Instead, I’ve been too busy reading about the Epic of Gilgamesh and the Enuma Elish.

Well, that and my daughter came down with strep and we’ve been busy making fairies and watching Little House on the Prairie. And we’re moving.

But my delay has mostly been bound up because I’ve been distracted by Ancient Near Eastern Literature, and have been happily geeking out for over a week straight.

(And I am not alone: one friend put me onto the children’s book version of the Epic of Gilgamesh, and my husband [kindred geek] said, “Oh, and remember that Star Trek episode when Picard travels to the planet which speaks in metaphor, and he ends up reciting the Epic of Gilgamesh!” Made my heart flutter.  My father, from whom I get most of my geekly tendencies, has several copies of both.  The other day, over at my parents’ home, I realized that I’d forgotten my volumes at my OMG study.  I whispered to my little boy with a traumatic brain injury, “Sweet boy Karl, can you ask Opa whether he has some spare copies of the Enuma Elish?” Which he did, clearly enunciating the title, and giving my father extra cause to pour an extra libation in celebration that geekiness carries more truck in our family than a TBI)

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Warning: this is a long post.  But if you want to hear about a paradise, an ark and flood and doves, a tree of life, firmaments being stretched out and so forth that come from literature far older than the familiar tales from Genesis, it’s worth your time to slog through the below, and even more to read up on the links at the far bottom.

Geeks of the world, unite.

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I began fussing with the Epic of Gilgamesh and the Enuma Elish because a group of people with whom I work were curious about Noah.

And I can’t, of course, teach about Noah and the Flood without teaching about the different creation stories in Genesis 1 and 2.

And I most assuredly can’t do them any credit if I don’t make a nod to other Ancient Near East literature.

(Utterly unrelated to the task at hand, this little nugget from Gilgamesh [and I love it that my spell-checker knows this word without even being so programmed.  Smart Mac.] caught my little eye.

“Gilgamesh, whither are you wandering? Life, which you look for, you will never find. For when the gods created man, they let death be his share, and life withheld in their own hands. Gilgamesh, fill your belly, day and night make merry, let days be full of joy, dance and make music day and night. And wear fresh clothes, and wash your head and bathe. Look at the child that is holding your hand, and let your wife delight in your embrace. These things alone are the concern of men.”

Some say it is the oldest recorded advice in literature.

Just saying’.)

But vis-à-vis Old Testament tales of creation and floods, these two stories shaped the texts we know so well…even though we don’t know these primary texts well.

Or at all.

The Enuma Elish was crafted around the 12 century BCE.

It’s a tale of two divine figures, the fresh-water male god Apsu, and the salt-water female god Mummu-Tiamat (she was called Tiamat for short).  Tiamat is depicted also as a dragon from the sea (think, “Leviathan”).

Their, um, waters mingled, and created more gods.  These ragamuffins made Apsu and Tiamut nuts with their racket.

What is inappropriate may be age-appropriate, I always say, but Apsu and Tiamut didn’t see it that way, and decided the best thing to do to quiet the noise was to kill the kids.

The kids, however, found out about this plot, and figured that doing unto others as they intended to do to you was a good policy, and so they offed Apsu.

Tiamat was displeased, and so according to established family dynamics, she decided to go to war with her children: finish them off, once and for all.

The god-lets realized that they had crossed the line, and like it’s been said, if mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.

Desperate to save themselves, they found Marduk, a warrior, who overcame Tiamat’s threat by blowing a wind into her as she gaped her mouth open to devour him.  Into her mouth he flung an arrow; that and the air which filled her belly, distending it, killed her, leaving only a carcass amongst the waters.

And so he split her body like a shell, pressing the top across the skies, and the bottom to become the earth, and insisted that her waters be held back.  He created constellations, and vegetation, and becomes the Man of the Hour.

That is, until the gods realize that he had assigned tasks: one had to be the sun god, one the star god, one the moon god, and so on and so forth.

The gods began to get irritable, and so to appease them, Marduk struck on the idea of creating humankind by mixing up the blood of Tiamat’s general so that the gods would have servants.

The End.

The Epic of Gilgamesh tells a different tale.

It was written around 2000 BCE.

(We’re still working with Epiphany, believe it or not)

King Gilgamesh was unpleasant.  He was a dictator, a rapist, and capricious.  His people cried out to the god Aruru for relief, and Aruru sends Enkidu, a man-beast, who, according to Christine Hayes, was very Adam-esque.  He was to tame Gilgamesh, but before he could, Gilgamesh, who had heard of this Enkidu, sent a woman (perhaps a prostitute?) to tame Enkidu.

The two fell in love, and Enkidu found the inspiration, maturity, and transcendence to address Gilgamesh.

This decision, however, forces him out of paradise: he clothes himself, he loses his relationship and identity with the animals, and can not return.

Long and short of it is that Gilgamesh and Enkidu fight, they become fast friends as a result, and against the better judgment of all, they leave town to fight Humbaba, an evil monster god.

Together they overcome their fears and their disadvantage, and kill Humbaba.  Ishtar, goddess of war and sex (go figure), finds herself attracted to the man behind all of this violence and asks Gilgamesh to marry her.  He, however, doesn’t reciprocate her desire, in part because he’s well aware that she tends to inflict pain on her lovers.

She is displeased.

She vows revenge (trust me, this all has something to do with Epiphany) by way of harnessing the Bull of Heaven, which destroys Gilgamesh’s town Uruk.

But her revenge is short-lived, as Enkidu and Gilgamesh kill the bull and chuck its tail at Ishtar in a spiteful display of victory.

A word to the wise: do not annoy the Ishtars in your life.

In retaliation, she struck Enkidu with a fatal illness, and claimed him.

Gilgamesh was distraught at his death, and set out to discover the gods’ secrets of immortality.  He began a quest, then, and sought Upnapishtim, the legendary immortal human.

Upnapishtim, a very moral man, had been warned in a dream that a tremendous flood was imminent due to the evil of humanity.  He was commanded to build an ark with very specific dimensions, and gather the seeds of all living things to preserve life so that new life could begin after the waters subsided.  Three birds were brought on board and released to see whether land was near.  The dove and the sparrow returned, but the raven disappeared.

The god who caused the flood was reprimanded for the severity of the flood, and as compensation for the destruction, Upnapishtim and his wife were rewarded with eternal life.

This eternal life was not possible to be given to Gilgamesh, who was given yet a parting possibility at youthful living until he died by way of a plant of life at the bottom of the ocean.  He fetched it, only to have it stolen by a serpent.

Crushed by the futility of his quest, Giglamesh returned to Uruk, where he had to face his mortality and die.

Do you see the clear connections between what you’ve read so far and the season of Epiphany?

No, you say? Not at all?  Have I been imbibing of my daughter’s strep medicine, you wonder?

Well, let me help you have an epiphany then.

Clearly, there are overlaps between these two stories and the creation and flood stories in Genesis.  A man and woman in paradise, an ark with dimensions in which righteous creation is saved, firmament spread out keeping the waters above and below at bay, and so on.

Yet while there are similarities between these stories, there are also key differences, both of which reveal (i.e., offer the chance for an epiphany) something of the Jewish/Christian notion of God, and of creation, and of humanity.

Chances are, the ancient Hebrews had heard these stories, not least of all when they were in exile in Babylon.  So the tales were familiar to them.

Christine Hayes, professor at Yale, tells us that the famous first words of Genesis, “In the beginning” would be better translated with the sense of “When from on high,” the beginning words of the Enuma Elish…which are, by the way, “Enuma Elish.”

