When I saw the title of her book — Neither Complementarian nor Egalitarian: A Kingdom Corrective to the Evangelical Gender Debate — and then saw that Craig Blomberg wrote a foreword and Lynn Cohick the afterword I had an odd response: “Sure, let’s see if there can be a Third Way approach.” Then the term “kingdom” caught my attention — not knowing how the author, Michelle Lee-Barnewall, might define “kingdom” — and the word “corrective” even more, so she had me and I wanted to see where this approach might take us.

With more than plenty of justification, many have said that the complementarianism side has far too often focused on authority (not on the “complements” of genders, which now is better expressed by “mutuality”) while egalitarianism has focused on rights (and that term sounds too much like the liberal ideals flowing out of the French Revolution). Those two terms dominate the debate and have become the politics of gender in the evangelical movement. Simple facts. Not a debate. Yet, more than a few have also wondered aloud if there might be a better way. Which is why I’m interested in Lee-Barnewall’s book.

She begins with the cultural context for how Christians have formed this split between complementarians and egalitarians, a culture that she both respects — nothing is a-contextual — and holds up for analysis. Which is to say, both complementarians and egalitarians are riding cultural waves, and it is not easy for folks to admit this about their own views. Here is a brief summary:

(1) the mid-nineteenth century to the turn of the twentieth century, a period dominated by the Victorian ideal of womanhood but one that also produced the first evangelical feminist movement as evangelical women played a major public role in social reform; (2) the post-World War II era of the 1940s-1950s, which saw a reversal in evangelical openness to women’s public ministry and was characterized in large part by a definition of ideal womanhood in terms of marriage and motherhood that reflected to some degree a return to the Victorian model but in a greater sense the home-oriented culture of postwar America; (3) the 1970s, which saw the rise of egalitarianism, the second evangelical feminist movement, which differed from the previous one in its stress on individual “rights” over women’s roles in larger social issues (18).

She examines each and shows that the view of women (and men) that flows from each rides on each. Her conclusion:

At the turn of the century, the importance of male authority waned as concerns for the moral good of society and the salvation of the world propelled women to the forefront of the very public arenas of social reform and missions. In the post-World War II period, as part of a homebound and peace-desiring nation, evangelicals emphasized a gendered order based strongly on male leadership centered on the nuclear family and the individual household. In the 1960s and 1970s, heightened concerns about justice and civil rights created a fertile environment for egalitarians to challenge this situation and advocate for equal rights (64).

How does this one paragraph sketch locate “complementarianism” and “egalitarianism”? Is it accurate to say the former is a 1950s ideal and the latter a 1970s ideal?

She continues:

When larger concerns such as evangelizing the world and reforming society took hold, women faced less opposition to their leadership in these corporate matters. When the country was no longer consumed by these greater concerns, evangelicals turned to the family as a source of identity and paid more attention to the structure of the home. On the other hand, while the argument for equal rights appeared early on, it did not take hold until the broader culture provided an environment in which its more individualistic concerns could be accepted.

Again, the theme of individualism brings clarity:

Rising individualism in America seemed to play a dominant role in these changing values. When America was occupied with more corporate concerns, such as global evangelism and social reform, evangelicals paid less attention to a gendered order. Belief in male authority never disappeared but was less relevant in the everyday lives of evangelicals more consumed with changing the world for the better. As Americans turned inward and desired peace and security, evangelicals also looked to the immediate family for their identity and sought individual fulfillment there. As the trend toward individualism and self-fulfillment continued, a growing concern for individual rights took root, and the individual superseded the family as the locus of identity.

One more theme, this time the family:

At the turn of the century, the woman’s domain was not merely her immediate household but the entire world, reflecting the corporate assumptions and values of the period. The duty of the church and the women (and men) within it was to exert a positive Christian influence on the world. In the 1950s the household was that of the immediate family, and the priorities of its inhabitants likewise centered on this limited sphere. In this period the church was not so much the instrument to bring Christian good into the world, but rather it existed to serve its members. In the 1970s the home became something from which women needed to be freed so that each woman could take her rightful place in the world and not be limited to the confinement of domestic duties (64-65).

Lee-Barnewall’s book illustrates — and she is well aware of this — the absence of minority voices in this discussion. History tells the story that “evangelicalism” as movement is largely male, white, middle-class Americans with leaders who are mostly educated. When Pamela Cochran tells her story of the evangelical feminism (Evangelical Feminism: A History), the absence of African American women, Asian women, and Latin American women is noticeable. Why? I would turn this around to say it is not an absence of the women in the discussion but that evangelicalism does not embrace them. Each of these female voices most likely belongs to another segment of the church, and that means evangelicalism needs to quit pretending it speaks for all segments of what might be called evangelical orthodoxy. Molly Worthen’s book Apostles of Reason made this abundantly clear: evangelicalism is bigger than the “reformed” segment thought that segment seems both to think it is the voice and has the institutional power to (think it can) speak for the movement. One wonders what would happen to the gender discussion if each of these voices is brought to the table: I suspect there would be some major adjustments.

