2015-03-13T23:10:58-04:00

B. RICHTER AND THE EPIC OF URZEIT UND ENDZEIT EDEN
Sandra Richter is nothing if not forthright in throwing down the gauntlet in her book, The Epic of Eden. The Bible, she says is the story of redemption, but lest we think this study will be all narratology and no history, she also stresses at the outset that when one opens the Bible one discovers “the God of history has chosen to reveal himself through a specific human culture. To be more accurate, he chose to reveal himself in several incarnations of the same culture.” This does not lead her to suggest that God had canonized a particular culture, and called it good, nor does she suggest he should either, but she does want to insist that the eternal truths about God’s character and plan are mediated through a very specific cultural vehicle, and since, as she likes to put it, context is king, one cannot strip the enduring content from the context without distortion. Words, after all, only have meanings in specific contexts, and the same can be said of stories.

The culture out of which the OT came was, as she puts its patriarchal, patrilineal, and patrilocal. By this she means that the primary sense of identity or belonging in such a culture begins with one’s association with the patriarch, the oldest living male of the clan, and his household, then one’s larger clan, then one’s tribe, and finally one’s ‘nation’ in ever widening circles. Most important was one’s association with that inner most circle, the inner sanctum of the ‘father’s household’ where an extended family lived. The reason for repeated OT demands to care for the widow and the orphan is precisely because they did not have the necessary connections and protections of the father’s household. By contrast is the first born son, who, since he will be the next patriarch of the clan gets a double portion of the inheritance of his father. Richter sees as evidence that God critiques every culture, including these ancient patriarchal ones, the fact that in various key stories including in the story of Jacob and David, God chooses the younger son, not the first born to lead God’s people. This must have irked the ‘old man’ of the clan, on various occasions. Richter also takes Gen. 2.24 to be a critique of the patriarchal culture, for normally it’s the bride who does the leaving and cleaving. But according to Gen.2.24, the husband is to do this, thereby making plain that his relationship with his wife, not his relationship with his father, is his most important relationship going forward. In other words, Richter sees a pattern of critique of the fallen human culture and its conventions, even in the more ancient narratives in the OT. In my view she is right that Adam and Eve are indeed presented as co-equal partners in Eden in Gen. 1-2, and I would suggest this means that patriarchy is viewed in Gen. 3 as a result of the Fall, for as the curse statement says, to love and to cherish degenerates into to desire and to dominate.

At the same time Richter shows in detail that the term ‘redemption’ in the OT conjures up a very specific set of ideas involving the patriarch of a clan who puts his own resources on the line to either ransom a family member driven to the margins of society (see the story of Naomi, Ruth and Boaz), or one who has been seized by enemies against whom he has not defense (see the story of Lot and Abraham), or who has become enmeshed in a sinful life from which the person in question cannot extract herself or himself (see the story of Gomer and Hosea). Thus she urges

Yahweh is presenting himself as the patriarch of the clan who has announced his intent to redeem his lost family members. Not only has he agreed to pay whatever ransom is required, but he has sent the most cherished member of his household to accomplish his intent—his first born son. And not only is the firstborn coming to seek and save the lost, but he is coming to share his inheritance with these who have squandered everything they have been given. His goal? To restore the lost family members to the ‘bet ‘ab’ [the household of the father] so that where he is, they may be also. This is why we speak of each other as brother and sister, why we know God as Father, why we call ourselves the household of faith. God is beyond human gender and our relationship to him beyond blood, but the tale of redemptive history comes to us in the language of a patriarchal society.

Not only so, but understanding that social and historical context is key to understanding the use of the term ‘redeem’ but in those texts, and by extension in various places in the NT. What Richter is in essence arguing is that to understand the lexicon of the NT, we must read it in light of the lexicon and context of the OT. I agree with this to some extent, but this sort of reading forward into the NT has its limits, as Richter acknowledges. What she is also arguing is that God prepared for the way he would relate to us all through his Son, by means of the various ways he related to Israel in the OT. If one understands the latter, one is far more likely to understand the nuances of the NT story as well. The language is culturally conditioned, and one needs to know the culture to understand it, but God’s redemptive plan transcends one particular culture or cultural conditioning.

Though Richter ‘s book is not intended to be a full scale Biblical Theology study, but rather, as its subtitle suggests, is an attempt to help Christians to reclaim the OT, nevertheless she is addressing Biblical Theological matters and so her presentation merits close scrutiny.. The organizing principle for her Biblical theology, which binds the whole together is the familiar notion of covenant, and not just any sort of covenant, but in the main the sovereign/vassal covenant form, and even more specifically the form that took in the second millennium B.C. when there were both historical prologue in which the sovereign lord listed the benefits his vassal or servant nation had already received from him, as well as the blessings sanctions.

Richter finds this a crucial rubric for analyzing what is going one when the Sinai covenant involving Yahweh and Moses is described in the Pentateuch, not least because she takes the inclusion of the historical prologue (“I am the God who delivered you up out of bondage in Egypt….”) as providing evidence that even the Mosaic covenant was a covenant of grace, to which Israel must respond with obedience. This differs from the analysis of some scholars who distinguish a largely promissory covenant (e.g. Abrahamic covenant) from a law covenant (Mosaic covenant), which would explain why Paul so clearly contrasts the two covenants instead of seeing the Abrahamic covenant as leading to or even fulfilled in the Mosaic one (Gal. 3-4). Paul draws a link between the Abrahamic covenant and the new covenant, but not between the Mosaic covenant and the new covenant. In any event, she has made her point that one concept or rubric that can be used to unite the whole of Biblical theology is the concept of a covenant between an overlord and a servant (or servant people), a covenant which is confirmed or inaugurated by a sacrifice and by oaths, and which involves a prologue, a historical prologue rehearsing past benefits, stipulations, curse and blessing sanctions. With this rubric one can analyze in some detail the way God chose to relate to his people through various covenants and eras.

Richter further clarifies her view, arguing that we can tag the various OT covenants with key OT figures—Adam, Noah, Abraham, Moses, David.

The other interesting note that Richter emphasizes is that in a patriarchal world where people had no obligations to those not within their patriarchal circle or clan or tribe or national group, covenants were a way of creating a family sort of relationship, complete with family obligations between two parties that were not family. There is a technical term for this legal fiction—fictive kinship. Is this however the sort of sociological concept we should use to analyze why Jesus says that whoever does his will is his brother or sister (Mk. 3.31-35)? I don’t think so, and neither does Richter. Her point is that this concept made possible certain forms of covenanting, and she is right on this point.
Richter takes a text like Gen. 15 as showing the very character of God, who himself passes between the pieces of the sacrificial animal to demonstrate to and reassure Abraham that he would keep his promises, he would be faithful and demonstrate covenant love, even when the human party did fail from time to time. She sees this as a foreshadowing of Christ who presented himself as a sacrifice which inaugurated the new covenant. The important point for our discussion is that Richter sees in the OT a deliberate pattern of divine behavior revealed in covenanting that foreshadows and prepares for the ultimate covenant—the new covenant. She wants to read the Biblical narrative from start to finish, but she allows that none of it makes total since without the climax in the new covenant. We will say more about this in a moment, but here it is sufficient to say that such a front to back reading of the canon is a necessary but insufficient way to explain NT theology, as Richter, in the end, I believe would agree.

It is inadequate, as Richter agrees, because the NT writers do not see the new covenant as simply a renewal of any of the old covenants, and they do not see the various OT covenants as simply one covenant in many administrations. This is clear not only by the use of the term covenants plural in Rom. 9 and Gal. 4 but in the way Paul says Christ is the end of the Mosaic covenant in Rom. 10, and the author of Hebrews says that the new covenant has made obsolete any and all of the old covenants (cf. also 2 Cor. 3). In fact in Paul’s theology, it is in Christ that the promises to Abraham are said to be fulfilled and his inheritance is now brokered to a larger Jew and Gentile audience. Paul also says quite explicitly that the Mosaic covenant was a temporary one until the Redeemer should come (Gal. 4). We will say a bit more on this shortly.

Even just from the point of view of the sort of ancient covenants about which Richter is talking, when a sovereign/vassal covenant was broken by the vassal, the sovereign was under no obligation to do what he had originally promised if the vassal was loyal and kept the covenant. Nor was he obligated to even continue the covenant. Rather, what often happened was that the curse sanctions would usually be applied to the offending vassal and his people, and that would be the end of the covenant with that vassal. Clearly, the analogues with ANE covenants, while helpful, can only be pressed so far, precisely because the God of the Bible was a different sort of sovereign with a different and more gracious character than say for example one of the Hittite or especially the Assyrian kings. In private correspondence, Richter clarifies this: “To take this further, in reality very few suzerains upheld their end of the bargain even if the vassal WAS loyal. So I would never claim that the secular image of the suzerain is the ultimate reflection of God’s actions in redemption … but suzerain is a critically important metaphor, mostly because it is the one God chooses. I see the covenant as a metaphor in the drama of redemption much like the metaphor of parent. You would be hard-pressed to find a parent who parents as God does. But you would be more hard pressed to understand God’s metaphor if you’d never seen a parent at all.”

But the various old covenants and the Hittite lord/vassal covenants had this in common—they could be brought to an end by a serious violation, followed by curse sanctions. They were not perpetual covenants if seriously violated, unless the sovereign chose to forego the curse sanctions and the ending of the relationship, which was seldom seen as a smart political move, because one would appear inept, weak, or even not keeping one’s oath in regard to the curse sanctions. This would not do in an honor and shame culture.

In an interesting and telling exegetical move, Richter reads the story of the creation of humankind in God’s image as evidence of the pluriform nature of the deity. She says “Note the deliberative plural: ‘Let us make…in our image…male and female he created them’ (Gen. 1.26-27). It seems that the plurality of humanity (male and female in relationship) reflects the plurality of the original; and humanity like deity, is created to live in relationship.” I myself would take the ‘let us make’ as a reference to God speaking to the heavenly council of angels and Richter discusses this very possibility later in the book Richter is right that the fact that the image of God in humankind is ‘male and female’ and so plural in Gen. 1 does suggest that if the image truly reflects the original, that God too was pluriform in some way. This in turn makes better sense of the NT teaching about Christians being conformed to the image of the Son (Rom. 8.28-30), a particular member of the Trinity.

Richter, in addition, sees Gen. 3.15 and the promise to Eve that her descendent will crush the head of the serpent, as a foreshadowing of the role of Christ in his cosmic battle with Satan. In addition to this she sees the sabbatical pattern of the week, six days of work, one of ‘rest’, as revealing that our lives are not meant to be all work. Humans were made for both work and rest, both labor and worship. She sees the driving of Adam and Eve from Eden as the driving of them from God’s presence. They were no longer fit for either a perfect creation or a perfect relationship with God. There were to be labor pains for both Adam and Eve, though in different senses. And she adds “when we ask the salvation question, what we are really asking is what did the First Adam lose? And when we answer the salvation question, what we are really attempting to articulate is, what did the Second Adam buy back?” In other words, she sees the Genesis stories as foundational for understanding redemption and what human life was to be restored to ultimately. She follows the lead of Paul in the way she will put together the pieces of the tale of creation, fall, and redemption.
There is more however. Richter emphasizes the cosmic effects of Adams sin— the whole world fell with Adam, and not just humanity. The irony, as she puts it is that while humans were created to subdue the earth, now a fallen rotting earth will subdue each one of us when we die, are laid to rest, and become fertilizer. The earth creature (which is what Adam means), will be swallowed up by the earth it has corrupted, which is poetic justice if there ever was any.

How would God begin to affect reconciliation with his estranged and fallen children? Richter sees one major stage as the establishment of the tabernacle as a place for God to dwell in the midst of his people noting Exod. 25.8—“let them construct a sanctuary for me, that I may dwell amongst them.” But this would be an isolated spot, and unlike Eden, this sanctuary would not be for human habitation, indeed only priests would be able to enter into the divine presence. Otherwise human beings had to stay in the outer court where the sacrifices would be made. In an interesting move, Richter sees the reference to the angels on the curtains shielding the Holy of Holies, as like the cherubim who fenced off Eden to prevent re-entry by a fallen Adam and Eve. And further she sees the cherubim on top of the mercy seat on top of the ark of the covenant as protecting God from defilement, and, I would add, perhaps also the priests from God’s deadly powerful presence. A fallen person cannot come close to a holy God without serious consequences. God is envisioned as sitting above the cherubim with the ark as his footstool. The tabernacle, like the later temple then has Eden motifs in it, meant to remind and turn the heart of the believer back towards Eden. But that is not all. The next port of call is Ezek. 47, part of Ezekiel’s vision of the restored temple. She focuses on Ezek. 47.8-12 where we hear about a river which flows forth from the throne room of the Holy of Holies and goes out and transforms the Dead Sea into a living sea, but more tellingly this river produces everlasting trees which continually bear fruit and support life. She sees in this an echo of the tree of life in Eden. Not surprisingly she connects this to the material in Rev. 21-22 stressing that there is no temple in the new earth because there is no reason to house God or fence God off from a no longer fallen world or fallen humanity. The outpost of God in a fallen world—tabernacle or temple, has become the whole, but not without a return to Eden.

