much do you have to know?
At first glance, faith seems like an easy thing to understand. It just means believing in something, right? We could say that to have faith means that you believe the words of the Creeds, for example. Or faith means accepting Jesus as your savior. But everyone here has probably experienced that faith is not quite that simple. There are days and weeks and even years when we struggle to believe, or we wonder what it is we’re supposed to believe in. Talking with other Christians, we find that different people have very different understandings of what constitutes faith. We wonder where faith comes from and whether it’s a matter of understanding or feeling, effort or grace. We learn with time that faith is not an all-or-nothing thing, that you either have or you don’t. It seems that the longer you are on the journey of faith, the more you realize that it is a lifelong endeavor.
In our gospel reading from Luke, these questions about faith are also present. Though Luke does not mention the word “faith” or “belief” in this passage, the faith of the disciples is clearly at stake. It is the day of the resurrection; in the morning the women were at the empty tomb, in the afternoon two disciples were on the road to Emmaus, where they saw the risen Jesus but did not recognize him until he broke the bread—and then he disappeared. They rush back to Jerusalem, to discover that Jesus has also appeared to Peter. At that very moment, Jesus stands in the room with them. These events have happened very quickly; the disciples do not yet understand what is happening. They are stricken with terror, not joy, at the sight of Jesus; they think he is a ghost. The disciples are facing a crisis of faith—Jesus, their Lord, was arrested and killed, and now they think they are being haunted by his ghost.
Yet by the end of our reading, they are worshipping Jesus as he ascends into heaven. Clearly, this resurrection appearance has a profound effect on the faith of the disciples. If we consider the different parts of this Gospel text, we can see several pieces that help us to understand the disciples’ faith, and think about our own faith today.
When Jesus appears to the disciples in this passage, they believe they are seeing a ghost. Jesus proves to them that he is no spirit—he is flesh and blood, he eats and walks on the ground. The proofs Jesus gives to the disciples point out one source of faith: a faith based on seeing, touching, directly experiencing the object of faith. The disciples could literally feel Jesus’ hands, see that his feet touched the ground. Jesus tells them, “Look at my hands and feet... Touch me and see.” It is this direct experience that convinces the disciples. Clearly, there is a connection between direct experience and faith. If you see and touch the risen Jesus, it is clear why you would believe in the resurrection. If you see Jesus ascend into heaven, it is clear why you would worship him. Likewise, all the people of Jesus’ time who saw the miracles—the healings, the miraculous feedings, Jesus’ power over nature—believed in him. The old saying is true: Seeing is believing.
But what of us today? We do not walk and talk and eat with Jesus of Nazareth—is this experiential faith of the disciples impossible for us? Can we have a direct experience of God? Today, people wonder if there are still miracles, examples of God’s action, in our everyday lives. When Captain Sullenberger landed flight 1549 in the Hudson River a few months ago, many people saw an example of God’s miraculous action. Others saw only the skills of an excellent pilot. It is difficult, in this scientific and technological age, to prove that something is a miracle, that there is no other possible explanation. So are we left high and dry, unable to experience God? Indeed not. While we may never know for sure whether that plane landing was a miracle or not, we experience God’s miraculous presence among us every week. We know that we meet God here at the table each Sunday, and meet God at the font when we baptize a child of God. God is here in this space right now, and we do experience God’s presence—in the water of baptism, the bread and wine of communion, and the faces of our brothers and sisters in Christ.

The disciples are convinced by direct proofs that Jesus must not be a ghost, but rather a living being; then there is a shift in the story. Jesus begins to explain the Scriptures, what we would call the Old Testament, to the disciples. When Jesus teaches the disciples about the Scriptures, we can see a second element of faith. Luke says that Jesus “opened their minds” and that Jesus explains the ultimate purpose of his mission: “That the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations”. The Gospel of Luke is continued in the Book of Acts, which forms a second volume to this story. In the reading from Acts, we see this proclamation carried out—Peter proclaims this same repentance. Like Jesus, Peter also refers the people to the prophets, the Scriptures. Part of faith, for Christians and for Jews, is faith in the word of God. Jesus opens the minds of the disciples to the Scriptures so that they may believe in the words of Scripture; Peter does the same for the people to whom he preaches.
We, too, study the Bible not merely as an intellectual exercise or for our entertainment, but because we have faith in God’s word. That’s not to say that we have to agree with or believe every single verse of the Bible. But we understand the Scriptures as passing down core messages to us, and we believe in those core teachings. Jesus treats Scripture in the same way in the passage from Luke. When he explains the Scriptures, he does not go over every word; but he teaches the core message: “That the Messiah is to suffer and to rise from the dead on the third day, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations”. These exact words do not appear anywhere in the Old Testament; but this is the core teaching Jesus wants to draw out of the whole of the Scriptures and pass on to his disciples.

After the proofs and the teaching, a third section of the story begins. Jesus leads his disciples out to Bethany, where he ascends into heaven. It is not until this point that we really see the results of what comes before. As an audience, we are left in suspense for a little while, waiting to see if the disciples will understand, if they will really have faith in the risen Jesus. Then, in verse 52, we find out the answer: “They worshiped him, and returned to Jerusalem with great joy”. Worship is the response for those who believe that Jesus is the son of God; for the disciples to worship him here proves that they believe in him.
We, too, come to worship to express our faith, and we also worship to strengthen our faith. Worship binds us together as a community, reminding us that we are the body of Christ, the people of God; we are joined together by our faith and by our common worship. Like the disciples, our faith journeys lead us into worship, and like the disciples, they lead us out again into the world, from the worship service into service to the world.

Faith is not an easy thing. Sometimes it seems to come to us when we’re not even looking for it. Other times, it seems to disappear just when we need it most. Perhaps it is some comfort to know that faith has been a journey, a struggle, and an experience for all God’s people. The disciples in this passage in Luke are wrestling with faith just as we are in our lives today. Luke shows us that faith can be seen in many ways and from many sources: from direct experience, in the Scriptures, and through worship. This is only the tip of the iceberg of faith; but it’s a good start, wherever we are on our faith journeys.

A Comment About Comments

I've had a number of people ask me why they can't post comments on my blog, wondering if there is some error or perhaps I just don't know about the comments option.

I am aware that most blogs allow comments. I have chosen to disable them on mine because religion is always a controversial topic, because there are many people who tend to post stupid and hateful things on the internet, and because I don't have the time or energy to police comments at the moment. It's something I'm thinking about for the future, if this blogging thing continues, but right now I am going to keep things the way they are.

Most of you who read this blog know me personally. I always welcome comments and conversation via email or on facebook. I hope you can be flexible and respect the boundaries I'm trying to keep up. And I hope you keep reading and enjoying the blog!

