Thesis: Absurdity in Qohelet

One of the projects I've been working on this year—in between approval, assignment, and my regular classwork—is a master's thesis. The M.Div. program does not require a thesis, but it can be taken on as an elective (in which case it's treated as an independent study).

I have been researching and, more recently, writing on the Old Testament book of Qohelet. You may know it by its Greek title, Ecclesiastes. You may also know it as the book that inspired "Turn, Turn, Turn," since the poem "To everything there is a season" (in chapter 3) is its most famous section.

There is a lot more to Qohelet than "Turn, Turn, Turn." The book presents a surprisingly contemporary approach to issues including meaning and worth in life, divine justice, and death. My thesis is nearly complete now, so I decided to make a visual representation using Wordle. Wordle creates a word cloud based on the thesis text; in the cloud, larger words are those that appear more often.

Take a look:

March 6 Sermon - Transfiguration Sunday

I preached this past weekend for Transfiguration Sunday. I did something a little different with my sermon this time around: I enlisted some help from the congregation to do a sermon drama. I used this as a way to explain Moses' and Elijah's stories and their relevance to the Transfiguration event. My "actors" did a wonderful job, and I was pleased with the sermon.

(The text was Matthew 17:1-9.)

In our gospel reading for today, Jesus takes three of his disciples, Peter, James, and John, and climbs a high mountain. [Jesus walks up to the altar steps.] In this high and holy place, Jesus is transfigured; his face shines and his clothes dazzle. Suddenly, there appears to them Moses and Elijah...

[Moses and Elijah appear from the sacristy. Jesus stands between them. Peter, James, and John kneel in awe.]

Moses: I am Moses, the great leader of the people of Israel. I was called by God to lead the people out of their slavery in Egypt. I spoke to God face-to-face on a mountain, Mount Sinai. There God gave me the law to give to the people. Though I died before we entered the promised land, it is said that another prophet like me will arise. For it is written in the Torah, the law, “The LORD your God will raise up for you a prophet like me from among your own people; you shall heed such a prophet.”

Elijah: I am Elijah, a man of God and a prophet of the Lord. I was faithful to God even when my life was in danger. God met me on a mountain and spoke to me, instructing me to anoint kings and promising to preserve those who remained faithful. I was lifted up to heaven by a chariot of fire in a whirlwind, and it is said that I will return. For it is written in the prophets, “I will send you the prophet Elijah before the great and terrible day of the Lord comes.”

Moses: Jesus is the prophet like me!

Elijah: Elijah has returned!

Peter: [stands] What is this we are seeing? Six days ago, I called Jesus the Messiah and the Son of God. Then Jesus told us he would suffer and die in Jerusalem and be raised on the third day. Now, Jesus is shining white, standing with Moses and Elijah – how can this be? Surely the presence of God is in this place! We are trespassing on holy ground!
[to Jesus, nervously] … Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah –

[Interrupting] And a voice from the cloud said, “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; stop what you are doing, stop talking, and listen to him!”

And Jesus came and laid his healing hands on the disciples and said, “Get up and do not be afraid.”

[All characters return to seats.]


This is Transfiguration Sunday. This festival marks the last Sunday of the season of Epiphany, and it leans forward into the season of Lent and, eventually, Holy Week and Easter. Transfiguration Sunday commemorates the events we have just seen reenacted here: Jesus ascends a mountain with three of his disciples, where he is transfigured – not a term we use every day. With him appear Moses and Elijah, and the disciples are awed. A voice speaks from heaven, apparently interrupting Peter. Moses and Elijah vanish, and Jesus comforts the terrified disciples. As they return from the mountain, Jesus instructs them to keep this secret until the right time: when the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.

Transfiguration Sunday is a multi-faceted festival, full of different ideas and implications. We are reminded of Jesus' baptism by the voice from the clouds. We cannot help but think of Jesus' resurrection when we are given this mighty, glowing image of Jesus. And there are dark undertones in this text, as well: The “six days” at the beginning of the text are marked from Jesus' first prediction of his death. As Jesus descends from the mountain, he begins an inevitable march to Jerusalem, where he will be killed.

In this text, we also are confronted with strange images and references that may be hard to understand. Why is the mountain so significant? Why do Moses and Elijah appear? What is Peter trying to accomplish? Fundamentally, I think this text presses on us again the question: “Who is Jesus?” According to Matthew, just six days before, Jesus asked his disciples, “Who do you say that I am?” Today, we must also try to find an answer: “Who do you say that I am?”