One of the great themes coming out of Pamela Cochran’s concern with substantively the same subject is hermeneutics, and I could wish Lee-Barnewall had broached that topic more forcefully in her cultural analysis.

Would you like to deepen your ability to teach, preach, and write for your church context? Do you have a desire to take your church into the rich perspective of the New Testament? This Fall I am launching an innovative Master of Arts in New Testament degree (MANT) at Northern Seminary that will provide grounding in the theology that emerges from the first century context of the New Testament writings.

Location is no longer an obstacle to take part in this cutting edge program. We will come to you.

Northern Seminary is launching a live streaming option for a few select Masters programs. The MANT is one of those programs.

If you call Chicagoland home, join us in person for class. Live further away? Login and stream the class live from wherever you are. This new technology enables you to interact with our premier faculty and engage in Northern’s vibrant classroom experience while staying invested in your current ministry context.

Courses will be held on Mondays at 4pm (Central).

More details will be coming in April about live streaming at Northern and how you can join.

If you are interested in the program or have any questions about the MANT degree at Northern please email me at smcknight@faculty.seminary.edu. You can also learn more about the program at Northern’s website or previous blog posts (Unique Cohort, New Testament at Northern, MANT at Northern)

By Chad Thornhill, PhD Chair of Theological Studies, Director of the MA in Christian Apologetics, Assistant Professor of Apologetics and Biblical Studies, Assistant Editor of Eruditio Ardescens  … School of Divinity

Klein on Corporate Election in the NT

William Klein offers one of the few works which give a sustained defense of the view known as “corporate election.” I looked in my last post at how Klein views the OT and Jewish literature and its development of the theme of divine election. Klein gives most of his attention in the recently updated and revised edition of The New Chosen People to the New Testament documents. He organizes them around 6 categories: 1) the Synoptic Gospels, 2) Acts, 3) Johannine literature, 4) Pauline literature, 5) Hebrews, and 6) James, Peter and Jude.

In his survey of the Synoptics, Klein notes several prominent themes as it relates to election. First, there is often an eschatological orientation with implications of suffering/persecution for the elect (cf. Matt 24:22-31; Mark 13:20-27), a phenomena likewise attested in Second Temple literature. Commenting on Matthew 22:14, Klein notes that the parable of the wedding banquet underscores not that some are chosen and others are not, but rather that the leaders of the Jewish nation, in spurning Jesus, were spurning their invitation to the eschatological banquet. Their places would thus be taken by those who respond appropriately to the invitation. The Synoptic Gospels frequently use election to play on the reversal of insiders and outsiders which comes with Jesus’ ministry. The poor, sick, sinners, etc. respond to Jesus’ teachings while the Jewish leaders are increasingly hardened. Klein also spends some time looking at the nature of Jesus’ parables. Rather than seeing them as a means by which to confuse (i.e., reject) some and enlighten (i.e., elect) others, Klein suggests the parables “reveal truth to those with ears to hear; they conceal it from those with dull or calloused hearts. The state of the individual heart, however, is not a predetermined matter. In God’s purpose, those who reject the truth in Jesus will not find forgiveness or healing” (56). Klein also spends time in this chapter examining “knowing” and “will” language in the Synoptics, as well as the choosing of the disciples and Jesus as the “Elect One.” Klein suggests we find no hint of individual predestination to salvation in the Synoptics, that the central issue is one’s orientation to Jesus’ and his teachings. Jesus’ choice of the disciples, like God’s choice of the prophets and kings in the OT, is for mission, not salvation.

Turning to Acts, Klein takes up examination of four themes: 1) divine determination of events, 2) God’s choosing of groups, 3) God’s choosing of individuals, and 4) God’s choosing of Jesus. In his survey, Klein sees the new development in Acts primarily as the divine determination of events (primarily God’s establishment of his eschatological time table and his plan for revealing himself to the Gentiles). God’s choosing of individuals falls largely along the same lines as in the OT and the Gospels, as does God’s choice of Jesus, though in Acts we find more explicit language that Jesus’ death was a part of the divine plan. A distinct feature of Klein’s approach is his view of the “calling” language in Acts. Klein sees calling as akin to “naming,” meaning God designates those who are his own (i.e., those who have responded to the good news in faith; see 80-81). Perhaps a point which could have been given more emphasis in Klein’s treatment is that often the soteriologically-charged election language in Acts occurs in the context of Gentile inclusion. This seems to me a significant part of explaining how Acts employs election language, and one which finds some parallel also in the letters of Paul.

Turning to the Johannine literature, Klein sees some similar themes present. Election of individuals is focused upon their task or vocation, not their soteriology. Election to salvation has the collective in mind, meaning that God has chosen a people but has not pre-determined the specific individuals who will constitute that people. God’s love for the whole world, according to Klein, demonstrates that his desire truly is for all to be saved, with no hidden will present in the corpus of the salvation of a select few. The Gospel of John, for example, “consistently witnesses that he (Jesus) gives life to those who believe in him” (109). Certainly only those whom God draws will come to him, but Klein contends John also asserts that Jesus’ mission was to draw all people to himself, not only those predetermined to be saved (116-117).