Law and Gospel

While I was thinking about reviewing the Lutheran Study Bible, I was reminded of another topic that has been on my mind recently: the Lutheran concept of "law and gospel". Now, you may be a Lutheran and have never heard this specific terminology. Perhaps to the shock of my classmates, I can honestly say I had never heard the phrase "law and gospel" in my life before I entered seminary. I was baptized, raised, and confirmed in the Lutheran church—maybe it's a regional thing. I certainly hear enough about law and gospel out here.

The concept comes from Luther's writings, though it is not unique to Lutherans. Luther used law and gospel as a method of reading and interpreting Scripture. It is important to note that law and gospel is not supposed to be a parallel distinction to Old Testament and New Testament, or to Jewish thinking as opposed to Christian thinking (however, see below). Law is that which condemns us (and therefore forces us to recognize the need for God's grace). Gospel is that which proclaims that same grace. Any given text in the Bible can be seen as law or as gospel. For example, the Ten Commandments can be seen as law because they condemn us (because we fail to live up to their standards), but also as gospel because they are the words of God speaking to the Israelites who have been rescued from slavery. Likewise, the teachings of Jesus could be seen either as condemning (law) or proclaiming the good news (gospel).

As far as it goes, the law and gospel idea is pretty useful. It fits into the Lutheran teaching about salvation—that we cannot save ourselves, but are saved by God's grace. I have to confess, though, that I'm getting tired of hearing about it; I feel that it's being overused. At the same time, I have some serious concerns that the phrase runs the risk of serious misunderstanding. If I have to explain that by "law", I don't actually mean the law in the Old Testament, and by "gospel", I don't actually mean the Gospels in the New Testament, doesn't that indicate that I need to use some different terms?

Specifically, I worry that using "law and gospel" language encourages a negative view of Judaism and the Hebrew Scriptures. It is too easy to equate "law" with the Law, the Torah, and "gospel" with the Gospels and the rest of the New Testament. That naturally leads one to think that the Old Testament is all bad news or outdated, which is then replaced by the New Testament. (On the same note, the very names "Old Testament" and "New Testament" promote the same line of thought. One of my professors suggests calling the Old Testament the "Ancient Witness" instead.) When my professors or my fellow seminarians use the phrase "law and gospel", I know that they are not making these stereotyped assumptions—but what about all the other people, Lutheran or not, who are not familiar with the use of these terms? Why do we keep using language that is very easy to misinterpret and has the potential to be so harmful to people's understanding of the Bible?

Personally, I'm trying to avoid using "law and gospel" language. I can appreciate the value of the idea without using the same terminology. I just don't think we should hang on to certain language purely for the sake of tradition, especially when there are compelling reasons to do otherwise. Call the two "condemning word" and "word of grace", if you like. Just don't inadvertently teach a bad understanding of the Bible by using confusing language.

Book Review: Lutheran Study Bible

As you may or may not know, Augsburg Fortress has published a new Lutheran Study Bible (not to be confused with The Lutheran Study Bible, coming out in October from the Lutheran Church—Missouri Synod). This publication is part of the ELCA's "Opening the Book of Faith" initiative. Living at a Lutheran seminary, it was quite easy to get my hands on a copy, and I thought I'd post my impressions here.

To begin, both my husband and I were rather nervous about this Bible when we first heard about it. Do we really need a Lutheran study Bible?—after all, no denomination has a corner on the Bible. Is it just going to spout Lutheran catch phrases like "law and gospel" (expect another post on that topic soon)? Aren't there plenty of good study Bibles out there already? I was pleasantly surprised, however.

This Bible uses the New Revised Standard Version translation which is already used in Lutheran churches throughout the country, so you don't have to worry about the translation (unless you already were worried about the NRSV, I suppose). It's a unique shade of blue—Carolina blue, my professor from North Carolina explains gleefully. The notes are written by seminary and college faculty (and some others) from around the country, including a few of our professors here at Gettysburg—Dr. Hoffman wrote the notes for Mark, Dr. Stevens for Hosea, Dr. Largen for Jonah, Dr. Carlson for Colossians. Dr. Strobert, also on the faculty here, was on the board of consultants. I found the margin notes insightful, not just a sort of Lutheran soap box. They are divided into four categories: World of the Bible (historical details), Bible Concepts (theological ideas), Lutheran Perspective (here's the Lutheran-specific stuff), and Faith Reflection (application of the text). Each category has a different icon associated with it, making it very easy to tell at a glance what kind of note you're looking at. The notes are geared to an 8th grade reading level, which leads to an important point.

This is not an academic study Bible. I use the New Oxford Annotated Study Bible, which is aimed at a higher reading level and deals with some more complex notes (though any margin notes are bound to be limited in scope). I'm not at all saying this as a complaint about the Lutheran Study Bible; I'm just pointing out that "study Bible" can mean different things to different people. If you're looking for an every day Bible with basic notes to aid in understanding, this is a great Bible. If you're trying to do a text study to write a sermon or plan a class, probably you'll want another resource.

All in all, I am impressed with the Lutheran Study Bible. The notes are broad and easy to understand. There are some extra resources (for example, "Martin Luther on the Bible", "What Should We Expect When We Read the Bible?", "A Short Guide to Personal Bible Reading", and a "Bible Reading Plan") which offer some other insights. I would recommend it to anyone who was seeking a study Bible for everyday use.

Fascinating

I know I haven't posted in quite a while, but this was just too good to ignore. One of my classmates shared an article with us about the difficult passage in 1 Corinthians relating to women keeping their heads covered in church. The passage reads,

"Any man who prays or prophesies with something on his head disgraces his head, but any woman who prays or prophesies with her head unveiled disgraces her head—it is one and the same thing as having her head shaved. For if a woman will not veil herself, then she should cut off her hair; but if it is disgraceful for a woman to have her hair cut off or to be shaved, she should wear a veil. For a man ought not to have his head veiled, since he is the image and reflection of God; but woman is the reflection of man. Indeed, man was not made from woman, but woman from man. Neither was man created for the sake of woman, but woman for the sake of man. For this reason a woman ought to have a symbol of authority on her head, because of the angels. Nevertheless, in the Lord woman is not independent of man or man independent of woman. For just as woman came from man, so man comes through woman; but all things come from God. Judge for yourselves: is it proper for a woman to pray to God with her head unveiled? Does not nature itself teach you that if a man wears long hair, it is degrading to him, but if a woman has long hair, it is her glory? For her hair is given to her for a covering. But if anyone is disposed to be contentious—we have no such custom, nor do the churches of God."

It's definitely confusing. For a woman, praying or prophesying with hair unveiled is the same as having her head shaved? It is degrading for a man to have long hair, but glory for a woman? If a woman's hair "is given to her for a covering", why does she need an additional veil?