When Jesus asked his disciples, “Who do you say that I am,” Peter proclaimed, “You are the Messiah, the Son of the Living God.” It seems to me that the Holy Spirit must have inspired this answer in Peter. Indeed, when Jesus is transfigured on the mountain, it proves that Peter was exactly right. Jesus is revealed to be something extraordinary. Jesus is revealed to Peter, James, and John, glowing with glory. Jesus is revealed beside Moses and Elijah – these two giants of the faith who possess messianic connections. It was said that another prophet like Moses would come; it was said that Elijah would return. In Jesus, at the transfiguration, these prophecies are linked and fulfilled. If you need character witnesses to prove your messianic status, you can't do better than Moses and Elijah.

And as if that weren't enough, there is also a cloud that appears and a voice that speaks out of it. It is impossible not to draw the connection between this revelation and Jesus' baptism, where a voice proclaimed, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.” Here the voice adds a commandment: “This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!” The addition seems directed at Peter, who is apparently overcome by this transfiguration and is trying to figure out what to do in response.


This Transfiguration text can also speak to our own faith lives. Many of us have had “mountaintop experiences,” those moments when we feel profoundly close to God. We feel a certain kinship with the disciples here – after all, Peter, James, and John had the mountaintop experience par excellence. Yet like the disciples, we sometimes don't know what to do when we encounter the divine.

When we experience the presence of God, sometimes we react like Peter, babbling, “Lord, it is good for us to be here; if you wish, I will make three dwellings here, one for you, one for Moses, and one for Elijah.” Peter's nervousness, or eagerness, seems so very human, doesn't it? His intentions are clearly good, but he comes across as a bit of a fool. And the voice from the cloud cuts him off with the curt command: “Listen to him!” I heard one reinterpretation of the voice, that its message is, “Don't just do something – stand there!” Sometimes our busyness gets in the way of the message God wants us to receive. Sometimes we are too eager to do something, too eager to say something, that we forget to stop and listen. Sometimes we need to be quiet and let God speak.

So it is for Peter at the Transfiguration. Peter is so overwhelmed by this revelation of the divine, of Jesus' messianic status, that he can't stop talking. He feels this desperate need to do something. But the divine voice silences him. No Peter, this voice says, you need to listen to him. Be quiet. Listen.

Are your ears straining like Peter's to hear what Jesus will say? Indeed, Jesus does have something to say to his disciples. And it is these words that we should listen to today. Jesus says, “Get up and do not be afraid.” Get up. Do not be afraid. And as he speaks, he reaches out to touch the disciples – a touch that in Matthew is always associated with healing.


The divine voice says: Listen to him! And Jesus says, Do not be afraid. This is another revelation. The Transfiguration reveals Jesus as the Messiah, the fulfillment of prophecies, the Son of God. And these words reveal the depth of Jesus' love and healing care. The Jesus who heals and cares for others is not replaced by this shining, transfigured Messiah. Rather, we find that Jesus remains steadfast in his compassion for others, starting with his terrified disciples.

We often need to hear this reassurance. When we have experiences that seem overwhelming, then we need to be reminded of the abiding love of Jesus. When we are terrified, we need to feel that healing touch. Like the disciples, we need to know that the God who is transcendent, greater than everything, is also immanent, profoundly close to us. Jesus cares for us as deeply as he cared for his disciples. Amen.

December 12 Sermon - Part Two

So I'm looking at Matthew 11:2-11. John the Baptist is in prison and sends some of his disciples to Jesus, wondering if Jesus really is the Messiah. At first, it seems like a silly question to come from John - after all, John is the one who baptized Jesus and heard a voice saying "This is my son." Shouldn't John, of all people, believe? But as David Garland pointed out in his commentary Reading Matthew, John had expected something different. In the Gospel text for December 5, we hear about John's expectations:

"The ax is already at the root of the trees, and every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire. I baptize you with water for repentance. But after me comes one who is more powerful than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor, gathering his wheat into the barn and burning up the chaff with unquenchable fire."

John was anticipating a radical, apocalyptic judgment. Instead, he hears reports that Jesus is healing the sick, raising the dead, and proclaiming good news to the poor - signs of power and significance, certainly. But are they signs of the Messiah?

It seems that this is the fundamental issue in this text. What is the Messiah supposed to look like? Does Jesus fit the bill? And Jesus himself highlights the importance of this question: "Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me." Even John, who was "more than a prophet," had to face the possibility that Jesus was not the Messiah he wanted. Even John could take offense at Jesus. How much more so for all the crowds - and how much more so for us today?

