MetaCatholic

Coming back from a few days away, I note several posts that seem to me worth considering together.

First Mark Goodacre and then April DeConick comment on approaches to biblical study in an academic context. Mark talks about engaging students in an initial discussion of presuppositions, and the nature of the course. April DeConick suggests signing students up to an overt recognition of the historical study of the texts as standing free from any issues of faith. I find myself wondering whether students are able intelligently to sign up to such a declaration without something like the discussion Mark envisages.

There are some who claim the mantle of a critical approach when their views are, in fact, anything but critical, but instead a kind of liberal fundamentalism. Ben Myers offers a splendid demolition of John Shelby Spong who is a walking demonstration of Tyrell’s observation that liberal Protestants see but their own reflection when they uncover the historical Jesus. Such “critical” views in fact make it harder for students to appreciate the virtues of critical methods.

Then there is what one may call the “hard case.” Mike Bird quotes from a lecture by John Webster.

“The only historical Jesus there is is the one who has his being in union with the Son of God who is eternally begotten of the Father. Those who pore over the gospels searching for another Jesus (whether their motives be apologetic or critical) pierce their hearts with many pangs, for they study a matter which does not exist.”

I have problems with this statement even while I agree with it. Theologically, I agree with its essential confession, that the historical Jesus is the eternal  Son of God and I agree with its implication that no reconstruction of the historical Jesus can be privileged as fact. But my disagreements are theological as well, not simply historical. If the church is committed to the incarnation, then historical contingency is itself a theological datum, and that includes the thought forms, literary genres, testimonies and traditions, as well as the words and deeds remembered, testified to, recast, reframed and retold.

Reconstructions of Jesus are always just that, reconstructions and not historical facts, far less “the real Jesus.” Nonetheless, the teasing out of what was really at stake between, say, Jesus and the Pharisees, or the question of Jesus’ being mistaken over imminent eschatological expectations, or issues of how his understanding of what he was about, and how his agency of the kingdom related to the acting in history of Israel’s God — these things are not only about apologetic defences of, or critical dissections of the church’s Jesus tradition. They are also about ways of re-appropriating and exploring that tradition freshly, and (precisely because they are based on the same shared historical methods) in new and open dialogues with those of other faiths and none who are also exploring the public history of the same Jesus.

Though I hesitate to use a phrase such as “the assured results of criticism” without irony, it does seem to me that one of the largely agreed fruits of recent historical investigation into Jesus has been a reappropriation of his Jewishness, and ways in which that significance offers new readings not only of Jesus, but the church conflicts that shaped the Jesus tradition. Among other things it offers serious challenges to ways of conceiving Jesus, as church tradition has sometimes done, as an abstract God-man, without embedding his divine identity in the history of Israel’s God, and his human identity in this specific first century Palestinian Jew.

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Something for Jim West to look forward to in OSX Leopard, and an early birthday present from this Windows user.

Source: Think Secret

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At different times, and in different ways, various people draw parallels between one or more of the Church’s admission of the Gentiles, Christian feminism, the emancipation of slaves and issues of gay equality. The mix of issues, and the points of comparison vary according to the case being made and the viewpoint from which it is put.

One thing they all have in common is that they required then, or require now, a fresh reading of scripture to make the case for something new. (Whether that case is made satisfactorily is another question entirely – and not one I’m exploring in this post). But I think it is also possible to argue that in all four cases, it required or requires something other than scripture to raise the question in the first place. That’s allowed in the case of Peter, because the apostolic era is judged a special case. It’s often denied in the case of slavery, because the input of new thinking is obscured by the huge contribution of evangelicals to the case for abolition. But the fact that the impetus for re-evaluating first the place of women, and currently the place of gay people comes from movements outside the church is seriously put forward as a major argument against and obstacle to either the full equality of women, or acceptance of gay people

(I should note that I’m not intending to suggest that these necessarily have much in common, but I do note that many who argue against both insist on their linkage as equally unbiblical threats to God’s division of the sexes, and his purpose for each)

There are more than enough Scriptures deployed in these arguments that remind God’s people not to live like the nations, but to be different. Those should not be overlooked by anyone, but neither should they be confined to fulminating warnings against uppity gays and women, but rather taken just as seriously on justice and mercy and those weightier matters of the law. But equally, I am increasingly drawn to pondering the significance of the Chronicler’s account of Josiah’s death.