It turns out the answer is sex. I'll warn you right now that this post is going to be a bit adult, so stop here if you're likely to be offended. The explanation stems from the ancient Greek understanding (very different from our own) of human physiology, and reproduction in particular. The author of the article, Troy Martin, examines Greek medical authors such as Hippocrates as well as others, including Euripides and Aristophanes, to explain this ancient Greek model: "Ancient medical conceptions confirm this association. Hippocratic authors hold that hair is hollow and grows primarily from either male or female reproductive fluid or semen flowing into it and congealing . . . Since hollow body parts create a vacuum and attract fluid, hair attracts semen. Hair grows most prolifically from the head because the brain is the place where the semen is produced or at least stored." In other words, semen is produced and/or stored in the head, so human beings grow the most hair there; this hair acts as a vacuum to pull or attract the semen. Men develop more body hair than women because they need hair to pull the semen downward to the genital area so that they can expel it during intercourse. For the same reason, men should keep the hair on their heads short, so as not to hold back the semen. Women, on the other hand, should wear their hair long so that they can pull as much semen as possible into their bodies. (Yes, I know it's weird, but the Greeks thought a lot of weird things. Bear with me.)

This explains Paul's statement that long hair is degrading for men but not for women, because long hair impedes fertility for men, but improves it for women. So far, so good. The other key to understanding Paul in this passage has to do with the very strange statement "For her hair is given to her for a covering." It seems to contradict what Paul just said about women needing to veil their hair. In fact, the issue is a mistranslation of the word "covering" here. The same word in Greek is used by Euripides; in one of his plays, Hercules says, "After I received [my] bags of flesh, which are the outward signs of puberty, [I received] labors about which I [shall] undertake to say what is necessary." The word here translated as "bags of flesh" (obviously referring to his testicles) is the same word for "covering" in Paul. Using this and other evidence, Martin concludes that Paul is actually saying, "For her hair is given to her for a testicle." In other words, women (unlike men) do not have external genitalia; but a woman's hair functions as part of the reproductive process and is thus effectively an external sexual organ, like the testicles.

Now, as Paul says, "Judge for yourselves: is it proper for a woman to pray to God with her head unveiled?" If hair is considered a sexual organ ("if it is disgraceful for a woman to have her hair cut off or to be shaved"), then it makes perfect sense that hair should be covered during church, just as men cover their genitals during church. If, on the other hand, we have a different understanding of physiology, and we say that hair is not a sexual organ (as I think we would be comfortable saying today), then there is no longer a reason for hair to be covered in church. Martin concludes, "Paul appropriately instructs women in the service of God to cover their hair since it is part of the female genitalia. According to Paul's argument, women may pray or prophesy in public worship along with men but only when both are decently attired. Even though no contemporary person would agree with the physiological conceptions informing Paul's argument from nature for the veiling of women, everyone would agree with his conclusion prohibiting the display of genitalia in public worship. Since the physiological conceptions of the body have changed, however, no physiological reason remains for continuing the practice of covering women's heads in public worship, and many Christian communities reasonably abandon this practice."

And now you know. I think this example demonstrates why we study the Bible in the context of its original writers and audience—because what modern person would have figured out this explanation on his or her own?

(Quotations taken from "Paul's Argument From Nature for the Veil in 1 Corinthians 11:13-15: A Testicle Instead of a Head Covering" by Troy Martin, published in the Journal of Biblical Literature. Used with permission.)

Let's See If This Works...

Okay, I'm not sure this is going to work, but I'll give it a try. There's a website called Wordle (http://www.wordle.net) which allows you to put in large portions of text. It then creates an image of the words, where the most frequently used words are the largest. I put in the text of my senior paper from St. John's, which was on Paul's letter to the Romans. Here is the Wordle:

It's a neat program, because it allows you to see a text in a new way. It's especially cool for looking at Biblical passages; it really helps you see what's important.

EDIT: Okay, the Wordle is really tiny, so it's a bit hard to see. Check out the full-size version here.

Sermon: Mark 8:31-38

I gave my first sermon at my teaching parish congregation today, in spite of a pretty wicked head cold that struck sometime yesterday. The Gospel reading was Mark 8:31-38. Here's the sermon:

Pop quiz! Something very odd is happening at the beginning of the Gospel reading we just heard—did you catch it? Take a look at the first verse of the reading in your bulletins. Do you see it yet? “Jesus began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again.” What’s going on here?

The thing that’s strange in this passage involves the title “Son of Man”. Now, sometimes when I read the Bible, I find myself asking dumb questions. And in this case, when I read this passage to prepare for my sermon, I asked myself a dumb question: “Who is this Son of Man Jesus is talking about, anyway?” He shows up at the end of the reading, too: “The Son of Man will also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.” So who is this guy?

Now, of course, you can all recognize and tell me that the Son of Man is obviously a reference to Jesus himself—who, we know, is rejected by the religious authorities, killed, and rises again after three days. Jesus is talking about his own future in this passage—but then why does he not simply say, “These things will happen to me”? Why does he refer to himself in the third person? Is he trying to keep it a secret, so that only those closest to Jesus will know what he is really talking about? And why use this strange title “Son of Man”? It seems like “Son of God” would be a bit more appropriate for Jesus, don’t you think?

Those of you who really know your Bibles will be able to tell me that the title “Son of Man” is taken from the Old Testament book of Daniel, specifically from chapter 7 of that book. In Daniel 7, Daniel has a terrifying vision, and one part of his vision is described this way: “As I watched in the night visions, I saw one like a son of man coming with the clouds of heaven. And he came to the Ancient One and was presented before him. To him was given dominion and glory and kingship, that all peoples, nations, and languages should serve him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that shall not pass away, and his kingship is one that shall never be destroyed.” In this passage, Daniel takes the phrase “son of man” from its ordinary, expected meaning—just a human being—and turns it into a title for a glorious king who will rule forever. This Son of Man represents for Daniel the end of all oppression and pain for the people of God; finally, all the earthly kingdoms will pass away, and the one divine kingdom will take their place. The new king, the one like a son of man, will descend from heaven to take up this dominion, and will rule forever after.

Going back to our pop quiz, we still haven’t gotten to the really strange part of this Gospel reading. We’ve realized that Jesus is drawing the title “Son of Man” from Daniel and applying it to himself. The really strange part, though, is what Jesus says about the Son of Man—the way he understands that title. Listen one more time: “Jesus began to teach them that the Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again.” This Son of Man sounds nothing like the Son of Man in Daniel, who comes out of the clouds to begin an everlasting dominion. How could such a figure be condemned, suffer, and die? That does not fit into the idea of a heavenly king at all—or does it?

We have already noticed that Jesus is using the title “Son of Man” to refer to himself. And we know, as Christians, that the details Jesus gives about the Son of Man come from Jesus’ own story. The fact that Jesus suffered, died, and rose from the dead is the central fact about Jesus Christ. As Christians, we can’t get away from it—it defines who Jesus is for us. So I think it is easy for us to read over these words of Jesus too quickly: “Yeah, yeah, I already know about Good Friday and Easter Sunday. I've heard that story before.”