And she does such marvelous work with the connection between the wind of Marduk, and Tiamat being from the deep, that I’m going to quote her at length here:

Remember the cosmic battle between Marduk and Tiamat: Marduk the storm god, who released his wind against Tiamat, the primeval deep, the primeval water, representing the forces of chaos. And you should immediately hear the great similarities. Our story opens with a temporal clause: “When on high,” “when God began creating”; we have a wind that sweeps over chaotic waters, just like the wind of Marduk released into the face of Tiamat, and the Hebrew term is particularly fascinating. In fact, the text says “and there is darkness on the face of deep.” No definite article. The word “deep” is a proper name, perhaps. The Hebrew word is Tehom. It means “deep” and etymologically it’s exactly the same word as Tiamat: the “at” ending is just feminine. So Tiam, Tehom — it’s the same word, it’s a related word.

THAT’S SO COOL!

But as Christine Hayes points out, these same stories were rejected by adapting them.

Your gods are the moon and the stars and the sun?

Our God made your gods.

Your gods made humans to serve them?

Our God made humans to be in God’s image.  They are in that way sacred.  They are called to tend to creation, not split it, destroy it, and see it as an enemy.

In Genesis, evil need not be seen as inherent in creation.  Instead, God saw it all and called it “good.”  ”Very good,” as a matter of fact.

Instead, evil is a choice that humans have by way of their autonomy.  Hayes notes that although there are all sorts of parallels to the tree of life in Ancient Near Eastern Literature (think of the plant on the bottom of Gilgamesh’s ocean), there is no parallel to the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

It’s only that tree that humans are commanded to avoid.  She writes:

It’s one of the things about God: he knows good and evil and has chosen the good. The biblical writer asserts of this god that he is absolutely good. The humans will become like gods, knowing good and evil, not because of some magical property in this fruit…but because of the action of disobedience itself. By choosing to eat of the fruit in defiance of God — this is the one thing God says, “Don’t do this! You can have everything else in this garden,” presumably, even, you can eat of the tree of life, right? It doesn’t say you can’t eat of that. Who’s to say they couldn’t eat of that and just live forever? Don’t eat of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.

[But] it’s by eating of the fruit in defiance of God, human beings learn that they were able to do that, that they are free moral agents. They find that out. They’re able to choose their actions in conformity with God’s will or in defiance of God’s will. So paradoxically, they learn that they have moral autonomy. Remember, they were made in the image of God and they learn that they have moral autonomy by making the defiant choice, the choice for disobedience…

So the very action that brought them a godlike awareness of their moral autonomy was an action that was taken in opposition to God. So we see then that having knowledge of good and evil is no guarantee that one will choose or incline towards the good. That’s what the serpent omitted in his speech. He said if you eat of that fruit, of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, you’ll become like God. It’s true in one sense but it’s false in another. He sort of omitted to point out… he implies that it’s the power of moral choice alone that is godlike. But the biblical writer will claim in many places that true godliness isn’t simply power, the power to do what one wishes. True godliness means imitation of God, the exercise of one’s power in a manner that is godlike, good, life-affirming and so on. So, it’s the biblical writer’s contention that the god of Israel is not only all-powerful but is essentially and necessarily good.

Such epiphanic good stuff in there, good stuff that is perhaps best seen in relief to these formative stories.

Your gods are options, the ancient Hebrews seemed to say, but here is what our God is about, and not about:

It’s not that we are to be in servitude to other gods (what sort of gods are out there, offering themselves to your life, or to the lives of those whom you love, or to our culture?).

It’s not that creation is evil, and to be despised.

It’s not that immortality is where it’s at.

And it’s not even that the world was created exactly as this is written down.

It’s (in part) that God calmed the chaos; provided for God’s creatures; established expectations of goodness and reverence toward God, creation, and each other; and that creation is, at root, good.

As I told my daughter last Sunday, an epiphany is an a-ha moment, and Epiphany, then, is the season of a-ha moments.

My preparation for this presentation last week yielded a bunch of a-ha moments:

A reminder that the Jewish-Christian tradition did not begin in a vacuum; an offering of new knowledge about ancient Hebrew; a gift of renewed clarity that God loves creating and creatures, and…

an affirmation that I am unapologetically and irreversibly a geek.

Web resources:

Christine Hayes, Yale Professor.  Her lectures seen here can also be viewed online.

Dennis Bratcher, of the Christian Resource Institute.

http://www.fsmitha.com/h1/religion-flood.htm

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Epic_of_Gilgamesh

http://eawc.evansville.edu/essays/brown.htm

Dang.

There’s always gotta be one in the crowd who listens and then in their free time chases something that bugs them.

So this fine woman sent me this question because she participated in Family Camp at Outlaw Ranch, near Custer, South Dakota. (Insert shameless Outlaw Ranch plug.  ELCA bishop Dave Zellmer and I are leading camp again over the week of July 4th, 2012, aided by the musical talents of Paul Tietjan. It’s way fun, and so you should sign up.  Info is here.)

And I went off on my radical grace schtick.

And she went off and found her Bible.

It has been said that systematic theologians read more about the Bible than the Bible.

Perhaps.

But the Bible is always read with an interpretive bent: the question is whether that bent is manifest or latent.

I just happen to have a manifest bent because I get to be a systematic theologian.

And my bent is Easter.

That’s key to mention at the outset.

That means that my way of thinking through scripture is not to believe that it is literally true, for example.  (Why that is so is another question, but the blogs I’ve written here and here and here might give a hint). Instead, I believe that the defining event for Christians is that Jesus is no longer dead.  So everything is seen and read and thought about through that lens.

Death, in all its forms, doesn’t win.

With that in mind, let’s take a look at the text. The part you’re most curious about is italicized at the tail end, but is informed by the beginning and middle of the really really long section below.

13That same day Jesus went out of the house and sat beside the sea.²Such great crowds gathered around him that he got into a boat and sat there, while the whole crowd stood on the beach. ³And he told them many things in parables, saying: “Listen! A sower went out to sow.⁴And as he sowed, some seeds fell on the path, and the birds came and ate them up. ⁵Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and they sprang up quickly, since they had no depth of soil.⁶But when the sun rose, they were scorched; and since they had no root, they withered away. ⁷Other seeds fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked them. ⁸Other seeds fell on good soil and brought forth grain, some a hundredfold, some sixty, some thirty. ⁹Let anyone with ears listen!” ¹⁰Then the disciples came and asked him, “Why do you speak to them in parables?” ¹¹He answered, “To you it has been given to know the secrets of the kingdom of heaven, but to them it has not been given. ¹²For to those who have, more will be given, and they will have an abundance; but from those who have nothing, even what they have will be taken away. ¹³The reason I speak to them in parables is that ‘seeing they do not perceive, and hearing they do not listen, nor do they understand.’ ¹⁴With them indeed is fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah that says: ‘You will indeed listen, but never understand, and you will indeed look, but never perceive. ¹⁵For this people’s heart has grown dull, and their ears are hard of hearing, and they have shut their eyes; so that they might not look with their eyes, and listen with their ears, and understand with their heart and turn— and I would heal them.’ ¹⁶But blessed are your eyes, for they see, and your ears, for they hear. ¹⁷Truly I tell you, many prophets and righteous people longed to see what you see, but did not see it, and to hear what you hear, but did not hear it.¹⁸“Hear then the parable of the sower. ¹⁹When anyone hears the word of the kingdom and does not understand it, the evil one comes and snatches away what is sown in the heart; this is what was sown on the path. ²⁰As for what was sown on rocky ground, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy; ²¹yet such a person has no root, but endures only for a while, and when trouble or persecution arises on account of the word, that person immediately falls away. ²²As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of the world and the lure of wealth choke the word, and it yields nothing. ²³But as for what was sown on good soil, this is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields, in one case a hundredfold, in another sixty, and in another thirty.”