After all this, when Josiah had set the temple in order, King Neco of Egypt went up to fight at Carchemish on the Euphrates, and Josiah went out against him.  But Neco sent envoys to him, saying, “What have I to do with you, king of Judah? I am not coming against you today, but against the house with which I am at war; and God has commanded me to hurry. Cease opposing God, who is with me, so that he will not destroy you.”  But Josiah would not turn away from him, but disguised himself in order to fight with him. He did not listen to the words of Neco from the mouth of God, but joined battle in the plain of Megiddo.  The archers shot King Josiah; and the king said to his servants, “Take me away, for I am badly wounded.”  So his servants took him out of the chariot and carried him in his second chariot and brought him to Jerusalem. There he died, and was buried in the tombs of his ancestors. All Judah and Jerusalem mourned for Josiah. (2 Chronicles 35:20-24 NRSV)

Was there, I wonder, amore unlikely source for the “word of the Lord” than Pharaoh, or a more unlikely servant of God? And was there a more unlikely word to come from God than “Don’t fight these invading Egyptians, they’re doing my will?”

This is by no means an argument for the uncritical acceptance of any new idea. But it is a firm reminder that it is quite biblical that God’s word comes from surprising sources, and says things that scripture and past experience would make extremely unlikely.

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John Hobbins posted twice yesterday about Study Bibles: A Truly Ecumenical Study Bible followed closely by The Best Study Bibles on the Market Today As well as reading the posts, make a note of Iyov’s comments and emendations in particular.

Two particular omissions from John’s list are The NIV Study Bible (about which more in a minute) and (although it doesn’t identify itself as a study Bible) the standard edition of the New Jerusalem Bible.

I have to confess to a great ambivalence about study Bibles. On the one hand, they can be invaluable tools. On the other hand (and I note beginning students regularly using the NIV mentioned above like this) they can encourage a number of bad habits:

• assuming the notes are definitive
• assuming their tradition of interpretation is the only one
• giving notes, headings and study aids an aura of canonicity

Taken together, study Bibles can develop a sense of creeping infallibility for the material that surrounds the text. (Ironically, the NIV, used by students for whom, formally, a high view of the scriptures is axiomatic, seems to encourage this material canonization of the interpretative tradition more than any other.) Among other problems, this seems to me to encourage students’ laziness, and a dubious acceptance of straightforward meaning, where the text in fact needs a fuller engagement.

Secondly, and related to this, taking up what Iyov notes in his comment, there really is no such thing as a tradition neutral study Bible. The better study Bibles reflect an awareness of this, and often point to more than one understanding or tradition, so that they are in some senses at least, tradition-ecumenical. Even straightforward historical information is not strictly neutral, because an accumulation of it tends to point people away from the theological narration of history towards nice enlightenment-friendly historical facts.

None of that should take away from their usefulness as a tool for engagement with the text, but it does mean, I think, that we ought to much more vociferous about putting a health warning on them. At the very least, I would argue that should appear typographically, using one typeface for the words of scripture, and another typeface for headings, notes, essays and other reference material. Many students, study group leaders and preachers need every reminder that no-one has canonised the editors’ interpretation.

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Indeed, my mind has been well and truly boggled by this argument for the infallibility of the KJV.

God, apparently, in a unique twist on the scandal of particularity, only chooses one language at a time for his word. For the Old Testament he chose Hebrew. For the New Testament he chose Greek. And then:

It is obvious that God now needed to get both His Old Testament and His New Testament welded together in a language that was common to the world. Only English can be considered such a language.

The English language had been developing for many centuries until the late sixteenth century. About that time it finally reached a state of excellence that no language on earth has ever attained. It would seem that God did the rest. He chose this perfect language for the consummation of His perfect Book.

“Hmm”, said God, “you know its been 1500 years since I wrote my last book (though it only seems like a day and a half ago). It’d be really nice to have a collected edition. But I really need a better language this time. Of course, the language of Shakespeare. An inspired choice, if I do say so myself.”