However, think for a moment about how Jesus’ disciples and the crowds who followed Jesus might have heard these words. They would be familiar with the Son of Man in Daniel, the glorious, divine king. Just a verse before our reading for today begins, the disciples identify that Jesus is the Messiah—the anointed one, a king in David’s line. These kingly ideas are all beginning to come together; it is clear that Jesus is someone truly special. Perhaps he would even be the one to overthrow the Romans, to bring an end to all the foreign rule and establish God’s rule for God’s people. Just imagine all the hopes and ideals that were centering on Jesus at this time!

And now imagine that you are one of the followers of Jesus; you think that he is the Messiah, the king of Israel. Jesus begins to talk about the Son of Man, and you get really excited. It must be true: Jesus is the king who will bring about God’s kingdom! And then you hear these words: “The Son of Man must undergo great suffering, and be rejected by the elders, the chief priests, and the scribes, and be killed, and after three days rise again.” This does not sound like the Son of Man at all! A king cannot rule if he is tortured and killed... can he?

It is no wonder that Peter rebukes Jesus. Not only is Jesus dashing their hopes of the divine kingdom; he is teaching these things openly, so that anyone could hear them. It’s a PR nightmare, we would say today. Imagine if a presidential candidate went around describing himself (or herself) as a great leader, and then said, “If you elect me, I’ll be executed!” It just doesn’t make any sense.

Jesus rebukes Peter, the other disciples, the crowd, and all of us when he says, “You are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things!” Too often, we try to make God in our own image, rather than recognizing that we were made in God’s. We get too hung up on how we think the world works to allow God to work in a new way. We let ourselves be swept up in pessimism and frustration, now just as much as in Jesus’ time. If there is to be a new, divine kingdom, then the new, divine king cannot be rejected and killed—right? If God is going to make a difference in the world, God must use the strong and the powerful—right? And if the strong and the powerful reject God, reject the divine kingdom, then there’s no hope for the world—right?

Jesus gives his followers, gives all of us, another alternative. In this passage, Jesus is re-visioning the way God works in the world. The divine king becomes a suffering servant, rejected and killed. And if that is the king, what of the subjects? What of those who want to be a part of the divine kingdom? They, too, are transformed: “If any want to become my followers,” Jesus says, “Let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me. For those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake, and for the sake of the gospel, will save it.” We see now that everything is turned on its head: when the divine king becomes a suffering servant, the whole way the world works is reversed. Now the followers, the entourage for this king, if you will, must also take up a cross and lose their lives. We might expect, given what we know about the world, that the suffering of the king and the death of his followers signaled the ultimate failure of the divine kingdom. We might be jaded, pessimistic, without hope for the world.

But as Christians, we know that the cross is not the end, that the story does not end on Good Friday, but drives onward to Easter Sunday. The Son of Man dies, yes, but rises again. The followers lose their lives—but by losing their lives, they save them. This is truly a new thing: Jesus is turning everything on its head. He is envisioning an end to the self-serving rat race that is too often the nature of the world; no longer will the strong, the rich, the powerful, rule over the weak, the poor, and the marginalized. Instead, those who willingly accept lowliness, who lose their lives for the sake of the suffering king whom they follow—they will actually save their lives.

Jesus’ words to the disciples and the crowd also speak to us here and now. As Christians, we proclaim a crucified and risen Lord; we recognize our king to be the suffering servant. However, it is not enough to just recognize the suffering of Jesus, not enough to just remember the cross. We, too, must take up our crosses and fall into our places behind Jesus. We too, must suffer and give up our lives. For to follow Jesus means to follow him all the way to the cross and the tomb.

There is a well-known hymn called “The Lord of the Dance”. In one of the verses, we hear the voice of Jesus: “I danced on a Friday when the sky turned black/ It's hard to dance with the devil on your back/ They buried my body and they thought I'd gone/ But I am the Dance and I still go on!” The chorus calls to us, “Dance then, wherever you may be/ I am the Lord of the Dance, said He!/ And I'll lead you all, wherever you may be/ And I'll lead you all in the Dance, said He!” To be followers of Jesus, we must take up our crosses and follow him into the grave; but we do so joyfully, like dancers. We know that death is not the end of the story, that there is an Easter for all of us just as there was for Jesus. We follow the suffering king, giving up our own lives in the process, and we do so like partners in a dance.

Belated

A day late... and a dollar short, too, I suppose (though I don't know what that would mean in this context). I have an open question for today's post, something that I have not thought about extensively myself but which is currently bothering me. First, a little background.

My Reformations class is currently looking at Luther and those who followed (or ceased to follow) him. Today, we talked a little bit about the conflicts between Luther and Karlstadt. Both were professors at the University of Wittenburg. They began as rivals, then Karlstadt was convinced by Luther's arguments and became his follower. However, their ideas quickly began to diverge, and eventually they parted ways entirely, on none-too-friendly terms. One of the conflicts between Luther and Karlstadt, as among any reformers, was the question of how to implement reform.

This is a sketch in very rough strokes (and I'm no expert), but it seems that Luther was much more interested in gradual change, taking into account the effect that his radical changes would have on many of those around him. As one of my professors put it last semester, Luther was theologically radical, but liturgically conservative; even though his theology led to profound changes in practice, he was cautious in instituting those changes because of his pastoral concern for those who would be affected. Karlstadt, on the other hand, was passionate that these changes (in liturgy, society, academia, etc.) must take place immediately, at any cost. Those who disagreed had to be forced to see the truth.

The issue (okay, one of the issues) at stake was that of Christian freedom. Both Luther and Karlstadt were profoundly affected by this idea, which in a nutshell states that, because God has already saved through grace, the Christian is utterly free, no longer bound by sin or death or anything else. (It is important to note that this concept was closely tied by Luther to an idea of service, leading him to say that the Christian is "servant to none" and simultaneously "servant to all".) Since Christians are free, they should not be constrained by law or any authority, papal or secular. For Karlstadt, this meant that he could throw all caution to the wind in implementing the reforms he saw necessary. As a result, there were numerous riots and other violent conflicts that took place. It was as though these reformers were saying, "We know the truth now, so we will force it on everybody else, like it or no."

Luther did not approve of this violent approach, although I'm not certain exactly what he would have done differently. However, the principle of Christian freedom, if taken to its extreme (as the reformers did), faces a contradiction in the model of Karlstadt: for Karlstadt, his freedom was absolute, but the freedom of those who disagreed with him was limited. True Christian freedom means that the reformers must be free to make reforms, but equally, the conservatives must be free to deny those reforms. Or to put it more bluntly: You are free to reform the church, but you must also admit the freedom of others to pigheadedly ignore your arguments for reform.