Since we are in the season of Advent, perhaps we can frame the question this way: For whom are we waiting, after all? What are we expecting of this baby we call "Emmanuel" and "King of Kings" and "Wonderful Counselor" and all the rest? Are we expecting judgment, to find mercy? Are we expecting political power, to find none of it? Are we expecting moral righteousness, to find someone who eats with riffraff (v. 19)? Can we face the real tension between offense and faith?

(I think there is also an interesting nuance here if we take the theological position that faith is not up to us. In other words, rather than reading this as a choice between offense and faith, what happens if we accept the faith itself as a gift from God?)

Kierkegaard, in his fashion, wrote an entire book on the phrase "Blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me." I'm going to go home and look at his account as well.

October 3 Sermon - Part One

I'm looking ahead to my next sermon, which will be October 3. Unlike my first two sermons here at King of Kings, the gospel text doesn't seem quite as difficult.... so I think I'm going to preach on Habakkuk. Let it not be said that I don't enjoy a challenge.

Here are the readings:
Habakkuk 1:1-4, 2:1-4
Psalm 37:1-9
2 Timothy 1:1-14
Luke 17:5-10

The gospel text is a bit confusing; it begins with the apostles asking Jesus to increase their faith, and Jesus responding with the metaphor of the mustard seed. The bulk of the reading, however, is about thanking slaves for doing what is commanded. The connection between the two parts is not clear to me.

Habakkuk, meanwhile, is a clear cry for justice. The Lord responds with a "vision for the appointed time." I'd love to preach on a Hebrew text, so I'm definitely attracted to this one. I'll do a translation and text study, and see where that leads me.

September 5 Sermon Draft

Here is my sermon draft for this Sunday. I'm still not completely happy with it. I'm afraid that I'm trying to do too much and that my message may get lost. I'll continue to polish it over the next few days. As always, comments are welcome.

[Edit: By the time I got around to practicing this sermon today, it had grown to a 17-minute monstrosity. So I trimmed it down quite a bit and tried to streamline the message. I've updated this post to contain the most recent version.]


Grace and peace be with you in the name of the living God. Amen.
The words we hear this morning are harsh ones. In our gospel text, we hear Jesus say: “Whoever comes to me and does not hate father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and even life itself, cannot be my disciple.” He tells the crowds that “None of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.” These are harsh words, words that are difficult to hear.
Jesus’ words are especially harsh when we hear them directed at us: “None of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions.” By this reckoning, I suspect that there could not be counted a single disciple here today. I can certainly speak for myself — I have not given up all my possessions. Though I'm not living in the lap of luxury by American standards, I do have many possessions sitting back home in my apartment right now. So these words from the gospel of Luke strike my heart, telling me I am not a legitimate follower of Jesus.

This text, and others like it in the gospels that command Jesus’ followers to “sell all they have” strike my heart for another reason. Not only do they confront and condemn me personally; but I have seen the effect they have on other faithful Christians. I want to give you a specific example, a story that the person in question has given me permission to tell.
I have a friend whom I have known since childhood, a fellow member at my home church back in New Mexico. We'll call her Noel for the sake of telling her story. Growing up, Noel was thoughtful and serious beyond her years. From a very young age, just 8 or 9 years old, Noel was profoundly disturbed by these words in the gospels. Noel heard Jesus saying, “Give up all your possessions!” and she took those words personally. However, as a mere child, Noel could not imagine giving up all her possessions and literally did not have the ability to do so. So every time this text, and others like it, were read in church, Noel would become hysterical, crying and sobbing, unable to even sit through the service. I, a few years older than she, talked to her about it on more than one occasion. Noel confided in me that she felt guilt-ridden because she couldn't give up all her possessions. She was convinced that she was not worthy, not good enough. She didn't think God could love her.

I'm here to tell you this morning that God does love my friend Noel. And God loves each one of us here today. As we say in our Lutheran theology, we are saved by the free gift of God's grace. During the time of the Reformation, Martin Luther was very concerned about people like my friend Noel, people who lived in fear that they had not earned God's love. Luther made very clear that no one could buy their way into heaven. Luther wanted people to be confident that God loved them, to have assurance of God's grace.
God's love and favor do not depend on our actions. We don't have to prove ourselves worthy. We can't — and better yet, we don't have to — buy our way into God's loving arms. Rather, we have already received God's grace, and we continue to experience the blessing of God's love. That is the good news that we come here to proclaim and celebrate.

Having preached this good news, I could say “Amen” and sit down right now, and depending on how eager you are to get on with the service, you might like me to do that. But I think we can still learn something from Jesus' words today. So, assured of God’s love and grace, I want to look again at Jesus' message to us.