²⁴He put before them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to someone who sowed good seed in his field; ²⁵but while everybody was asleep, an enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat, and then went away. ²⁶So when the plants came up and bore grain, then the weeds appeared as well. ²⁷And the slaves of the householder came and said to him, ‘Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? Where, then, did these weeds come from?’ ²⁸He answered, ‘An enemy has done this.’ The slaves said to him, ‘Then do you want us to go and gather them?’ ²⁹But he replied, ‘No; for in gathering the weeds you would uproot the wheat along with them. ³⁰Let both of them grow together until the harvest; and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, Collect the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn.’” ³¹He put before them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like a mustard seed that someone took and sowed in his field; ³²it is the smallest of all the seeds, but when it has grown it is the greatest of shrubs and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches.” ³³He told them another parable: “The kingdom of heaven is like yeast that a woman took and mixed in with three measures of flour until all of it was leavened.” ³⁴Jesus told the crowds all these things in parables; without a parable he told them nothing. ³⁵This was to fulfill what had been spoken through the prophet: “I will open my mouth to speak in parables; I will proclaim what has been hidden from the foundation of the world.” ³⁶Then he left the crowds and went into the house. And his disciples approached him, saying, “Explain to us the parable of the weeds of the field.” ³⁷He answered, “The one who sows the good seed is the Son of Man; ³⁸the field is the world, and the good seed are the children of the kingdom; the weeds are the children of the evil one, ³⁹and the enemy who sowed them is the devil; the harvest is the end of the age, and the reapers are angels.⁴⁰Just as the weeds are collected and burned up with fire, so will it be at the end of the age. ⁴¹The Son of Man will send his angels, and they will collect out of his kingdom all causes of sin and all evildoers, ⁴²and they will throw them into the furnace of fire, where there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. ⁴³Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father. Let anyone with ears listen!

I’m going to turn to two sources here: Robert Farrar Capon and Brian Stoffregen.

The first time I came across Capon was when I was a student at St. Olaf.

My English professor came into my classroom with a cookbook in hand.  He sat down, and said, “I must read to you from this cookbook.” And he proceeded to relay Capon’s essay “The Heavenly Onion” taken from The Supper of the Lamb. (Wish I could find a link to the text, but I can’t. Tons of references to it, but no actual text.  Please send one if you know of one!).  My professor had tears in his eyes, either because Capon’s writing was so moving, or because Capon’s writing was so vivid that the virtual onion caused his eyes to water!

Capon, an Episcopalian priest as well as gourmet, has written a three-volume series about the parables.  It’s brilliant. The Parables of the Kingdom, The Parables of Grace, and The Parables of Judgment have all shaped me and my way of thinking through Scripture.

In his text The Parables of the Kingdom (note, not the Parables of Judgment), Capon tackles the text.

He gets pleasantly hung up on the Greek word aphete, which can be translated as “let,” “permit,” “suffer,” (!).  In this context, the sense is that the wheat and the weeds ought to grow together.

But then he brings us on an etymological journey, and instructs us that not only does the word lend itself to that meaning, but is also translated as “forgive!” Poking around in the King James Version, Capon says that 47 of the 156 versions of aphienai find their way into some form of the word “forgive.” (106).

As far as Capon is concerned, this implies that (note the snarkines in his writing below–has anyone else noticed that word surfacing more and more as of late?  I like it. Capon’s snarky):

On the basis of the parable as told, the farmer has announced, publicly and in advance (do you seriously think the servants told nobody about his crazy plan to leave the weeds alone?) that his enemy is quite free to come back any night he chooses and sow any weeds he likes.  Not just more zizania [weeds], but purslane, dock, bindweed, pigweed, or even–when he finally runs out of seriously mischievous ideas–New Zealand spinach.

There is more.  On the basis of Jesus’ ministry as lived and died, God has announced the very same thing.  No enemy–not the devil, not you, not me, and not anybody else–is going to get it in the neck, in this life, for any evil he has done…

And then there’s the clincher.  On the basis of jesus’ ministry as risen, there is no change in that policy.  He comes forth from the tomb and ascends into heaven with nail prints in his hands and feet and a spear wound in his risen side–with eternal, glorious scars to remind God, angels, and us that he is not about to go back on his word from the cross.” (108-109)

Capon is not oblivious to that final verse: you know, that bit about the weeds being collected and burned.

He has a couple of things to say here:

1) Proportionately, the parable is about the aphesis of evil, “not about the avenging of it.”

2) God gave us what we want.  A little fear-inducing, behavior-shaping, yikes-y stuff.  But with it, he writes: “The human race is hooked on eschatology [notions about the endtimes]: give us one drag on it, and we proceed to party away our whole forgiven life in fantasies about a final score-settling session that none of us, except for forgiveness, could possibly survive” (109-110). And then:

When we dwell too simplistically on the Final Judgment, we almost always picture it as the day when God finally takes off the gloves of mystery with which he has so far handled with world and gives his enemies a decisive taste of eschatological bare knuckles.  That image, however, leaves one important truth out of account: the judgment occurs only after the general resurrection of the dead.  And since the resurrection of the dead (of the just and the unjust alike) is something that happens to them solely by virtue of  Jesus’ resurrection–about which we have very little unparadoxial information–we should be very slow to imagine scenarios for it that are based on simplistic extrapolations of our present experience.  Everything that happens after the second coming of Jesus–judgment, heaven, and even hell–happens within the triumphantly reconciling power of his death and resurrection.  We simply don’t know how or to what degree that power affects the eschatological situation.

Take, for example, the question of whether we are in a position to discuss the meaning or even the possibility of ultimate human rejection of the reconciliation.  To be sure, Scripture says clearly enough that the sovereign, healing power of Jesus can and will be refused by some.  I have no problem with that.  What I do object to, however, are the hell-enthusiasts who act as if God’s whole New Testament method of dealing with evil will, in the last day, simply go back to some Old Testament “square one”–as if Jesus hadn’t done a blessed or merciful thing in between, and as if we could, therefore skip all the paradoxes of mercy when we talk about hte Last Day and simply concentrate on plain old gun-barrel justice.” (113-114).

Let me be clear: I could quote Capon all day, but you would stop reading.  His lawyers might not, however, and I’d get in a mess of trouble for breaches of copyright.

But I’m sorely tempted to quote him ad nauseum because Capon understands mystery and he understands grace and he sees that Easter makes all the difference in the world.

So does Brian Stoffregen.  He’s a Lutheran pastor who writes illuminating textual notes on the weekly Gospel verses.  You can find his insight and honest, well-written prose here.  Here he writes on the parable-at-hand (I know it’s a long excerpt, but if you’re into grace and humility, here’s some good fodder for you):

I notice that the angels collect “out of his kingdom”. Earlier the field was defined as “the world” (kosmos, v. 38). Does Jesus/Matthew intend us to think that “his kingdom” is the same as “the world,” or, as I’ve discovered in other passages, there is a greater judgment for those on the inside, who don’t measure up in some way.

Those that are gathered for punishment are defined as “all causes of sin” and “all evildoers” (NRSV). These need further comments.

“causes of sin” is skandala. This word originally referred to a trap — most likely the type held up by a stick; then, metaphorically, to something that causes a person to be trapped, caught, be stuck where they don’t want to be — that is something that was offensive to them. Finally, came to refer to things that tempted others to stray or sin. The word is used three times in Matthew (once in Luke and no occurrences in Mark or John).

On one hand, especially with the verb, skandalizo, there is the sense that such things have to be removed, e.g., if a part of your body causes you to sin, remove it (5:29, 30; 18:6, 8, 9). The noun is used three times in 18:7 to refer to the dangers of being a cause of sin to others.

Besides seeing “causes of sin” as people within the community who are leading others astray, they could also be within each individual — parts of us that remain under the power of sin and continually tempt us to stray away from the faithful life. The parable suggests that the day will come will all of that will be destroyed. Then, we, as truly and fully righteous will shine like the sun. To use Luther’s terms, presently we are simultaneous sinner and saint; but the day will come with the “sinner” part will be removed and destroy. All that will be left is the saintly part.