It seems that there is a similar problem in some Christian theology today, though it is not generally as violent as it was in the 16th century. We may feel that freedom should be a universal right for all; but that means we must also allow that freedom for those who would deny our view of freedom. We must be willing to admit that even those who resist reform have just as much Christian freedom as we do. How, then, is any reforming to get done? Perhaps certain groups or certain geographic areas can agree on a reform sooner than others; but the lines are not always drawn so clearly. In the ELCA, there has been a lot of what might be considered "pussyfooting" with regard to difficult issues present in the church today (such as gay marriage, ordination of gays, abortion, and so on)—the church is trying to make room for the freedom of both sides. However, this seems like it can only be a temporary measure, so I wonder how we can preserve our idea of Christian freedom without forcing some to feel marginalized or compelled.

Theophany

Sorry about the missed post on Friday... I was abducted by Biblical literalists. Just kidding, I was actually just tired and lazy.

Today in Exodus class, we discussed Exodus chapter 3, the theophany (appearance of God) at the burning bush. This chapter is especially interesting, because it includes the account of God revealing his (God's, sorry for the non-gender-inclusive language, but that's the subject for another post) personal name to Moses. In order to understand the significance of this, it helps to know a bit of Hebrew.

In Hebrew, the word for god (any god, not just the God of the Israelites) is El. This is included in other names for God, such as El-Shaddai (something like "almighty God"). El can be used in Hebrew to refer to any god. When the God of Israel is meant, it is almost always written Elohim, which is actually the plural form of El. This is understood as a "plural of majesty", like the use of the "royal we" in English. As far as I can tell, the God of Israel is always referred to in this plural form, Elohim. However, the use of El or Elohim or compound names like El-Shaddai is really the use of titles, not personal names. This makes sense in English, as well; when we say "god," it could be any god; it's simply the title we use to denote a deity.

The personal name of God is another matter. It is referred to as the Tetragrammaton, which literally means "four-letter name," because it is written with four consonants in Hebrew: YHWH. (Keep in mind that the Hebrew alphabet has no vowels, only consonants; vowel markings have been added to the text, but all the meaning of the words in contained in the consonants.) It can also be referred to as Hashem, which simply means "the name". This name is treated with immense reverence among Jews. For Christians, it is often something of a mystery, and there is a lot of disagreement about how to treat the Tetragrammaton in scholarship and Biblical study.

In Exodus 3, the personal name of God is related to the Hebrew verb "to be". Moses asks God's name, and God responds, "I will be what I will be" (in many translations, "I am what I am"). The Hebrew transliteration of this phrase is Ehyeh asher ehyeh, where ehyeh is the verb meaning "I will be" (it is in the future tense; Hebrew has no present tense). However, this response from God does not include the Tetragrammaton, and it is a bit of a mystery how the Tetragrammaton relates to this phrase. Scholars hypothesize that the word ehyeh, which is spelled with the letters 'HYH, would be changed to YHYH, which would be the third person singular instead of the first person singular—"he will be". Then it is conceivable that the third letter changed from Y into W (because Hebrew just does things like that), resulting in YHWH. This conclusion is by no means certain, and it is a bit tangential to the topic at hand, so I'll leave it be.

What I'm particularly interested in is how the name YHWH should be treated today, especially by Christians. In Jewish thought, especially orthodox Judaism, the name of God should never be spoken (think of the Ten Commandments—"You shall not make wrongful use of the name of the LORD your God"). Indeed, this reverence was taken so seriously that when the Masoretic texts were compiled (remember the Masoretes from an earlier post?) and the vowel markings added, the name of God was marked in such a way that it is impossible to read it aloud. This is a bit hard to understand, but I'll try to explain; in Hebrew, every consonant must take a vowel. The name of God, YHWH, would therefore need to have four vowel markings (one per letter), but it only has two. Instead of reading the name of God, the person reading the Scriptures would say Adonai, which means "my lords" (again using the plural of majesty). This is why most translations of the Bible use LORD (in all caps) wherever the Tetragrammaton appears. However the name of God might have been pronounced back before the Scriptures were written down, that pronunciation has been lost to time—no one actually knows how YHWH should be pronounced.

So for Jews, YHWH is always read as Adonai, because the name of God is considered too holy to speak aloud. What about Christians? There is no consensus. Many Christians and scholars took to using the word Yahweh for YHWH, and this is still common today. However, inserting vowels into YHWH—whatever vowels we might choose to use—is very offensive to orthodox Jews, because it is an attempt to pronounce the name of God. The same goes for the name Jehovah, which comes from German (in German, the J takes the place of the Y, and the V the place of the W). Why should we, as Christians, care? Well, some Christians argue that we shouldn't care. In Jesus Christ, we are given a personal connection to God which allows us, in effect, to speak God's name with impunity. Theologically, this may be true (I'm a bit skeptical), but the counter argument is that we should be very concerned with how we treat our Jewish brothers and sisters. It has even been argued, in very provocative papers, that the use of "Yahweh" by Christians contributed to anti-Semitism and ultimately the treatment of Jews during the Holocaust.

This is ultimately a matter of personal piety, and not something that should be forced on Christians. In my experience, most Christians do not even think about the importance surrounding the name of God, and there is little understanding of the language and history behind this issue. My intention is to raise the question and hopefully provide some information to those who might not know why the personal name of God is so significant. Personally, I've become uncomfortable with using "Yahweh". Having a little more reverence in our treatment of God also appeals to me—yes, as Christians we believe that God came down and lived among us, and that is a marvelous thing. But perhaps we can worship a little more by bringing in more reverence in our speaking of and experiencing God.

In Defense of Biblical Non-Literalism

A very touchy subject for today's post, so let me begin with a disclaimer. I'm not trying to tell anyone how to read the Bible, and I'm not forcing my opinion on anyone else. Feel free to disagree with me. It just seems that for some, the Bible must be read literally or not at all; to read the Bible non-literally is seen almost as an act of cowardice, as though the non-literal reader can't face the truth. I very much disagree with that claim. I think that non-literal readings of the Bible are equally as valid as literal readings, and that taking a "middle way" with respect to the Scriptures can have very positive consequences. As I say, I do not intend to change minds with this post, but merely to explain my own position.

The ELCA (Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, for those who don't know) recently published a little book about reading the Bible titled Opening the Book of Faith. In it, one of the authors, Mark Allan Powell, addresses the question "Do you believe the Bible? Do you believe it literally?"

He responds, "I'm not sure how to answer that. I believe the literal parts literally. And I believe the metaphorical parts metaphorically. When the Bible says, 'The Lord is my shepherd' (Ps 23:1), I believe that, but I don't think I believe it literally. If the Lord were literally my Shepherd, then wouldn't I have to be a literal sheep? And I'm not. The Bible says God is a rock (Ps 18:31). I believe that. But I don't believe it literally."