Richter acknowledges that of course the final vision is of a city the new Jerusalem, and there is nothing about a city in Gen. 1-2, though the city in Rev. 21-22 certainly has a garden. She also stresses there are no cherubim in the new Jerusalem as there is no need to protect the ruler, or those ruled either. But then why are their angels in heaven in the new Jerusalem above, worshipping God according to this same book of Revelation? This question is especially pressing since John’s vision is that heaven in the form of the new Jerusalem will come down and affect a merger with earth. If there are angels in heaven where the new Jerusalem now is (see e.g. Gal. 4) then it is reasonable to expect them to be in the new Jerusalem on earth as well. Richter’s explanation is that while angels and cherubim are both in the general category of divine beings, that the cherubim are of a different class than ordinary angels. She says angels and cherubim are not equated in the OT,

More convincing is her comment that the essential plot line of the Bible, after Gen. 3, is – How do we get Adam back into Eden? The bulk of the Bible is seen as the tale of the rescue plan to accomplish that intent. All God ever wanted was for those created in his image to dwell forever in his presence in a holy paradise, enjoying God forever. Richter rightly stresses that the finish line in the Bible is never ‘dying and going to heaven’. It is rather heading for the new Eden the new Jerusalem which transpires after Christ returns, the dead are raised, and the kingdoms of this world become the kingdom of God once and for all. This is unsurprising since human beings are earth creatures—flesh and bone.

It follows that a material place would need to be the finish line for this sort of creature. We are not angels. Thus heaven comes down, and there is a return to Eden for the earth creature in the end.
Richter then seeks to make sense of God’s making a series of covenants leading up to the new one. She says, in effect that redemption is presented to us as a series of steps, a series of covenanting acts—with Noah, Abraham, Moses, David and finally the new covenant. She argues that in God’s design what had to be accomplished would not all be accomplished in one fell swoop. The goal was the people of God dwelling in the place of God enjoying the presence of God. The Noahic covenant re-established contact between God and humankind and speaks to all of creation. The Abrahamic covenant reestablished the relationship such that there is a people of God, dwelling in God’s place (the Holy Land). The Mosaic covenant begins to reestablish the last bit of the equation—God dwelling in the midst of his people. This covenant typologically fulfills the promises to Abraham, but only typologically. The Davidic covenant then adds “the capstone of a human leader whose first ambition is to lead his people in their service to God. David is, in essence, the ideal vassal.” He becomes the prototype of the messiah/ Christ.

The covenanting progression moves from a covenant with one man (Noah), to one family (Abraham) to one people or nation (Israel) to all people (the church). “Each of the stages in the story brings Adam one step closer to full deliverance; each serves to reeducate humanity as to who the God of Eden really is.” In Richter’s vision, the Fall had such devastating intensive and extensive effects on Adam and all of creation that the redemption plan took several stages climaxing in Jesus and the new covenant, but not complete until the new Jerusalem at the eschaton. It is clear that for Richter Rom. 5.12-21 is a, perhaps the most crucial of NT texts for her overall schema of Biblical theology. Jesus is Adam gone right, the one who was born sinless like Adam but resisted temptations unlike him and she sums up as follow: “when he chose to participate in the crucifixion by taking the wrath of God upon himself on our behalf, he did two things. One, he proved the first Adam could have succeeded in his charge. Two he bore in his own body the curse of Eden, so that the children of Adam would not have to. And when Jesus rose from the grave, he defeated death; he eradicated the curse of Eden. And because Jesus was both human and God, his death and resurrection was of such a nature that it could be vicariously applied to all of Adam’s children.”

This sort of reconstruction however raises several questions: 1) was redemption really delivered in stages, covenant by covenant, or only by Christ in the new covenant, and if it was the latter then; 2) why did we need all those other covenants? Why not just go from Adam to the last Adam and spare the world millennia of misery? In response to the first question she says “This of course is a complex question. Redemption is presented to us “stage by stage” in the biblical narrative, but we are also told that Christ was slain before the foundation of the world (Rev 13:8) … so there are in actuality no stages.”

In terms of her modus operandi, one tool in her arsenal is that Richter uses what is typically called catchword connection. So for example the use of the term tebat(ark) of the vessel Moses’ is put in when he is set loose in the Nile is seen as “an obvious and intentional association with Noah’s tebat” I’m not so sure the connection is obvious since, so far as I can see, tebat is not a technical term. Richter has a very high view of Scripture, and she assumes that nothing is there by accident or chance.

While I agree that this is so, one of the problems with catchword connections of texts which otherwise don’t have a connection is over-reading the text. There is no flooding of the Nile when Moses is put into it, and he isn’t being rescued from water, but rather from a death edict by a wicked human being. The mere presence of water in the two texts is not enough to warrant pressing an analogy. I do agree however that in view of the Hebrew’s fear of the chaos waters and the story of the flood, it is an obvious connection to see in Rev. 21.1 the final defeat of a formidable foe that had often troubled humankind, including Noah, Moses and the Israelites at the Red Sea, Jonah and others.

More promising however is the fact that Richter believes that typology is the basic hermeneutic which helps us relate the OT to the NT, the old covenants to the new one. As she points out a typology involves two sets of historical events or persons or institutions or even places which are compared in some way. The idea underlying this is that God’s character is consistent and so God acts in ways in earlier eras of salvation history that foreshadow the way he acts in later eras. But
Richter wants to stress that “a type operates upon the principle of limited fulfillment.” She draws an analogy between a model airplane and a real one. Both are planes and both can fly but the model plane cannot carry the same freight as the real one. So she sees the comparison first and last Adams as a form of typology or the comparison of circumcision and baptism as a form of typology, or we could suggest Melchizedek and Christ as an example of a typology focusing on someone who is a priest. Typology, unless the comparison is between two persons, events, places or institutions within the OT is an exercise in cross-testament Biblical theology, which is precisely what Richter is doing in her book. One would never guess circumcision was a mere foreshadowing type, or the OT temple was a mere foreshadowing type or Adam was a mere foreshadowing type if there was no NT. In other words, this is reading the OT in light of its fulfillment in the NT, a fulfillment that transpires in various ways. Now the undercurrent of

Richter’s presentation is that the events, institutions, persons in the OT are preparatory for what we find in the NT, prefiguring and preparing for them. Again, this is a specifically Christian theological way of reading the OT, a way that many Jews would find objectionable since they don’t accept the NT as the further adventures of Yahweh, which is of course why the book is subtitled ‘ A Christian Entry into the Old Testament’.

When it comes to the tabernacle, Richter takes this as not merely the sign, but the evidence that God had taken up residence with his people once more, however “the double-edged sword of the tabernacle was the truth that God was once again with Adam but Adam was still separated from God.” Hereby was made clear that Israel had not been cleansed from all sin and atonement still needed to be made repeatedly clean, and even then only the high priest once a year could dare venture into the living presence of God without getting zapped (see Lev. 16.2).

Richter here stresses that what is going on in the OT is not mere-shadow boxing or play-acting, or mere symbol. She puts it this way “important as we think about the nature of types and typology is the fact that the tabernacle did provide some level of atonement for God’s people (Lev. 1.1-4; 4.35). It was real. It was effective. It was historical. But like all types, it provided limited atonement.”

But what is the function of an inadequate type that does not really, or at least does not fully, do the job it is meant to do? Richter’s answer is that it has a pedagogical function as much as anything else, and thus in fact it does do what God intended it to do. Because of the type, all God’s people are educated in the need for atonement, the need for mediation and a mediator, the need for a final and ultimate sacrifice.

And the mission of atonement is necessary so that God can and will permanently dwell with his people. Now again, this of course is a Christian reading of these OT institutions, an exercise in Biblical theology which wishes to preserve some viability, some unction in the type, while still insisting that the antitype is where the real, complete, final, fulfilling action is. By this means, the OT is recovered partly for Christians as a pedagogical tool which helps them understand the nature of God and the NT.

Richter goes on to suggest that what Hebrews 10, and various Pauline texts indicate is that the OT law, while a good and godly thing, could not enable fallen persons to keep it. The Law only foreshadowed and instructed about the good things yet to come in Christ, but until God came and dwelt within his people individually, not just in their midst, their hearts of stone would not be transformed into hearts of flesh, and Jer. 31.31-33 would not be fulfilled and fleshed out. At a crucial juncture in her argument, Richter follows the suggestion of Scott Hafemann and others that the new covenant is not really a ‘new’ covenant which has a ‘new’ law, as the problem was not with the law of God but rather the people of God, and so Jer. 31 is indeed talking about the Mosaic law being renewed and applied to God’s new covenant people.

The problem with this suggestion is that it fails to do justice to what Paul actually says about the Mosaic Law in 2 Cor. 3, Romans 10, Gal. 3.-4 and elsewhere, never mind what the author of Hebrews says. The Law was not a mere tutor according to Paul. A paidagogos is a slave guardian, and there are problems with such guardians if they overstay their time period. Their job was only to help the child of a well to do person rehearse their lessons when they came home from school, and keep little Publius in bounds and safe going back and forth from school.

The paidagogos was definitely not the primary educator or tutor.
Paul is quite clear that when Christ came he came to redeem people out from under the Mosaic Law, because there were problems with this Law, not in intent but in effect: 1) it was impotent. It could not enable fallen persons to keep it, and so as Paul says the effect of the Law is that it turned sin into trespass, and condemned the fallen person. It ended up being death-dealing rather than life-giving though of course that was not the intent of the Law, which was good in itself; 2) as the author of Hebrews stresses, the big problem was the inability of the Mosaic law to in any way cause the new birth or transform hearts. It could only produce outward not inward change at best, hence the need for the covenant Jeremiah had in mind. The real problem with the Hafemann approach to Biblical theology is that it over-emphasizes the continuity between various of the old covenants and the new one, specifically when it comes to the matter of Law.

In any case, Paul indicates in Gal. 6, there is a new sheriff in town when Jesus appears, and he offers a new law—the Law of Christ, which we have talked about at length in this two volume study. Richter concludes her discussion of the Mosaic Law by suggesting that in fact Jesus in his critique of the Pharisees and Saducees is probably partly critiquing Jewish halakah or haggadah, the traditions of the Pharisees built up to provide a fence around the Law. I think there is some truth to this, but it is not the full picture. Jesus believes he lives in the eschatological age of fulfillment, and both the OT Law and the prophets are being fulfilled in him, and once fulfilled they become obsolete. Of course the Law and prophets remain, and should remain until all is fulfilled, not least because they are still valuable for training in righteousness as 2 Tim. 3.16. puts it, but laws no longer need to be obeyed if they have been fulfilled and their purpose has been served and their usefulness completed.

But talking about fulfillment is a different matter than suggesting that Jesus repristinizes the old covenant or the old law, and Richter is careful not to suggest the latter. Jesus acts in relationship to that law with the sovereign freedom of one who came to give a new Law—sometimes he reaffirms old commandments, sometimes he intensifies them, sometimes he offers entirely new commandments, sometimes he abolishes old commandments. This is because he is indeed inaugurating a truly new covenant, not merely renewing an old one.

This is also why Paul speaks of covenants plural and sees the new covenant as the replacement for the Mosaic one, and the fulfillment of the Abrahamic one.

To her great credit, Richter realizes the difficulties I have been pointing out and in a supplemental clarifying discussion at the end of her study she says that she is not certain how things should be adjudicated (though she is sure the old ‘ritual/political law is abrogated, moral law of Moses is continued’ distinction does not work). She tentatively suggests, “And for all the Mosaic law, be it superceded or not, we need to recognize that we can (and must) still learn a great deal about the character of God through these laws, even if we can no longer directly apply them to ourselves in this new covenant. So rather than thinking in terms of the Mosaic law being obsolete except for what Jesus maintains (as has been the predominant view), perhaps we should begin to think in terms of the law being in force except for what Jesus repeals.” The problem with this suggestion is it leaves Christians obligated to an awful lot of OT laws that are not reaffirmed in the NT, laws for example laws about tithing. It is better and safer to say that only those portions of the law which are reaffirmed in the NT are Christians obligated to obey,

The final piece of the OT puzzle is put in place by the Davidic covenant, for here, in texts like 2 Sam. 7 we see the beginnings of messianism, the promise of a kingly dynasty from the shoot of Jesse. What is needed is a human but royal representative who not only leads but stands as mediator between God and his people. From here it is easy to see a straight line to Jesus, who is presented in the very first chapter in the NT as the son of David, but also as the son of Abraham.
Having gotten up a considerable head of OT steam, connecting the six covenant with six key figures (the last of course with Jesus), Richter brings the full weight of this paradigm to bear on her interpretation of Jesus when she says: “Jesus is prophet, priest, and king. He is the last Adam who defeats Eden’s curse; the second Noah commissioned to save God’s people from the coming flood of his wrath [see 1 Pet. 3]; the seed of Abraham; the new lawgiver who stands upon the mountain and amazes his audience by the authority with which he speaks; and he is the heir of David.”

