Interpretation, abril de 2009

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In This Issue

Volume 63 Number 2 April 2009

The 500th Anniversary of John Calvin’s Birth 115

GUEST EDITORIAL

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ORACLES, VISIONS, AND ORAL TRADITION: CALVIN ON THE FOUNDATION OF SCRIPTURE • RANDALL ZACHMAN

John Calvin claims that the foundation of Scripture is the oracles and visions revealed to the patriarchs, transmitted through countless generations by an oral tradition that faithfully preserved these oracles. The oral tradition of the patriarchs also contains practices not found in written Scripture that are applicable to the church of Calvin’s day. 130

CALVIN AND PRAYING FOR “ALL PEOPLE WHO DWELL ON EARTH” • ELSIE MCKEE John Calvin’s teaching that Christians should pray “for all people who live on earth” is based on his interpretation of 1 Tim 2:1–2 and related to the Lord’s Prayer. It is also illustrated clearly in his daily practice of leading public worship.

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CALVIN AS BIBLICAL INTERPRETER AMONG THE ANCIENT PHILOSOPHERS • DAVID C. STEINMETZ God providentially guided the ancient classical authors into the perception of truths and the unmasking of errors. Even the errors they never caught are instructive. For Calvin, the only proper response to this rich intellectual heritage for a devout Christian people called to love God with their minds as well as with their hearts must always remain profound gratitude.

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FROM ERASMUS TO CALVIN: EXPLORING THE ROOTS OF REFORMED HERMENEUTICS • JAMES BRASHLER

Calvin’s debt to the church reformers who preceded him both inside and outside the reform movements of the sixteenth century has not been sufficiently understood or appreciated. The humanistic methods of interpreting and teaching classical texts—including Scripture—as developed by Erasmus of Rotterdam decisively shaped Calvin’s biblical hermeneutic.

Major Book Reviews

BETWEEN TEXT & SERMON 168

Genesis 9:8–17

180

– John Y. H. Yieh

– W. Sibley Towner 172

Psalm 114

184

– Richard D. Nelson 176

James 1:17–27 – Tom Whartenby

Matthew 1–7: A Commentary by Ulrich Luz

Stories with Intent: A Comprehensive Guide to the Parables of Jesus by Klyne Snodgrass – Arland J. Hultgren

188

Mark by R. Alan Culpepper – Emerson B. Powery

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Acts by J. Bradley Chance – Matthew L. Skinner

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Short Book Reviews and Notes


O F F I C E S TA F F

DEBRA REAGAN Managing Editor WILLA JACOB Subscription Manager NAROLA AO MCFAYDEN Editorial Fellow & Office Assistant

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Interpretation 115

Guest Editorial This issue of Interpretation celebrates John Calvin’s 500th birthday. The French exile who became the powerful reformer of Geneva could hardly have imagined his influence on the shape of Western culture and history—in forms of political and economic life, in language and literature, and in theology and church polity. The essays in this issue explore aspects of Calvin’s work as a biblical interpreter. Randall Zachman makes an interesting discovery about Calvin’s doctrine of revelation: the phrase sola scriptura really will not do for an accurate description. Calvin has a deep and lasting appreciation for the importance of oral tradition, and for revelation that is received in oracles and visions immediately from God. Calvin even authorizes certain practices or doctrines based solely on oral tradition that is passed on from the patriarchs down through the ages. Scripture is a form of the Word of God, but a relatively late one, and one that does not supersede oracles and visions. Elsie McKee notes that Calvin’s interpretation of 1 Tim 2:1–2 leads him to hold both a doctrine and a practice of prayer for all people that may seem contradictory to his teaching on predestination. McKee argues, on the contrary, that Calvin is preeminently a biblical theologian who addresses the themes presented in the pages of Scripture, including both predestination and prayer. Calvin expands upon earlier patristic and medieval readings to a generous, truly universal prayer for the world. David Steinmetz shows the extent to which Calvin the student of Scripture was also steeped in classical culture and literature. He argues that in many places it is impossible truly to understand Calvin’s arguments unless one has some knowledge of the Greek and Roman authors to whom he refers. And yet, Calvin is not captive to any of the classical schools of philosophy—he maintains a distance from his favorite philosophers Plato and Seneca. There could be no sharp division between “Athens and Jerusalem,” between sacred and profane knowledge. All truth was the revelation of God’s providential hand, and the Christian need not fear seeking truth wherever it may be found. James Brashler explores the roots of Calvin’s biblical scholarship in the first generation of the Reformation, especially in Christian humanists like Erasmus of Rotterdam. He argues that Calvin’s dependence on these earlier scholars has not been sufficiently explored or acknowledged, partly because Calvin himself is so reticent about the sources of his learning—he does not provide the footnotes in his commentaries and sermons. It is also because some of the first generation reformers—Luther and Zwingli excepted—have not received as much scholarly attention as has Calvin. Brashler is particularly intrigued by the resonances between Oecolampadius’ and Calvin’s respective commentaries on Isaiah. No doubt much more could be said about Calvin as a biblical interpreter. Indeed, there has been a virtual explosion of literature on this topic in the last decade. Despite the fact that he lived well before the rise of modern critical methods of interpretation, we still have much to learn from this devoted, serious, life-long student of Scripture. Dawn DeVries, John Newton Thomas Professor of Systematic Theology Union-PSCE


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John Calvin 500th Anniversary Commemorative Medal (2 inches in diameter), commissioned by the H. Henry Meeter Center for Calvin Studies in a limited casting of 500. The portrait on the front was crafted by Darrell DeRuiter; overall medal design was drafted by Ryan Noppen. On the reverse of the medal, the heart in the hand image dates from the mid-16th century. Below it is Calvin’s signature. The medal may be purchased from the Calvin College website (www.calvin.edu/meeter/calvin2009/2009medal.htm).

CONTRIBUTORS RANDALL C. ZACHMAN has been Professor of Reformation Studies at the University of Notre Dame since 1991. He teaches on the history of Christian thought and previously taught at Colgate Rochester/ Bexley/Crozer (1987–1990) and Luther Seminary (1985–1987). Zachman’s research interests include Reformation theology and John Calvin in particular. Zachman received his Ph.D. from the University of Chicago Divinity School. His most recent publications include editing John Calvin and Roman Catholicism (Baker Academic, 2008) and Image and Word in the Theology of John Calvin (University of Notre Dame Press, 2007). He is an Episcopalian. ELSIE MCKEE was born and reared in what is now the Democratic Republic of Congo, where her paternal grandparents and later her parents were Presbyterian missionaries. Growing up in the church in the Congo has shaped her understanding of how faith is lived. Studying and teaching in Europe as well as North America have broadened her experience. McKee holds a Ph.D. from Princeton Theological Seminary, where she is Professor of Reformation Studies and the History of Worship. Her research and teaching interests include Reformation history, Reformed theology, women and laity in history, history of exegesis, history of worship, prayer and spirituality, and ethics and worship. McKee’s newest book is John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion: The First English Version of the 1541 French Edition, which she has