In our gospel reading, Jesus is concerned with discipleship. He is speaking to the crowds of people who are following him in his travels. Out of these crowds, some may become disciples — dedicated followers of Jesus. But discipleship, Jesus warns, is not an easy road to walk. It requires giving up loyalty to family and even to one's self. In Jesus' time, family relationships were paramount, but Jesus is showing that discipleship demands complete loyalty, at the expense of all other relationships. Discipleship requires the willingness to give up everything else. We might be reminded of the calling of the first disciples, Simon, James, and John, back in chapter 5 of Luke. These fishermen who became the first disciples left everything they had — their families, their business, their livelihood, their fishing boats — and followed Jesus. Jesus wants other would-be followers to know that their loyalty will be expected, as well.
In our reading today, Jesus is being brutally honest: discipleship is not easy. Discipleship requires sacrifice. In fact, becoming a disciple necessitates a transformation. It is simply not possible to become dedicated to following Jesus Christ without outward transformation in action. To say it another way: once we have encountered the true God in Jesus Christ, we are changed by the experience. When we begin to follow, walking that road of discipleship, we are transformed. Old loyalties fall away, things we once thought essential seem unimportant, as we begin to follow Jesus.

This transformation isn’t a one-time event. God is constantly working in and through us, changing us. We are all at different places on this road of discipleship. Some of you have been faithful followers for fifty, sixty, or seventy years. Some of you are only beginning that faith journey. Some of you may be “seekers,” not sure whether you want to follow or not. Wherever we are on the road of discipleship, we can be transformed. We can devote our loyalty to Jesus above all else. We can make the commitments that characterize authentic discipleship.
Not only are we at different places on the road of discipleship, but there are a variety of ways to walk that road. We are given different gifts and different callings as we all strive to follow Jesus. There are different ways of being a disciple. Next week is our Rally Day here at the church – there will be many opportunities this fall to be involved in the ministry of the congregation, whether through leading or learning, sharing fellowship or serving others. Of course, we can – and should! – follow Jesus outside of the walls of the church, too. But the many ministries that are going on here are certainly a good place to start.

Although we are at different places on the road of discipleship, and although there are different ways of walking that road, there are some practices that should characterize all disciples. Jesus gave the expectations to everyone in the crowd: loyalty and sacrifice. When Jesus says those harsh words, “None of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions,” he is telling us how all disciples should act.
There is a word in the church for what Jesus is describing when he says “give up all your possessions.” The word is “stewardship.” Now, usually when we use the word “stewardship” in the church, we're talking about fundraising for the church. Fundraising is not just about the money; it's about the ministry being done here and in the wider church around the world. I know the stewardship team here at King of Kings is already working hard on that goal.
We also sometimes use the word “stewardship” in a different way, getting back to the root meaning of the word. A steward is someone who cares for the possessions of another. In our theological language, we will talk about being stewards of God's creation: the creation belongs to God, but we are responsible for its care. Likewise, we are stewards of the blessings God has given us, whether in the form of physical comforts or in the form of our gifts, abilities and talents. Ultimately, our very lives are God's, and we are stewards of them. In all of this, we are entrusted with the responsible care of what is fundamentally God's.
In addition to thinking about stewardship as fundraising and as the responsibility of a steward, there's one other sense of “stewardship” that has been on my mind lately. It is a sense which seems very appropriate in the context of our gospel reading. Jesus says that authentic disciples must “give up all their possessions.” As I said before, this is a question of loyalty, of being devoted not to our possessions but to God. It also highlights this other aspect of stewardship: we can do stewardship for our own spiritual growth, for our own journey on that road of discipleship. Even if we cannot give up all that we have, the very act of giving up can remind us where our loyalty should lie – with the God who has blessed us so abundantly in the first place. Giving up reminds us that we are not Christians for our own sake, but for the sake of the gospel and for the sake of others. Giving up reminds us that we are called to take up our own cross, just as Jesus says in our gospel reading. As we walk the road of discipleship, striving to deepen our faith and commitment to God, we may find that our giving — our stewardship — aids our discipleship.

I am a fan of the poetry of Robert Frost, and all this talk of walking on the road of discipleship reminded me of one of Frost’s most famous poems, “The Road Not Taken.” Some of you may have read it. I would like to share part of it with you now. Frost begins his poem by describing a crossroads: “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood.” He must choose which of the two roads to take, so he stands and looks down each one, considering his choice. Finally, he chooses the second road, which looks less worn.
The poem concludes,
“Oh I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I —
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.”