This already assumes, of course, that some parts of the Bible are meant to be read differently than other parts—that some parts are literal, others metaphorical. Then there are disagreements over which parts (if any) are indeed literal. Some scholars take a very radical view of what texts are metaphorical, even doubting if Jesus' life has any historical basis. I find it helpful to think about what was the author's likely intention. Obviously, this cannot be known with certainty; but much of the Biblical criticism that I have to study here at the seminary is concerned with those sorts of questions. Studying a text in this way will probably never lead to complete consensus over how it should be read, but it allows one to make informed decisions for one's self. Part of the reason I find studying Hebrew so fascinating is because of the insights it offers into the society of the Old Testament, which allows me to better understand how the Old Testament might have been meant by the people who wrote it.

What does it mean to say that the Bible is the Word of God? Does it mean that every word has equal value and must be taken literally? Or does it mean that the Scriptures give a faithful witness to who God is and how God acts in the world, without requiring that every verse is taken at face value? I'm inclined to believe the latter. In Opening the Book of Faith, Powell says, "[By 'The word of God'], we do not mean, 'the Bible is a book that contains no errors or contradictions'. We mean, 'the Bible is the book that tells us what God wants to say to us'. That puts a different spin on things. For the most part, Lutherans are more interested in understanding the Bible than they are in defending it. We don't think that we have to prove that the Bible is the word of God—we just believe that it is the Word of God, and then we focus on asking, 'What does God have to say to us?'"

I agree with Powell's perspective. I find it far more fruitful to read the Bible and try to understand what it says to me, to my Christian community, to the world—accepting that not every verse will speak to me in the same way or at the same time—than to try to hold the Scriptures together as an inerrant monolith that has to be taken whole cloth or not at all. You certainly don't have to agree with this way of reading the Bible. But consider that it may be a very lively and faithful way of listening to God's Word.

Things You Never Really Wanted to Know About Ancient Egypt

As I've mentioned before, one of the classes I'm taking this semester is on the book of Exodus. In addition to translation work and reading through our textbook (Exodus, by Terence Fretheim, part of the Interpretation commentary series), we are doing small projects throughout the semester based on the different sections of the Exodus text we are examining. This week, the text is Exodus chapter one; and my assignment was to consider the socio-historical context surrounding this first chapter of the book. Now, if you grab your Bible and read the first chapter of Exodus, or read it on your computer through the wonders of the internet, you'll notice a few obvious questions regarding socio-historical context. The first group of questions would revolve around Pharaoh and his oppression of the people of Israel—who is this Pharaoh, when did he rule, where are Pithom and Rameses located, what was it like to work on these projects, etc. The second group has to do with those midwives—how were midwives understood in Ancient Egypt, what was their role in giving birth, and what's up with that birthing stool? Well, you're about to find out. [Note: if you happen to be in my Exodus class, or perhaps are the professor of my Exodus class, consider this your spoiler alert.]

So, the questions about Pharaoh first. As the commentaries on Exodus will tell you, the book of Exodus provides very little historical detail that would allow readers to date the story. The name of the Pharaoh in question is not even mentioned. Combine that with the fact that there is no extra-Biblical evidence of the Exodus (that is, no records from Egypt or anywhere else that relate the same details of this narrative), and it's apparent why the historical context would be difficult to establish. However, the cities of Pithom and Rameses (or Pi-Rameses, the prefix "pi" means "city of") are real places, and the garrisons were built under the reign of Pharaohs living in the 14th and 13th centuries BCE. This suggests that the pharaoh mentioned in Exodus 1 might be Rameses II, known as Rameses the Great, though this conclusion is by no means certain. Rameses II is known for his extensive and elaborate building projects, which he preferred to construct using foreign labor (Anchor Bible Dictionary, vol. 2, page 697). There are Egyptian documents relating the harsh life of physical laborers, so we can imagine that the oppression of the people of Israel was very severe.

As for the story about the midwives also brings up questions regarding birth practices in Ancient Egypt. Luckily for me, the seminary librarian is an Egyptologist, and he was happy to share his knowledge on the subject. For one, the "birth stool" (or "delivery stool") is not like the stool you might imagine for births today—a wide stool with a big hole in the middle that the woman can sit on. Rather, the Ancient Egyptian birth stool would be more like a birth brick; it was a rectangular object which would have been on the ground, less for sitting on and more to keep the mother and child out of the dirt. In fact, Ancient Egypt had a goddess of the birth stool, who was a brick with a face on it. You can see it in the famous papyrus from the Book of the Dead: she's the little black rectangle just above the figure in the center, to the left of Anubis (the jackal-headed god). As for midwives, there wasn't a profession of "midwife" as there is in some cultures, but it was assumed that several women would be present at the birth to help the mother and child through what was clearly a dangerous event. For the Hebrew midwives in the Exodus narrative to say that the Hebrew women were so hearty that they needed no help giving birth was obviously a jab at the Egyptians, whose women were so weak by comparison.

It's remarkable to me how much can be drawn out of a very short Biblical text; in just a few verses, there is a world of information and questions to be found. What I have written here barely scratches the surface of socio-historical context, not to mention the theological or literary aspects of the text. Still, this is at least an introduction to the kind of socio-historical questions that can be investigated in a text like Exodus.

Apocalyptic

I think one of my most interesting classes this semester will be the elective I'm taking on the book of Daniel. In our first class last week, we discussed apocalyptic literature in general, and I found it really fascinating. So here's a post on what must surely be the most cheerful topic: the apocalypse! (That was sarcasm, people.)

The first important distinction to note is the difference between an apocalypse and apocalyptic. "Apocalype" is a precise genre of literature, whereas "apocalyptic" can refer more broadly to ways of thinking or attitudes which may be present even in texts which are not "apocalypses". The word "apocalypse", which in modern usage is taken to mean "the end of the world" or perhaps "cataclysm", actually means "revelation" or "disclosure". Hence, the most famous apocalypse, the Revelation of John in the New Testament, begins "The revelation of Jesus Christ" (Greek Apocalypsis Iesou Christou). I won't describe the precise definition of "apocalypse" used by scholars, but will note that in the Bible, there are only two books which meet that definition: Revelation and Daniel.

However, there are passages or images which are said to be "apocalyptic", and to the meaning of this adjective I will turn. The simplest definition of "apocalyptic" would probably be "relating to or sharing common elements with apocalypses". However, my professor listed nine characteristics which can be termed "apocalyptic", and these examples will be of more use in understanding the term.

First, apocalyptic is characterized by an understanding of two worlds; one of these worlds would be the one we know and inhabit, the other would be the world to come, however we understand that. It may be an afterlife or a spirit-world, or it may not. The point is the dualism between what we know from our experience, and another, different world we have not (yet) experienced.

Second, this world, the one in which we live, is under the power of evil (or the Evil One) and is unredeemable. That is, it is beyond saving; this world is so far gone, it can never be right again. Third, God has set a limit to this world—there will be an end, and in apocalyptic thought, the end is coming soon. In fact, the immediacy of the end is the fourth characteristic of apocalyptic.