translated and edited (forthcoming, Eerdmans, spring 2009). McKee is an ordained elder in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.). DAVID STEINMETZ (Th.D., Harvard) is the Kearns Professor of the History of Christianity at Duke Divinity School, where he has taught since 1971. He was ordained in the United Methodist Church and is the founding editor of Oxford Studies in Historical Theology. His most recent book (with David Bagchi) is The Cambridge Companion to Reformation Theology. Steinmetz has two new books forthcoming from Oxford University Press: Calvin in Context (second revised edition) and Taking the Long View: Christian Theology in Historical Perspective. JAMES BRASHLER is Professor of Bible and Dean of Graduate Studies at Union-PSCE. A graduate of Calvin College & Seminary and the Claremont Graduate University (Ph.D.), he has a longstanding interest in the history of biblical interpretation in the Reformed tradition. Brashler is the co-editor of Interpretation and an ordained elder in the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.). His essay in this issue is part of a larger project devoted to the contributions of the Basel reformer Johannes Oecolampadius to Reformed hermeneutics.


Oracles, Visions, and Oral Tradition: Calvin on the Foundation of Scripture RANDALL C. ZACHMAN Professor of Reformation Studies University of Notre Dame John Calvin claims that the foundation of Scripture is the oracles and visions revealed to the patriarchs, transmitted through countless generations by an oral tradition that faithfully preserved these oracles. The oral tradition of the patriarchs also contains practices not found in written Scripture that are applicable to the church of Calvin’s day.

J

ohn Calvin’s understanding of Scripture is customarily understood in light of his description of the written text of Scripture. This seems only natural, as Calvin appeals to the written text of Scripture as the highest court of appeal in his teaching. The authority of Scripture is derived not from the church, but directly from God, since God is the ultimate author of Scripture: “. . . credibility of doctrine is not established until we are persuaded beyond doubt that God is its Author. Thus, the highest proof of Scripture derives from the fact that God in person speaks in it.”1 In so far as there are human authors of Scripture, they are described by Calvin as taking down dictation by the Holy Spirit.2 Calvin does insist that we will not be certain that God is the author of Scripture until the same Spirit that dictated Scripture to its human authors bears witness to itself in our hearts and minds. “For as God alone is a fit witness of himself in his Word, so also the Word will not find acceptance in men’s hearts before it is sealed by the inward testimony of the Spirit.”3 The inward testimony of the Holy Spirit therefore directs the faithful to the written text of Scripture that the Spirit also dictated, so that the pious may be certain that God speaks in Scripture as its author. R E V E L AT I O N I N O R A C L E S A N D V I S I O N S Scripture is therefore the highest theological authority, over any appeals to oracles, visions, or oral traditions, such as may be made by Calvin’s radical or Roman opponents. “For all the superstitious monstrosities and erroneous ravings which existed in the past, and still hold sway under the Papacy, had their origins in fantasies, apparitions, and false revelations. Yes, and even the Anabaptists have their illusions.”4 One might be led to think that Calvin would therefore agree with Luther’s position over against those like Muentzer and Karlstadt who

1 John Calvin, Institutes I.vii.4, Ioannis Calvini opera selecta (ed. Peter Barth, Wilhelm Niesel, and Dora Scheuner; Munich: Christian Kaiser, 1926–52), Vol. III, 68, lines 28–30; henceforth OS III.68.28–30; Calvin: Institutes of the Christian Religion (trans. Ford Lewis Battles; ed. John T. McNeill; Philadelphia: Westminster, 1960), 78; henceforth LCC 78. 2 Institutes IV.viii.6, OS V. 138.11–13; LCC 1154. 3 Institutes I.vii.4, OS III.70.2–5; LCC 79. 4 Comm. Acts 7:31, Ioannis Calvini opera quae supersunt omnia (ed. Wilhelm Baum, Edward Cunitz, and Eduard Reuss; Brunswick: A. Schwetschke and Son [M. Bruhn], 1863–1900), Vol. 48, 145–6C; henceforth CO 48:145–6; Calvin's New Testament Commentaries (ed. David W. Torrance and Thomas F. Torrance; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1959–72), Vol. 11.123, henceforth CNTC 6:191–2.


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claimed to have immediate revelations from the Holy Spirit. Luther sought to eliminate the “enthusiasm” that is the source of all heresy by insisting that God only gives the Spirit internally through the external means of the Word and sacrament, mediated by the ministry of the church. “Accordingly, we should and must constantly maintain that God will not deal with us except through his external Word and sacrament. Whatever is attributed to the Spirit apart from such Word and sacrament is of the devil.”5 However, Calvin did not agree with Luther in this regard, but rather insisted that the foundation of Scripture is the oracles and visions revealed to the patriarchs and transmitted through countless generations by an oral tradition that faithfully preserved these oracles. “But whether God became known to the patriarchs through oracles and visions or by the work and ministry of men, he put into their minds what they should hand down to their posterity.”6 Indeed, Calvin is scathingly critical of Luther’s attempts to introduce the ministry of Word and sacrament whenever God is said to have spoken to one of the patriarchs, especially in his commentary on Genesis. For instance, when God is said to have spoken to Cain as he contemplated the murder of his brother Abel (Gen 4:6), Luther claims that this Word had to be externally mediated to Cain by another human minister, in this case Adam. “I believe that these words were spoken by Adam himself. Moses says that the Lord spoke these words, because Adam had now been accounted just and had been endued with the Holy Spirit. What he now says in accordance with the Word of God and through the Holy Spirit is correctly declared to have been said by God.”7 Calvin describes this insight of Luther’s as “constrained and even frigid,” even as he claims to understand Luther’s motives for saying this. “Their intention is to honor the external ministry of the word, and to cut off the occasion which Satan takes to insinuate his illusions under the color of revelation.”8 Calvin goes on to remind the reader that Scripture is but the third, and relatively late, form that the Word of God took in the history of revelation. “But we may observe that the word of God was delivered from the beginning in oracles, in order that afterwards, when administered by the hands of men, it might receive a greater reverence.”9 Far from being just an historical issue, Calvin claims that what is at stake is nothing less than the foundation of the credibility of the Word of God, found first in oral tradition, and then recorded in Scripture. “Let us rather conclude, that before the heavenly teaching was committed to public records, God often made known his will by extraordinary methods, and that here was the foundation which supported reverence for the word; while the doctrine delivered through the hands of men was like the edifice itself.”10 By eliminating the self-revelation of God through oracles, visions, and dreams, which were then handed on by oral tradition, Calvin claims

5 Martin Luther, “The Smalcald Articles,” in The Book of Concord (ed. and trans. Theodore G. Tappert; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1959), 313. 6 Institutes I.vi.2, OS III.62.1–3; LCC 71. 7 Vorlesung en über 1. Mose von 1535–1545, D. Martin Luthers Werke: Kritische Gesamtausgabe (Weimar, 1883–), Vol. 42.194; Lectures on Genesis: Luther’s Works (ed. Jaroslav Pelikan and Helmut T. Lehman; Saint Louis: Concordia; Philadelphia: Fortress, 1955–1967), Vol. 1:262. 8 Comm. Gen 4:6, CO 23:87C; The Commentaries of John Calvin on the Old Testament (30 vols.; Edinburgh: Calvin Translation Society, 1843–1848), Vol. 1, 198; henceforth CTS 1:198. 9 Ibid. 10 Comm. Gen 4:6, CO 23:88A; CTS 1:199.