Klein’s largest section, nearly twice the length of the next longest, concentrates on the writings of Paul. Paul’s letters have certainly been the lightning rod in the discussion of election in the NT, and in many ways have influenced how the rest of the NT corpus discussion of election is understood. Klein organizes his chapter around word-groups, examining the terminology surrounding foreknowledge, the divine plan/purpose, election, predestination, appointing, and calling. Concerning foreknowledge (cf. Rom. 8:29, 11:2), Klein summarizes that God knows what his people “were, what they would be without his intervention, and, most significantly, what they would become as the result of his grace on their behalf” (136). In other words, foreknowledge and predestination here concern the people as a whole and God’s overarching plan for them, not the determination of which individuals constitute that people. Klein sees the language of divine plan/purpose as primarily focused upon God’s relation in history with his people (collectively) and on the work of the divine Son (136-143). Neither of these points of emphasis necessitates individual election. Likewise, election concerns God’s formation of a people (cf. Rom 9-11), thus Klein summarizes, “Paul’s focus is upon God’s selection of the nation Israel in its historic role, not upon specific individuals for eternal salvation. Even the choice of individuals like Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob was not for their personal salvation, but for their tasks in God’s historic program with his people” (149). In his treatment of Ephesians (153-156, 162-164), Klein sees election as entailing union with Christ as the prior condition (i.e., those in Christ are elect, rather than vice-versa; in my perspective, it would have been helpful to bring out the salvation-historical dimension of Ephesians 1-2 more strongly than Klein does, though he mentions this briefly (163)).

Klein’s next two chapters deal with Hebrews, James, Peter, and Jude. In Hebrews, election theology primarily underscores God’s appointment of Christ as his designated agent. Concerning believers, Klein takes the calling language in Hebrews (3:1; 9:15; 11:18) to refer to the call “to a life characterized by heavenly values now, as well as to a heavenly inheritance” (197). In James, Klein sees the emphasis upon God’s desire to bring forth a people and for that people to live in accordance with his will. God’s choosing of the poor (cf. 2:5) does not reflect individual election, but rather that this local community of those in God’s chosen people primarily consists of the poor. In 1 and 2 Peter (and similarly in Jude), Klein likewise finds the emphasis upon the collective dimension of election. God’s calling is not effectual, but rather means his “designating” or “naming” of those in Christ as his own (227). God’s desire is for none to perish, but for all to repent (cf. 2 Pet 3:9), thus election does not entail the predetermined favoring of a few.

One of the major limitations to Klein’s study is its arrangement (primarily) around terminology. This can be distracting from a contextual reading of these passages. In that many of these election texts have a salvation-historical orientation, focusing on the context rather than more narrowly on the terminology proves a valuable framework. This is not to say Klein ignores contextual factors, but only that the larger context is often not commented upon. Another point of critique, from my perspective, is that Klein limits “faith” (pistis) primarily to belief, whereas often (though not always) in the New Testament, a wider range of meaning is in view (i.e., belief, trust, and fidelity). Perhaps another point of emphasis, which Klein certainly recognizes but could be further highlighted, is the counter-intuitive nature of God’s plan. This is, in part, Paul’s argument in Romans 9. God has always done the unexpected (e.g., Jacob over Esau), so why should this (Gentile inclusion) surprise us? Klein makes mention of this in his discussion of 1 Corinthians 1 (“God often chooses what people reject” (151)), but more weight could have been given.

We will look shortly at Klein’s conclusions and (some of) his major questions. For now:

Does viewing election in the NT as corporate eliminate an individual (i.e., double-predestination) element to it?

Does Klein’s distinction of individual election to task/role and corporate election to salvation explain the textual evidence?

How does the salvation-historical dimension of election factor into how we read and understand the NT?

In his first letter to the Corinthians Paul includes the oft quoted statement “I have become all things to all people so that by all possible means I might save some.” (9:22) One application of this and the surrounding context is the need to meet people where they are. In order to do meet people where they are it is necessary to make the effort to understand the contexts in which people live and the ways in which they think. There are a multitude of ways this can play out, and it will be different for an inner city church, a rural church, or a suburban church.

As an academic and a scientist in a community dominated by a local University this need to meet people where they are is something I have pondered often. In this environment, a church or a pastor that desires to make an impact beyond undergraduate students could be well advised to understand the academic environment, the way academics think, and the experience of academics in Christian communities.

J. Aaron Simmons put up a pair of posts at Seminarium recently, Seven Things I Wish All Pastors Knew About Academics—Part 1 and Part 2. This isn’t intended as a criticism, or some statement of superiority.  It is a desire for understanding. Aaron’s list focuses particularly on the experience of Christians in Christian communities, but some (especially 3 and 4) are equally important for outreach. Some items on Simmons’ list are not as relevant for scientists as for social scientists or humanists (Simmons is a philosopher), but they are all worth some discussion. You can read Aaron’s posts in their entirety at the links above. I will summarize the list including a few select quotes and add a few comments of my own.