The fifth characteristic is a belief that no matter how chaotic this world may seem (and it usually seems very chaotic indeed, to apocalyptic thinking), God is in control of the course of history. The reins are still in God's hands. This would also imply that the inevitable, fast-approaching end of this world is also in God's control. Likewise, the sixth characteristic is a belief that the future is preordained.

Seventh, the other world, the world to come, is a radically new creation. It will not be like this world; it will be very different. Most importantly, the powers of evil which reign in this world will not exist at all in the world to come. However, the transition will not be easy; the eighth characteristic is a conviction that the coming of the new world requires a catastrophic end to the present world.

Ninth, and serving as a summary of all these characteristics, is the statement that apocalyptic is the unveiling of reality in collapse. The world is chaotic and overrun by evil; it will pass away violently to make way for the world to come; and this collapse and upheaval is the revealing of God's plan for the world.

It is easy to see apocalyptic passages or elements throughout the Bible. The story of the destruction of the flood in Genesis has apocalyptic elements; there is a "little apocalypse" in Isaiah (Isaiah 24) and one in Mark (Mark 13). Chapter 8 of Romans describes an apocalyptic vision: "I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory about to be revealed to us. For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; for the creation was subjected to futility, not of its own will but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labor pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the first fruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly while we wait for adoption, the redemption of our bodies."

While the whole of the Bible is certainly not apocalyptic in character, the apocalyptic mindset makes itself known frequently enough that it is worth considering. In order to understand Romans, or Mark, or Isaiah, and certainly to understand Daniel or Revelation, we have to consider the apocalyptic way of thinking. It seems dark and depressing, but at the same time it is profoundly hopeful in some sense—God is going to remake creation in order to make a better world. It presents God as immensely powerful, but not arbitrary; God discerns the deep problems in the world around us (think of poverty, disease, hunger, war) and envisions something better. Perhaps when one is in deepest darkness and oppression, it is vital to believe that God can and will make all things new.

Another Post About Text Criticism

Okay, actually, this post is about source criticism. What's the difference? I'm so glad you asked! When it comes to Biblical scholarship, there are a lot of critical fields, each of which focuses on a different aspect of the Scriptures. Textual criticism investigates the physical text, the words on the paper (or papyrus, or vellum), and tries to figure out which manuscript or reading is the most accurate. Literary criticism examines the Scriptures from the point of view of literature; for example, considering the poetic elements used in a passage. There are many more. Today, I thought I'd talk about source criticism, which examines the possible sources of a text. Who wrote a particular book of the Bible? Where did the author live? When was he or she writing?

One example of source criticism would be, who wrote the Pentateuch, the first five books of the Bible? They are traditionally attributed to Moses, but anyone who reads the end of Deuteronomy quickly realizes that Moses could not have written an account of his own death. Through this and many other more complex considerations, scholars try to determine the authorship of the Scriptures.

In the case of the Gospels, one of the major questions posed by source criticism is, "Which Gospel was written first?" Traditionally, Matthew was thought to be first, which is why it was placed first in the New Testament. Scholars today generally agree that Mark is the oldest Gospel, followed by Luke and Matthew (though there is disagreement about which of these two was written first), with John being the latest Gospel. Matthew, Mark, and Luke are referred to as the "synoptic Gospels", which means that—as can be seen easily from reading them—they are roughly parallel. John is the oddball; it includes stories none of the other Gospels include, and leaves other, sometimes very significant, stories out. One of the most striking examples of this is the Last Supper; John has no account of this meal with Jesus and his disciples.

The question came to be raised, "Why are the synoptic Gospels so similar, with John being so different from all three?" It would seem reasonable to assume that the Synoptic Gospels were drawing on similar material, such as stories passed down by word of mouth, or even that the authors were aware of one another's work in some way. The most popular (though certainly not the only) theory regarding the Synoptic Gospels is called the "Two-Source Hypothesis", along with its closely related cousin, the "Four-Source Hypothesis". These theories assume that Mark was the earliest Gospel, and that Matthew and Luke both knew Mark's Gospel when they wrote their own accounts. This would explain why most of the stories in Mark are repeated in Matthew and Luke. However, there is also material found in both Matthew and Luke which is not in Mark, suggesting another common source used by Matthew and Luke, but not Mark. This source, which has never actually been found, is theoretically known as Q (from German Quelle, meaning "source"). Mark and Q, thus, are the two sources of the Two-Source Hypothesis. Since Matthew and Luke also have material unique to their Gospel accounts, some scholars imagine that they had other sources, possibly oral, possibly written, which were not shared by the other Gospels writers. These sources are referred to as M, for Matthew's source, and L, for Luke's. (source criticism does not require creativity in coming up with these names). Adding M and L to Mark and Q gives you the Four-Source Hypothesis.

Again, this is a very simplified explanation, but I think it gives a pretty good overview of source criticism and the understanding of how the Gospel sources relate to one another. I promise, I won't keep doing Biblical criticism posts all semester.

Hebrew or Greek?

My class on Exodus began today. A large portion of the classwork, as I mentioned in my last post, will be translation from either the Hebrew or the Greek. It's pretty much assumed in seminary, as it was back at St. John's, that reading a text in its original language is important–even vital—to understanding it. In the case of the Old Testament, this raises a question: why the Septuagint?

The Septuagint is the Greek translation of the Old Testament, commonly referred to as LXX, the Roman numerals for 70. LXX refers to the legend surrounding the Septuagint: 70 rabbinic scholars went out in pairs to translate the Hebrew Scriptures into Greek. When they returned, all 35 translations were identical, proving (according to the legend) that the Greek translation was inspired by God. Even here, we can see the question being raised: if the Scriptures have been translated, are they still as reliable as the original? That is a question even today. In the case of translating from the Septuagint, we run up against the issue: the Septuagint is a translation. Isn't it on the same level as reading an English translation?

In short, the answer is no. The Septuagint is something of a special case as far as translation goes. To understand why, it is necessary to look at textual criticism—the study of the physical texts, the words that were written onto actual pages (papyri, technically) and passed down to us. In the case of the Hebrew text, the standard text used is called the Masoretic Text, or MT, which actually refers to a family of texts recorded by the Masoretes, who worked in the period from about 600 to 900 CE. You can see how late this is relative to the Scriptures themselves, which were in a finalized oral tradition as early as 400 BCE (in the case of the Pentateuch, the first five books of the Old Testament)—a thousand or more years before. The specific text used, the one you find if you buy any copy of the Hebrew Scriptures in Hebrew, is called the Leningrad Codex, and it dates from about 1000 CE. In short: when you're translating the Old Testament from Hebrew, you're actually using a manuscript that was written down 1400 years after the texts were finalized, not to mention when they were originally composed. Now, to be fair, the oral tradition which passed down the Hebrew Scriptures, and the Masoretes who eventually recorded them in the form we know today, treated the words with the utmost veneration. Even obvious errors, the typos of the ancient world, were not corrected because the Word of God was too sacred to change. (Instead, the Masoretes made marginal notes with the corrected text.)