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that Luther undermines the foundation of the credibility of the doctrine ultimately set down in the public records of written Scripture. Calvin therefore has no trouble following the text of Genesis that seems to say that God spoke directly to Cain. “Moses does not state in what manner God spoke. Whether a vision was presented to him, or he heard an oracle from heaven, or was admonished by secret inspiration, he certainly felt himself bound by a divine judgment.”11 According to Calvin, the usual method God used during the time of the patriarchs was to appear to the patriarchs in a vision or a dream while also speaking to the patriarchs in an oracle. The dream or vision confirmed to the patriarchs the divine source of the oracle. “Among the patriarchs God used secret revelations, but at the same time to confirm these he added such signs that they could have no doubt that it was God who was speaking to them. What the patriarchs had received they handed on to their descendants.”12 Calvin cites Num 12:6 in support of his claim that the original method of revelation used by God was visions and dreams. God uses these means in order to confirm the truth of the oracle to the one receiving it. “In short, visions were a kind of symbol of the Divine presence, designed to remove all doubt from the minds of the holy patriarchs respecting him who was about to speak.”13 Calvin accentuates the visible nature of visions and dreams, claiming that it is this characteristic in particular that gives them the power to certify the truth of the oracle being received. “Vision here means some sign that was placed before his eyes to testify to the presence of God.”14 The vision or dream works in concert with the oracle to verify its truth, “for a voice alone would have had less energy. Therefore God appears, in order to produce confidence in and reverence towards his word.”15 Calvin describes the relationship between the oracle and the vision as one of mutual confirmation. The truth that is proclaimed by the oracle is simultaneously symbolized in the vision or dream, so that there might be a mutual agreement between what the patriarchs heard and saw. “For the Lord, in order more deeply to affect his own people, and more efficaciously to penetrate their minds, after he has reached their ears by his word, also arrests their eyes by external proofs, that eyes and ears may consent together.”16 The vision represents to the eyes of the patriarchs and prophets what the oracle declares to their ears. Hence there must be an analogy between the vision and the oracle, to strengthen the truth of the revelation of God. “An analogy is always to be sought for between signs, and the thing signified, that there may be a mutual correspondence between the two.”17 Since the purpose of the vision is to confirm the divine origin of the oracle, the meaning of the vision must be sought in the oracle itself, to which the vision has an analogous relationship. “Then, since the symbol, in itself, is but a lifeless carcass, reference ought always to be made to the word that is annexed to it.”18 Just as the vision confirms the

11

Ibid. Institutes IV.viii.5, OS V.137.17–20; LCC 1153. 13 Comm. Gen 26:24, CO 23:364–5; CTS 2:69. 14 Comm. Acts 9:10, CO 48:205C; CNTC 6:264. 15 Comm. Gen 26:24, CO 23:364–5; CTS 2:69. 16 Comm. Gen 15:4, CO 23:210C; CTS 1:403. 17 Comm. Gen 15:17, CO 23:221A; CTS 1:420. 18 Ibid. 12


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divinity of the oracle, so the oracle gives life and meaning to the vision. This leads Calvin to describe the oracle as the “soul” of the vision or symbol. “Let this mutual connection, then, be observed, that the vision which gives greater dignity to the word, precedes it; and that the word follows immediately, as if it were the soul of the vision.”19 Calvin realizes that God’s use of visions and dreams could produce a problem for the patriarchs, as Satan uses exactly the same means to lead people into delusions, as we have seen above. Given the mutual and corresponding relationship between the word of the oracle and the symbol of the vision, one way to avoid being deceived by Satan would be to attend in particular to the oracle. “But since no living image of God can exist without the word, whenever God has appeared to his servants, he has also spoken to them. Wherefore, in all outward signs, let us ever be attentive to his voice, if we would not be deluded by the wiles of Satan.”20 However, this solution is not sufficient to remove all doubt, because it is the vision itself that confirms the divine truth of the oracle, so that the father or prophet is certain that God is in fact speaking. God must therefore identify divine visions and dreams with distinguishing marks, so that no fear of being deceived might remain. “For visions had their own peculiar marks, to distinguish them from phantoms and false imaginations; and dreams were also accompanied by their signs, in order to remove all doubt of their authenticity.”21 One distinguishing characteristic of divine visions is that they disclose to us the majesty of God, not as it is in itself, but according to what our capacity can bear. “For we are beyond the danger of going wrong only when he discloses his majesty to us. It is because of this that the mind of Moses is struck with astonishment.”22 Since the vision or dream is a symbol of God’s presence, the manifestation of God’s glory and majesty in the vision is essential to its veracity. In order that the self-manifestation of God’s majesty might be effective, God “comes to the aid of our dullness, and opens our eyes at the same time, so that we may not be just dreaming.”23 Finally, so that we may be convinced of the divine majesty revealed in the vision or dream, “the Holy Spirit engraves marks and symbols of the divine presence in our hearts, so that no doubt may remain.”24 Once confirmed by their clear vision of these symbols of divine presence, the patriarchs and prophets could boldly proclaim the oracles they heard in conjunction with the vision as the Word of God.25 The legitimacy of divine revelation by visions and dreams was known outside of Israel, according to Calvin, and this helps to strengthen further the way that they confirm the divine authority of the oracles revealed to the patriarchs and prophets. Calvin seems especially interested in the way that the Gentiles recognized the divine agency at work in some (but certainly not all) dreams. Calvin cites in particular the opinion of Cicero that “if there is any

19

Comm. Gen 46:2, CO 23:560A; CTS 2:388. Ibid. Comm. Num 12:6, CO 25:183A; CTS 6:47. 22 Comm. Acts 7:31, CO 48:145–6; CNTC 6:191–2. 23 Ibid. 24 Ibid. 25 Comm. Num 12:6, CO 25:183A; CTS 6:47. 20 21