1)  Academics, as academics, are not pastors—and we are not trying to be.

“Often confusion and mistrust result from the suspicion that academics are threatening to the office of the pastor. This is unfortunate and rarely grounded in reality. Academics should be threatening to sloppy thinking, falsehood, unjustified assertions, and resistance to critique, but these are all things that pastors should seek to avoid as well. Indeed, if pastors saw academics as resources in the way that they see coaches, business owners, and civic leaders, then the life of the mind and the life of faith might be more commonly integrated in churches.”

2)  Academics generally understand that disagreement does not imply disunity.

3)  Appeals to “non-negotiables” are often problematic for academics due to a general comfort with ambiguity.

4)  Asking critical questions is a primary way in which academics build relationships.

“Accordingly, asking critical questions is a sign of taking something seriously and, hence, of wanting further engagement with it. Too often pastors assume that asking such questions is a sign of arrogance or unbelief.”

5)  Academics have “gifts” too.

6)  Like most people, academics don’t like being stereotyped.

“Christians often protest against the stereotypical ways in which they are presented in popular culture. Similarly, academics don’t like being stereotyped by Christians as simply being liberal atheists who are dangerous to the spiritual life of those who would be swayed by our influence.”

7)  Many academics realize that the life of the mind and the life of faith are not at odds.

There are some points that Simmons makes that I disagree with, or would argue differently. But this is OK (disagreement doesn’t imply disunity). Sometimes it is simply that my perspective as a scientist in a secular university differs from his perspective as a philosopher of religion. Sometimes though, I wonder if it is because we have a slightly different view of Christian faith. I think that there are some things that are “non-negotiables” in the Christian faith, not because they can’t be questioned or shouldn’t be explored, but because if one moves in certain directions one is no longer a Christian. Of course, the only way one learns what is truly “non-negotiable” is by asking critical questions and digging into the how and why. In the sciences there are certainly things that become “non-negotiables” simply because the arguments are so strong.

There are three specific points I’d like to comment on and then move into discussion.

The first point is critical. Pastoring well is a hard job requiring a skill set that most academics don’t have. I know that I have not the patience, energy, or people skill for it myself.  I’d much rather think and write and teach. The same is true of many colleagues. We shouldn’t be a threat, but sometimes seem to be viewed as threats. I suspect that part of the problem is an implicit hierarchical approach to church. There is an attitude among many (not all) pastors and churches that the pastor is to be the go-to-guy and should be able to supply the answers on issues concerning Bible, theology, and Christian practice. This can spill over into a posture that prevents open discussion with fellow Christians who have expertise in these or related areas. We all need to be able to move between the postures of student and teacher and to cultivate the skill of listening well.

Simmons’ fourth point is where I’ve run into the most trouble. True engagement from an academic will always involve critical and digging questions. We have trained for years to question, to think critically, to read closely, to dig into details, to look at things from a variety of angles. Asking questions rather than accepting pronouncements is part of the culture. I don’t think that I’ve had pastors take this as a sign of arrogance or disbelief, but I have known those who find it threatening. Academics simply don’t take things on authority.  The first impulse is always to question until a level of understanding is obtained or a weakness is exposed.

There is a corollary to this – the aim of education in the academy is to make peers out of students. I have succeeded when my students turn around and start contributing to my education.  It isn’t a threat when they challenge me, but the goal. I expect to have to defend my position. This is how people learn. Shouldn’t pastors and churches have a similar goal … to make peers and disciples out of parishioners? Too often the goal seems to be to accumulate followers and if this means sticking with milk so be it, rather than to produce peers, adult Christians, capable of eating solid food.

The sixth point deserves more comment as well. We all have a tendency to develop an insider mentality. Sitting on the edge of two worlds can be challenging.

Being a Christian in the University can mean being something of an outsider. It isn’t overt hostility (often), but a combination of different priorities and focus and a bit of bemused wonder, being different.  There is, as well, a general assumption in the university that intelligent people know that Christianity can’t be true, a general negative impression of Christians, along with an underlying assumption of secular humanism. I have known several Christian graduate students who have opted away from a career in academics because of this atmosphere.

The Church isn’t really much better.  We’ve been part of a church for many years where a wide range of views are held, some more openly than others.  It is fairly conservative, but not rigid on non-essentials, and with a fairly small list of essentials. We’ve been comfortable here. Many churches in the area would not be as open.  But even here I’ve sat through a number of speakers, some guests, some local, several with my then young children sitting next to me, where the message was to beware of the professors (the “them” down the road) who sought to destroy the faith.  To be fair, this has happened seldom over the last decade. It was more common in the past. But many churches are worse.

On another occasion at a different church a movie was shown, an apologetic defense of the faith, with a humorous scene making fun of the objections of the scientists complete with white lab coats, microscopes, and bubbling test tubes. “They” attack the bible “we” know it’s true. I was uncomfortable, but most in the audience saw nothing wrong with portrayal.