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(This post is part of a series on the 39 articles of the Church of England)

The twelfth article is one of several dealing with that hot topic of the Reformation, the relationship of faith and works. I’ve already noted my view that Paul is not, in fact, talking about the same things as the Reformers, and that view inevitably forms the backdrop to my comments.

XII . Of Good Works
Albeit that Good Works, which are the fruits of Faith, and follow after Justification, cannot put away our sins, and endure the severity of God’s judgement; yet are they pleasing and acceptable to God in Christ, and do spring out necessarily of a true and lively Faith; insomuch that by them a lively Faith may be as evidently known as a tree discerned by the fruit.

Essentially, this article seeks to oppose the idea that some might have drawn from the Reformers’ view of justification, that since nothing we do can earn God’s favour, there’s not much point in trying to do good. They found a similar view opposed in Paul:

What then are we to say? Should we continue in sin in order that grace may abound? By no means! How can we who died to sin go on living in it? (Romans 6:1-2 NRSV)

Yet what for Paul is a rhetorical strategy seems for them to become a very real fear. Once you’ve stressed, as they did (articles XII and XIII are really the wrong way round) that good works can’t earn God’s favour, and in fact, aren’t really good at all, it can be difficult to assert the place of them in Christian life. Insisting on their uselessness before conversion, means one has to accomplish a harder task to make the useful afterwards.

Unfortunately, this idea of earning God’s favour gains far too much ground in the late Middle Ages, and in some ways its prominence in the Reformation debates ensures that it never goes away, but regularly re-emerges in what seems to be a characteristic Pelagianism that haunts the English speaking peoples in particular. But it is largely alien to the biblical material of both Testaments, and entirely alien to Paul.

Despite the apparent wording of the article, it is far less that good works come naturally to those who have a lively faith, but more that, living by the gracious love of the covenant God, the people of God seek to live lives of loving faithfulness in return. On this Jew and Christian agree: where they differ is on what the pattern and markers of faithfulness are: Law or Christ’s faithful obedience. One might also add that Protestant and Catholic agree, but differ on how that faithful obedience should be worked out.

Paul is quite clear that faith implies and encompasses faithfulness, that the Spirit engenders and empowers virtuous character and good deeds. At least we can be thankful that the article affirms that right faith and righteous living are meant to go hand in hand, even if the means by which it gets there, and the way it expresses it, are rather strange. The mystery is that anyone ever thought (or more likely were thought to think) otherwise.

We may also be profoundly thankful that the Anglican reformers avoided the odd statement of the Westminster Confession, that “Good works are only such as God has commanded in His holy Word” By remaining as general as they do, they also allow more attention to be paid to the art of moral discernment and judgement as a gift of the Spirit, and the work of the biblically informed mind. The Anglican Reformers did not believe that for a thing to be good or right it had to be expressly commanded in Scripture. In this too, they are more in line with Paul, who sees wisdom, character, and growth into the full maturity of Christ as an ongoing shaping of the pattern of faithfulness in those who by grace learn the mind of Christ.

In the end, although one would not see it clearly in this article, responding to the gracious love of God, conforming to the faithfulness of Christ, living in openness to the Holy Spirit, these things are meant to go together in shaping right thinking, virtuous character, and a life of good works. And that makes me realise what a long way I have to go. I doubt I will ever dare be able to say as a pastor (and what to the Reformers must have seemed unthinkable and undesirable) “Be imitators of me, as I am of Christ” (1 Cor 11:1).

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I confess to a fairly thoroughgoing ignorance of scholarship on John, so for all I know this ground is well-trod elsewhere, though I haven’t tracked anything down. But it seems to me that while everybody admits, in varying degrees if discord, to serious disagreements between James and Paul, the Jerusalem church and the Pauline mission, by contrast there’s little said about what I think is the far more serious case of John.

Whatever the level of disharmony between those associated with James and the Pauline churches, the evidence seems clear enough that Paul continued to seek recognition from Jerusalem, and James felt he had a say in the governance and shaping of the Pauline churches. They contend with one another for the definition of the same people of God, and one should not read the later developments of Ebionitism back into this dispute.