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divination in dreams, it follows that there is a Deity in heaven,” in order to validate his claim that “the opinion concerning the existence of some kind of divine agency in dreams was not rashly implanted in the hearts of all men.”26 He goes on to mention the specific dreams of “Calphurnia, the wife of Julius Caesar,” and of “the physician of Augustus” as examples of such divine agency in dreams, along with the example of Nebuchadnezzar’s dream in Daniel. Calvin also thinks that God revealed visions to the Gentiles, as in the case of Alexander the Great, who saw the High Priest in a vision before he came to Jerusalem, which prevented him from destroying the city, for when he saw the High Priest in person “he was struck as if he had seen God appearing to him from heaven.”27 This means that even the ungodly can at times recognize the distinguishing marks of divine visions and dreams, even if they are also capable of being deluded by the illusions of Satan, as happened in the case of Brutus.28 God confirms that the oracles by visions and dreams not only certify the truth of the oracle to the patriarch or prophet receiving it, but also to those who are to receive it from them by their preaching and teaching. “For the use of visions is duly to confirm the majesty of the Word so that it might obtain credence among men.”29 By the accompanying vision, God inscribes the sign of God’s presence onto the oracle in order to give it greater credibility. “Thus God has often appeared to his servants, so that his majesty might be inscribed upon his addresses to them.”30 For instance, Ezekiel appeals to his visions of God in order to prove his calling as a prophet, to show that he speaks only at God’s command. “Therefore, that Ezekiel may not labor in vain, he ought to prove himself divinely inspired, and this was done by the vision.”31 This is why God appeared not only to Moses, but at one point to all the people at Mount Sinai, so that the law revealed to Moses might be received with reverence by all the people, not only in their own day, but even today. “Thence it follows that the brightness of God’s glory, which was shown to the ancient people in the thick cloud, is not yet extinct, but that ought to illuminate the minds of all the godly, reverently to submit themselves to Moses.”32 We can now understand why Calvin claims that the visions and dreams of the patriarchs and prophets are the foundation of our reverence for the oracles of God that are now recorded in Scripture, for their visions seal the truth of their oracles not only to their own generation, but to us as well. “All visions of every kind which God formerly gave to the prophets must be joined to the promises in such a manner as to be seals of them.”33

THE TRANSMISSION OF PRACTICES VIA ORAL TRADITION Once the teaching of God had been revealed to the patriarchs in visions and dreams,

26

Comm. Dan 2:2, CO 40:559B; CTS 24:119. Comm. Dan 11:3, CO 41:221A; CTS 25:273. 28 Comm. Acts 16:10, CO 48:375B; CNTC 7:70. 29 Comm. Acts 9:10, CO 48:205C; CNTC 6:264. 30 Comm. Num 12:6, CO 25:182A; CTS 6:45. 31 Comm. Ezek 2:3, CO 40:62–3; CTS 22:110. 32 Comm. Exod 19:9, CO 24:198B; CTS 3:322. 33 Comm. Isa 2:1, CO 36:59B; CTS 13:90. 27


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they handed this doctrine on to others orally, so that their teaching might be preserved and transmitted in an oral tradition. Calvin claims that Adam was allowed to live for as long as he did primarily so that he might transmit the revelation of God to others. “For through six succeeding ages, when the family of Seth had grown into a great people, the voice of Adam might daily resound, in order to renew the memory of the creation, the fall, and the punishment of man; to testify of the hope of salvation which remained after chastisement, and to recite the judgments of God, by which all might be instructed.”34 Calvin includes in this oral tradition not only the oracles revealed to Adam, but also the works of God that he had personally witnessed, which again confirms the reliability of his testimony in this tradition. “After his death his sons might indeed deliver, as from hand to hand, what they had learned, to their descendants; but far more efficacious would be the instruction from the mouth of him, who had been himself the eye-witness of all these things.”35 The reliability of Scripture is therefore supported by the unbroken oral tradition it records, which extends all the way back to the testimony of the first human beings. The creation of the world is not first narrated by Moses, but is rather transmitted by an oral tradition that extends all the way back to Adam. “Therefore, we ought not to doubt that the creation of the world, as here described, was already known through the ancient and perpetual tradition of the fathers.”36 This oral tradition is both preserved and expanded upon by those who follow Adam, such as Noah, who witnessed the destruction and restoration of the world. According to Calvin, Noah taught this oral tradition both to his sons and to others, including those who wound up building the tower of Babel, which makes their ungodly presumption in this matter all the more inexcusable. “Noah and his sons, who had been eye-witnesses of the deluge, were yet living; the narration of that history ought to have inspired men with not less terror than the visible appearance of God himself: from infancy they had been imbued with those elements of religious instruction, which relate to the manner in which God was to be worshipped . . . yet they could not be restrained from being so corrupted by their vanity, that they entirely apostacized.”37 Later, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph all faithfully preserve and expand upon this oral tradition, so that the Hebrews in Egypt knew these oracles and histories already, and did not learn them first from Moses. “When [Moses] says that the Israelites were sprung from a holy race, which God had chosen for himself, he does not propound it as something new, but only commemorates what all held, what the men of old had received from their ancestors, and what, in short, was entirely uncontroverted among them.”38 Calvin even goes so far as to claim that Moses himself gains credibility among his own people by demonstrating to them that he knows their oral tradition well, which is why Calvin thinks he includes the prophecy of Jacob about what

34

Comm. Gen 5:4, CO 23:106B; CTS 1:229. Ibid. Comm. Genesis Argumentum, CO 23:7–8A; CTS 1:59. 37 Comm. Gen 11:10, CO 23:168C; CTS 1:333. 38 Comm. Genesis Argumentum, CO 23:7–8A; CTS 1:59. 35 36


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will happen to his sons in the last days (Gen 49). “It was therefore necessary, that he should come prepared with certain credentials which might give proof of his vocation. And, hence, he put forth these predictions, as public documents from the sacred archives of God, that no one might suppose him to have intruded rashly into his office.”39 Calvin appeals to the oral tradition stemming from Adam in order to explain how the practice of sacrifices came to develop. Moses gives lengthy and detailed descriptions of the priesthood, the tabernacle, and the sacrifices, but before Moses there is no record of any command or promise of God regarding sacrifice. However, according to Calvin, sacrifice is the divinely instituted symbol of life in the midst of death, once Adam and Eve have been banished from the garden and the tree of life. “The first men, though they had been deprived of the sacrament of divine love, when they were prohibited from the tree of life, had yet been only deprived of it, that a hope of salvation was still left to them, of which they had the signs in sacrifices.”40 This is why Cain and Abel both offer sacrifices to God, since they were deprived of the tree of life. However, how was their offering of sacrifice legitimate, since God nowhere gives any instruction about sacrifice in Genesis? Calvin solves this problem by appealing to the instruction that Cain and Abel had received orally from their father, even though there is no evidence of this instruction in the text. “Whence it is to be inferred that they had been well instructed by their father. The rite of sacrificing more fully confirms this; because it proves that they had been accustomed to the worship of God.”41 Calvin confirms the presence of such instruction by the claim made in the letter to the Hebrews that Abel offered his sacrifice to God in faith; had there been no oracle of God orally transmitted to him, there would have been no faith. Moreover, God accepts Abel’s sacrifice, which shows that it was not simply an empty ceremony, “but comprehended something more sublime and secret; which they could not have done without divine instruction.”42 Calvin makes the same claim with regard to the sacrifice offered by Noah, for which again there is no command recorded in Scripture, for Noah separated the clean from the unclean animals, and he clearly did not invent this distinction himself. “Whence we conclude, that he undertook nothing without divine authority.”43 Calvin also appeals to this oral tradition stemming from Adam to explain why all the nations had their own sacrifices and priesthood, even though Moses did not teach them any of this. Since Adam is the father of all humanity, it follows that all people, including those nations surrounding Israel, handed on his teaching. These nations learned of the necessity to worship God in sacrifices by the oral tradition handed on to Cain, Abel, and Seth. “The custom of sacrificing has always been in use among all nations, and its origin is doubtless to be traced to the ancient fathers.”44 The Gentiles, however, no longer remembered why the