And then there are those who dismiss Christian academics (unless they hold the “right” positions) as having caved to peer pressure and the pursuit of worldly advancement. This is insulting. Most of us are trying hard to find the right road to walk from conviction.  Of course we could be wrong on some issues, but a dismissal questioning motives simply enlarges the gulf between academics and the church.

There is the same implicit assumption at work in many churches as there is in the University. “We” and “they” are separate.

How would you respond to these seven points?

Would you add anything?

Are any of these points off the mark?

Is there a place in the church for critical questions and deep engagement?

If you wish to contact me directly, you may do so at rjs4mail[at]att.net

If interested you can subscribe to a full text feed of my posts at Musings on Science and Theology.

Pastoring is a hard job. No question about this. People are messy and pain and suffering are quite real. I don’t want to criticize. But there are some things I wish pastors knew about life as a scientist, or for that matter about life as an academic across a range of disciplines.

But first …

Scot recently linked a book I (Still) Believe: Leading Bible Scholars Share Their Stories of Faith and Scholarship. Seeing Walter Moberly, whose book on Old Testament Theology I’ve slowly been working through, on the list of contributors I immediately ordered a copy. The back cover to the book poses the question: “Is serious academic study of the Bible a threat to faith?” and the contributors were asked to address a series of questions including “Have there been ways in which you felt your faith to be in jeopardy as a result of your study?” and “How might you address the question of “losing faith” through serious study of the Bible?“

Two of these chapters are worth a serious look today, Walter Moberly and Bruce Waltke.

Walter Moberly relates how, when preparing for ministry or perhaps to alternate between academic and ministerial positions, he contracted a chronic illness that decided the matter:

In Christian ministry you need an energy that I no longer have, an availability that I can no longer offer. The academic life is more structured and sedentary that Christian ministry, and I am also a private citizen at evenings and weekends, which are necessary recovery times.  … [Eventually] I was able to accept my limitation as part of God’s good purpose for me. Alongside that acceptance came also a growing sense of vocation to be a theologian working with Scripture. (p. 204)

As I said, pastoral work is hard and deserves our support and respect. But there is more to Moberly’s story. Over the years he describes his professional life as “a continuing process of learning, trying to find categories and frames of reference that would help me genuinely unite head and heart, i.e. unite rigorous scholarly work with the priorities of faith in the study of the  Bible.” (p. 206)

As an Old Testament scholar one significant challenge is the relationship between the text and reality, a challenge that confronted him early on.

The problem lay with material that has no clear indication of genre, whose genre must therefore be inferred. My initial assumption was that if a narrative were “history-like” then it should be considered “history.” (p. 206)

Many Christians today hold a similar position. It is a push-back that I have gotten repeatedly as I’ve explored interpretations of Genesis 1-11 and other passages of Scripture (Job and Jonah for example). Genesis 1 (creation) or 11 (the tower of Babel) is history-like prose and should therefore be taken at face value as history. Moberly grew to realize that this is an overly simplistic approach. In contemporary literature we often make judgements about genre for texts that are “history-like.”  The stories carry meaning whatever the genre.  He goes on:

The oddity, or so it came to seem to me, is to combine a flexible understanding of the nature and purpose of genre in contemporary material with a rather inflexible understanding of the nature and purpose of genre in biblical material.

As I reflected on the fact that literature may validly portray reality through a variety of genres, I cam to ask myself: If a literary genre – say myth or legend – is widely attested in the pre-modern world and was meaningful to those who used it, why should it not be present in Scripture? Or more theologically, why should God not be able to make use of such meaningful genre as a part of inspired Scripture? (p. 207)

This doesn’t mean that texts are dismissed as myth or legend, but that effort can be redirected to carefully consider the genre of each passage and to focus on understanding the subject matter and the intended message. This has been the focus of Moberly’s career at Durham, a secular university where the ability to articulate the perspectives of faith in a manner that can be understood in this environment is necessary.

Among other things, this is perhaps a reminder to any would-be Christian scholar that we need to be prepared to let God lead and direct us as we wills, in ways that we may not expect and maybe will not initially welcome or comprehend. Probably the greatest challenge that any Christian scholar faces, however, is not different from that which any believer faces: How can I keep my first love fresh? Love for God and love for one’s subject can both become dulled over time. There is no simple solution. For me, at least, it is a matter of life-long learning: learning to bring together head and heart, learning to pursue both truth and goodness, and learning to recognize that any and every place and time and situation is where, in the words of Moses, I must choose life. (p. 210)

I am a Christian scholar. As I read this chapter by Moberly I realized why I have appreciated his book on Old Testament theology so much. His approach is one that I can understand. He looks at the evidence honestly and with eyes and ears and heart that appreciates the message. This isn’t just an academic exercise, nor is it a matter of toeing some doctrinal line. Genuine faith seeking understanding.

How does his approach strike you?  Is is dangerous or valuable?

How would you respond if Moberly was in your church?