Looking for other connections with the OT, she presents John the baptizer as the last prophet of the Mosaic line, who nevertheless uses the sign of the new covenant to identify the new king, who is promptly anointed by God, not the prophet, and God makes the coronation announcement to the king, calling him Son (see 2 Sam. 7). Here she sees a period of overlap of the old covenant and the new covenant. The problem with this interpretation of the baptism of Jesus is that later in the NT it is made clear that John’s baptism of repentance is not the sign of the new covenant, and those who have received it need rebaptism (see Acts 18-19). Equally interesting, but debatable, is her connection of the tongues as of fire and the wind in Acts 2 with Exodus 40 and 1 Kngs 8, pointing out how the tabernacle and temple were inaugurated with cloud, fire, wind. Her point is that God has come in person to dwell ‘in’ his people who become his temple or tabernacle. The point of all this is to make the case for the OT being the Christian’s story. I would put it rather different. The OT is not our story since most of us are not Jews, but it is a story into which, as Paul puts it, we Gentiles have been grafted through our Jewish messiah Jesus when we became ‘in Christ’. We are not by nature the children of Abraham, but we have become his adopted heirs, through Christ the seed of Abraham.

There are many merits to Richter’s approach to Biblical Theology. Unlike too many Christian attempts at this, she in no way neglects the OT, which one would not expect anyway since she is a OT scholar. If anything is given too slender a treatment, it is a detailed reckoning with the NT and the way the NT reconfigures the nature of the discussion of theology and ethics as well, but then her book was intended as a Christian entry into the OT, not a full Biblical Theology. She is to be commended as well for not compromising or neglecting the historical nature and givenness of the OT text in her theologizing. She does not allegorize the OT, nor readily over-read Christian concepts back into the OT. She confines herself to patterns, word connections and typology which do not vitiate the historical character and development of the story of God and his people.

Also to be commended is the way she very skillfully presents a narrative theology which encompasses the whole canon, not merely by talking about creation, fall, and redemption, but by giving good and detailed discussion of all the OT covenants. We could have used much more discussion of the new covenant, especially in regard to the issue of continuity and discontinuity between the various old covenants and the new one, but that is surely a task for a further study.

I could have wished for at least a recognition that what the NT writers mean by salvation is rather different from what is meant by redemption in the OT. Though there is often common vocabulary that the two testaments share, they are operating with different lexicons and meanings at various points, not least because the OT says precious little about a theology of the afterlife, and even less about a theology of the other world and also because the cultural context of Jesus is in important ways very different from that of the previous five covenants and major covenant figures. Richter does recognize that what kingdom means when Jesus says it has come in his ministry, is something rather different than what kingdom meant on the lips of a Saul, David or Solomon. Those kings were not envisioning God ruling directly, but the Dominion of God Jesus has in mind indeed involves the direct divine saving activity of God from above transforming people from the inside out, and recreating the people of God, almost from scratch.

I must end by saying that Richter’s effort is a very good beginning for a genuine Biblical theology. It is in many ways the clearest, succinct, helpful attempt I have encountered and it gives me hope that Biblical theology can be done in responsible and helpful ways by Christians. I find nothing major lacking in the way Richter reads the canon from front to back. What is lacking is a more profound reading of the canon from back to front, for the NT writers reasoned over and over again from solution to plight, not the other way around. By this I mean that once they had fully grasped the surprising nature of salvation through the coming, the death, and the resurrection of that Son of Man, (something early Jews were certainly not looking for), this caused them to go back and re-read their Scriptures with new and more Christological lenses. It changed the way they evaluated all those OT covenants, and even changed the way they view major figures like Adam, Abraham, Moses and David. Perhaps only when there is a co-operative venture between OT and NT scholars will a Biblical theology emerge that does full justice to the need to read the canon both front to back, and at the same time eschatologically and so back to front, the latter being, in my view, the more crucial hermeneutical move. Indeed the latter is the hermeneutical move we see the NT writers making again and again. In the end however, Richter has done us a great service in reminding us of the epic of Eden, and how we need to get there by going forward to the end, not by going backwards to the garden paradise.

2015-03-13T23:10:59-04:00

(We continue to offer here excerpts from near the end of Vol. Two of The Indelible Image).

GOING BEYOND THE BIBLE?