39

Comm. Gen 49:1, CO 23:592A; CTS 2:441. Comm. Gen 4:2, CO 23:84A; CTS 1:192. Ibid. 42 Ibid. 43 Comm. Gen 8:20, CO 23:139A; CTS 1:282. 44 Comm. Exod 29:38, CO 24:489; CTS 4:293. 40 41


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sacrifices were to be offered to God, namely to reveal that God can only be appeased by the shedding of blood, something that Calvin claims was known by the patriarchs. “Since, however, this is a thing which is beyond the reach of the human mind, let us, who have ever truly sought after God, learn, under the guidance and teaching of Scripture, that he has appointed the propitiation to be by blood; so that, before the delivery of the Law, religion was always sanctioned by sacrifices.”45 The fact that the Gentiles had so many modes of sacrificing that were similar to those handed on by the patriarchs made it necessary for God to teach much more precisely through Moses so that no part of proper sacrifice might be left out of account. Calvin was very interested in seeing the ways the Gentiles either accurately preserved, or satanically perverted, the oral tradition of the patriarchs. On the one hand, the classical poets clearly reflect the teaching of Adam that the world has been corrupted by human sin. “This has been celebrated in poetical fables, and was doubtless handed down, by tradition, from the patriarchs. Hence that passage in Horace: When from heaven’s fane the furtive hand Of man the sacred fire withdrew, A countless host—at God’s command— to earth of fierce diseases flew; And death—till now kept far away— Hastened his step to seize his prey.46

On the other hand, Calvin claims that the oral tradition of the destruction and restoration of the world at the time of Noah had been forgotten by subsequent generations: “and detestable is the ingratitude of those, who, when they had heard, from their fathers and grandfathers, of the wonderful restoration of the world in so short a time, yet voluntarily became forgetful of the grace and salvation of God.”47 The failure faithfully to transmit the oral tradition of Adam and Noah meant that the opportunity was given for Satan to replace these traditions with the “noxious fables” of the heathen poets, in order to discredit the wonderful works of God. One such example is found in the way that the poets appeal to a “Deus ex machina” in their plays to discredit the intervention of the angel in the sacrifice of Isaac. “This history ought certainly to be known and celebrated among all people; yet, by the subtlety of Satan, not only has the truth of God been adulterated and turned into a lie, but also distorted into materials for fable, in order to render it the more ridiculous.”48 The same thing happens with regard to the narrative about Lot’s wife turning into a pillar of salt, which sounds very similar to the fables of the poet Ovid. “But I rather suppose it to have happened through the artifice of Satan, that Ovid, by fabulously trifling, has indirectly thrown discredit on this most signal proof of divine vengeance.”49

45

Ibid., my emphasis. Comm. Gen 3:19, CO 23:75B; CTS 1:177. 47 Comm. Gen 10:1, CO 23:157B; CTS 1:313. 48 Comm. Gen 22:11, CO 23:317B; CTS 1:569. 49 Comm. Gen 19:26, CO 23:278B; CTS 1:513. 46


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THE RECORDING OF ORAL TRADITION IN SCRIPTURE Moses was commissioned by God to write the first five books of Scripture due to the danger presented by the perversion or neglect of the oral traditions of the patriarchs. On the one hand, Moses sets down nothing that was not already uniformly taught among the Hebrews from this unbroken and faithfully transmitted tradition. “For he does not transmit to memory things before unheard of, but for the first time consigns to writing facts which the fathers had delivered as from hand to hand, through a long succession of years, to their children.”50 On the other hand, God dictates to Moses the accurate form of this tradition to be written down, lest the tradition of the patriarchs be perverted through forgetfulness or neglect. “Yet, since nothing is more easy than that the truth of God should be so corrupted by men, that, in a long succession of time, it should, as it were, degenerate from itself, it pleased the Lord to commit the history to writing, for the purpose of preserving its purity.”51 The written version of the oral tradition of the patriarchs helps to perpetuate that teaching so that it might not fade away over time. “Finally, in order that truth might abide forever in the world with a continuing succession of teaching and survive through all ages, the same oracles he had given to the patriarchs it was his pleasure to have recorded, as it were, on public tablets.”52 God also decided to have the oral traditions written down at the time of Moses since it was then that he instituted the office of priests, who were to teach the people the law. They could do so much more effectively from a written text than from an oral tradition. “But where it pleased God to raise up a more visible form of the church, he willed to have his word set down and sealed in writing, that his priests might seek from it what to teach the people, and that every doctrine to be taught should conform to that rule.”53 The written text also has the advantage that it can be studied over time, whereas an oral address can only be taken in according to one’s capacities at the time it is heard, which can lead to misunderstanding. This is why Calvin thinks Jeremiah is commanded to dictate his prophecies to Baruch. “We see here in the first place, what is the benefit of having Scripture, even that what would otherwise vanish away or escape the memory of man, may remain and be handed down from one to another, and also that it may be read; for what is written can be better weighed during leisure time,” since “what one reads today he may read tomorrow, and next year, and many years after.”54 The oral tradition handed on from Adam to Moses is therefore set down in writing so that errors might be avoided, so that nothing may be forgotten, and so that it might be studied and taught to the people, especially by the priests.