The other use of the noun presents an interesting problem. In 16:23 Jesus turns and says to Peter: “Get behind me, Satan! You are a stumbling block to me; for you are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things.”

Similarly, the verb is used of the disciples in 26:31: “Then Jesus said to them, “You will all become deserters because of me this night; for it is written, ‘I will strike the shepherd, and the sheep of the flock will be scattered.’

Peter and the disciples are “causes of sin,” but will they be gathered and thrown into the blazing furnace?

Perhaps we can say that they deserve that kind of punishment, but by God’s grace they don’t receive it.

“all evildoers” is more literally “the ones doing lawlessness”. They are those living as though there were no law. Matthew has made it clear that Jesus came to fulfill the law (5:17-18) not to do away with it. (I might phrase it, “He came to restore the law to its proper uses.”) My hunch is that there may have been some within Matthew’s community who proclaimed that the law no longer applied to them, and lived without it. For Matthew, “lawlessness” is not just outward acts, but one can be “lawless” inwardly (23:28), perhaps not inwardly wanting to obey the law, but putting on an outward show of obedience.

The images of “furnace of fire” and “weeping and gnashing of teeth” seem to be Matthian. Only Matthew uses “furnace” (kaminos) as a picture of punishment (13:42, 50). (Its other uses are Rev 1:15; 9:2).

It is used often in the OT as a picture of refinement (Is 48:10; Sir 2:5; 27:5; 31:26) — so this text could be interpreted as refining those who are in the kingdom. They are purged of all the sins and lawlessness that is within them through the fires of God’s judgment.

The phrase “weeping and gnashing of teeth” occurs six times in Matthew (8:12; 13:42, 50; 22:13; 24:51; 25:30) and once in Luke (13:28), and no where else in the NT. Thus, it seems to be a strong emphasis in Matthew.

What I find interesting about Matthew’s six uses is that those who will weep and gnash their teeth, all seem to have been “insiders”!

• 8:12 it is the “heirs of the kingdom” (probably Jews vs. many from east and west)
• 13:42 some from “out of his kingdom”
• 13:50 evil from righteous, but both are “caught in the same net”
• 22:13 someone at the wedding banquet, but not wearing the wedding robe
• 24:51 wicked slave (as a slave, he was part of the household)
• 25:30 worthless slave (as a slave, he was part of the household)

It seems to me that this harsh judgment is uttered against those within the community of faith, but who fail to bear the proper fruit of living in Christ. As was true in the OT, God’s harshest judgments were pronounced against his own people. So, too, Matthew does in his gospel.

So Capon and Stoffregen do not deny that there is judgment in this story.

They do deny that it need be ultimate.

And that’s where I’m at too.

I have never said that one can’t find texts that suggest the possibility/probability/assured existence of eternal damnation.

I have said that a) there are other texts that would dispute that assertion; and b) I think Easter trumps any text that trumpets eternal damnation.

I think God’s ultimate agenda is reconciliation.

It is aphete.

And aphete does not preclude judgement.

Instead, it comes before, during, and after it.

It’s precisely what makes judgement–with the aim of restoring, or refining–possible.

Even to those within the Christian community.

And that’s mysterious grace for sure.

I hope that that aided in your thinking about the text!

And I hope you sign up for our week next year again.

Pax.

The NT makes sense (mostly)! So why does the OT make it so hard to be a Christian? A lot of it is so contradictory. What makes it worse is when preachers read too much into an OT passage to support something in the NT, and then you find that in the next chapter or book God does something horrific such as wiping out people or judging people because of what someone else did. Seems the Judge of the OT is not the loving Father of the NT no matter how much spin you put on it. Rant over

A pillar Lutheran theologian by the name of Joseph Sittler once said that he was too good a theologian to think that he was a great one.

I’m of the same mind, which is why, instead of taking this one on alone, this question that has so many key layers, I contacted a truly great theologian to help respond to it with clarity and savvy.

Dr. Murray Haar was a colleague of mine when I taught religion at Augustana College in Sioux Falls.  Although we are no longer colleagues at the same institution, I am grateful that we are yet friends.

He is Jewish, but for a time served as a Lutheran pastor before he returned to the faith of his family and that had once been his.

So he was a perfect fit to send this fine question–and one that has crossed many a Christian mind.

Murray wrote this in candid and pithy and pointed and provocative response:

What some Christians sometimes forget is that for Christians, Jesus is the God of the Old Testament become flesh.  So the Old Testament God is really no different than the New.  Both care about justice and love.  Both are gracious and yet condemn sin.  In point of fact, in the whole New Testament Jesus does not smile once.  He does not sing camp songs.  In fact, he rarely acts with grace or talks about how much he loves people.  His first words in the Gospel of Mark are ones that make him sound like an O.T. prophet, “Repent, for the kingdom of God is at hand.”  So what we have are charicatures of Jesus as being loving and kindly and sweet and the O.T. God as lacking grace and being violent.  The fact is in the Bible God is God is God, mysterious, ineffable, perplexing, ambiguous, with both a passion for justice and grace.

Thank you Murray.

I recall making a similar point as the questioner to my New Testament professor in seminary.  His steely response is still seared into my little brain:  ”They are the same God.”

One of my favorite quotes from Despicable Me (love that movie) is “It’s so fluffy I’m going to DIE!”

I think that’s how many Christians view Jesus: meek and mild, and, well, ultimately fluffy.

But he wasn’t.

He got ticked.  Turned tables over.  Called people vipers.

That is, I think that this question–which conveys some common beliefs about Judaism, Christianity, and their respective Holy Scriptures–conveys some misunderstandings about them all as well.

The Old Testament, of course, was not written for people to become Christians.  It was written for Jews.  So the questioner is correct that it is disrespectful to read into the OT for NT “prophecies.”  The writers were writing for their time to their context.

That said, the Germans have a great word, one Heilsgeschichte. It means “God’s salvation history,” or God’s saving acts in history.  The idea has a longstanding place in Christian theology, and is meant to show that God has acted on behalf of God’s people in the past, and continues to do so in the present.

And so it is appropriate to look to the Old Testament to see the continuity.

While it is absolutely true that there are troubling stories in the Old Testament, it is key to recall that there are also troubling tales in the New of apparently merciless and capricious judgment (Parable of the Bridesmaids) or perplexing rewards (Parable of the Unjust Steward).

And it is also true that even now, the question of how God can be loving and yet seem to abide, allow, or even create suffering is real to Jew and Christian.

And one more key piece we Christians ought not forget: Jesus was not a Christian, but was a Jew.  And the Scriptures to which he referred were those we commonly call the Old Testament.  So as Dr. Haar notes above, Jesus is the fulfillment of the Old Testament prophecies, the assurance that the One would come, Emmanuel (a Hebrew word), God-With-Us.

So.

It isn’t as simple as dividing God up, splitting God up the middle between the Old and New Testament, as if God were just going through an Old Testament, adolescent-like God phase.

In fact, the more that one pays attention to the relationship of the Old Testament to the New, and that the God of the Old Testament is the same God in the New, the more we’ve got a shot at tamping down anti-Semitism, misrepresentation of Jewish beliefs, Christian triumphalism, and “Bibles” that don’t include the very Scriptures to which Jesus referred.

Upshot of the thumbnail sketch: the notion that there are two Gods just like there are two Testaments is widespread.  But the more you peek at it and poke around in it, the more one notices that there are more consistencies than inconsistencies, more relation than disconnect, and therefore less to rant about and more to reflect upon!

So did I spin out or weave together?

Peace, and thanks to the questioner.

Anna

Today I’m posting something a bit out-of-the ordinary for what I’ve typically done with OMG.