This in turn brings us to another and rather daunting topic. What about going beyond the Bible? What about the incomplete ideas in the NT canon which point us beyond themselves? This question will always be raised somewhat tentatively by those who have taken seriously the Reformation notion of ‘sola Scriptura’. But even the strongest advocates of that position in the end agreed that this notion allowed for the spinning out of the logical implications of nodal ideas in the NT and the pursuing of trajectories already embarked upon in the NT. And this enterprise, in my view, must be undertaken. A few examples must suffice.
There is no full-blown ‘doctrine’ of the Trinity worked out in the NT itself. The ideas are there in numerous places (Jesus is called God in a variety of witnesses, the Spirit and Christ like the Father are said to speak as God in Hebrews, there are various doxologies and baptismal formulae and brief credos which are Trinitarian in character), but the full spelling out of the idea of the Trinity is not to be found in the NT. Yet so important is the idea of God to the symbol system inaugurated in the NT era that it seems not only inevitable but required that more be said. Of course this ‘more’ needs to comport with what is said or implied in the Biblical text. And sometimes that did not happen.
In the Nicaean and Chalcedonian formulae much of worth is hammered out, but there was also unfortunately the importing in of ideas from Greek philosophy that needed more scrutiny than they got—for example the ideas of immutability and impassability. It must be remembered that the Nicaean Council transpired before there was a canon of the NT, and so the ideas in that creed were not normed at the time by the measuring rod of the NT. For example, a closer examination of what the NT means by statements like ‘Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, today, and forever’ could have helped those discussions.
The NT does not affirm there was no change which happened to God at the juncture of the Incarnation. It affirms that a human nature was added to the divine nature of the pre-existent Son of God. This is certainly not a negligible change. Indeed, it is so important that one could say there was no Jesus (the name of a human being), before the Incarnation, though the Son of God of course existed before then. ‘Immutability’ as it applies to God in the NT simply means that God’s character is constant and does not change, and so is reliable. This is the sense of the ‘Jesus Christ the same…’ remark in Hebrews. And as for impassability something similar can be said. The God of the Bible does have emotions, and they do vary from time to time. The God of the Bible is not the God of Stoicism, though I would hasten to add that the NT does not suggest that God has ‘irrational passions’ or is controlled by some sort of merely emotive state. Nevertheless, the love and righteous anger of the Biblical God must be accounted for, and a strict notion of impassability does not help in such an endeavor.
A second example has to do with what the NT says about men and women in the order of redemption, which is not viewed as simply a perfecting of the flaws incurred from the Fall. It is clear enough in the household code texts in the NT that Paul and Peter, and presumably other NT writers are pursuing a trajectory of change in the way women were viewed and treated, change from the dominant patriarchal system which was everywhere in place. The theologizing about the headship of the husband, for example in 1 Cor. 11 as well as in the household codes was not intended to assert the husband’s authority against liberationist tendencies, but rather to restrict and Christianize the use of that already existing system of authority in relationship to all the subordinate members of the household, including wives.
This is especially clear in 1 Cor. 11 where Paul’s elaborate argument has the function of authorizing women to pray and prophesy in worship so long as the ‘head’ issue is properly addressed. As I have pointed out earlier in this volume, the failure to recognize the levels of ethical discourse especially in Paul’s letters has led to all sorts of erroneous conclusions about his views on both women and slaves. Philemon shows clearly where the Pauline logic is heading—towards the liberation of slaves for the very good reason that once one becomes a brother, one should no longer be viewed or treated by other Christians as a slave.
Similarly Ephes. 5.21 quite deliberately goes beyond what we find in Col. 3-4 by urging mutual submission of all Christians to each other. In that context, the submission of wives to husbands, and the self-sacrificial love of the wife by husbands simply illustrate the broader principle enunciated in Ephes. 5.21, a principle which is not gender specific. In short, it is not enough to assess the position of Paul’s remarks, for one must also take into account the direction of the remarks—which is counter cultural and going against the flow of the patriarchal world view which was regnant in those ancient cultures.
The third example the most obvious one, but it must be hiding in plain sight, because many theologians never refer to it. It is not possible to talk about NT theology or ethics at all without a clearly delineated concept of the NT and its limits. This of course means that while we can begin to see the preservation of sacred apostolic texts and the first steps of the canonizing process during the NT era, we apparently do not have such a defined collection in that era. The cry ‘sola Scriptura’ presupposes a canon, but that in turn requires that one allow the apostolic developments to play out to their conclusion well beyond the apostolic era.
It is likewise not possible to talk about a doctrine of Holy Scripture without a canon, but that too requires we take into account the historical processes set in motion in the NT but not coming to a climax until several centuries later. In other words, not only are the lines between sacred tradition and Scripture rather fuzzy during the period of the first through fourth centuries A.D., (not least because what counted as apostolic and authoritative was still being debated in this period), but also the doctrine of the inspiration and authority and truth claims of those sources had yet to be fully fleshed out, though, as I have argued at length elsewhere, we have NT texts which begin to discuss the matter. In other words, development beyond the teachings in the books written in the NT era was not merely inevitable— it was necessary.
This means in turn that any sort of ‘sola Scriptura’ doctrine that does not take into account the trajectories of change and development already set in motion in books written by NT authors is ignoring or resisting the meaning and direction of the remarks in the texts of what was to become the NT. This being the case, Evangelicals would do well to tone down the rhetoric about how the Bible is the final authority for Protestants whilst tradition seems to be the final authority for Catholics. Both must reckon with some combination of Scripture and tradition, and de facto do so anyway.
The question then becomes—Is there enough guidance and providing of examples in the NT books to help us to know what orthodoxy and orthopraxy ought to look like? My answer to this question is yes. There is already a concept, call it proto-orthodoxy or proto-orthopraxy that is in play and defining boundaries in the NT era, already before there is a NT canon. Orthodoxy didn’t wait on, nor was it initially dependent on the existence of a NT canon to define and defend itself. Indeed, Christological orthodoxy in an apostolic vein was hammered out before the closing of the NT canon. There was a ‘regula fidei’ before there was a ‘regula canona’.
And this brings me to another critical point. The final authority at councils like Nicaea lay with the logical out-workings of apostolic truth, in this case mainly about Jesus. It was the job of the council to articulate and make plain what the apostles had in mind. The genuine apostolic witness had authority because it told the truth about Jesus. It did not in the first case have authority either because it was found in an authorized collection of books, or because it came from what one group or another deemed the proper church. Neither canon nor the church were the final authority—the true apostolic witness which led to the formation of them both played that role. Put another way, the buck stopped with the Gospel. It had the final authority over church and council and creed alike, and it led to the recognition, not the formation of the NT canon—a process of discerning what preserved the original and true apostolic witness and what did not.
In a recent helpful study entitled Beyond the Bible, Howard Marshall, in dialogue with Stanley Porter and Kevin Vanhoozer, discusses at length the whole issue enshrined in the book title. We will dialogue with them in the following paragraphs. Early on in the study, Marshall raises the issue of what I will call the ethical basis of NT theology—that is the necessity of truth telling for a text to have authority over its audience. He puts it this way ‘What makes the Bible different from other books for us, of course is that it is Scripture, which signifies (among other things) that it possesses authority over its readers, speaking in the language of truth and command.”
The authority of the text comes from its truth-telling about the nature of reality, what is the case about reality, and also what it means and signifies. Marshall stresses in addition that the apostles claimed an authority for what they said and also wrote, not just for the specific audience for whom they spoke and wrote and for the specific occasion into which they spoke and wrote, but more widely. He suggests that at least some of them, such as Paul or Luke, seem to have been clearly conscious of producing something akin to Scripture. I would put the matter a bit differently. They were cognizant of producing the living Word of God, which in due course was to become canonical Scripture. This is very clear in a text like 1 Cor. 14 where Paul not only says that he is passing on a mandate which is also a mandate ‘in all the churches’ (which may mean all his churches), but he stresses at the end of the chapter that he has the Spirit of God and is speaking God’s Word on this subject.
As I have stressed in another study, the concept of inspiration and authority is not something applied to the texts after the fact because they are canonical. Rather they become part of the Bible because they are inspired and are telling the truth about something. Marshall goes on to plead that it is especially incumbent on those who have a high view of Scripture, such as Evangelicals, to provide some kind of reasoned, careful, principled approach to the development of doctrine from, but going beyond Scripture. He then adds that he has looked in vain to find such an approach. Each seems to do what is right in his own eyes. One could perhaps point to the Catholic magesterium as an example of how such a thing could be done in a disciplined way, but there is no Protestant equivalent to that group, and even if Evangelicals formed such a group, it is unlikely in the extreme that it would ever be allowed to have some sort of authority over various differing Protestant denominations when it comes to doctrine or ethics.
Marshall then suggests that we can look to the NT itself for some guidelines as to how doctrine can and should be developed out of and going beyond the NT itself. For example, he points to what happens to the Jesus tradition in the Fourth Gospel, which he agrees is a faithful representation of what Jesus really meant and taught, but it is written up freely in the Evangelist’s own distinctive manner. This suggests a freedom in regard to the form of the way Biblical truth is conveyed, while care must be taken in regard to the substance of that truth, lest the new form distort, misrepresent, or betray the original content.
Marshall then asks what happens to the process of the development of doctrine and praxis initiated in the NT books themselves, once there is a canon, a measuring rod in place? “Here an important distinction must be made between the production of further Scriptures, which is ruled out by the creation of a canon as a closed list, and the development of doctrine and practice on the basis of those canonical writings. The closing of the canon is not incompatible with the non-closing of the interpretation of that canon.” While I agree with this in principle, I would want to stress that the need for further interpretation of the text is always there, but interpretation and the development of doctrine or praxis are not the same thing.
Marshall then proceeds to helpfully suggest that the development of doctrine and praxis beyond the canon requires three things: 1) a clear and profound grasp of the apostolic deposit and its meaning; 2) a mind so nurtured on Scripture and in Christ that one thinks in ways that are naturally coherent with what Scripture teaches; and 3) a submission to and a regularly seeking and listening to the Spirit’s (and that of God in general) guidance. Marshall suggests that is precisely these three things that we find working in the lives of the NT authors themselves, and presumably we would require the same sort of things at work if we are to faithfully develop doctrine and praxis.
Marshall rightly sees getting Christology right as perhaps the most essential part of the discerning process. He proposes three principles of guidance for interpretation, and then draws seven conclusions. The principles are these: 1) the early Christian reading of the OT took place in light of the new covenant inaugurated by Jesus, and so Christians ever since should be reading the OT in a similar way; 2) the teaching of Jesus must be understood in light of his death, resurrection, and the later apostolic teaching; and 3) the teachings of the apostles took place on the basis of a combination of interpreting the Word (in light of the Christ event) and on the basis of insights given by the Spirit.
The seven points Marshall believes he has established are: 1) that the later documents (in the canon) need not necessarily be more mature than the earlier, even though in general there is a development in doctrine throughout the Bible which leads to greater diversity and maturity of expression. For example, the high Christology in Paul is early, whereas the Christology we find in some post-Pauline writings does not reflect as high a Christology (e.g. the Christology in Luke-Acts); 2) there is an incompleteness in Scripture, seen for example in its failure to deal with later questions (e.g. modes and recipients of baptism) which means that doctrine can and must develop beyond Scripture; 3) one needs to have a concept of both progressive revelation and in addition the fact of the totality of revelation so that the meaning of texts will be seen in light of the larger context, and particularly the earlier texts must be read in light of the later ones in the NT; 4) Nevertheless there is a continuity throughout the process because the God of the OT is the same as the God of the NT, and the teaching of Jesus stands in continuity with both OT teaching and the later apostolic teachings; 5) the development is controlled (and in fact prompted) by the shift from the old to the new covenant, and from the limnal period during Jesus’ ministry to the period of the early church, and by the facing of new situations and new errors; 6) development in doctrine and praxis is inevitable after the closing of the canon and must be in continuity with the faith once given to God’s people and be in accord with ‘the mind of Christ’ and 7) the supreme authority of Scripture must continue to be affirmed while recognizing Scripture continually needs fresh interpretation and application. There is much to commend in all these conclusions, and I find myself in fundamental agreement with them.
In his response to what he humorously calls ‘the Marshall plan’, Kevin Vanhoozer makes various helpful suggestions and critiques. First of all, Vanhoozer stresses that the quest for meaning precedes the assessment of a statement’s truth. “One cannot make a judgment as to a text’s truth until one has first determined what it is saying/claiming.” This is precisely why he stresses that understanding the genre of Scripture is crucial to determining its meaning, and thus assessing its truth content. He adds that he thinks Marshall’s intuition to look for principles of development within Scripture as a basis or model for doing the development of theology and praxis beyond Scripture is helpful. In my view Vanhoozer is right in calling into question a loose use of the phrase ‘going beyond’ Scripture. The question becomes what does this phrase exactly mean? ‘More than’ need not mean ‘other than’, and a change of wording does not necessarily connote a value added to a nodal concept in Scripture. How does one go beyond without going against Scripture? Some will cautiously say that one should be able to make explicit what is implicit in Scripture. This amounts to little more than clarification of what is said or implied in Scripture. Few would object to this concept of going beyond Scripture.
But then Vanhoozer takes up the issue of pursuing redemptive trajectories thought to be found in Scripture, and pursuing them beyond the bounds that Scripture takes such trajectories. He rightly queries whether we have the right to just assume that we are further down the track along the trajectory and hence can see better where it was going than the Biblical writers did. “Can one decide what counts as redemptive movement without pretending to stand at the end of the process, without claiming to know what kind of eschatological world the Spirit is creating?’ While recognizing that Vanhoozer has put his finger on a potential problem, here is where I would say that if there are clear intimations or statements in Scripture itself as to where things ought to go in a best case scenario, then we have an obligation to do our best to see them through to that end. Two examples must suffice.
There are plenty of texts, like Gal. 3.28 or Ephes. 5.21 or 1 Cor. 7 and 11 where it becomes readily apparently that Paul is pushing the envelope when it comes to balancing or equalizing male-female relationships in Christ, while affirming the reality and goodness of gender differences. There is also a text like Philemon which provides a serious critique of the institution of slavery within the context of the Christian community. What do we make of these sorts of texts, which clearly go beyond other NT texts such as the household codes in Col. 3-4?
Firstly, some degree of sophistication about recognizing levels of moral discourse needs to be developed. Colossians is Paul’s opening salvo with an audience he did not convert, and in this regard it is rather like Romans. Ephesians is second order moral discourse, written to some of the same audience in the same region as an encyclical and taking certain things in the Colossian household code a step further. Philemon is third order moral discourse, a discussion between friends or intimates and it pushes the envelope when it comes to slavery even further. If there is clear evidence of a trajectory within the canon itself, then it should be evident that Paul, in this case, would be best pleased if we were to follow this trajectory on to its logical conclusions. The trajectory of discussion within Scripture norms and guides how to pursue the trajectory beyond Scripture. Indeed, I would say that the evidence of a trajectory within Scripture requires of us that we must pursue the implications of the fullest or furthest developments of the concepts and praxis we find there.
Vanhoozer goes on to argue that doctrine “directs the church to speak and act in new situations (e.g. beyond the Bible) biblically by cultivating what I will call ‘the mind of the canon’. That to which theologians must attend in Scripture is not the words and concepts so much as the patterns of judgment. Christian doctrine describes a pattern of judgment present in the biblical texts…the same judgment can be rendered in a variety of conceptual terms.” “We move from Bible to doctrine not by systematizing Scripture’s concepts, nor by extracting (e.g. decontextualizing) principles, but rather by discerning and continuing a pattern of judgment rendered in a variety of linguistic, literary, and conceptual forms.”
This is very helpful, but then when Vanhoozer turns around and says that what is predicated about Christ in the Nicaean formula is the same as what is predicated of Christ in Phil. 2.5-11 I am frankly puzzled. No, Nicaea goes well beyond, and perhaps in some limited respects, against the conception of Christ in that Christ hymn. That Vanhoozer does not see this is disturbing. I would like to have heard more from him on his concepts of covenant, of progressive revelation, and of canonical Christ-centered interpretation, but that is a conversation for another day. What is said here is only meant to further the ongoing discussion, not draw definitive conclusions.
Where does this leave us then in the discussion of the relationship of NT theology and ethics to that found in patristic sources, and to the later canonical and Biblical theology of various sorts, and finally to much later systematic theology ranging from Aquinas to Barth and beyond? My answer would be that NT theology and ethics should take pride of place in evaluating the validity of all subsequent theologizing and ethicizing of whatever sort. Stated negatively, the NT must be allowed to dictate the proper terms of the discussion about apostolic truth, not some later theological construct or category. This is why I have resisted using systematic categories for the grouping of the data in this study (e.g. justification, sanctification etc.).
The categories for the discussion of the NT data should, if at all possible, arise from the texts of the NT themselves, and later theological systems, be they Protestant or Catholic, need to be constantly checked against and normed by the apostolic witness. The later systems should not be allowed to define what orthodoxy or orthopraxy must look like, and how we must approach the NT. Rather such systems must be put through the refiner’s fire of the apostolic witness found in the NT over and over again. If their substance cannot be either found in the NT documents or be shown to be a clear and logical development thereof, so much the worse for their substance. If even the earliest creeds should be constantly checked against the NT witnesses, all the more so should later confessions (Westminster, Augsburg, Trent, Dordt) however noble in diction and character.
Confessions, for good or ill, seem often to major in ideas, or at least feature as distinctive ideas things which can be debated as to whether one can even find them in the Bible or not. Several examples would be: 1) not merely the fallenness of all human beings but their ‘total depravity’ outside the saving grace of Christ; 2) the pre-determination by God of some to be lost for all eternity, come what may, do what they will; 3) the ‘perfection’ of the Christian in this lifetime and prior to the return of Christ; 4) the perpetual virginity of Mary, and I could go on.
When these sorts of distinctive ideas are used as a grid through which one reads the NT and by which one determines what is orthodoxy or orthopraxy, much less who is a true Christian and who is not, we are clearly a long way from the substance and the spirit of the NT witnesses themselves who wanted us to focus on Christ, him crucified and raised, and the salvation message to be spread abroad to the world. I do not say that confessions are inherently a bad thing. I do say that they need to be far better grounded in the substance of the NT itself than they have been heretofore.
It was the great merit of Karl Barth’s work that he truly and profoundly wrestled with the details in the NT text in order to come to exegetical and theological and ethical conclusions. Any Christian systematic theology ought to do so. But herein lies the problem– few systematicians are also able exegetes of the NT (and the converse is certainly also true). Who is sufficient for such a cross- disciplinary task? And perhaps equally problematic, systematicians are generally speaking not historians either. They have difficulties dealing with the historical givenness of the NT texts without reducing them into a pile of doctrines or principles or proposition or the like.
Alas, the same could be said of many Biblical theologians as well, who in order to synthesize the necessary data reduce it to a-historical categories time and again. And then we have the further problems with canonical theologians who want to treat the OT in such an a-historical manner that it becomes a sort of second Christian source of information about Christ and other subjects which are actually not much, or not directly, addressed before the NT period itself. How do we remedy these problems?
My suggestion, while it may seem overly simplistic, is the best one I know of. Exegetes and systematicians and canonical and Biblical theologians need to do a better job of spending time together and talking to each other, and even working together on scholarly projects. Can it be done? In fact it can, as the recent conferences at St. Andrews University where both exegetes and theologians have been invited to study John and Hebrews with interesting results, has demonstrated. We live in an age of over-specialization, which results in all scholars being rather lopsided, with over developed skills and knowledge in their own fields, and under-developed understanding of other disciplines and the relationship of NT studies to them. We have miles to go before we understand each other, never mind miles to go before we can truly work together on understanding Christian orthodoxy and orthopraxy.

2015-03-13T23:11:16-04:00

In an Appendix Robert McIver has assembled some very interesting raw data. In this post we will deal with it first, and then with the conclusions to his study. Some of these conclusions will come as something of shock to some of our readers. For example, McIver assembles the raw data from studies of the relevant period’s skeletal remains. Average age at death of women— about 34 years of age. Average age at death of men— about 36 years of age. Of course one has to take into account the high infant mortality, but even factoring that in, when one studies those who survived infancy, the average only goes up to about 46 years of age. Of course many folks lived longer than that. My point however would be, that when Jesus died at 30, not a lot of people would see that as all that unusual in that era. It was the nature of his death, a violent death by crucifixion, that was remarkable and remarked on frequently, even by Roman officials (see the famous remark of Tacitus, the Roman historian).

In one of the more valuable studies McIver examines, in a study of infants, if you take 100,000 infants only 48,968 would live to the age of five in that world, which is to say, about half of them. Only 671 of that 100,000 would live to the age of 80, which is less than one percent (see pp. 194-95). If we ask why it was so common for women in Jesus’ world to have so many children, it was in part because of the high mortality rate of infants. The evidence in regard to Galilee is that the population of that region grew a great deal between 50 B.C. and 50 A.D. despite violence in the region, epidemics of malaria, dysentery, and other fatal diseases. For this to be possible, women had to have given birth to between six to nine children on average since there is no evidence of any large resettlements of peoples in Galilee in this period. If we take Jesus’ mother as an example, the evidence suggests that besides Jesus, she had four other boys and at least 2-3 girls, for a total of seven or eight. There was nothing exceptional about this. We should not assume that people are living much longer lives today than in antiquity because of better medicine and the like. The truth is, that the ancients who survived infancy, lived close to as long as most people do in our world today. The proportion of older people is growing in America for example due to lower fertility rates. There are just more old people, as the younger generations are having less and less children (see the study on p. 199).