What about the Septuagint? Well, for one thing, the text is much more complicated. It's actually a patchwork of many different texts, fragments that have been edited together to make a cohesive whole. But the translation into Greek began not all that long after the Pentateuch was finalized—sometime around 250 BCE. So the Greek translation is actually much closer to the origins of the Hebrew Scriptures than either the Masoretes or the Leningrad Codex.

Obviously, this is an oversimplification of the issue, and text criticism is a very complex field (in which I am clearly no expert). But the point I'm trying to make is simply that the Greek translation of the Old Testament is very ancient, so it bears more weight in terms of its authority that just any translation made from Hebrew manuscripts today. Another interesting note is that, in the case of Exodus, the Masoretic Text and the Septuagint are effectively identical. That is, there are not clear differences in the texts—the Septuagint seems to be a faithful translation of the Hebrew text we have today. Again, the oral tradition from which both derive was held in extremely high regard; it was passed down with great care, as we can see from the stability of the text over more than a thousand years. And there's your very brief introduction to text criticism. Hope you enjoyed it as much as I did!

New Classes

So it's Friday... time for one of those blog things. I just completed my paper for my January term course: Music of Spiritual and Religious Formation. The class was very enjoyable; the paper, significantly less so. Still, it's done, and that is a relief.

I also just finished my first two days of classes, so today seemed like a good day to let you in on my spring class schedule. This semester had room for a few electives, which I'm really looking forward to. First, the required courses: I'm taking a history class on Luther and the Reformations, focusing mostly on Luther but also on Zwingli and Calvin as well as the Catholic and English Reformations. I'm also continuing with Church's Worship and Integrative Seminar from last semester. The last required class is Witness of the Gospels, the introductory New Testament class on (believe it or not) the Gospels. It involves a lot of work with Greek, not translation but exegesis based on the original text. Getting back into Greek after three years' absence will be quite painful.

I'm taking two electives, both on the Old Testament. The first is on Exodus, taught by the professor I had last semester for Intro to the Old Testament and for Hebrew. It's going to have a heavy translation component, with passages to translate each week from either the Hebrew or Greek (using the Septuagint, the Greek translation of the Old Testament), depending on which language the student knows. (Hebrew is not required for students here, so they give the Septuagint option for those who have only studied Greek). The class should be really interesting, considering that Exodus is the central story of the people of Israel. I'm also excited to keep using my Hebrew from last semester. The other is titled Daniel and Apocalyptic; it's primarily about the book of Daniel, but it's also covering apocalyptic literature in general.

So all in all, a lot of Biblical classes this semester. I'm basically getting all of my Old Testament electives out of the way at once. Still, I have to say the electives sound much more interesting than the required classes. Once the learning starts up again, you can look forward to blog posts that are actually about something.

That Tricky Thing Called "Love"

I had a conversation with a friend recently in which she confessed that she had been reading Twilight. I was somewhat horrified, unjustly so because I have not read the books nor seen the movie. Still, there's something about angsty teenage vampire romance that I just can't handle.

This post is not about Twilight. But the conversation I had with my friend got me thinking about love, in all its confusing meanings. Part of the problem, of course, is that the English language uses "love" to refer to a lot of different things. In Greek, there's eros, erotic love, philos, friendship or non-sexual love, and agape, charity or Christian love. In modern society, there is something of an obsession with romantic love, and I think that is what most people mean when they talk about love. We see it in movies and on TV—nearly every film or show has to have a romantic interest of some sort. You can't watch an hour of TV without seeing ads for dating services and the people who fell madly in love thanks to them. Books like Twilight feed on our infatuation with love stories. It is not a purely modern phenomenon, of course—look at Jane Austen, or Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre. The idea of people being meant for each other, of finding one's true love and living happily ever after, is powerfully present all around us.

Please don't misunderstand me. I don't have anything against romantic love itself. I am very much in love with my husband, and the romantic love that we share is a great blessing in my life. What concerns me, what I want to bring up in this post, is the idea that romantic love is the be-all and end-all of human endeavors. Too often I think that romantic love is placed as the highest goal for people to achieve, and the goal which we must not fail to reach. There is a sense that, if you cannot fall in love with someone and have a storybook romance, you have failed in some deep, unforgivable way.

The Bible points to a different reality. There, we find an image of God who is loving, and God's love is extraordinary: "The LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, keeping steadfast love for the thousandth generation" (Exodus 34:6-7). This is not human, romantic love; it is something wholly different. Then we discover that there is a different, transforming human love as well; in the New Testament, it is called agape. Paul famously described it in 1 Corinthians 13: "Love is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful; it does not rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things."

How different is this from our idea of romantic love! Romantic love is jealous, suspicious, and self-centered—and it is understandably so. If you love one particular person, and want that person to love you in return, your love is naturally going to be particular and selfish. Again, there is nothing wrong with this love; but isn't agape a higher form of love? I think of C. S. Lewis' The Great Divorce, where he describes an image of heaven. His character meets a woman there and his mentor tells him, "Every man who met her was her lover." What he means is that this woman's love was so pure and divine, that it was shared with every person around her. This woman did not share romantic love with one person; she shared agape with every person, selflessly and universally.

Soren Kierkegaard also described agape in his Works of Love. He says that a good test of your love for others is to go to a cemetery and love the people in the graves. That way, you know you are not loving them because of who they are or what they could do for you—you are not even loving them in order to receive love from them in return. Your love is truly universal and selfless.

While romantic love certainly has a place in our human relationships, I would like to see a greater focus given to the love described by Paul, C. S. Lewis, and Kierkegaard. That is the love we are called to as Christians; that is the love towards which we should aim.

Update: I swear, I did not read the following before I wrote this blog post, but check out the Dinosaur Comic from last Wednesday. Might as well close up shop here, I've been outclassed.

New Year, New Term, New Blog Post

Hello all! I'm back from vacation: rest, relaxation, and many hours of my life devoted to playing Mass Effect. I started my J-term class today—Music of Spiritual and Religious Formation. Hopefully Dr. Folkemer will forgive me for saying so, but it's a music appreciation class. We're going to learn about different kinds of music in different times and places, from Gregorian chant to black Gospel to Taize to Asian music, while considering how music affects spirituality and religion. But at the end of the day, it's a class where we sit around and listen to music. It'll be a nice, relaxing way to spend J-term. Oh yeah, and we have to write a ten-page paper when we're finished. I guess you can't win 'em all...

While I was on blogging hiatus, I decided to do things a little bit differently here this semester. I'm still interested in posting and keeping you all up-to-date with my seminary experiences, but the amount of time the blog has been taking up has been pretty substantial. I've decided to go to updating twice a week instead of three times a week. That means less time commitment for me, and fewer lame filler posts for you all. Look forward to new posts Mondays and Fridays!