Without doing injustice to Frost, I would like to read his poem in the context of our gospel this morning. The narrator of the poem faced a choice, two roads; and as Frost eloquently writes, “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I — I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.” The crowds who were following Jesus in our gospel reading faced a choice, two roads as it were: whether to become disciples, devoted to following Jesus, or not. We today face many choices: how to be disciples, to follow Jesus; how to deepen our faith; how to be involved in God’s ministry in the world. We consider the concepts of service and stewardship. We are walking on a road, this road of discipleship that strives to follow where Jesus walked. Our gospel reading warns us that discipleship will not be easy. And yet — confident in God’s love for us, Jesus’ words show us that the road we choose to walk may make all the difference. Amen.

September 5 Sermon - Part Three

In this post, I'll be checking out the commentaries on my text, Luke 14:25-33.

I'll start with the post over on Working Preacher. I really appreciated Dr. Brown's approach to the text. She begins, "We live in a market driven society, so it is not surprising that we feel the urge to 'sell' Christianity in the marketplace of competing ideas and ways of life. Yet, when Christian mission is shaped toward the 'sell' mentality, it more often than not becomes a 'low-cost' and 'low-risk' commodity. How else will we persuade others to receive the faith, if not by coming in with a lower or better offer? But is the Christian faith really a low-cost, low-risk endeavor? The lectionary text for this week, Luke 14:25-33, offers a challenge to a market driven approach to Christian mission." Wow - talk about economic and spiritual implications!

She goes on to address the troubling demand of "hating" one's family and one's own life, lifting up the hyperbolic and perhaps idiomatic language. Then she analyzes the parables of the tower and the king, concluding that "Jesus extols a commitment to finishing the discipleship journey once begun or not beginning it at all. Following Jesus is an all or nothing proposition." Rather than quote the entire commentary to you, I'll let you check it out yourself (click on the link above, then click the tab labeled "Gospel").

I also read Joseph Fitzmyer's Anchor Bible commentary. Fitzmyer compares Luke's version to Matthew's, as well as to similar sayings in the Gospel of Thomas. He makes an analysis of sources and form. He notes that "Verse 33 . . . is a conclusion to this passage, which has been composed by Luke, in order to add a further condition of discipleship, his favorite idea of disposing of material possessions." He also identifies two other specific conditions of discipleship: the willingness to leave family ties and the willingness to face radical self-denial. "In addition, [Luke] casts these conditions of discipleship in a demand for serious consideration . . . The engagement is not to be undertaken lightly." With regard to the giving up of possessions, Fitzmyer writes, "In these parables Jesus counsels the disciple to consider seriously what forces and resources the would-be disciple has. But the added condition in v. 33 counsels renunciation of all the material possessions that one has. Note the contrast: what one has in the former sense is infinitely more important than what one has in the latter."

Meanwhile, over in Joel Green's commentary (part of the New International Commentary on the New Testament), Green links this pericope to what has come before. He writes, "Particularly in Jesus' story of the great banquet (vv 15-24), he had introduced the possibility that one's ties to possessions and family might disqualify one from enjoying the feast. As Jesus turns to address the crowds traveling with him, he lists allegiance to one's family network and the shackles that constitute one's possessions as impediments to authentic discipleship." I appreciate his emphasis on transformation: "The conversion that characterizes genuine discipleship is itself generative, giving rise to new forms of behavior."

On the subject of "hating" one's family and one's life/soul, Green has this to say: "[Followers of Jesus] are characterized, first, by their distancing themselves from the high cultural value placed on their family network, otherwise paramount in the world of Luke. That is, in this context, 'hate' is not primarily an affective quality but a disavowal of primary allegiance to one's kin. . . Again, 'hating' one's self should not be taken as a reference to affective self-abhorrence, but as a call to set aside the relationships, the extended family of origin and inner circle of friends, by which one has previously made up one's identity."

Green also has a slightly different take on the second part of the pericope, the parables. He sees the point of the parables not to be the need for preparation but the unavoidable inadequacy of resources: "The interpretive crux does not lie in 'counting the cost.' The point is that, no matter what calculus one uses, no matter what resources one believes one can bring to bear, those assets will be insufficient to secure one's status before God." The landowner does not have the resources to build a tower, and so is mocked; the king does not have the resources to win the war, and so is forced to surrender. "By extrapolation, then, Jesus insists that such assets as one's network of kin, so important in Greco-Roman antiquity, are an insufficient foundation for assuring one's status before God." Green sees verse 33 not as a third condition added to the conditions in vv 25-27 (as per Fitzmyer), but as the summary of all the conditions.

