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.