It’s the text of a speech I made at a press conference on Tuesday, Jan. 18th, sponsored by the South Dakota Democrats and the South Dakota wing of Organizing for America, the morphed body of Obama for America Supporters.

The issue at hand is the threatened repeal of the health care legislation passed 2010.  As you’ll read, the matter is very dear to my heart for a number of reasons.

I fully realize that many folks who follow OMG are Republicans, or perhaps Democrats who support the repeal.

I do not mean to offend you.  I do mean to show, however, two things:

1. One’s faith commitments make a difference in one’s politics.

2. Although people on the political right tend to invoke God more than people on the political left, I want to show that it is possible to be a progressive Democrat and a Christian.

Some might think that my overt political opinions might cloud my ability to be theologically open-minded and fair to those who differ: this is one reason why pastors are often discouraged from being open about their voting preferences.

Feminist that I am, I figure that we all have a bias.  Might as well be forthright about it, and then you don’t have to guess what it is!

So, here is my speech, my objection to the Republican agenda to repeal the Health Care Legislation:

__________________________________

Yesterday, our nation remembered Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.

In March 1966, King, this man whom we recognize because he had a habit of speaking difficult and dangerous truth—not to mention transforming our social justice landscape—gave a speech to the Second National Convention of the Medical Committee for Human Rights in Chicago.  There he said:

“Of all the forms of inequality, injustice in health care is the most shocking and inhumane.”

And yet, here we sit, 55 years later, having just a year ago moved closer to his vision of health care equality, and yet some awfully powerful people want to bring us back to 1966.

It’s stunning.

I’m so grateful that Amanda Mack invited me to participate in this press conference, because the matter of health care is a big deal in my world.  It’s a big deal for me as a woman who has benefited powerfully from the German health care system—one far more progressive than the one now in place threatened with repeal; it’s a big deal for me as a mother with a child who suffered a traumatic brain injury (now known as a “pre-existing condition”); and it’s a big deal for me as a Christian theologian.

So about that German health care system.

In 2004, tragedy struck my family right when we were gearing up to return to the US after a five-year stint in Regensburg, Germany.  We had been there while I worked on my Ph.D.  Completed, we were one month away from signing for a home here in Sioux Falls.  It was then that my husband and son were hit by a car as they crossed a street.

My husband died five hours later, and my sweetest boy Karl suffered a traumatic brain injury, a trauma so severe that many doctors essentially guaranteed that if he didn’t die, he would be non-communicative for the rest of his life.

Still, the German system didn’t give up on him.

Karl was in ICU for six weeks, and then transported by ambulance to a rehab center in the Alps, where he stayed for another six weeks.

Over the course of those three months, the invoice I would have received would have included three ambulance rides; the intense care for my late husband before he died; truly countless surgeries for my son including the removal of his skull, the freezing of his skull, and the reinsertion of his skull, as well as the insertion of catheters and feeding tubes; MRIs and C-Ts; occupational, physical, and speech therapy; and daily food for my family.

For all of that medical, therapeutic, familial care and more, I paid at most $100 out-of-pocket.

In Germany, you see, not to mention in the health care systems of most every other industrialized nation, health care is bound up with the benefit of being human.

In this country, it has been—and still is, to a significant degree—bound up with the benefit of being employed.

Even post- health care legislation, employment does not guarantee that one has enough coverage, and our system doesn’t recognize that the care of the chronically ill involves much more than health care alone.

Up until 2007, I was employed full-time as a professor.  But the stress of the tragedy, not to mention the continuing pressure and chaos of the life of a single parent (with one child who had special needs, the other who had her own special needs as a small, small child) was clearly taking its toll.  Nothing is more important to me than my two children, and I knew that they needed me more than I was able to be present.  Yet my teaching position in this country was also bound up in health insurance.  And so I found myself choosing for a long time between being centered and present for my children, and providing health care—most pressingly for Karl—and necessary income for them.

This terrible choice never presented itself to my German friends who had suffered a similar tragedy with their three-year-old daughter.  Instead, the German government recognized that by communally supporting those who suffer, the entire society benefits, the benevolent action radiating from the collective commitment to take care of those with medical need.

So as I considered my options, the worry about the limitations of pre-existing conditions and life-time caps was crushing.

These issues still concern me, as I—along with so many other parents and partners to loved ones—now sit on the edge of our seats worrying that the Republican push to repeal health care will threaten yet again our assurance that regardless of when the illness or injury occurred, or the nature of the illness or injury, we will know that we need not choose between financial security and care for our beloveds.

In Karl’s unique case, receiving a traumatic brain injury at three weeks before one turns three makes it impossible to not meet lifetime caps, let alone get around the pre-existing condition clause; that is, when an illness or injury gets you as at the beginning of your life, of when you exist, “lifetime” is a long, long time, and the balance of everything that occurs for the remainder of your days is “pre-existing.”

Now, speaking as a Christian theologian, the Republican push to repeal this literally life-giving legislation offends the integrity of my understanding of who Christians are called to be.

Let me be clear: by no means am I assuming that we are a nation that ought to be governed exclusively by Christian principles.

That said, I am aware that many people who advocate for the repeal of this health care law are Christians, and I would like to make a case using a different set of Christian lenses to show that there is another way of thinking though this.

The Greek word soteria is translated as “salvation,” which in the Greek in point of fact means “health, healing, and wholeness.”  The current effort to dismantle the major advances made in the recent health care legislation stands in radical opposition to this biblical ideal; an ideal clearly present in both the Old and New Testaments, and prophesied, proclaimed, and enacted as a key mark of the reign of God extended to all people—not just those with jobs!  In fact, one could argue that the biblical agenda is that soteria ought to be offered precisely to those without jobs.

The Republican push to repeal also simply stands in radical opposition to the most basic needs of the American people.

In light of this, it is remarkable that this week of all weeks, yesterday’s commemoration of Martin Luther King Jr. barely in our rear view mirror, the Republicans continue to try to reverse the health care legislation.

Simultaneously, of course, they reject the prophetic words of Martin Luther King, Jr.:

“Of all the forms of inequality, injustice in health care is the most shocking and inhumane.”

——————————–

These are fantastic, articulate questions.

I brewed myself a strong cup of coffee, and sat down to settle into it.

1. Your distinction between “reacting” and “responding” intrigues me.

Reacting reminds me of what reptiles do well. They tend not to thoughtfully consider situations, options, motivations, and complexities.

Responding suggests more of an evaluated reply.

As I read the reports of Anne Rice’s departure with your question in mind, I found that on the surface she appeared to “respond.” She spoke of having deliberated for some time about this move, and that there was indeed wrestling involved.

However, her reasons for leaving were stunningly simplistic. To be sure, one can find examples of precisely what she is naming: sexism, prejudice against homosexuals, close-minded and dogmatic thinking.

But two thoughts came to mind:

a) that sort of thinking is surely also to be found in the secular world;

b) that sort of thinking is surely not to be found across the board within the Church.

I was struck with the irony that her decision came not long after my tradition, the ELCA, voted to welcome gays and lesbians in relationship. An interviewer brought this point up to her. She replied that although she was pleased with the vote, she needed to “walk away from the whole controversy, the whole conversation.”

I appreciate fatigue, truly I do. And I appreciate disgust even at the Church, truly I do.

But I don’t appreciate blanket statements so very much.

There is much that the Church has done and continues to do that deserves righteous indignation. But one appears awfully simplistic and judgmental if one suggests that these acts define the Church through and through, and that one somehow is above reproach enough to find something better….alone….without the interference of relating to others….because that always muddies the waters.

Really, I wondered if she knows of Jim Wallis and Sojourners, or of the recent UCC ad that suggests anything but stodgy thinking.