September 5 Sermon - Part Two

Here's my translation of the gospel text, Luke 14:25-33:

25 But many crowds were going with him, and he, turning, said to them, 26 "If someone comes to me and he does not hate his own father and mother and wife and children and brothers and sisters, and even his own soul, he is not able to be my disciple. 27 Whoever does not bear his own cross and come after me is not able to be my disciple. 28 Indeed, who of you all, wanting to build a tower, does not first sit to count the cost, [to see] if he has [enough] to finish? 29 So that, lest he puts down a foundation and is not able to finish, all those seeing [it] might begin to mock him, 30 saying that this is the person who began to build and was not able to finish. 31 Or what king, going to another king to meet for war, does not first sit to take counsel whether he is able with ten thousand to meet the one coming to him with twenty thousand. 32 But if not, surely [when] he is still far away, he will send an ambassador to ask him for peace. 33 So therefore, all of you who do not say goodbye to all his own possessions is not able to be my disciple.

When I was translating, I wondered what connection there might be between verse 26 and verse 33. Are we to understand "possessions" as being the same as the family relationships of verse 26? On the other hand, these might be separate sayings of Jesus that Luke has strung together on the general theme of loyalty to Jesus.

My plan is to take a stewardship focus for this sermon. I've been thinking lately about the reasons we might do stewardship - to balance the church budget, to support the ministry of the congregation, or to support the ministry of the wider church. Those are the reasons I've been hearing at my internship site, and there's nothing wrong with any of them. However, I haven't heard any talk about the personal reasons for stewardship. To put it another way, stewardship might be a spiritual discipline, a way of practicing and developing one's own faith. It's not something we have to do to earn God's favor - but it's something we can and should do, in the same way that we can and should pray, or read the Bible. That's the message I want to communicate in my sermon. Giving up prepares us to be disciples, or to be better disciples.

Adult Christian Ed

King of Kings (where I'm serving my internship) is trying to develop a stronger program for adult Christian education. There is a lot of interest in the congregation, but not a lot has been offered. So when I sat down with the pastor and the Christian ed (slash family ministry slash youth) director to plan the fall schedule, I offered to teach a class.

My class won't be until December, but the Christian ed director, Judi, is putting together a brochure about adult education. The brochure will be handed out at Rally Day (September 12) so people know what opportunities will be available throughout the fall. Here's my blurb, tentatively, for the brochure.

A Brief History of the Bible
Have you ever wondered where the Bible came from? Do you want to know who wrote it and when? Have you ever wished you knew what "apocrypha" meant, or wanted to learn more about the Dead Sea Scrolls? Join Vicar Jennie for a three week introduction to the Bible, its history, and the books that weren't included.
Week One: What's in the Bible?
Week Two: Bible History
Week Three: Building the Bible: The Formation of the Canon

Now, doesn't that sound like a class you'd want to take?

September 5 Sermon - Part One

I preached my sermon on Sunday (slightly modified from the draft I posted here), and it went well. It's always a little hard to gauge how a sermon affects the congregation, but I received positive comments, and no one stormed out in the middle, so I'll count it as a success.

Now I'm looking ahead to the next time I'll be preaching: September 5. The readings for that day are Deuteronomy 30:15-20, Psalm 1, Philemon 1-21, and Luke 14:25-33. You can check out the readings here.

The Gospel text is about giving up possessions in order to follow Jesus. Jesus makes analogies to preparing for a building project or a battle, concluding, "So therefore, none of you can become my disciple if you do not give up all your possessions."

I am pulled a bit towards Philemon, because I think that would be a fun text on which to preach. The message there is about Christian community and the radical re-ordering of hierarchy (honor/shame) in Christ.

On the other hand, the congregation is thinking about stewardship right now, and the Luke text could preach to that subject very well.

So I'll have to make up my mind about which text I want to use. Any suggestions?

August 15 Sermon Draft

My sermon is pretty much finished. I think I'd still like to add a closing image at the very end, but on the whole I'm happy with it. Comments are welcome (as always).

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.

I'm a big fan of disaster movies. They're always terrible, but they're too much fun not to watch. The cheesy dialogue, the over-the-top special effects, the hilarious pseudo-science, the heroic character who recognizes the signs just in time to save the human race – yes, whether there's a volcano under Los Angeles or an ice age bearing down on New York, you can count me in.

But I haven't had a chance to see the most recent big-budget disaster movie, 2012. Maybe some of you saw it when it came out in the theaters (because, you know, the special effects always look best on the big screen). Even though I haven't seen 2012, I've heard plenty about it. It's hard to avoid – there seems to be a lot of talk these days about the Mayan calendar ending. And, so the argument goes, when the Mayan calendar ends on December 21, 2012, so ends the world.

The end of the world. There's something fascinating to us about the idea of the end of the world. That's why disaster movies make so much money, after all. There's something in us that loves to hear about the world coming to an end. We listen with a sort of horrified fascination to these stories.