By contrast, the fourth gospel has some very harsh words about James (although he is not mentioned by name), words that are not taken back..

After this Jesus went about in Galilee. He did not wish to go about in Judea because the Jews were looking for an opportunity to kill him. Now the Jewish festival of Booths was near. So his brothers said to him, “Leave here and go to Judea so that your disciples also may see the works you are doing; for no one who wants to be widely known acts in secret. If you do these things, show yourself to the world.” (For not even his brothers believed in him.) Jesus said to them, “My time has not yet come, but your time is always here. The world cannot hate you, but it hates me because I testify against it that its works are evil. Go to the festival yourselves. I am not going to this festival, for my time has not yet fully come.” After saying this, he remained in Galilee. But after his brothers had gone to the festival, then he also went, not publicly but as it were in secret. (John 7:1-10  NRSV)

This is one of those passages (like most of John?) where we should almost certainly read Judeans instead of Jews. Interestingly, Jesus’ brothers speak about “disciples” in Judea, whereas the narrator speaks about those who want to kill Jesus being there. Against private Galilean ministry the brothers’ seek public Jerusalem ministry, and Jesus himself keeps his doings secret from them. Above all, he identifies them with “the world” and so characterizes them as not truly his disciples.

It is, I think, difficult, especially in light of  what I see as the sectarian markers of the Johannine writings (for example, the great stress on not loving the world, while intensely loving one another),  not to see this as a coded conflict with the Jerusalem church, as led by James. Jerusalem is home to the Judeans, and those who make their home there identify with them. Jesus only visits, constantly returning to his home in Galilee.  For the narrator Judeans are mainly  the ones who oppose Jesus, who are not his disciples, but lovers of the world. For James and the brothers, however, it is ”your disciples” who are located in Judea, as they themselves came to be when they set up the church in Jerusalem, precisely the opposite view of the narrator. What does this say about relations between the Johannine community and the Jerusalem Church?

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Okay, I’ve probably raised Jim West’s blood pressure by including the words Wikipedia and facts in my post title. I continue to stand by my view that Wikipedia has its place for the student who knows how to use information sources critically. And now a new piece of research suggest that some students, at least, don’t treat it as the be-all and end-all of looking for information, but are, in fact, both more traditional and more sceptical.

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A short list on what’s caught my eye this week, and that I haven’t already picked up on.

• There’s a good introductory post on hermeneutics from Ben Witherington, though I would want fairly strongly to nuance his bare assertion “What it [the text] meant [then] is what it means [now]“
• Chris Tilling has continued blogging his way through Gordon Fee’s Pauline Christology. This is a noble and heroic effort. I put the book on my shelf long before finishing it as a really useful reference work and commentary on many specific passages, but one that was far too repetitious (and tedious) to read as an actual book.
• Nick Meyer as a follow-up to his post from last week on reasons (or rather explanations of reasons) why Paul persecuted the church. Together they make a useful summary of some of the ways in which Paul is interpreted. I would be most suspicious myself of the psychological ones.
• Kudos and all gratitude to Ben Smith for his freely available synopsis.
• Various people have blogged about Mother Teresa’s almost permanent dark night of the soul based on this Time story. I will be fascinated to read the book of these collected letters when they come out next month. I recall meeting her as one of the most genuinely humbling experiences of my life.
• Loren Rosson started the week with a long annotated guide to seasons 1,2 & 3 of the new Doctor Who. For those who are still wondering whether to catch up it’s a good starting place. Although I broadly agree with him, I rate Fear Her, The Runaway Bride, and Smith and Jones more highly Then again, I think Freema Agyeman does much better at the impossible job of following Billie Piper than he does. And perhaps you have to have seen The Catherine Tate Show to get the most out of the Runaway Bride. But Loren is dead wrong when he says: “I think all of the season finales could have been 5- instead of 4-stars if they hadn’t been written by Russell Davies.” Russell Davies is a brilliant writer, without whom none of these series would have been made.
• Finally for Classic Who, go to Mark Goodacre’s post.

Sunday update: Mark has a much longer post explaining exactly where Loren’s view of Doctor Who goes wrong.

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Somehow I feel obliged to gloat (even if it won’t last).

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