2. There are some parallels, I suppose, to Anne and Martin. Martin left because he thought that the pope usurped his appropriate powers, and he felt that the Church’s teachings were skewed.

But there are some key differences:

a) He did not want to leave. What he wanted to do, despite all of the muck and frustration and danger and anger, was to stick around and reform the Church.

b) Once he left, he did not retreat to a private corner, or shake the dust off of his shoes and blast the entire Church. He set out to build up a new way of being Church.

I really really understand why a person would want to leave the Church. The Church can be clumsy, capricious, and downright wrong.

But it is indeed hard to remain a Christian and not be part of a Christian community, for a couple of reasons.

a) Jesus did not just come for me. Jesus came for the entire world.

I respect a private faith as much as I respect indignation at the Church! There are good reasons to be so frustrated that one walks away! And there are good reasons to craft a deeply personal, private faith. That is not the point.

The danger is that one establishes an “exclusivity” with Jesus, and assumes that whatever one has going on privately with Jesus is way better than what those church-goers are up to, do the degree that one doesn’t need others for one’s own faith.

I’m not so convinced that that is true.

b) Connected with that is the reality that we are all fallible. Community (granted, a healthy community) helps us think through matters collectively and conversationally, so that one doesn’t become navel-gazingly arrogant.

See, I know of specific congregations who would largely agree with Anne Rice’s perspective, and I think that both she and these other gatherings of people suffer the loss of that possible relationship.

I must add, however, that there is a reason that denominations are suffering such attrition these days. We have too often made ourselves and our message irrelevant and/or archaic. Ann speaks a prophetic voice to us, and that ought not be missed in this dust-up.

3. There are reasons to leave certain doctrines and denominations which uphold them.

Although, as I’ve made clear in other blogs, I actively supported (and still do) the recent ELCA decision on the ordination of gays and lesbians in relationship, I understand better the grief and anger of those who are leaving if I imagine how I would respond were the ELCA to withdraw the validity of women’s ordination.

To be in relationship with anyone–person or institution–necessitates a fine balance of humility and principle.

If one concedes that no one–including oneself–is perfect, then one greets frustrating exchanges with more compassion and less haughtiness.

Still, there is a reason why I am ELCA Lutheran, and not Missouri Synod, for example, or Roman Catholic, or Jewish. There are some things I hold to be central, and the ELCA folks seem to resonate with my convictions more than do other traditions. So I suppose I have, to use your language, left those doctrines.

But were I to blast these other traditions with a wide swath of disgust, I would not only ensure that present conversations would cease, I would also guarantee that further conversations would be that much more difficult.

And I would do a fine job of making clear that I am certain that I cannot be wrong, and am always right…or at least on balance right-er than these other misguided or ignorant people in the other pews.

So. A first run at your question(s).

In short, I have felt most every one of Anne Rice’s frustrations. But I’m not sure that leaving the Church with a generalized Pox on the House is helpful, accurate, or fair.

I’m eager to hear if you have some follow-up!

Anna

—————–

Great question!

I imagine that at one level, just about every passage of Scripture has some element of interpretation going on.

Some read the Bible literally, meaning that everything occurred just as one reads at face value.

Others see various layers, and wonder about how archaeological finds, linguistic insights, historical context and so forth inform the intended meaning of the texts–assuming that there is any agreement on the interpretation of the archaeological finds, linguistic insights, historical contexts themselves to begin with!

Even the notion of themes is tricky. Most would agree that God has a habit for caring for the poor and the oppressed. However, what the _implications_ of that habit for _us_ is, is another story. Jim Wallis, for example, sees matters vastly differently than does, say, Glenn Beck. http://www.huffingtonpost.com/jim-wallis/what-glenn-beck-doesnt-un_b_511362.html and http://blog.beliefnet.com/gospelsoundcheck/2010/07/jim-wallis-glenn-beck-and-lifest.html is a place to start. Here’s a funny take on their bickering: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wy8v1Q1VWuI

And while one wants to think of God as all-loving, there is a healthy share of texts which might call that into question.

This is why I love being a systematic theologian. My “gig,” so to speak, is to figure out why we say we believe what we do, and whether it can actually carry the water home. Is it consistent? Does it make sense according to the world in which we live? Where are the weaknesses, and can we work through them (not always, by the way)?

If you have specific texts in mind, that might be a way to do a “case study.”

Thank you for raising this one up!

————————

Do you remember this Federal Express commercial with the speedy talker? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NeK5ZjtpO-M

Have that in mind as you read through this blog entry, because this is OMG’s version of the history of scripture in approximately 2000 words, borrowed heavily from a lecture I have often given on the topic! It’s an awfully thrilling history.

The word ‘Bible’ comes from the Greek words, ‘ta biblia,’ meaning ‘little scrolls,’ or ‘little books.’ In fact, many little books make up the Big Book, so to speak.

The Bible is also called “the canon,” which means “measuring rod,’ or ‘ruler.’ In fact, in Regensburg Germany, there are two steel posts attached to the corner of the ancient city hall. They were used as a uniformly accepted yard stick, in case the fabric merchant was going to sell two feet of material for the price of three. These two rods were, in essence, a canon.

That’s what Scripture is, a canon, a gathering of writings to which we hold various assertions up to see whether they jibe.

In fact, it is still a disagreement about which little books actually belong in this Big Book, the Bible. Martin Luther, for example, wanted to chuck the books of James and Revelation. Some argue that the writings of Dietrich Bonhoeffer or Martin Luther King Jr. ought to be included in Scripture. Theoretically, changes could be made: the Bible as we have it never was approved by any council whatsoever, and even now different traditions include different books. But the chances of that happening are really, really, really slim.

So let’s look at each section of the Bible to see what one can find.

The Old Testament

The first portion of the Old Testament, or the Hebrew Bible, is called the Tanakh. It’s an acronym, like NASA, standing for these three words: Torah, Nebi’im, and Kethubim.

The Torah (also called the Pentateuch, meaning five [penta-] teachings) is comprised of the first five books of the Bible: Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy. Several authors are responsible for these books (the idea that Moses wrote them is highly disputed by most scholars, beginning with the observation that Moses died in these texts, and aided by clearly different styles of writing and agendas), and overall, it took approximately six centuries to write them all (11th-5th centuries B.C.E.). These documents were discovered before the ancient Hebrews were returned from their Babylonian exile (beginning in 538), and preserved what previously had only been maintained orally.

The name ”Torah’ was given to these books because it preserved teachings: ‘Torah’ means ‘teaching’ or ‘law.’ It became a normative text by the middle of the third century BCE, when it was first translated into Greek.

The Nebi’im are the prophetic writings, like Joshua, Judges, Samuel, Kings, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Amos, Hosea, Micah, and so forth. They were compiled by 200 BCE, but were written in two stages: some before 609 BCE, and some during the Exile. One can notice certain editorial changes that occurred over time, like the addition of Isaiah 40-66, or Zechariah 9-14, in order for the prophetic address to continue to be relevant.

The Kethubim, meaning the Writings, were uniquely bandied around, independent of one another. They were compiled late into the first century BCE. Different editors put the books in different orders, and depending upon whether you are a Jew or not, some books are considered one, some two. They include the Psalms, Proverbs, Job, Song of Solomon, Ruth, Lamentations, Ecclesiastes, Esther, Daniel, Ezra-Nehemiah, and 1 and 2 Chronicles.

Then we have the Apocrypha. The name comes from a Greek word meaning ‘hidden.’ It’s where we get our words ‘cryptic’ and ‘crypt.’ It is possible that it is called the Apocrypha because some thought that the words and ideas were so mysterious that the meanings were hidden from the average person, or that the texts in the Apocrypha should be hidden because the words were heretical to some!