50

Comm. Genesis Argumentum, CO 23:7–8A; CTS 1:58. Ibid. 52 Institutes I.vi.2, OS III.62.7–10; LCC 71. 53 Institutes IV.viii.6, OS V.137.24–27; LCC 1153. 54 Comm. Jer 36:1–2, CO 39:116B; CTS 20:326. 51


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NOT ALL ORAL TRADITION PRESERVED IN SCRIPTURE However, not everything of importance from the oral tradition of the patriarchs is captured in the written text of Scripture, either of Moses or of the prophets. For example, Calvin highlights the care with which the patriarchs sought to bury their people, and claims that this is due to the fact that the rite of burial is a symbol of the resurrection: “the rite of anointing the dead, though shared by many godless races, was only legitimate among the Jews. Their fathers handed it down to them to foster them in the faith of a resurrection.”55 Once again, we see that the Gentiles know the tradition of the patriarchs, but they only ape the ceremony of burial, without knowing why it was instituted. “There was also great carefulness and ceremony in burying the dead among the heathen, which undoubtedly originated from the patriarchs, as did sacrifices. But as no hope of resurrection flourished among them, they aped rather than imitated the fathers.”56 The problem is, the rite of burial is lacking either a divine promise or command in Scripture instituting it as a legitimate ceremony. The word making it a divine symbol can therefore only be found in the oral tradition of the patriarchs, extending all the way from Adam to Christ, according to Calvin, for “the sacred rite of burial descended from the holy fathers, to be a kind of mirror of the future resurrection.”57 Another example of a teaching found only in oral tradition concerns the mysterious figure of Melchizedek. Calvin finds Melchizedek to be one of the most vivid images of Christ set forth to the patriarchs in their history. He was the only one before Christ who was appointed to be both priest and king, and he shows his superiority to Abram by blessing him. This is the reason why David speaks of him as the image of the Christ who is to come, describing Christ as a priest forever, according to the order of Melchizedek. The question is, how did David know that this obscure figure, who makes one cameo appearance in the book of Genesis, is an image of Christ to the Jews? According to Calvin, he does so according to an oral tradition that had been handed on to him from the patriarchs. “David, indeed, does not propose a similitude framed by himself; but declares the reason for which the kingdom of Christ was divinely ordained, and even confirmed with an oath; and it is not to be doubted that the same truth had been traditionally handed down by the fathers.”58 It is true that the epistle to the Hebrews would be the Scriptural source of this image for Christians, but before then the only way anyone could know that Melchizedek was a symbol for Christ was through an oral tradition that is nowhere recorded in Hebrew Scripture. This raises an even larger issue, and that is how did the Israelites know that the whole of their worship of God was to point them to the Christ who was to come? Their sacrifices,

55

Comm. Mark 16:1, CO 45:794B; CNTC 3:223. Comm. John 19:40, CO 47:425A; CNTC 5:190. Comm. Gen 50:2, CO 23:612–13; CTS 2:477. 58 Comm. Gen 14:18, CO 23:201B; CTS 1:388. 56 57


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even though commanded by God, had as their ultimate referent the sacrifice of Christ on the cross, for “surely, if Christ be put out of sight, all the sacrifices that may be offered differ in no respect from mere profane butchery.”59 However, Moses nowhere makes any reference to Christ. Stephen, it is true, claims that the pattern shown to Moses on Mount Sinai was Christ, but Moses does not state this himself, nor do any of the prophets. So how were the Israelites to know that they were to direct their minds to Christ, and not to the sacrifices themselves? One answer Calvin gives is that the Holy Spirit directed them to this goal. “Nor can it be doubted but that by the sacred inspiration of the Spirit, the holy fathers were directed to the Mediator, by whose death God was hereafter to be appeased.”60 However, Calvin ultimately claims that the teaching that all of the figures of the law were to be referred to Christ came from a tradition handed down from the patriarchs. “But since no clear and, as they say, literal evidence of his death and resurrection exists in the law, there is no doubt that they had teaching handed down by the fathers, from which they learned to refer all figures to Christ.”61 One of the central elements of Calvin’s interpretation of Scripture—that it is all to be referred to Christ—can ultimately only be validated by appealing to an oral tradition of the patriarchs that is nowhere recorded in Scripture itself. There is a final tradition of the patriarchs that is handed on all the way from the patriarchs to the church of Calvin’s day, and that is the rite of consecration by the laying on of hands. Even though this rite is found in the law of Moses for the consecration of both priests and sacrifices, Calvin acknowledges that it is a tradition of the patriarchs preceding the law of Moses, which is found not only in the law of Moses, but also in the practice of the apostles. “It was in use before the giving of the law, for thus the holy patriarchs blessed their sons. We have seen that the priests were inaugurated in their office, and that victims were offered to God, with this ceremony. The apostles followed this custom in the appointment of pastors.”62 Calvin knows that there is no dominical institution of this custom, nor is there a promise related to the reality it signifies. It is likely for this reason that he initially denied that the laying on of hands is a sacrament. However, beginning in 1543, Calvin reverses his position and insists that the laying on of hands is in fact a sacrament that both represents and presents the gift of the Holy Sprit to the one receiving it.63 “From this we gather that the ceremony was not in vain, since God by his Spirit effected that consecration which men symbolized by the laying on of hands.”64 How then do we know that the Lord has instituted this sacrament, when no command or promise may be found related to it in Scripture? “Although there exists no set precept for the laying on of hands, because we see it in continual use with the apostles, their very careful observance ought to serve in lieu of a precept.”65 Indeed, the

59

Comm. Exod 29:38, CO 24:489; CTS 4:293. Ibid. Comm. Acts 26:22, CO 48:545–6; CNTC 7:280. 62 Comm. Num 27:18, CO 25:346B; CTS 6:318. 63 Institutes IV.xix.31, OS V.465.22–27; LCC 1479. 64 Comm. 1 Tim 4:14, CO 52:303; CNTC 10:247. 65 Institutes IV.iii.16, OS V.57.6–9; LCC 1067. 60 61


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uniformity of this custom among the apostles shows it to have a divine origin. “For if the Spirit of God establishes nothing without cause in the church, we should feel that this ceremony, since it has proceeded from him, is not useless, provided it not be turned to superstitious abuse.”66 However, as we have seen, the ceremony of the laying on of hands is adopted by the apostles on the basis of a Jewish custom and tradition that goes all the way back to the patriarchs. Hence one of the traditions of the patriarchs makes it all the way through the apostolic period to the sixteenth century, and constitutes one of the three sacraments of the church.

FIRST ORACLES AND VISIONS, THEN ORAL TRADITION, AND F I N A L LY, S C R I P T U R E In sum, Scripture is for Calvin the third and latest form that the Word of God has taken among the people of God. The first form of the Word came in the oracles revealed to the patriarchs and prophets, who were certain that God was speaking to them on the basis of the majesty of God revealed in the visions and dreams accompanying these oracles. These visions not only confirm the divine truth of the oracle for themselves, but also for their audience, not only in their own day, but also in our own. The oracles, visions, and dreams of the patriarchs and prophets are therefore the foundation of our reverence for the teachings later set forth in written form in Scripture. It is important to note that although Calvin describes the revelation of oracles through visions and dreams as the usual method God used with the prophets, based on Num 12:6, he nowhere claims that such visions and dreams are limited to the economy of the law and therefore come to an end with the gospel. To the contrary, he acknowledges the role dreams and visions play in the emergence of the gospel, beginning with the dreams of Joseph, and continuing on through the dreams and visions of Stephen, Peter, Cornelius, and Paul. Even though Calvin denies that God reveals any more doctrine through oracles once the gospel is revealed, he never denies the possibility that we might still have visions and dreams that confirm us in the truth of the gospel. On the contrary, he seems to place the blame in ourselves for the fact that we do not see Christ the way Stephen did before he died. “But as for ourselves, since we are bound too much to the earth, it is no wonder that Christ does not show himself to us.”67 Calvin seems to expect such signs of God’s presence to appear to the godly, to confirm their faith in the commands and promises of God. Thus, speaking of the way Moses turned aside to attend to the vision of the burning bush, Calvin draws a lesson for all the godly. “Let us learn, then, by his example, as often as God invites himself to us by any sign, to give diligent heed, lest the proffered light be quenched by our own apathy.”68

66 67 68

Ibid. Comm. Acts 7:55, CO 48:167A; CNTC 6:217. Comm. Exod 3:3, CO 24:36B; CTS 3:62.