McIver’s interest in such studies is because he wants to figure out how many potential eyewitnesses there were of Jesus and his life. He isolates three groups— the residents of Capernaum where Jesus had a base, the crowds, and those who were in Jerusalem during Jesus’ final week of life. Archaeologists say the population of Capernaum would have been between 1,000 and 1,700 in Jesus’ day. I find this too low a number, not least because recent digs at Migdal just up the coast involve estimates of some 40,000 people living near Migdal. It can however be assumed that in a small village like Capernaum, probably all the adults had heard or heard of Jesus. Crowd numbers could have been up to 6,000 or more counting women or children, but in fact children would not have the memories to become reliable witnesses to what Jesus said and did in most cases. In the case of Jesus’ last week of life we are talking about many more witnesses. If the basic population of Jerusalem was 50,000 normally, even on a conservative estimate, it is possible that over 60,000 people heard Jesus teach or saw him act at some juncture during that last week. Of the 60,000 some18-20,000 would still be alive after 30 years, and over a 1,000 after 60 years. McIver then suggests that by the time Matthew’s Gospel was written, perhaps as few as 9-10 eyewitnesses would still be alive in Capernaum. But of course he assuming Matthew only had long term oral memories to rely on, which is unlikely. The point in any case is the same one Bauckham makes in Jesus and the Eyewitnesses. The number of actual eyewitnesses by the time the Gospels were written was getting smaller and smaller, and probably is one reason why they were written when they were— the dying out of the first witnesses.

The basic conclusions of McIver which I would commend are as follows: 1) it appears that the Synoptic tradition reflects personal memories and the teaching traditions should be seen as based on rather carefully controlled oral (and I would add some written) traditions; 2) the essential elements of collective memories are resistant to change and so we may expect a high degree of reliability when it comes to their gist memory; 3) Jesus enhanced the chances of his teachings being retained in memory by using memorable and memorizable forms of teaching, chiefly wisdom forms of teachings– parables, aphorisms, riddles, proverbs and the like. 4) the old form critical assumptions about Gospel traditions should be abandoned as they are true neither to early Jewish ways of handling traditions nor true to what we know about human memory. Eyewitnesses have been shown to testify 80% accurately even when it comes to details, in multiple studies. There is no reason to assume the ancients had poorer memories than we do. 5) there are strict limits of what can be introduced into collective memories of a figure like Jesus. Very rarely does one find information unrelated to actual words or deeds of the person in question; 6) further, collective memory involves lots of people in this case. There is a self-corrective element to it. What one remembers poorly or wrongly, three others may remember accurately. 7) “While the collective memories of Jesus would be shaped by such things as present circumstances of the groups of early Christians in which they flourished, they could not have been changed into something that was inconsistent with who Jesus was, what he said, and what he did. Radical change that is inconsistent with reality is almost never found in collective memories. Nor should one expect to find such change in the narrative portions of the Gospels.” (pp. 186-87). 8) the pedagogy of the day involving repetition and memorization fostered the remembering of Jesus and his words and deeds; so 9) it is the inauthenticity of a teaching of Jesus, not it’s authenticity that must be demonstrated by those who choose to see the tradition as significantly unreliable. The burden of proof must lie on those who tend to doubt the authenticity of the majority of the Jesus tradition.

2015-03-13T23:11:17-04:00

(In January we will start with a bang by reviewing and critiquing the fine new book by R. Feldmeier and H. Spieckerman, God of the Living. A Biblical Theology. In preparation for that, what follows in the posts leading up to the end of the year are excerpts from my own The Indelible Image.Vol. 2 that prepare us for that discussion.
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THE THOUGHT WORLDS OF THE OT AND NT, AND THE WAY FORWARD

“When the author of the play steps out on the stage, the play is over.”—C.S. Lewis

“In using narrative, our New Testament writers were following in the tradition of the Old Testament, where God consistently reveals himself in what he does—in creation, in history, and in what is said and done by his prophets.”—Morna Hooker

RELATING THE OT AND NT THOUGHT WORLDS

While it would be possible to discuss the relationship of the OT to the NT at this juncture, that is actually a subject for a discussion of the canon, which actually is not the focus of this study, and in any case we have discussed it some in the first volume of this work. What we are interested in here is the relationship of OT theology and ethics to the theology and ethics we find in the NT. The reason for this distinction is simple– the documents of the NT existed in the NT era and are expressions of the thought world of that era, long before there was a NT canon. The thought world of the NT speakers and writers was enormously influenced by the thought world exhibited in many books now found in the OT, though they were certainly also profoundly influenced by intertestamental Jewish literature and thought as well.

I say many books because some books of the OT seem to have exerted little or no influence on the early Christians. To take an obvious example, Esther seems to have made no impact at all, and this is perhaps not surprising since the OT canon was not fully closed in the NT era and one of the debated books was Esther. In fact several of the books which later made up the third part of TANAK, the Writings, are missing in action in the NT as are various other OT books (e.g. Nehemiah), and I don’t just mean they aren’t quoted. I mean they aren’t even alluded to. It is thus better on the whole to talk about the influence not of particular books though we could do this (the most cited in the NT are Isaiah and the Psalms) but rather of the influence of the thought world. And here we note a remarkable fact.

The OT taken as a whole has precious little to say about the afterlife, and only somewhat more about eschatology. And indeed it is mostly the very latest OT books, including especially the more apocalyptic prophets, that have anything of consequence to say on this subject, and sometimes even when they are talking about ‘the Yom Yahweh’ they are not talking about some final eschatological judgment on the world, but rather a temporal judgment on Israel and/or the nations after which there can be redemption for God’s people and further mundane life.

By comparison, the thought world of the NT writers is overwhelmingly eschatological in character. In this respect, the NT thought world is far more like the thought world of some of the intertestamental Jewish literature than it is like the OT. This of course could be said to create a problem for canonical theologians, at least for those who want to limit the discussion within the parameters of what is found in the OT and NT. But there are red flags right within various NT books against taking this sort of approach as well.

For example, the tiny little document called Jude clearly draws on extra canonical material from the Enoch literature and probably from the Apocalypse of Moses as well. Or take Paul, who shows the influence of Wisdom of Solomon, or James who draws on Sirach. Thus while we can focus on the relationship of the thought world in the OT and that in the NT, the discussion should not be limited to such a discussion, not least because important ideas like bodily resurrection of the dead, while they did not germinate in the intertestamental period, certainly gestated in that period. When it comes to the OT itself, the concept of resurrection is barely mentioned in Dan. 12.1-2, and as a metaphor in Ezekiel (and see Isa. 26.19). In other words, some of the concepts most crucial and determinative for the early Christian thinkers are barely found in the OT at all. Christian theology and ethics could never be done purely on the basis of the careful interpretation of the OT.

And indeed, some scholars have asked some probing questions about whether one can even talk about a unified OT thought world, not least because the material found there was produced and edited over an incredibly long period of time, in various places, in various different countries, in exile and in the Holy Land, and much of the literature is anonymous, or at least we don’t know who actually finally wrote it down. In any case, the concept of books did not really exist in the OT era in the same way it did in the first century A.D. By contrast the gestation period of the NT is tiny, the social networks are much more close knit, we know a good deal about various of the NT authors including knowing that these people either were, or were in touch with, the original eyewitnesses of the events which came to be called the Good News. Then too, all the writers shared something vital in common– a vibrant faith in a recently crucified and risen savior named Jesus.

There was no singular sort of experience like that, not even the Exodus-Sinai events, which generated the faith of all the Israelites. It is then, in some ways, not fair to compare the OT and NT thought worlds, and in any case the OT thought world reflects a long period of development with some remarkable changes in and after the exile in regard to afterlife theology. One has to talk in terms of progressive revelation when one is dealing with the OT thought world. It is not at all clear that one needs to do that with the NT thought world. And then too if one is going to speak at all about Biblical theology and ethics the narratological necessities dictate that we must talk about an ongoing tale which has a beginning, middle, climax and end. The OT does not include the last two elements of the story though especially its prophetic corpus sometimes foreshadows and foretells it.
Some of course will ask why is it so important to consider the theology and the ethics in the Bible in a processive and progressive manner?

One answer is that we cannot judge the meaning of a story, and the character of its actors, before we get to the end of it. Consider for a moment the example of the great trilogy the Lord of the Rings. One cannot tell whether Frodo will have the necessary character to do what is required with the ring until we get to right near the end of the story. Up to that point we do not know whether he will pass the test. Or even more tellingly, we cannot tell whether Gollum is going to end up being an adversary or an assistant in the process of saving the Shire and the world until right near the end. Or what of Gandalf? Will he return in time or at all to help the human race ward off evil? We don’t know until many hundreds of pages into the story. The Bible involves a similarly epic story from creation through fall through various acts of redemption to the final new creation. Viewing the whole story from the end changes the way we look at the character of God, the character of God’s people, how human history will play out, the nature of redemption, and a host of other subjects. The truth is—we don’t fully know God and the divine character sufficiently for eternal salvation before Jesus turns up to reveal it. We don’t fully understand the depths of human depravity until Jesus shows up and dies on the cross to reveal and overcome it. We don’t understand the importance of creation to God’s eternal plan until we hear near the end that God’s plan is that all of fallen creation be renewed and restored, and that resurrection of Jesus will be the harbinger and indeed catalyst of the final stage of redemption for human beings themselves.

STICKING TO OUR STORY
It is precisely because Biblical history is told in the Bible as an ongoing story that a narratological approach to theology and ethics is not merely useful, it is required to fully understand what is being claimed and taught. The appropriate question to ask about any theological or ethical remark in the Bible is—where in the story do we find it? Is it near the outset, or in the middle or towards the end? During the administration of which covenant was this or that teaching given? Most fundamentally, is this or that theological or ethical remark before or after the Christ event? Does this point in the story reflect the partial revelations of the earlier period or the fuller revelation that comes in and after the Christ event?

These are the right sort of questions to ask when we are thinking about the theology and ethics we find in the Bible and this is precisely why we cannot do Biblical theology in a manner that treats the OT as though it provides us full a revelation of God’s character, plan, people as does the NT. It does not, and the NT writers did not think it did either, even though the OT was the only Bible they themselves had. They believed they were the people on whom the ends of the ages had come, and they believed that in fact the author of this whole story had finally stepped out on the stage in person to bring in the final chapters and explain the meaning of it all.

With this reminder about the narratological framework and nature of the thought world we are dealing with, it will be appropriate to say some final things about some of the major symbols in the symbolic universe that generate that sort of thought world and story, but first we must note that we have now found a clue or two as to why the early church completely rejected the so-called Gnostic Gospels when considering what would eventually be their canonical texts.

The first of these reasons is that the canonical Gospels do indeed focus on the passion and death of Christ, indeed they could be called Passion Narratives with a long introduction. The Gnostic Gospels by contrast not only do not focus on the death of Jesus, they avoid doing so. They see no great theological significance in that, or really any other event, which depends on historical reality and particularity.

Equally importantly as Luke Johnson says “None of the Gnostic Gospels take the form of narrative. Rather they focus entirely on Jesus as revealer, and take the form of discrete sayings…with no narrative framework (Gospel of Thomas) or revelatory discourses in response to questions (Gospel of Mary, Dialogue of the Saviour). Two of the most important Gnostic Gospels (Gospel of Truth, Gospel of Philip) take the form of teaching about Jesus rather than any sort of story.” In other words, the sensibilities and symbolic universe which formed those documents are very different from those Jewish ones which formed our canonical Gospels. In fact, it is not too much to say that most of the Gnostic texts reject the God of the OT altogether, the God of material creation.

Luke Johnson puts it this way” “Insofar as the God of Israel is the God who creates the material world, the Gnostic texts resist that God. A Gnostic sensibility that finds the world to be a corpse and blessedness in detachment and solitariness (see the Coptic Gospel of Thomas ) is far both from the sensibility of Torah and of the canonical Gospels.” The writers of the NT were all Jews or God-fearers in all likelihood , not Marcionites or Gnostics, and so we would not expect them to devalue the OT thought world, nor the OT vision of God and creation, and they do not disappoint us in this regard. The changes we find between the OT and the NT symbol system are Christologically, ecclesiologically, and eschatologically engendered—but all of those categories (the discussion of a messiah, the discussion of God’s people, the discussion of the future in connection with the messiah and God’s people) are Jewish and must be seen as a further development of OT and early Jewish thinking on such subjects in a particular direction in the light of the Christ event.

THE OT THOUGHT WORLD AND ITS RELEVANCE TO CHRISTIAN THOUGHT

At the center of the OT symbolic universe and narrative thought world lies a singular God, Yahweh. Scholars have come to call what they find in the OT ethical monotheism, and this is an appropriate label. Yahweh, the God of the Bible is a hands-on deity constantly involved in the affairs of the world and his people, and he is constantly making demands of them in regard to their behavior especially, but also in regard to their beliefs. The Shema has been frequently seen as the core credo in regard to the OT God—“Hear O Israel, the Lord our God is One”. ‘One’ here means as opposed to many gods presumably. In other words this is a statement against polytheism, not about the composition or complexity of the Biblical God.

What was believed about this God can be deduced reasonably easily from a close reading of the Pentateuch and the first few historical books. As the only real God in the cosmos, the Biblical God was believed to be the creator of all things and all beings. There was no other being or thing that existed before this God decided to create the universe and all that is within it. This view of course stands in stark contrast to other ANE views about how the universe was created out of a struggle between various deities. The OT writers will have none of that. There is only one God, and one universe that was created by this God and reflects the divine character. The way that is expressed of course in the beginning chapters of the Bible is that God created all things, and made them tov, indeed made them tov m’ov—very good. A good God made a good creation and good creatures to fill it.