We have these manuscripts because a man named Jerome was commissioned to translate the Scripture into Latin. His final work is called the Latin Vulgate. He distinguished these books from the Old Testament and from the New Testament. Roman Catholics consider the Apocrypha part of the Bible, but Protestants tend to see them as “extra-canonical.”

However, the Apocrypha is used and known in history!

Shakespeare named two of his daughters after the books Susanna and Judith, and about eighty passages from eleven of his plays contain references to it. Hymn writers use it, like the composer of Now Thank We All Our God, who based its text on Luther’s translation of Sirach 50:22-24. All sorts of common names come from it, like Edna, Susanna (Susan, Suzanne), Judith, and Tobias (Toby). The word macabre could well come from the gruesome details of the Maccabee tales. And perhaps for some, most importantly, New Testament writers make use of it. Romans 1:20-29 correlates with Wisdom 13: 5, 8; and 2 Corinthians echoes Wisdom 9:15, and James 1:19 parallels Sirach 5:11.

The Septuagint (LXX) is the translation of the Old Testament into Greek, and was completed sometime between 200-300 BCE. It was translated from the Hebrew into Greek (and a few verses in Aramaic) because after the exile, the Jews had spread out, dispersed, all over the Mediterranean world. This occurrence is called, in fact, the Diaspora. Because Greek had become the main language (much like English today), many Jews had forgotten their Hebrew, and could only understand Scripture in the Greek.

Many of the New Testament writers, when referring to the Old Testament writings, quote from the LXX, not from the Hebrew text, because they didn’t know Hebrew well either!

Legend has it that seventy scholars did the work; hence the name. It was here that the order of the Old Testament was set, because the translators put the books in, what seemed to them, to be chronological order.

It is key to remember that the Old Testament was the only Testament for the early Christians–not least of all Jesus. It is included in the Christian Bible because without it, without Judaism, one is not Christian.

The New Testament came into being because of a heretic.

I really like heretics.

Marcion lived around 150 AD, and completely changed the history of the church.

He believed that the God of the Old Testament is different than the God of the New Testament.

So he pitched most of the Old Testament.

And he got rid of all the writings that he felt favored Jewish readers, like Matthew, Mark, Acts, and Hebrews. The pastoral epistles conflicted with the way he saw theology, so he chucked them too. And he didn’t like Luke’s nativity story.

Which left Paul.

And something Luke-esque.

Needless to say, the orthodox (ortho=straight, doxa=thinking, namely those with “straight thinking,” those who “have it right”) excommunicated him.

Not that that helped much.

So they decided to establish the Canon, and the beginnings of the Bible as we have it now came into being, to counter Marcion and other like-minded heretics..

The Old Testament was retained, and writings after Jesus were preserved as long as it seemed as if the writer were either a disciple or a disciple of a disciple. And the writings could not be considered to be heretical in and of themselves, e.g., if an author suggested that Jesus only ‘appeared’ to be human, it was not allowed into Scripture.

Dating of the original texts for New Testament books is interesting, and is tricky.

Most scholars think that Mark was written about 60 CE (approximately 30 years after Jesus’ death), Luke and Matthew around 70-80 CE, and Paul between 50-65. Not all scholars agree, by the way, that all the books attributed to Paul (like Ephesians, for example) were indeed written by Paul.

But that’s another blog.

And if you really want to chase something interesting, check out the idea of the four-source hypothesis, which notes the similarities between Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and proposes that the authors knew of each others’ writings, as well as at least three others: Q (Quelle), and proto-Luke, and proto-Matthew. Here’s a quick survey: http://catholic-resources.org/Bible/Synoptic_Problem.htm

In short (ha ha), the Bible as we have it, only came into existence around 369. That’s more than three centuries after Jesus lived! Before that, the Gospels and letters of Paul were the primary sources of Church writings, up until 150. Around 190, a list circulated with approved scripture, and it included all the books in our present New Testament, except Hebrews, James, 1 and 2 Peter, and 3 John.

Then in the first part of the fourth century, a gentleman named Eusebius wrote that Hebrew, James, 2 Peter, 2 and 3 John, Jude, and Revelation were still considered by some to be iffy. No one quite knows how people reconciled to having them included in Scripture, but by 369 we have our first listing of all the books in the Bible as we now have it.

It’s important to note that we have not one single “original” manuscript of scripture. We have ancient copies, but they are not uniform–although the consistency is remarkable from one manuscript to the next.

Most scholars dispute the notion of God “whispering” in an author’s ear to “dictate” what should be written.

Literalism is dangerous–and easily disproven.

As I’ve said in another blog entry, even the authors were comfortable with metaphor. Did any author really mean that God is an eagle, or that we are sheep?

And literalism misses the point. There are many forms of writing in scripture: history, poetry, letters, lament, hymnody for starters! If two people are standing on a hill, which one tells a truer word: the one who says, “I can see 6.6 miles?” or the one who says, “I can see forever?”

Add to that the terribly different historical, cultural, and linguistic circumstances, and the notion of literalism begins to lose its luster.

And what of context? I’ve often said, echoing my OT professor, that the one commandment that humanity has ever gotten right is “Be fruitful and multiply!” But in a day and age of overpopulation, when all creation is groaning with resources stretched beyond reserve, is it a word God would speak yet today?

Different translations of the Bible emphasize different interpretive priorities. Some do translate with an emphasis upon literalism, and others allow, even if in footnotes, some measure of translational freedom. The translation I prefer is the New Revised Standard Version (NRSV). It is a fine collaborative work which depended upon biblical scholars from many and various traditions–a choice that consciously avoided an interpretive bias.

So.

Clearly, much to think about, wonder about, and pursue.

For those of who wanting to chase this further, take a look at these following links:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Biblical_manuscript It’s a wikipedia article which offers some cool links to studying ancient manuscripts. Note the images!

The Da Vinci Code received much attention. Take a look at Speaking of Faith’s view of it here: http://speakingoffaith.publicradio.org/programs/davinci/index.shtml

Here’s theologian William Placher’s historical perspective on the notion of biblical literalism: http://www.religion-online.org/showarticle.asp?title=5

I’m eager for feedback and further questions!

Peace,

Anna

This is why theologians get paid the big money [insert ironic chuckle here].

We are supposed to know what is going to happen when we die and why.

Let me be straight up and, on behalf of a whole bunch of us, say: We don’t. For sure. We have hunches, we have hopes, we have hints, but we don’t really, really know.

It’s tricky, right? There are texts that can really scare the dickens out of a person. Take a look at the one you mention: Hebrews 10:26-31.

And why stop there?

Matthew 7:13, Luke 16:26, 2 Thessalonians 1:9, Revelation 20:13-15 all can be cause for deep fear and even despair….and there are a lot more where these came from.

Of course, other texts aren’t so frightening, and actually suggest a wider door.

1 Tim. 2:6, 1 Cor. 15:22, Romans 5:17, Col. 1:20, 1 John 2:2.

Of course, each of these texts are bound to the verses before and after it, and bound by the author’s historical context, and many can be interpreted a number of ways.

My point here is that the Bible (in the cases listed above, the New Testament) isn’t as monolithic as one might believe.

Not that it is a huge surprise for those who read my blogs carefully, but I am of the mind that the question of what happens after we die is largely a theological question, and that in the end, we have to humbly say that we don’t know…and that we will not be paralyzed by that notion.

The way in which you phrase your thoughts, however, raises some interesting questions. You begin by saying that “If we are saved by God’s grace….” and close by wondering if we can “fall short of God’s grace.”

My immediate thought is, saved from what?

My second thought is, what is grace?

And my first answer to the first thought is, sin.

And my first answer to the second thought is, the gift of something undeserved.