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The foundation of Scripture also extends to the oral tradition of the patriarchs, by which their oracles, visions, and dreams were transmitted to their posterity. Moses records this oral tradition, taken down by divine dictation, but he does not teach the Hebrews of his day anything they do not already know by tradition. Indeed, he goes out of his way to draw from this tradition to increase his credibility among his own people. The fact that Moses records traditions much older than himself is for Calvin another source of the credibility of the Scripture he wrote. “Now, if Moses (who nevertheless is so much earlier in time than all other writers) traced the transmission of his doctrine back to such a remote source, we must ponder how much Sacred Scripture outstrips all other writings in antiquity.”69 However, Moses does not record all of the oral tradition handed on by the patriarchs. He describes the sacrifices of the patriarchs such as Abel, Noah, and Abram, but does not include the dominical institution of such sacrifices, conjecturing instead that this oracle was delivered to the patriarchs by the oral tradition stemming from Adam. He describes the care with which the Hebrews buried their dead, and contrasts it with the ostentation of Gentile ceremonies (especially the Egyptians), but in the absence of Scriptural warrant for the divine institution of burial as a symbol of the resurrection, he claims that this also came to the Hebrews through oral tradition, one extending all the way to the burial of Jesus Christ. Calvin also cites oral tradition as the source of his most important exegetical principle, namely that all of the worship of Israel is to be referred to Christ as the reality it all symbolizes, and claims that it is through this same tradition that David knew that Melchizedek was a symbol and image of Christ. Finally, Calvin appeals to an unbroken tradition from the patriarchs through Moses and the apostles to support his claim that the laying on of hands is a genuine sacrament of the church, even though it lacks any dominical institution in Scripture. Oral tradition therefore not only lies behind Scripture, but it also accompanies it throughout its history, and teaches both Israel and the Christian community practices that cannot be found in Scripture itself.

69

Institutes I.viii.3, OS III.73–74; LCC 84.


Calvin and Praying for “All People Who Dwell on Earth” ELSIE MCKEE Professor of Reformation Studies and the History of Worship Princeton Theological Seminary John Calvin’s teaching that Christians should pray “for all people who dwell on earth” is based on his interpretation of 1 Tim 2:1–2 and related to the Lord’s Prayer. It is also illustrated clearly in his daily practice of leading public worship.

E

veryone knows at least one thing about John Calvin: he taught double predestination. And that is enough to damn him, so one need not pay him any further attention. Or if someone is generous and willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and concede that Calvin might have some good ideas, she or he is very unlikely to think that prayer would be one of those topics. After all, does not predestination exclude any meaningful prayer? The fact is, however, that Calvin was a pastor, not a philosopher; he was a devout student of the Bible, not willing to skip or add anything. Since the Bible has something to say about predestination, so does Calvin; since the Bible has something to say about prayer, so does Calvin. In his view, combining predestination and prayer works; if it does not satisfy a philosopher, so be it. Calvin the biblical theologian was also Calvin the pastor who led or participated in worship almost daily, so he also had to practice praying.1 The fascinating surprise is that from his earliest years as a reformer to the end of his life, Calvin taught plainly that Christians must pray for all people who live on earth. The exposition of the Lord’s Prayer in his 1536 Institutes of the Christian Religion states this very clearly. The prayer of the Christian ought then to be conformed to this rule in order that it may be in common and embrace all who are his brothers in Christ: not only those whom he presently sees and recognizes as such, but all people who dwell on earth. For what the Lord has determined regarding them is beyond our knowing, except that we ought to wish and hope for the best for them.2

Calvin goes on to say that “we ought to have in special affection those who are members of

1

This essay is part of a larger work in which the fuller exegetical history and notes will appear. John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion (1536), ch. 3; Ioannis Calvini opera selecta (ed. Peter Barth, Wilhelm Niesel, and Dora Scheuner; Munich: Christian Kaiser, 1926–52), Vol. I, 107; henceforth OS I.107; Institution of the Christian Religion (trans./notes Ford Lewis Battles; Atlanta: John Knox, 1975), 105. Hereafter cited as Battles. (The translation is slightly modified; e.g., here homo is the equivalent of anthropos, meaning human being, and thus Battles’ male language is altered in a fashion that reflects Calvin’s sense.) 2


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the household of faith” but this, while it is important, is hardly surprising. Note that Mr. Predestination expresses trust in God beyond any human wisdom. We do not know God’s will for those people who are not believers now, but we do know our job, which is to pray for good for them, not to make judgments about individuals. Scripture teaches that there are reprobates, as Calvin explained in the next edition of the Institutes, but who they are is known only to God unless God gives some special revelation, as in the cases of Cain or Esau or Judas. (There is no discussion of predestination per se in 1536; it was added in 1539 when Calvin was working on his commentary on Romans.3) Teaching and practice are not necessarily consistent for all people, however, so it is significant that Calvin himself practiced what he preached about predestination. When one of his colleagues identified the recently deceased Duc de Guise, the leading persecutor of Protestants in France, as reprobate, Calvin rebuked the preacher; without special revelation this was not a judgment a human being could make.4 Calvin also both taught and acted on his understanding that Christians are commanded to pray for all people, as this essay will explore. The first part is an examination of Calvin’s teaching, particularly the most important biblical text in its historical context. The second shorter part outlines how Calvin put this “praying for all people” into practice.

C A LV I N A N D T H E B I B L I C A L B A S I S F O R P R AY I N G F O R A L L P E O P L E The key biblical text which instructs Christians about praying for all people is 1 Tim 2:1–2, which Calvin quotes in the first Institutes in the context of praying for civil authorities. I urge, [Paul] says, that supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings be made for all people; for kings and all that are in authority, that we may lead a peaceable and quiet life in all piety and honorableness.5

At this point Calvin is not yet a pastor but speaks as a biblical scholar; another citation of 1 Tim 2:1 indicates that these prayers for all people are individual or private, i.e., not liturgical or public.6 In the next edition of the Institutes (1539), there is a shift in this interpretation, and additional references to praying for all people, especially rulers, are marked as part of public worship. “He told Timothy to make solemn prayers in church for kings and princes.”7 This point is reiterated in 1559.8 The intent was not to exclude prayers for rulers from private intercessions but to emphasize the importance of public recognition of civil authorities.