Unfortunately Moberly’s is an approach that is suspect in much of the evangelical church. It can lead to scholars being unwelcome, or merely tolerated in the church. Tolerated, at least, if they keep quiet and hold their disruptive questions and observations to themselves. I’ve learned that keeping quiet is often the best approach. It can be either that or forgo most Christian fellowship altogether.

Another Scholar, Another Story. Some of the other chapters in the book tell similar stories of genuine faith seeking understanding.  This can have consequences. Bruce Waltke writes of how he left his position at Dallas Theological Seminary when he realized that he could not sign the statement of faith without reservation. It wasn’t that he then disagreed with the statement, but he couldn’t think through the issues about which he had some reservations while remaining at Dallas.

But before this he was challenged as a Ph.D. student at Harvard in Ancient Near Eastern Literatures and Languages.

Whereas Dallas focused on the dissimilarities between the Old Testament and ancient Near Eastern literatures, Harvard emphasized their similarity, and this similarity makes the Bible appear to be a very human – not a divinely inspired – book. The cosmogony of Genesis 1 is similar to the pagan cosmogonies of the biblical world; Moses’ book of the covenant at some points repeats word-for-word the Code of Hammurabi; the war annals of the historical book resemble those of the pagans; David’s psalms are similar to Sumarian, Akkadian, and Canaanite hymns; and Israel’s prophets find their counterpart in other ancient Near Eastern religions. (p. 244)

But the Bible isn’t merely a human book. The theology is totally dissimilar, and the Bible is primarily a theological book. It’s importance to the church is the theological message.  That the forms are similar isn’t terribly surprising. After all, the authors were shaped by their language and culture. Waltke reflects:

When I went through the Ishtar Gate at Babylon and saw the image of Marduk, the patron deity of Babylon, with his dragon-like head, lion-like torso covered with fish scales and his serpentine tail, I thought to myself: “No wonder Daniel had visions of incredible animals.” Probably, Moses, who had the finest education of his day, was familiar with other law codes and God used his education in formulating the law. (p. 244)

My husband and I saw the Ishtar Gate in the Pergamon Museum in Berlin this summer. It is truly impressive, with Marduk  (lower pair in the image to the right – click for a closer look) and aurochs symbolizing Adad (upper pair), and many lions along the way. He remarked that anyone teaching Daniel should include images of the Ishtar gate. It is far more impressive than any mental image he had ever had from 50+ years in the church and countless sermons and lessons. How must the captives have felt when taken to the grandeur of the city and the palace? Certainly this shapes the way the stories are told.

Waltke notes that “now he has come to regard the canonical form of the book of Deuteronomy as a post-exilic work that recounts the history of Moses’s writing of the book of the law, which comprises all but fifty-nine verses of the book of Deuteronomy.”  (p. 247) Likewise that Isaiah as written by two authors, say Isaiah and his disciple, is supported by evidences of style and audience and is consistent with the book of Isaiah as Scripture.

I am not a Fundamentalist, who stands upon the Word of God, convinced that my preconceived  interpretations of my tradition are right or that my interpretations are inerrant. Rather I stand under the Word, trying to understand how and what it means. (p. 248)

Waltke’s conclusions do not always agree with Moberly’s. He remains somewhat more conservative I believe. But the ground is similar: faith seeking understanding going with the evidence. Comfortable with a level of uncertainty and the open discussion of the questions surrounding the Old Testament, he draws the line between the radical naturalism and skepticism of the modern academy and faith in God rather than a fence around some preferred and “safe” interpretation to be defended at all costs.

Bruce Waltke has paid for his scholarly integrity at times. Not all appreciate this approach, and some fear his conclusions.

I wish all pastors understood that this is picture of good Christian scholarship not a threat to the faith.

Is there room for faith seeking understanding in the church?

What does this mean in your context?

I Wish Pastors Knew … Part 2 will address the issue of scholarship and the church more broadly.

If you wish to contact me directly, you may do so at rjs4mail[at]att.net

If interested you can subscribe to a full text feed of my posts at Musings on Science and Theology.

John Goldingay. Do We Need the New Testament?: Letting the Old Testament Speak for Itself. Downers Grove: IVP Academic, 2015. ISBN 978-0-8308-2469-4.

Review by Michael C Thompson, doctoral student at Northern Seminary.

Every now and then a book comes along that grabs your attention just by the topic or, as in this case, the title. Do we need the New Testament? is probably a question which most modern Christians have thought about before, and perhaps has the potential to disrupt more than a few people in the pew. But here Professor Goldingay goes directly at the issue of whether or not the Hebrew scriptures have lasting value in light of the New Testament. Given his passion for what he calls ‘The First Testament,’ he is certainly the right person to have authored a book such as this, which finds its foundation on his conviction of a certain unity and continuity between the two Testaments (9).