This whole idea of monotheism of course created enormous problems when it came to the issue of the origins of evil, the study of theodicy. Polytheism could always explain that evil came about through one or another of the bad deities or through cosmic struggle, but monotheism could not go that route. Some other explanation for evil had to be suggested. What is most interesting in Gen. 1-3 is that we are not told where evil comes from—it simply lurks in the presence of the snake in the garden. It appears that the OT writers were more interested in talking about how to cope with evil than debate its source.

But one thing they were repeatedly emphatic about is that the one and only God was not evil, there was no dark side, no shadow of turning in God, nor did the Biblical God do evil things. The blame for the Fall, as it came to be called, is placed solely on human beings, not on God for making defective merchandise. This pattern of thinking can of course be seen not only in various places in the OT, but in the NT as well. As Paul puts it in Rom. 5 and 1 Cor. 15, Adam is the head of the human race, and as a result all of us have sinned and died in Adam, and it is also true that all of us have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God all on our own as well. Never once in the Bible is there a discussion about their being some flaw or ethical defect in God. The blame for the human malaise is always laid at the door of human beings, however much they may have been beguiled or bamboozled by the powers of darkness in the universe. God is holy, just, good, and not responsible for sin and evil.

This of course raises questions about the sovereignty of God, and the OT does indeed repeatedly insist that God is almighty. Sometimes this takes the form of insisting that God is the maker and ruler of the universe, but more frequently since the OT is the story of God’s dealings with a fallen and imperfect people, it takes the form of insisting that God is almighty to save or rescue his people. God will not willingly let them go down the path of ruin and self-destruction (cf. Gen. 6 to Hos. 11). At the very heart of the Pentateuch is the story of the Exodus Sinai events which becomes the paradigm and indeed the litmus test of the character of God—Yahweh is a redeemer God, who rescues his people time and time again. This brings into the picture God’s love, compassion, mercy, for there is no suggestion in such stories, not even in Exodus, that these people earned God’s favor and deserved to be rescued, and thus a righteous God was obligated to extricate them (see Exod. 34.6).

True enough, it is stressed that the Hebrews were victims of horrible oppression, but there is no suggestion in these stories that God rescued them because their character was so much better than the Egyptians (see Deut. 7.7-8). Indeed, as the wilderness wandering traditions which followed were to demonstrate, they had some severe issues in regard to both their behavior and their beliefs about the true God. Golden calves and immorality did not come as a total accident or as a total surprise from these people. In other words, while God was just in punishing the Egyptians he was also gracious in rescuing the Hebrews. And here we come upon a crucial point.

Salvation in the OT is, almost exclusively, a this-worldly proposition. It is something God does in space and time to rescue, redeem, restore, aid the return of his people to their rightful place or condition or character. There really is hardly anything of a doctrine of heaven in the OT (though a few saints like Enoch and Elijah get beamed up into the living presence of God), and so whatever justice or redemption that happens must happen in the here and now, in space and time. To be sure, in the later and apocalyptic prophecies we begin to see an afterlife or at least a new creation theology in second and third Isaiah, in Ezekiel, in Daniel, and perhaps elsewhere, but clearly enough Sheol is the dominant concept of the afterlife in most of the OT. But nowhere do we find any NT writers who merely conjure with Sheol after death for anyone, it would appear.

There is considerable insistence in the OT on God’s holiness and righteous character. This is of course one reason why we talk about ethical monotheism. The Biblical God is not running around committing immoral acts, or like various pagan deities, attempting to mate with mere mortals. Notably when we have a story like Gen. 6.1-4 in which angels (called sons of God) come down from above and do commit the creation order violation of mating with mortals, the heavens break lose and a flood judgment comes upon the earth. The Biblical God will not tolerate, much less perpetrate a breach of the creation order, much less blur the line between creator and creature in this regard. Thus when we hear in the Holiness Code (see Leviticus)—“be holy, as I am holy” we are beginning to get to the root of the matter in terms of the OT symbolic universe. God is one, and God is holy, and God’s people should be both one and holy as well.

And here is where we say that just as theology and ethics are bound up in the character of God and one could talk about the theological story of an ethical God acting ethically, so also theology and ethics are intertwined in what is expected of God’s people as well. The character of God is to be reflected in the behavior (and belief) of God’s people. Put another way—when one knows and believes in the true character of the Biblical God and has experienced God acting ‘in character’ on behalf of his people, then the only appropriate response is to mirror that character in one’s own community and life. ‘Be ye holy, as I am holy’ means not merely set yourself apart from the behavior patterns of the larger culture but model yourself on the divine character. And interestingly such imitation is never seen to violate the creator-creature distinction, or to lead to a human being’s apotheosis. It is the voice of the snake, not God, who promises “you shall be as gods”. Yet it must be stressed that the primeval story insists that human beings are created in the image of God, created with a capacity for a special relationship with God, and thus in some ways the story of salvation history throughout the Bible is the story of God’s efforts to bring about the renewal of that indelible, but effaced image. Only so could human beings once more be said to be ‘a little less than God (or at least the angels, depending on how one reads the creation psalm—Ps. 8).

A further feature of the OT thought world which really shapes its contours is of course covenanting. The God of the Bible is a God who cuts covenants with both individuals like Noah or Abraham, but also with a whole group of people—a chosen people. Covenants are of course agreements and the Biblical ones mostly take the form of suzerain-vassal covenants, not parity treaties. Yahweh dictates the terms in these covenants and they have not only stipulations but curse and blessing sanctions. They are all ratified by a sacrifice and have a covenant sign as well—such as circumcision, or even a rainbow. It would be hard to overestimate how important covenanting was in the relationship between God and his people as described in the OT. God made demands, not merely ritualistic ones but also ethical demands of his people, in a fashion similar to an ancient dowry or betrothal agreement. To fail to live up to the stipulations resulted in the curse sanctions being enacted on God’s people.

And this brings up another crucial point. God’s people, either individually or collectively are not immune to judgment. Their chosenness does not exempt them from God’s justice, indeed judgment begins with the household of God according to the OT. It is a singular mistake to muddle up the concept of chosenness or election and the concept of salvation. As we have said, the OT has very little to say about ‘everlasting life’, and when it speaks of ‘chosenness’ it is not spoken of in terms of eternal benefits to particular individuals.
Indeed, chosenness normally in the OT has to do with God picking someone or some group for a specific historical purpose—such as the choice of Cyrus to set free God’s people in Babylonian exile. But even when the concept is applied collectively to Israel, it normally has the sense that God has chosen this people to be a light to the nations, bearing witness to God’s character and demands and to be a blessing to the nations (see e.g. the promises to Abraham). Election then has historical purposes in the OT, and little or nothing is said about personal eternal fringe benefits. The corollary of this should be clear—later Christian concepts of election and salvation (especially as blended together into one idea) ought not to be read back into the OT willy nilly. One has to have a sense of progressive revelation and the progress of developing understanding of such concepts as election and salvation when dealing with the relationship of the OT thought world and the NT thought world. Missional election however is a concept that is carried over into the NT.

2015-03-13T23:11:17-04:00

Scholarly books should not be evaluated on the basis of their length. A weighty tome may not be a useful one, just a verbose one. On the other hand, some short books are rich and rewarding and repay close study. Robert McIver’s book is one of the latter sort of books.

In the ninth chapter of this brief but important study the stress is on the significance of the fact that Jesus was a teacher. Indeed, some 56 times he is addressed as teacher or rabbi in the Gospels. Further, of the 55 times that the verb didasko (to teach) shows up in the NT all but nine times are direct references to Jesus’ doing the teaching. And further of the 48 uses of the term didaskalos (teacher) all but five refer to Jesus. Contrast this with the fact that of the 138 uses of the term prophet in the NT, Jesus is called prophet only in 8 of those instances in the Synoptics, and only 5 further times in John. Further, of the 60 occurrences of the verb ‘to preach’ (kerusso), only nine times does it refer to Jesus’ activities. In short, Jesus’s teaching is the main thing the Gospels want to say about his activity.

McIver spends some time on the now familiar subject of ancient pedagogy, and yes, indeed memorization and repetition was an essential part of such education all over the Greco-Roman world. One needs to bear in mind that in an oral culture, where texts were not ready to hand, one usually had to rely on one’s memory when it came to things learned. McIver rightly notes the evidence of teachers in almost any town or village or city one would care to visit in the world of the NT. Sometimes it is assumed that education was only for the elites, but in fact this is not true when it comes to early Judaism and young boys of whatever social status. Because Jews were the people of a sacred book, there was importance placed not only on the basic ability to read, but also on learning the Torah. The evidence that Jesus did in fact learn and could read Torah can be found in a variety of Gospel traditions, as we have previously noted in our discussions of Millard’s book some weeks ago on this blog. It would be strange indeed for Jesus to upbraid his adversaries ‘have you not read the Scripture which says….’ if in fact he could not read at all. McIver is able to cite early evidence imbedded in the Torah for the responsibility Jewish teachers had to make sure their disciples could read the Torah. We would expect that Jesus would do the same with his disciples. The fact that Jesus was recognized by one and all as a teacher, both friend and foe, means his activities were familiar enough to be identified as a kind of Jewish teaching. We must also remember that repetition was the essence of ancient teaching, and so we may envision the disciples often hearing the same teaching in various settings at various times. This cannot explain all the small differences between parallel traditions in the Synoptics, but we must reckon with some duplication with slight variation by Jesus himself.

There can be little doubt as well that Jesus’ inner circle received special instructions just for them, and in various settings (cf. Mk. 4, Mt. 5.1,13.10-23,36). It is not for nothing that the same disciples, after Pentecost are depicted as being teachers (Acts 2.42; 4.2). They must have felt that Jesus had prepared them for this. The point of all this is that there had to be already a Jesus tradition for them to do such teaching about, and based on the teaching of, Jesus. McIver acknowledges that this sort of evidence suggests that there was a chain of transmission of the Jesus tradition— from Jesus, to the Twelve, to other teachers they taught. This is possible. To judge from Papias there is no long chain of tradition— in the case of Mark it is Jesus to Peter to Mark. In the case of Matthew, it is Jesus to Matthew. McIver is aware of, and also endorses the cautions of W. Kelber about how ‘hot memory’ works, and suggests this is what we have, not ‘cold fixed memory’.

McIver goes on to spend time on the now familiar subject of how parables and aphorisms are forms of tradition that are easily learned, and in the case of aphorism, easily memorized verbatim. Actual study of the parables shows gist memory, rather than verbatim is mostly what we find reflected in the parables in the Synoptics. He demonstrates quite readily in parable parallels that while there is relatively high common vocabulary the verbatim sequences are quite short— often no more than five straight words. McIver points out that parables are rather like modern jokes, the basic structure and punch line must be fixed or the joke fails. More to the point the story before the punchline needs to be consistent with, and lead up to the punchline. This analysis however is better suited to chreiae (see the previous posts) than parables.

How long winded was Jesus? Rainer Reisner says that of the 247 independent units that make up the Synoptic sayings of Jesus, a whopping 42% are just one verse long, a further 23% are just 2 verses long, and only 12% are longer than four verses. It is hard not to see that this was deliberate on Jesus’ part. Short pithy aphorisms are both memorable and memorizable. Further, there is now clear evidence that aphorisms are indeed stashed in the verbatim memory system in the brain. There are even studies showing how proverbs are preserved verbatim orally over a millenium!! Writing something down does tend to stabilize a tradition, but in an oral culture no one thinks ‘this is the whole tradition’ indeed they often prefer the living and infinitely expansive voice to the limited text.

McIver then quotes C.H. Dodd who stressed the coherency of the Jesus tradition, indeed it is on the whole so coherent and consistent and distinctive, that as Dodd says, the most reasonable explanation is, it came for a single, singular source—- Jesus.

2015-03-13T23:11:18-04:00

Human memory is episodic, and so are the Gospels. Personal event memories are especially that way, and they have distinctive features. They are intense memories of very specific events, and short periods of time, fully of sensory data and often irrelevant minor details, and often they do not have a larger narrative context, are not anchored by a timeline or even a description of geographical location. McIver calls such memories granular, relating specific moments and incidents. Here are his criteria for evaluating whether we have personal eyewitness memories in the Synoptics—
1) it consists of a narrative of events, places, people
2) these narratives tend to be vague on place and time
3) they are usually self-contained narratives only loosely connected to the larger narrative context
4) the narratives tend to describe an event that took place over a short period of time
5) the narratives are full of sensory data and often irrelevant details.

Now these criteria are described as necessary but not sufficient to tag something as a personal memory. The point is, their absence strongly suggests the narrative in question is not from an eyewitness. McIver then proceeds to demonstrate, using texts like Lk. 6.1-5 and 6.6-11 how all of the above criteria are met by stories like that. He notes the very vague or general time references used to link Synoptic stories— ‘now after that’, ‘at that time’, ‘the same day’, ‘immediately’, ‘in those days’. What we see in the Gospels is not the boiling up of stories from tiny little shards of info, as Bultmann and other form critics thought, but rather the compacting of information into rhetorical chreiae and other short narrative forms.