And so two theological questions:

If we really believe that God offers grace (an undeserved gift) to we who sin (namely we who reject God in favor of something else) then:

1. isn’t the demand to repent, to stop the sin, to pray, etc…..aren’t these all acts to make us deserving of grace? And along side of that (this doesn’t cut into my two questions, btw! ), then what is grace, really? Can we fall short of something we don’t deserve in the first place?

2. Who doesn’t sin, and (again, still part of the same question!) who is aware of all the ways in which one sins? Is it ever possible to confess and repent of all our sins?

These are just beginning questions. Then begins a whole run of ‘em.

Like,

Are all sins choices, or could there be sinful behaviors which are bound up in mental illness, in fatigue, in family systems?

Do we really want to say that only Christians are going to heaven…and does even Scripture make that case?

Is this a slippery slope to universalism?

And if “all people get into heaven,” then what’s the point of believing?

Ah, but then there are counter-questions:

Like, if a person believes to get into heaven, isn’t the integrity and authenticity of the belief self-serving, since it appears to be motivated by a protecting one’s own eternal hiney?

When does one believe “enough” to be in God’s good graces?

Is there anyone who is purely good? And even if not entirely good, are there parts of people which are fundamentally good, and then are those parts not in need of salvation….and what would that mean?

But don’t good deeds matter somehow?

And yet if we say that they do, then don’t we say that we in part can save ourselves?

And what happens if we’ve lived a pretty good life, and in the moment that we allow ourselves to wonder these sorts of things, get hit by a car? What is going to be God’s final answer?

Regardless of how one comes down on the question of heaven/hell, salvation/damnation, this much is safe to assert is true:

If one says that they believe in God, then there are implications for how they live their lives, for the choices that they make.

We all mess up, sometime quite gloriously, even those who say that they–and in fact really do–believe.

There’s a reason why we have the word “grace,” in other words. We need it.

But generally, if one says that something is core to who they are, then they live life consistent to that notion: not to get something, but because they can’t help but to live in such a fashion.

I tell my husband that I love him not to get him to love me, but because I love him. I play with my kidlets not to get them to respect me, but because I adore them.

Actions are an expression, in other words.

And let it not be missed that some of the most life-giving people are those who are not connected to any one particular religious tradition.

So the point is not to “diss” confessing and repenting and praying and discerning what is faithful and striving to live accordingly.

The point is to rather raise the question about whether these are pre-reqs for salvation…and if we answer that they are, well….who doesn’t fall short of that?

It’s all clear…as mud.

Peace,

Anna

God continues in the passage to describe Himself in relationship to mankind as the “God of your fathers”, etc. It would be nice to better understand what God meant (or Moses’s interpretation) of that event.

________________________

Wowza. There’s something to keep a mind moving in the morning.

In short, in Exodus 3:13 and following, God lets God’s name slip. YHWH.

But the name YHWH has been keeping people awake ever since, and apparently you too have maybe lost a few minutes wrangling with it.

Why YHWH? What does that mean?

Bernhard Anderson, Old Testament theologian, calls this text “one of the most cryptic passages in the Old Testament.”

I’d add that to your fantastic adjective “expansive!”

To Moses’ “simple” question, God offers three responses.

1. “I am who I am,” or “I will be who I will be;”

2. “I am;”

3. “The God of your ancestors…”

We have been terribly interested in this “be-ing” piece, this name that in Hebrew is rendered YHWH.

The first person form of the Hebrew word for the verb “to be” is ‘ehyeh. In Hebrew, it would be spelled (transliterated into English now of course!) HYH, namely “I am.” The third person form of this verb (namely “he is”) is YHWH.

Anderson lays out three different ways of thinking through this odd choice of a name, and I’ll lay them out in turn. (All of the following is found in Understanding the Old Testament, 4th Edition, p. 60 and following).

1. One line of thinking puts out there that originally in the text, the word was based on the Hebrew verb for “cause to be,” as in “He makes things happen.” In other words, in the context of the text, it reads, “I bring things into being.” This works nicely grammatically and theologically, if the agenda were to make the case that God was the creator of all things. Martin Noth notes that the “to be” verb used here does not imply merely “existing,” but rather active being, movement. (Exodus: A Commentary, 1962, p. 45).

2. Another theory is that YWHW should be understood simply as “I am.” Some, says Anderson, don’t particularly like this approach, because the idea of thinking about God in some eternal sort of way wasn’t really an issue for the ancient Israelites; it’s actually more of a Greek concern.

That said, the Israelites were concerned about developing an idea about God who was, is, and will continue to be involved in history. Another twist on this approach maintains that the point is that YHWH is, rather than other gods. Anderson quotes R. de Vaux who wrote that the implication here is that YHWH “is the only one who exists for Israel.”

3. Last is the idea that the name means “I will be,” in a future-bound sort of way. Here is a sense of comfort and promise. Moses will not be going forth alone, but rather with God, and the Israelites will not be left alone, but will be with God. As Anderson writes, “…the divine name signifies God, whose being is turned toward the people, who is present in their midst as deliverer, guide, and judge, and who is accessible in worship.”

That said, the text suggests that God is not 100% sure that it’s a good idea to reveal the divine name, for fear that people will try and use it for their own purposes. Think, for a moment, of how wars, church battles, justifications for personal deeds, are engaged with the assumption that “God is on my side.” So the interpretation above implies that God retains control of God’s identity, as in, “I will be whom I will be, not whom you want me to be.”

Still, once you know the name of someone, you can be in relationship. A name can be said in gentleness, love, anger, rejection, consolation, jest. With this in mind, that God offered YHWH suggests God’s willingness to be vulnerable and accessible. In other words, not only the name is of interest here, but the very offering of the name is too. See Terrance Frethiem here, in Interpretation: Exodus, pp. 64 and following.

Much more could be said regarding the name YHWH. Anderson concedes that the “honest truth is that we do not know for sure the source from which Moses received the name Yahweh.” That said, he goes on, the most important matter is what the name meant to early Israel. Here, it seems as if the name YHWH was bound up with the Exodus event, a God who, to quote Exodus 20:2, “I am Yahweh your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of bondage.”

To that degree, the name YHWH could continue to have relevance for those who call still upon that name. God continues to be, to be creative, to be involved, and to bring new things into being.

Thanks for the question!

I do have an opinion.  I actively supported the recent change in policy.

One of the intriguing things about this entire conversation is the way in which Scripture has been employed.  I have come to decide (not surprisingly, given my vocational bias as a systematic theologian) that the question really is not a scriptural one, but rather a theological one.

That might seem to be a surprising distinction, but here’s what’s behind it:

You can use scripture to back up most anything one desires.  Slavery, women’s subjugation, bashing babies’ heads on stones, multiple wives, socialism (not capitalism, come to think of it), celibacy, giving away all you have…you get the idea; all are encouraged in Scripture.

But clearly, some matters in Scripture we embrace, some we do not.

Add to that the fact that Scripture was written over hundreds and hundreds of years, and hundreds and hundreds of years ago.  So as one of my Old Testament professors pointed out, the one commandment we have ever gotten correct was, “Be fruitful and multiply.”  Made sense then, in a day when they needed to populate.  But in a day when we struggle with overpopulation, well, does that law speak to us even now?

And for the Christians in the group, if you add the notion of the living, breathing, Holy Spirit into it, one can not make the case that the Spirit was done speaking at the end of Revelation.  The Spirit can speak to us outside of Scripture.

The question, it seems to me, is less “What does Scripture say,” and more “On what basis do we interpret Scripture?”

When we begin there, we learn about why different groups are in favor of the new ELCA rostering decision, and why some oppose it.

And when we begin there, we also understand something of context, and might even engage in a new form of respectful and humble dialogue.

So while I disagree with those who are angry with the new choice to ordain gays and lesbians in committed relationships, it helps to learn something of their theological framework, and then the conversation becomes much more fruitful than lobbing Bible verses back and forth.

What do you think?

Anna