Of course, for many people, they're not just stories. I recently stumbled across a website that eagerly proclaimed to me that the world is really and truly going to end – but not December 21, 2012. The real end of the world, according to this website, will be May 21, 2011. That gives us about 9 months to set our affairs in order. Now, they claim that they have Biblical evidence for this date, but they seemed to be a little fuzzy on the details, and I couldn't figure out how they had decided on May 21, 2011 for the end of the world.

Certainly May 21, 2011 isn't the first time the end of the world has been predicted. Back in the early 20th century, the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society (forerunners to the Jehovah's Witnesses) predicted the end of the world for 1914; when 1914 came and went, they revised their prediction several times. Charles Wesley, the Methodist, believed the world would end in 1794. Martin Luther, back in the 16th century, was convinced that the world would end before his death. And so on. It seems that in every generation, there are those who believe that the world is coming to an end.

So what do disaster movies and end-of-the-world predictions have to do with our readings this morning? It's right there in the gospel reading from Luke. “I came to bring fire to the earth,” cries Jesus through the writer of the gospel, “and how I wish it were already kindled!” He predicts division and conflict. He refers to the sign of the times: “You know how to interpret the appearance of the earth and sky, but why do you not know how to interpret the present time?”

This kind of language is referred to as “apocalyptic.” Now you all will have to bear with me for a little teaching moment. “Apocalyptic” comes from “apocalypse,” the Greek word that means “revelation.” So the book of Revelation in the Bible is called “Apocalupsis” in Greek. So remember: “apocalypse” equals “revelation”. We usually think of “apocalypse” as the end of the world, but its basic meaning is revelation – specifically, God's revelation. In the centuries before Jesus, some Jews came to understand God's revelation – the apocalypse – as the catastrophic end of the world. God would appear to bring judgment, punishing the wicked and rewarding the righteous. A new age would be inaugurated in which all hopes of the righteous would be fulfilled. A new world would replace this broken, irredeemable world. And all this would happen very, very soon. Apocalyptic thinking and writing is always filled with a terrible urgency, with the conviction that there is no time left.

These ideas of the apocalypse certainly persisted in Jesus' time, as well as the time of the writing of the New Testament. There are strains of apocalyptic thinking in the gospels. We find the most obvious example in the book of Revelation, whose very title is “Apocalypse” in Greek. And apocalyptic ideas have lasted beyond the Biblical period. In fact, the ongoing predictions of the end of the world show us that apocalyptic thinking has its adherents in every generation.

What are we to make of such thinking? When we look at the predictions that the world would end in 1914, they may seem comical. When we hear predictions of the end in our own time, we may dismiss them as nonsense – or we may feel a shiver of fear.

And what about the predictions of the end of the world in the gospel of Luke, in our very reading today? In our reading, Jesus says he has come to bring fire to the earth – but there's no historical record of such fire. Jesus says he brings division within households – but what generation doesn't see division in households? The text is full of the urgent sense that the end is near. So what are we to make of this text? I have to be honest with you. When I read Luke's apocalyptic language, I wonder to myself, “Was Luke wrong? Was this just another crackpot end-of-the-world prediction?”

We believe that Scripture is inspired by God, that God speaks to us – here and now – through these ancient writings. Yet reading Scripture can be a difficult task, at times frustrating and disheartening. When I read predictions of the end of the world in the Bible, I can't help but wonder if they're just plain wrong. How can God speak to us through these apocalyptic texts? What is the Holy Spirit trying to do here?

But I do believe that God has something to say in this text. I do believe that God can speak to us, even if Luke felt an impending sense of doom that didn't come to pass. The apocalypse is the revelation of God. The revelation of God. God revealed. Perhaps that revelation doesn't come to us with end-of-the-world special effects. Perhaps God chooses to reveal God's self in other ways.

Indeed, God does reveal God's self. Though it does not come with the special effects of the blockbuster disaster movies, God's revelation is both surprising and dramatic. The revelation of God is Jesus Christ. God is revealed to us, to all of humanity, through Jesus Christ. That's why we call Jesus Emmanuel – God With Us. We proclaim this revelation, this apocalypse, every time we recite the Creed: “I believe in Jesus Christ, God's only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit and born of the virgin Mary.” We believe that we encounter Jesus here at the table, at communion. Jesus is the apocalypse, the revelation, of God. In Jesus, we find God; in Jesus, God is revealed.