Interestingly, McIver gives us an estimate of how many persons would have witnessed some part or a large part of the ministry of Jesus. Besides the 12 who will have witnessed most of it, McIver suggests some 60,000 people at least will have witnessed some of it, especially some of the last week of Jesus’ ministry. So there would have tended to be more witnesses when Jesus was in Jerusalem, far less, say when he was in Nazareth. Besides disciple memories, there would be memories of family members, especially Mary and James, who both participated in the early church after the Easter events. Then there would have been crowds, persons healed, adversaries, Roman officials, passersby and so on. One should not overlooked the named female disciples as well (Lk. 8.1-3— it was unusual to name women in early Judaism in such traditions), especially since they were last at the cross, first at the empty tomb, and first to see the risen Lord. You don’t make up women being the first eyewitnesses of crucial events for your religion in that sort of strongly patriarchal culture where a woman’s witness was considered suspect. They are mentioned because they were really there and really saw various crucial events in both Galilee and Judea.

McIver rightly argues that already during the ministry of Jesus individual memories and eyewitness accounts would have been being incorporated into the body of teachings that the disciples would disseminate before and after Easter. In an important conclusion McIver stresses (p. 128):

“The strong social cohesion known to exist in first century Mediterranean groups, and visible in the book of Acts, undoubtedly led to a strong collective memory of the teachings and deeds of the one central to the existence of the groups: Jesus. That eyewitness accounts both contributed to this process and ensured that the traditions did not stray too far from the realities of the memories of Jesus can be taken for granted. So, it is hard to gainsay the observation that there was considerable eyewitness input in the early formation of traditions about Jesus.”

But was there a double input by the eyewitnesses— both at the beginning of the formation of the tradition, and again at the juncture when the Gospels were written? Luke tells us that the latter is true, and the nature of the Synoptic traditions intimates the former was true. This is hardly surprising since all the earliest tradents were Jews, used to Jewish ways of education and preserving of sacred traditions. McIver argues that the Gospels seem to have all been written outside of Jerusalem (and he adds probably outside of Galilee as well), so this meant that folk like Luke would likely need to travel to encounter the eyewitnesses and hear their stories. McIver thus concludes that eyewitnesses had more to do with the genesis of the tradition than with its being put into writing in a Gospel. This of course is not what Papias suggests about Matthew and Mark and John.

Considerable time is spent in this chapter on demonstrating the nature of Chreiae and how they were formed, and how we find them in the Gospels. The thing about the short narratives called chreiae that worked their way to an appropriate climax— such as a memorable saying or deed of the person in question, is that chreiae involved narrative and sayings together in one pericope. If the Gospels were the product of chreiae formation, the sayings material would often not be separate from the narrative material, despite theories about Q. But this is not to say there would not also have been sayings collections as well. The point is, the narrative which leads to an aphoristic saying like ‘it is more difficult for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God than….’ is that it never existed in isolation from a narrative context. The form critical notion that narratives were dreamed up to provide a setting for sayings by Gospel writers or others is demonstrably false based on what we know about how eyewitness memory works— namely it is harder to remember exactly what was said than what actually happened. It also does not comport with how tradition formation of words and deeds tended to happen in early Judaism.

McIver in this chapter shows the parallels in parallel accounts and also examines the ways in which they vary from one another. Providing some very useful data on p. 138 about such parallels. Firstly, there are some 20 Synoptic parallel stories which have a long sequence of verbatim likeness. The longest of these is Mt.10.16-25/Mk. 13.3-3 where we have 31 words in a row in the Greek that are the same. After this there are parallels that have 29,28,and 26 words in common in a row, and there are four examples of parallels with 24 words in common in a row. These examples are however exceptional since the median or average number of words in common in a row (verbatim) is seven when it comes to Gospel parallel accounts. Overall, when we examine the triple tradition we find 53% common vocabulary and stretches of 10 words in a row in common. The tables on pp. 136-41 should be examined to study similarities and differences. It is important to note that the pithy sayings, most easily memorized, that tend to end Chreiae in the Synoptics like ‘man was not made for the sabbath but rather….’
tend to show the longest sequences of verbatim parallels of all the Gospel materials. These sayings were both most easily remembered, and most easily memorized, which was likely Jesus’ intent.

Any account of the Synoptic Gospels which pretends to have broad explanatory power must account for both the similarities and the differences in parallel accounts. In my view, and McIver’s, these accounts do indeed bear the marks of personal memory and eyewitness testimony. The differences can largely be accounted for by the editorial agendas of the differing Gospel writers.

2015-03-13T23:11:18-04:00

The study of collective memory is very important for understanding early Christianity and its handling of its sacred traditions. This post must focus on that and related matters. Collective memory refers to memories shared by all members of the specified group based on shared experiences. One of the things that research into collective memory has shown is that the needs and interests of the present in part determine what is recalled, and what is deemed important about what is recalled.

Especially when the past is used for identity formation (.e.g. ‘remember who you are, a Hebrew whose ancestors were slaves in Egypt….’) does the present concerns and interest affect what is remembered and how it is presented. So does hagiography, by which I mean the tendency to ignore the flaws and mistakes, and polish the haloes of previous historical persons now viewed as heroes or saints. What is especially interesting about the Gospels is that they portray the disciples warts, wrinkles and all. The portraits are often not flattering, even of Peter. This needs to be borne in mind when considering the Gospel’s credibility.

One important figure in the study of collective memory as it bears on the Gospels which were written in oral cultures is Walter Ong. Here is one of his insights as cited by McIver (p.92): “Sustained thought in an oral culture is tied to communication.” He then explains how anyone (including Jesus though he does not have Jesus particularly in mind) could make sure his teachings could have been remembered over long stretches of time and by various people “Think memorable thoughts…you have to do your thinking in mnemonic patterns, shaped for ready oral recurrence. Your thoughts must come into being in heavily rhythmic, balanced patterns, in repetitions or antitheses, in alliterations and assonances, in epithetic and other formulary expressions,in standard thematic settings….in proverbs…or in other mnemonic form. Serious thought is intertwined with memory systems”. While Ong is not trying to characterize the Synoptic tradition, it is striking that all these things are found in Jesus’ teachings, especially when evaluated in the Aramaic as opposed to the Greek though most of these oral and rhetorical devices are evident in the Greek as well.

Ong goes on to describe how important story telling is in oral cultures, with stories involving vivid characters, larger than life figures, heroic deeds, dastardly crimes, violent passions, though the focus is on the deeds, not on the motives or psychological profiles. Repetition and redundancy abound and bold characterizations ( e.g. ‘unbelieving Thomas’) are characteristic.

Now when there is a collective memory of an event or a healing or a teaching or the like, there is a certain limit to the degree to which the present can distort the memory of the past, precisely because an actual happening or person is being remembered by a variety of people. For example, few would believe a person who suggested that JFK was actually shot by LBJ who was riding with him in the car. Why not? Because so many witnesses saw shots coming from one or more places outside the car (.e.g. the school book depository, the grassy knoll??). Memories of such events are of course deeply personal, but they are not private, and are subject to correction, indeed multiple corrections the more people who actually saw an event. Collective memory or social memory has a built in self-correcting nature.

In his Sixth chapter, McIver gets down to brass tacks in evaluating and critiquing various uses of the concept of collective memory as it applies to the Gospel traditions themselves, beginning with the form critical approach to traditioning of Bultmann, Dibelius, and their successors. First of all, both Bultmann and Dibelius assumed that the origins of the traditions were to be found not in the teaching of Jesus but in the early Christian communities themselves. Bultmann’s infamous dictum of 1935 was that he thought that we could now know almost nothing of what the personality of Jesus was historically like, because the early Christian communities had no interest in pure or objective historical remembering. Bultmann did think we could know a few things about Jesus’ teachings from the earliest layers of the tradition, but that was all.

Now both Bultmann, and Dibelius, assumed that the time between the time of Jesus, and the time when the Gospels were written were so great that very little of actual historical substance was remembered by the 60s and 70s. What is interesting is that this sort of whole scale creation of traditions, and lack of actual connection with the putative source of the tradition and lack of consistency between parts of the tradition is typical of people with brain injuries, as shown by recent studies cited by McIver. It is not typical of normal human beings without Alzheimer’s or brain injuries(see pp. 103-04). Normal persons can remember all kinds of things often over a half century later, especially if the person in question is someone they loved, spent time with, and cared about the opinions of. Such was the case between Jesus and his original disciples. Furthermore, outright creation of traditions about a historical persons within a generation or so of the person’s death is rare indeed due to the ongoing memories of the still living eyewitnesses. When the descendants of Betsy Ross invented the idea that George Washington asked her to sow the first flag, inventing it for the purpose of financial gain, the historical record was eventually brought to bare and it was shown this was simply a fabrication. Whole scale fabrication seldom works, and certainly is not condoned by any group that has a concern about its actual historical origins as did the earliest Christians (see Luke’s comment Lk. 1.1-4, who was a second generation non-eyewitness of Jesus). There were ‘guardians of memory’ who knew better than to treat the Jesus tradition as if it were just another legendary tale.

McIver thus concludes: “Such a wholesale invention of tradition as proposed by Dibelius and Bultmann appears inconsistent with what else is known about collective memory….the model developed by Dibelius and Bultmann to account for the development of the Gospel tradition must be rejected.” (p. 109). It accounts for neither the nature/character of the tradition, nor the way it was passed down, nor for the way collective memory actually works.

Turning to more fruitful and plausible models of tradition development in early Christianity, McIver spends time with the so-called Scandanavian school of Riesenfeld, Gerhardsson, followed by Rainer Reisner and others. While the former two focused on the traditioning process being done in a traditional Jewish, which is to say conservative manner, of handing on sacred traditions, Reisner focused on the role of Jesus as a teacher who set himself the goal of forming a collective memory of his teachings by actually discipling the Twelve and others. He points out that teacher is a job description of Jesus, not a Christological title. Jesus deliberately taught in synagogues, in homes, in the open, on the road etc. He taught wherever he went, right up to the point of his death. The notion that all this was forgotten by leaders such as Peter or James and John Zebedee, the former of which lived well into the 60s, is historically improbable, especially considering the memory studies and collective memory students McIver analyzes in this book. Importantly Riesner demonstrated that rote memorization was a staple of all early education of that period, including Jewish education.

Taking things one step further Armin Baum builds on Reisner’s work and concludes that since there is clear enough evidence of early Jews memorizing large portions of Torah, and since the sayings of Jesus amount to less words than many of them memorized (namely about 15,000 words), it is believable that Jesus had at least some of his disciples memorize large chunks of his teaching even during the ministry, since Jesus sent them out two by two to tell of his Kingdom teaching. (Baum’s book is only in German— it’s title in English would be The Orality Factor and its Meaning for the Synoptic Question 2008). Baum focuses on the various features of Jesus’ teaching that made it memorable and memorizable (see earlier C.F. Burney’s The Poetry of our Lord).

McIver next turns to the model of ‘informal controlled tradition’ advocated by Kenneth Bailey, based on his long history of living in the Middle East and observing Arab village life. His theory is the ANE was much like the modern Middle East when it comes to oral tradition. The village elders or others exercise control even in how proverbs or maxims as well as stories are told, in regard to the accuracy of their content. The obvious problem here is that while the modern Middle East is more like the first century ANE than say, North Carolina today, there are still a world of differences, and the dangers of anachronism in this model is apparent.

Drawing on the work of Bailey in a series of publications is J.D.G. Dunn who maintains as a basic assumption that the Jesus tradition remained oral for a long period of time. I have already critiqued some of Dunn’s theorizes in his Jesus Remembered volume, in a volume dedicated to Dunn and edited by Robert Stewart, so the alert reader can see that critique in the Fortress Press volume itself. If there is an emphasis in Dunn, McIver puts his finger on it— namely stressing community tradition over individual eyewitnesses. By this he means that the tradition was a living one continually used, for example the Lord’s Prayer was regularly prayed, so it was not a matter of just going and seeking out the eyewitnesses, in spite of what Luke says in Lk. 1.1-4. The problem with Dunn’s view is that it underplays the role of the eyewitnesses as the guarantors of the tradition. Dunn in the end stresses both the stability but also the flexibility of the tradition as it kept being used, adopted, and adapted in various ways.

McIver in concluding the sixth chapters stresses (pp. 120-21): 1) that Dunn seems to be most nearly right, and like Dunn he assumes that the Jesus tradition likely remained oral for a long period of time. This of course is an argument from silence, and it can be challenged in various ways, especially if one accepts the existence of Q, and for that matter recognizes that Paul talks about a formal tradition he received and passed on that involved both words and deeds of Jesus (see 1 Cor 11 and 15). 2) on the other hand McIver is right to note that Dunn undervalues the roles of those Jesus himself taught in maintaining the integrity of the tradition. It was not the community in general but its leaders who were involved most in maintaining it, especially those who could write, such as Matthew. 3) the complete rejection of the old form critical model of Bultmann and others is important, because neither memory students nor historical evidence supports their view, and yet still various persons in the Jesus Seminar (e.g. Crossan) base their arguments on such old form critical assumptions. It was not the Sitz im Lebens of the churches (situations in life) that created the traditions. It was the situations that made the using of some Jesus traditions more than others appropriate and helpful.