At the outset Goldingay gives us his answer, and also issues a challenge, “Yes, of course, we do need the New Testament, but why?” (7). This takes the all-too-common discarding of the significance of the First Testament in many contemporary expressions of Christianity and turns it on its head. As the author highlights the importance of the First Testament, the reader is met with statements that will certainly give pause for thought. “In a sense God did nothing new in Jesus. God was simply taking to its logical and ultimate extreme the activity in which he had been involved through the First Testament story” (12). The underlying perspective here is that we cannot rightly understand the New Testament – most importantly Jesus himself – if we do not pay attention to what we have been given in the First Testament. Does such a conviction still exist in our churches today?

The challenge given by Goldingay doesn’t allow for a simple check-the-box acknowledgment of inerrancy, but pushes the reader to better understand the significance of the Hebrew scriptures as a part of God’s grand story and revelation. “God’s promises are not all fulfilled in Christ (in the sense in which we commonly use the word fulfill), but they are all confirmed in Christ” (26, emphasis original). This, of course, leads to the question that is found in Chapter 2: Why Is Jesus Important? In framing this part of the discussion the author states, “In none of the Gospels does Jesus tell his disciples to extend the kingdom, work for the kingdom, build up the kingdom, or further the kingdom” (34).

This pushes the reader to a reconsideration of who Jesus was and what it was that he did. It appears that Jesus came to announce the kingdom, and to draw people into an experience of the kingdom. Thus, the church is called to live in holiness and spread the knowledge of God throughout the world (46). “Implementing God’s reign is fortunately God’s business” (47).

From this the book goes on to explore the presence of the Holy Spirit in the First Testament, and the nuance of language that expresses the understanding of the Spirit in that context. In this fourth chapter Goldingay introduces what he calls Middle Narratives, smaller narrative units that express the Bible’s story (72). The Bible does not come simply as one overarching theme, but also incorporates other “extensive expositions of part of God’s story” (88). This helps the reader better understand the movement of scripture’s story as well as its interconnectedness.

Key to this reading also is Chapter Five: How People Have Mis(?)read Hebrews. This particular discussion is quite insightful, as Goldingay seeks to recalibrate what many casual readings of Hebrews get wrong. It centers on the nature of sacrifice. In keeping with the overall theme of the book, Goldingay pushes the reader to consider the importance of the First Testament as foundational for understanding what the New Testament says of Christ. The notion of a new and better covenant is a key element as well, and here the connection is made between the church’s role as analogous to Israel’s role (97). In the end it is the uniqueness of Christ’s sacrifice that is highlighted, in that he offers an eternal salvation, which is not found in the First Testament (100). Such a reading is vital for understanding the story of salvation.

Chapter Six identifies the loss of First Testament spirituality, a lament for that which goes missing whenever the church ignores its spiritual heritage. This section centers on the way the First Testament presents a worship that is intended to encompass the whole of life, drawing the community deeper into God’s narrative as found in the gospel. Goldingay asserts that in the forfeiture of First Testament use this is lost: “But in worship we have given up on those” (107). He believes that the way forward in this (Chapter Seven) is in recovering a sense of memory as part of hope and life. There are some good perspectives on Israel’s memory found in this chapter, as Goldingay identifies it as the means by which preserves history and ethic within the community, even when such memories conflict (124).

So, what about those times when the New Testament changes the ethical ideals of the First Testament? Chapter Eight addresses this question, and the notion that the New Testament presents a higher or better standard of ethic. “Jesus’ talk of fulfillment and his subsequent examples, then, point to one aspect of what is involved in interpreting the ethical implications of the biblical material” (141). Once more, the continuity of the biblical story becomes key to understanding these dynamics. There is a hermeneutical discussion about how the New Testament interacts with the First Testament, and this chapter has good examples of this as well.

The final chapter is a good summary of the method of theological interpretation from which Goldingay works in this volume. In a sense, this conclusion is the drawn-together theory his study as a whole. As such, he makes good and challenging statements to the process of biblical interpretation: “Theological interpretation is proper exegesis” (160). Goldingay admits that there is a diversity in the New Testament’s view of the First Testament, in that there are a variety of readings that can be identified throughout (161), and he strongly asserts that being christocentric is not the aim of the biblical story, or even of Christ. Rather, the story of scripture and the work of Christ is to be theocentric, which helps define the unity of the two Testaments (162f.).

In the end, this book is accessible to the pastor and a good deal of laypersons, though many in the church might not be ready to think about biblical interpretation quite at this level. But for those asking questions about the relevance of the First Testament to the church, this is a great tool to begin such an investigation. Foundational for this study is the understanding of the work of Jesus, not in bringing a new revelation, but in his life and message that give significance “in who he was, what he did and what happened to him, and what he will do” as the central figure of God’s grand story (177).

I have to admit that the conclusion to Mark Harris’s book The Nature of Creation (both the chapter on Scientific Eschatology and New Creation and the concluding chapter itself) leave me somewhat befuddled. There are a number of clear (and useful) points, but less clarity concerning the nature of creation and new creation and what these should mean to the Christian. Perhaps this confusion is unavoidable given the complexity of the topic.