The writer of our gospel text today expected the apocalypse, the dramatic end of the world and the coming of God's judgment. What actually happened was a different kind of apocalypse, the revelation of God through Jesus Christ. God has a way of surprising us, of turning our expectations upside-down. We find story after story in the Bible of God's unexpected, surprising revelation – whether at the burning bush, in the manger in Bethlehem, or in the tongues of fire that descended at Pentecost. God, it seems, loves to surprise us. God reveals God's self in the ways we least expect.

And what about you? I will venture to guess that most of you have not seen a burning bush. But I would be willing to bet that God has surprised you. Maybe God has appeared to you when you were hurting, in the face of a caring friend. Maybe God has appeared to you in the guise of a homeless person asking for help. Maybe God has appeared to you in your own heart, in a powerful emotion or sudden idea.

God does not always come to us in thunder and lightning and fire. God does not always appear in some kind of end-of-the-world disaster. On the other hand, God does not always come to us with a gentle word of comfort. Sometimes, God has a message of division, not peace. Above all, what we discover as we try to follow the living God, is the wonderful unpredictability with which God meets us.

August 15 Sermon - Part Three

Now it's time to check out some commentaries. I have two to consult: the Anchor Bible commentary on Luke, by Joseph Fitzmyer, and the Eerdmans New International Commentary on the New Testament — the volume on Luke is written by Joel Green.

Fitzmyer lifts up the same apocalyptic tone I had noticed in my own study of the text. Referring to the second part of the lection, he writes, "There is no hint in this passage about a delay; rather 'the season that is here' is precisely the time for repentance and conversion." This passage indicates that now is the moment of crisis, the apocalyptic turning point, and there is no time to lose. Jesus speaks to the crowds: "As weatherwise Palestinian farmers, they have learned to read the face of nature, with its clouds and winds. They should, then, be able to assess the critical moment in which they exist. [Jesus] thus contrasts the people's 'meteorological sensitiveness' with their 'religious sensitiveness'."

Regarding the first part of the lection, Fitzmyer draws out the tension and contrast in Luke regarding the purpose of Jesus' ministry. The same Jesus who was hailed at the beginning of the gospel as bringing "peace on earth" (Luke 2:14) now says that his ministry brings discord. "Though peace is an important effect of the Christ-event in the Lucan view, the evangelist has here retained from 'Q' an interpretation of Jesus' ministry in terms of its opposite. Yet even that effect of his ministry has been foreshadowed in the infancy narrative: Jesus was a child set 'for the fall and rise of many in Israel' (2:34). . . Even in his own family the Lucan Jesus' career brought a 'sword' to pierce his mother's 'own soul' (2:35)."

Green similarly lifts up the apocalyptic character of the text, showing that it is part of the "overarching theme of vigilance in the face of eschatological crisis." Prior to this section of Luke, Jesus has made numerous references to making ready - "Blessed are those slaves whom the master finds alert when he comes" (12:37); "You also must be ready, for the Son of man is coming at an unexpected hour" (12:40); "Blessed is that slave whom his master will find at work when he arrives" (12:43). Green writes, "From those images of future judgment, Jesus now turns to the reality of judgment already at work in his ministry. The division accompanying his mission is itself both integral to his purpose for coming (vv 49-53) and a portent of eschatological judgment (vv 54-59)."

Regarding the prediction of division within households, Green stresses the importance of family groups in 1st century culture. For Jesus to predict the breaking down of family ties, as an integral part of his ministry, would have been quite shocking. However, "the dissolution of family bonds (which, in the Lukan narrative, has as its consequence the formation of a new kinship group around Jesus) should be taken as confirmation that he is God's agent and that he is bringing to fruition the purpose of God."

Green comments on Jesus' use of the term "hypocrites" in reference to the crowd. For Luke, "hypocrite" does not mean someone who says one thing and does another. Rather, Jesus "regards the crowds not as deceivers or phonies but as people who 'do not know.' His question, then, is not why they say one thing and do another, but why they have joined the Pharisees in living lives that are not determined by God."



I'm trying to decide on what focus I want to take for this sermon. I find apocalyptic themes difficult to preach on. The issues are so complex, and the thinking among Christians so diverse, that it seems quite daunting. However, I don't think I can ignore or gloss over the apocalyptic aspects of this text. It would not be fair to the text or to the congregation to whom I'll be preaching. On the other hand, it would appear that the plain sense of the text - that the final judgment was imminent - is simply incorrect. On top of that, I personally think it very dangerous to encourage apocalyptic thinking - every generation has believed it was the last. An unexamined belief in the imminent destruction of the world works against faithful stewardship, ecology, and efforts at peace and mutual understanding (all of which I happen to favor). So how does one preach on an apocalyptic text without preaching apocalypticism?

Time to find out, I suppose.

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.

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.

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!