2015-03-13T23:11:27-04:00

Recently a Christian from Indonesia who writes to me with questions about the faith from time to time asked me about the Reformed theology of regeneration. Basically it goes like this— you can’t possibly have faith or respond to the Gospel unless God has already regenerated you so that you could do so, and you are not going to be regenerated unless God has chosen you to be so in the first place. Otherwise, you are a no-hoper. It’s all in God’s hands.

Now there are a variety of serious problems with this whole theological approach to salvation not the least of which are: 1) regeneration is associated with what happens at the new birth, at conversion in the NT, not what happens before then. Indeed, I will go so far as to say there is not a single verse in the NT that supports the notion that you must be regenerated before you receive the new birth by grace through faith; 2) this whole approach assumes a non-Biblical theology of grace, namely that grace always and everywhere is irresistible. It acts like a magnet does on iron fillings– ‘resistance is futile’; 3) it also assumes that God has got this whole deal planned and predestined in advance, and if you’re not among the elect, well…. you are out of luck; 4) there is in addition another whole concept that goes along with this called the ‘invisible elect’ amongst the mass of church attenders. The idea is that others cannot know who are among the elect, though elect individuals can have assurance in their hearts of salvation. The peculiar thing about this is that Paul is quite sure he can tell the difference between the saved and lost amongst his audience. Indeed he even talks about some who had Christian faith and then made shipwreck of their saving faith. You can’t make shipwreck of something you never had.

The Reformed view argues that since we cannot omnisciently know who is saved and lost (already in advance), then we must proclaim the Gospel to all, and charitably assume all in our midst are potential believers, unless and until they demonstrate otherwise. But in any case we need to hold on to this notion of a righteous remnant without the body of the congregation.

The problems with this whole notion of an invisible elect linked to the Biblical notion of a righteous remnant are :1) there is no NT concept of an invisible group of elect within the congregation. The election language is either used of Christ, or of ALL those being addressed in a NT document, say 1 Peter or 1 Corinthinans; 2) the righteous remnant are identified by Paul in Rom. 9-11 as all too visible and vulnerable to persecution. Those broken off from the people of God (the non-remnant) are also all too visible, and Paul suggests they may only be temporarily broken off from the body of believers and can be grafted back in, just as those who are currently ‘in’ are warned in Rom. 11 that God can break them off from the remnant in a heartbeat. Some of the lost will later be saved, and vice versa is also possible. You have to follow the story to its end, when Christ returns.

But so much for a ground clearing exercise. Let’s come to grips with the Biblical notion of grace, and more particularly prevenient grace. As a general proposition both Calvin and Wesley agreed that God’s grace and mercy is over all his works. The difference is that what Calvin called common grace was a sort of restraining influence on the non-elect and even a blessing of the non-elect, but it in no way enabled a person to respond to the Gospel. Some have even called this ‘damning grace’ since it was no help in saving the individual in question.

To the contrary Wesley said, it is pre-venient grace, not some non-Biblical theology of regeneration that enables a person to respond in faith to the Gospel call, and this grace is available to all. Let us look at a particular text in this regard— 2 Tim. 1. 9-10. We will consider several verses, first turning to vss. 1.9-10.

In vss. 9-10 Paul says “this grace was given to us in Christ Jesus before the ages began, but it has now been revealed through the appearing of our Savior Jesus…” Notice when this saving grace was first given— before the ages. Indeed, before humanity began, and it was given in, or possibly through Christ (the Greek could be read either way).

The only grace Paul knows anything about is a grace that comes from and has to do with the saving work of Christ, revealed in person in the Incarnation. That’s it. There is no ‘common’ grace in the Bible, if by that one means a sort of B grade grace that has nothing to do with the salvation of the individual or group in question.

Notice the difference between the giving of this grace and its revealing in Christ. All grace is to be found in Jesus and revealed as such in and by Him. Of course there is a reason for this— there is only one Savior. ‘God so loves the entire world, that he sent his Son… not to condemn the world, but so that it might have everlasting life’. In other words, the divine plan all along was broad in scope. It was God’s desire that none be lost.

And of course the provision he made for salvation includes an atoning death of Jesus for the sins of the whole world– Jesus did not come into the world to confirm the elect in their election. He came to save sinners ( 1 Tim. 1.15), which of course includes all of us. 1 Tim. 2.3-5 is clear enough— God sent his Son Jesus because ‘he desires all to be saved and come to a knowledge of the truth’ and to that end Christ gave himself as a ‘ransom for all’, not just some. It is not God who limits who gets the benefits of the atonement, it is us, in our response to Christ.

Back to pre-venient grace. This theology grows out of texts such as we have mentioned and the way it envisions the salvation process is exactly as it is described in the NT. Yes indeed God’s grace, administered by the Spirit must work in a person leading them to respond to the Gospel. No responsible Wesleyan theologian would suggest that its a matter of ‘us all having free will’. No indeed. Without grace no one responds to God for we are all in the thrall of sin and darkness.

The Bible is clear however that prevenient grace is not regeneration, it is pre-venient grace, the grace that enables the response to the Gospel. This can properly be distinguished (though not divided from) converting or saving grace. The person on whom the Spirit works is perfectly capable of stifling, or quenching the work of the Spirit in their lives. Indeed, even Christians can do this, as Paul makes clear in 1 Thess. 5.19. God’s grace, while at moments overwhelming us, and at times strongly so, is nonetheless resistible over time.

God’s grace is not like the Godfather— making you an offer you can’t refuse. No, God’s grace is of course an expression of God’s love, and the fundamental thing one needs to say about love is that it must be freely given and freely received, or it is not love. If it can be predetermined it is something less or other than love. You cannot coerce someone to love you. You cannot predetermine someone to love you. If God did that, it would violate the very nature of his love, which, as I said, is freely given, and freely received. Indeed, it would violate the very nature of God who is said to be Love in 1 John.

Now why would God, an all powerful God, operate in this fashion, rather than in the fashion Augustine or Calvin thought? Obviously, God could have pre-programmed everything, and then could have sat back and watch it all transpire exactly as planned. The very good reason God did not do that is because he wanted to have a PERSONAL relationship with those created in his image, a LOVING relationship with them. He wanted to set up a covenant in which the heart of the matter was voluntary free loving God with one’s whole heart and neighbor as self. Granted, it could not be done by fallen persons without God’s grace enabling such responses, but God’s grace is truly powerful. It can indeed renovate to the human heart, the human will, the human mind.

Jonathan Edwards, in some of the most profound wrestling with the issue of freedom ever penned (in his book the Freedom of the Will), came to the conclusion that absolute predestination was consistent with the notion of human freedom, if and only if by ‘freedom’ one means ‘not feeling compulsed to do something’. The idea is that one acts according to one’s nature, one cannot do otherwise, but since it is ‘natural’ then its not like swimming upstream against the tide. One doesn’t feel compelled to do it.

The problem with this view of freedom is, it too is not a Biblical idea of freedom. Freedom means the power of contrary choice. Freedom means the ability to either positively or negatively respond to the Gospel call. And when Paul gets around to talking about freedom say in Romans 8.1ff. here is what he says ‘the ruling principle of the Spirit of life has set you free from the law of sin and death’. Now if you have been set free by God’s grace and by his Spirit, you are free indeed (which is of course why there are so many warnings in the NT to born again Christians against sin and apostasy— because they actually have the freedom to do such things).

The point here about pre-venient grace, is that it restores enough freedom to human beings so that they can, if they choose, respond positively to the Gospel. If they do not, it is certainly not God’s or grace’s fault. It is their own fault.

We could spend time going through all the new birth/conversion/ ‘made new creatures texts and show that these are the texts which talk about regeneration which happens coincident with justification by grace through faith, not before it. But that is a story for another day. Here let me be clear— what is at issue here is: 1) the character of God; and 2) the nature of his grace and love. Is it free grace and free love…. or is it something else?

Doubtless God could have set up the human realm differently, but the Bible says he decided to rule by love and grace and his desire was that all be saved. And that desire has not changed from before the foundations of the world until now, and never will. God already gave the grace for our salvation in Christ before all the ages. He was not caught by surprise by sin and the Fall. Here is a story worth shouting from the mountain tops.

2015-03-13T23:12:08-04:00

It is a too little known fact that Greek speakers were everywhere to be found in the world of Jesus. For example, take the coastal towns in Israel—Gaza, Azotus,Ascalon,Joppa, Dor. All of these cities were largely populated by Greek speakers, including Greek speaking Jews. Herod settled his foreign veterans in the town of Gaba northeast of Mt. Carmel and rebuilt Strato’s Tower on the coast. Samaria, the town, became a Greek city when Alexander settled some of his mustered out Macedonian troops there, and it was used again for this purpose by Herod, who settled foreign troops there— Greek speakers.

Even in small places like Marisa, a town in the Judean foothills northeast of Lachish, the city was populated by Idumeans like Herod, and Greeks, and people from Sidon. The excavations in that town show numerous Greek inscriptions, including burial inscriptions. We tend to forget that at first Israel was under the control of the Roman province of Syria, before the Herods did their thing, and thanks to the Romans Greek replaced Aramaic as the language of administration in the region, including even in Judea during the reign of Pilate. We see this official use of Greek in a stone slab at Scythopolis. Millard concludes “By the end of the second century BC, therefore when the Jews had their own state based on Jerusalem, Greek was firmly entrenched.” (p. 107). He adds “When King Herod took power, he had his name and title stamped in Greek only on the coins he issued, and his sons did the same for the different parts of Palestine they ruled. When Rome took control in Judaea, Greek only was stamped on the small bronze coins the Roman governors issued.”

The coins the priests in Jerusalem required every Jew to pay the annual temple tax with, the Tyrian shekel and half shekel had the Greek inscription–‘of Tyre, the holy place and sanctuary’. Even the weights used by Jews in Jerusalem were marked in Greek– one reads ‘Year 32 of Herod the King, pious and loyal to Caesar. Inspector of markets, 3 minas’ (p. 108 Millard). The same sort of thing was found near Tiberias reading ‘under Herod the tetrarch, 34 Gaius Julius the inspector of markets, 5 talents’.

Greek also circulated not merely on coins and weights and inscriptions, but in theater tickets, on amphorae jars of wine, in public notices, etc. There are numerous ossuaries as well from the Jerusalem region with some inscriptions in Aramaic, some in Greek, some in both, and from the same tomb as well. Of particular interest for Gospel studies is the ossuary found marked Alexander of Cyrene in Hebrew, and Alexander son of Simon’ in Greek, which may well refer to one of the sons of Simon of Cyrene (see Mk. 15.21;Rom. 16.13).

Or consider the famous first century A.D. Theodotus inscription written in beautiful Greek, recording the rebuilding of the synagogue and adjoining rooms by one Theodotus son of Vettenus.

If we turn for a moment to the Qumran scrolls, what was found in that Cave 7 full of Greek fragments? Firstly, copies of the OT books in Greek. But secondly, also portions of little known extra-canonical documents like the Epistle of Jeremiah, parts of the book of Enoch, and in a cave further south, a Greek copy of the minor prophets was found.

South of Qumran are caves where there have been lesser known finds. For example, the archive of the lady Babatha containing 35 papyri written between A.D. 93-132, of which two dozen are in Greek. There are deeds of gift,marriage contracts, court documents, letters,sale documents. Both business and literary Greek documents (Millard p. 115). Even from Masada, we find potsherds marked in both Greek and Hebrew letters, which apparently were used as tokens. Millard concludes—-
“the attested presence of Greek in Palestine from the third century BC onwards and the variety of texts available from the Herodian period implies that there were few parts of the country where some knowledge of the language could not be found. The land is small and there was a lot of travel…so Aramaic speaking Jews easily met and mixed with people who used Greek in many cases living side by side. In towns and villages the activities of pedlars and merchants, tax collectors and government officials, Herod’s foreign troops, Roman legionaries would often demand enough Greek from the local people for market-place negotiations. Even where there were determinedly Hebrew or Aramaic speaking communities, they could not isolate themselves from all contact with Greek, as the Greek books belonging to the strictly religious community who owned the Dead Sea Scrolls demonstrates.” (p. 117).

Of what import is this to our discussion of Jesus and his languages and literacy? A great deal. Jesus needed Greek to speak to a variety of people he encountered in his travels— not just centurions either. How would have spoken to a Syrophonecian woman? Perhaps in Greek. How to the residence of the Gerasene region, like the demoniac? Probably in Greek. I could go on. Various of his disciples also needed some Greek, especially a tax collector like Matthew, and also businessmen like Peter would have needed some Greek to do their fish-selling in the border region they lived in. In short, Jesus did not live in a cultural backwater, he lived in a multi-lingual setting. He mostly spoke Aramaic but likely knew some Greek. But was he literate? Our next post will address that directly.

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