Harris has outlined two forms of creation – creatio ex nihilo and creatio continua, creation out of nothing and continuous creation in earlier chapters.  In this last section he adds a third form of creation into the mix – creatio ex vetere, creation from the old.

Science really cannot shed much, if any, light on eschatology.  What science has to say about the end of the world has little to do with the biblical vision. This shouldn’t be surprising – the new creation arises as a fresh start from the old. It is a redemptive creation and “redemption is always a divine action.” (p. 167)  This is true in the exodus, in the Old Testament prophets, and in the apocalyptic literature. It is a message of hope that reflects a change in the current social and political situation and a completely new beginning for creation, the latter primarily in the later apocalyptic writings.

Harris argues that “any description of divine action must be metaphorical by definition.” Biblical texts fall into a number of different categories. Some are historical – accounts of kings and battles and such. These we can interpret in the light of our experience (although it also helps to understand the ancient Near East.

There is, however, a profound difference when we are seeking to understand a biblical text which describes something entirely out of our experience, such as a miracle, or a divine action, even one of creation. And the prophecies of new creation, by their very nature, concern divine action, and new action at that. Clearly all talk of contact between the divine and the earthly must then be inherently metaphorical, an attempt to explain the otherworldly in terms of our world. But this is all that we can do: speak of the new creation using language of our creation, images from our world which refer to a reality coming from another world. (p. 174)

The resurrection of Jesus and the resurrection body is our only real point of contact. This, of course, we only know of through the text of scripture – through human language inadequate to the task of description. It is something new for which the words and ideas dis not really exist in first century Greek.

The second coming is also an important part of the picture, although again portrayed in metaphorical, figurative language. But that we are to interpret it as an actual material return is unquestioned.

But at root, the idea of the second coming articulates an important theological point about the Christian slant on the new creation. Just as God chose to be revealed as a human being in the incarnation, inorder to redeem creation, so God will do so again at its completion. (p. 175)

The resurrection is an example of creatio ex vetere, creation from the old. There was discernible continuity with his pre-death body and something new as well. This “was more than the resuscitation of a corpse.”

Conclusions. None of the creation texts in the bible should be pinned down to a single physical meaning. This shouldn’t surprise us as the ancient Israelites (like other ancient authors) were capable of sophisticated literary thinking. If we view them as “primitive” we will get nowhere. The creation texts display a depth of thinking and imagery.  Harris summarizes it well:

Creation is a major theme in the Bible, with many diverse strands and layers of meaning, but we have seen that modern science only impacts on them on a surprisingly superficial level. While we can pinpoint traces of an ancient scientific view in the texts which is clearly superseded in our modern perspective, yet it served wider theological aims that are still relevant. In other words, the fact that the Bible’s creation texts are drastically outdated from a scientific point of view has not invalidated their various portraits of the relationship between God and creation; indeed modern science can say very little directly about this relationship. Furthermore, against the reductionist tendencies of science, we found that the Bible takes a much more expansive approach. Its creation texts can rarely be pinned down to a single level of meaning, a single interpretation, or a single explanation, and certainly not an explanation in terms of physical reality alone. (p. 185)

Another way to say this is to point out that the creation texts were never intended to simply convey physical realities. They convey a theological message. The ancient scientific view found at times in the text is incidental to the message. God, through the text, uses the views of the original audience concerning “scientific” questions.  No new science is introduced in the text.

The creation texts in scripture describe the relationship of God with the world. Creation out of nothing is “best expressed as a statement of God’s transcendence.” Continuous creation “is most clearly an expression of God’s immanence.” God is in intimate relationship with humans and the rest of creation. Creation from the old “is fundamentally a descriptive term for God’s redemptive activity in creation. (p. 186) Creation from the old is clearly connected with the resurrection of Jesus, but is seen in other texts and situations as well.

These three aspects of creation are simplifications and should not be separated rigorously.

God’s work of creation ex nihilo, continua, and ex vetere are not three different actions, but one creative action, while at the same time they point to the diversity and diversity of the unitary God. It is no accident that this is reminiscent of Trinitarian language of God – three in one and one in three – for it was through observations such as these, of God’s diverse work in the theatres of creation and redemption, that the three persons of the Trinity came to be recognized and distinguished as such. But the three categories of creative work are not to be identified with the three persons of the Trinity; rather it is distinctions such as these that have been important in the development of Trinitarian thinking. (p. 187)

Finally we note that it should not be surprising that the world is comprehensible, subject to mathematical description and analysis. The book of nature reflects the mind of the Creator God.  Harris sums it up:

The Bible’s creation texts therefore supply us with an explanation for the miracle of modern science, namely its unstoppable success in understanding the physical world: it is because science taps directly into the mind which made it all. (p. 193)

All in all an interesting book (although I’ve skipped the more esoteric scientific, philosophical, and theological discussions in my summaries). An academic book, but one I’ve found worth the time and energy.

In what ways does the Bible emphasize the three aspects of creation described by Harris (out of nothing, continuous, and from the old)?

Is Harris right that metaphorical language is required to describe divine action – something outside our material realm?

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