3 Elect known only to God, see Institutes IV.i.8 (mostly 1536 & 1539). “Predestination” is 3.21–24 in 1559; much of the discussion of Esau and Judas comes from 1539. The frequency of these names is not accidental since they are among the handful whom Scripture identifies as rejected (e.g., Rom. 9:13, “Jacob have I loved, Esau have I hated”). 4 Letter from Calvin to the French princess Renée, Duchess of Ferrara, January 1564; see Elsie A. McKee, ed., John Calvin: Writings on Pastoral Piety (Mahweh, N.J.: Paulist, 2001), 307ff; “To pronounce that he is damned, however, is to go too far, unless one had some certain and infallible mark of his reprobation. For that we must guard against presumption and temerity, for [there is no one who can know that] but one Judge before whose tribunal we have all to render an account” (310). Hereafter, Pastoral Piety. 5 Institutes 1536, ch. 6; OS I, 274; Battles, 303–4. 6 Institutes 1536, ch. 3; OS I, 102. 7 Institutes 1539, ch. 8 = 3.24.16; OS IV, 428. 8 Institutes 1559, IV.xx.5.


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To understand Calvin’s context, is it important to consider the exegetical history of this key passage, 1 Tim 2:1–2. The two objects of prayer listed, “all people” (v. 1) and “kings and rulers” (v. 2), are in theory distinguishable. However, because explanations of both pay special attention to praying for enemies or those who persecute the faithful, that challenge often becomes a dominant focus in each case. 1. Praying for “all people.” Expositions of 1 Tim 2:1 are marked by the social context of the theologian and virtually always include references to unbelievers, enemies, or those who do harm. John Chrysostom refers to prayers “for our neighbors, not only for the faithful, but for the unbelieving also.” However, he focuses most attention on how his Christian flock does not pray properly for fellow Christians.9 For many exegetes in medieval Latin Christendom, this verse merits no sustained comment; among those who discuss it, Dionysius the Carthusian gives a representative summary: “for the faithful and unbelievers, friends and enemies, those known and unknown.”10 Hugh of St. Cher refers to the church universal and ecclesiastical and civil rulers and strangers/enemies.11 In the Protestant Reformation, the lists take on a more immediate relevance. Luther links the NT and his own day, saying, “Those were gentile magistrates and ‘all people’ were also Turks, Tartars, and nevertheless [Paul says that the Christian] ought to pray for them, especially for kings.”12 The biblical text (1 Tim 2:1) uses four words for prayer, and sometimes these are identified with different categories of people; for example, among his various interpretations St. Cher considers one word to apply to prayers for the dead. Not infrequently in the Reformation a polemical note is heard: e.g., we should not pray for the dead!13 Praying for all people may focus not on a list of people but on God’s goodness and Christian love. Chrysostom’s sermon first says that God cares for all the world, which is the basis for praying for all people. The fruit of such prayer is that those who pray cannot hate the ones for whom they pray and the attitude of the latter will be changed.14 The famous preacher gives special attention to the fourth word for prayer, thanksgiving. For we must give thanks to God for the good that befalls others, as that He makes the sun to shine upon the evil and the good [Matt 5:45], and sends His rain both upon the just and the unjust. Observe how he would unite and bind us together, not only by prayer but by thanksgiving. For he who is urged to thank God for his neighbor’s good, is also bound to love him, and be kindly disposed towards him.15

This pastoral and moral orientation characterized by the reference to Matt 5:45 sometimes reappears in the Reformation, for example in Erasmus’ Paraphrases.16 Despite the popularity

9

Chrysostom, Homily 6 on 1 Tim 2:1–4; NCPN Fathers, vol. 13, 427 (language slightly modified/modernized). Dionysius, Opera omnia, Tomus XIII In omnes B. Pauli Epistolas (Monstrolii: Typis Cartusiae S.M. de Pratis, 1901), 415. 11 Hugh of St. Cher, Opera omnia, Tomus Septimus, In Epistolas omnes D. Pauli (Venice: Nicolas Pezzana, 1703), f210v. 12 Luther, Auslegung über den 1. Timotheusbrief, 1528. WA 26, 33. 13 Hugh of St. Cher, Opera omnia, Tomus Septimus, f210v. Reaction from Conrad Pellican, In omnes apostolicas epistolas, Pauli, Petri (Zürich: Froschauer, 1539), f480. 14 Chrysostom, Homily 6 on 1 Tim 2:1–4; NCPN Fathers, vol. 13, 426. 15 Chrysostom, Homily 6 on 1 Tim 2:1–4; NCPN Fathers, vol. 13, 427. 16 Erasmus, Opera Omnia (Basel, 1703–1706), Paraphrases, vol. 7, col. 1039. 10


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of both Chrysostom and Erasmus, the reference does not become common, but Calvin is among those who do adopt it, in his commentary.17 First [Paul] deals with public prayer and orders that it should be made not only for believers but for all [people]. Some might argue, “Why should we care for the welfare of unbelievers, since they have no connexion with us? Is it not enough if we who are brethren pray for one another and commend His whole Church to God? Strangers are nothing to us.” Paul sets himself against this perverse outlook and tells the Ephesians to include all [people] in their prayers and not to restrict them to the body of the church. . . . [H]e not only bids us to pray for the salvation of unbelievers, but also to give thanks for their prosperity and well being. The wonderful goodness which God shows us every day in making “His sun to rise on the good and the bad” is worthy of all our praise, and our love of our neighbour ought to extend to those who are unworthy of it.18

The commentary is clear but brief. The corresponding sermons on 1 Tim 2:1–2 give both a fuller explanation and particular attention to application, which includes expanding this exhortation by speaking of the entire human race and identifying all as neighbors. St. Paul exhorts Timothy that the faithful should busy themselves with praying to God not only for themselves and the church but also for all the human race. . . . The chief practice of God’s children is praying, for it is also the true proof of our faith that we have recourse to God and call on His name, and that each of us not only thinks of and cares for himself but that we include generally all who are joined with us and who are in some way near to us. So it is that God has put a union and tie among all people, that they should recognize each other as brothers or indeed as neighbors. . . . so we must extend our charity/love and care toward all, great and small, familiar and unknown.19

Praying for “all the human race” is not meant to make one forget those close at hand. Like Chrysostom, Calvin is much concerned to exhort his congregation about mutual love in their own context,20 because all people have one nature. God put us together. Wanting us to live together, then, He also put us under obligation so that each one might consider that he ought to share with his neighbors. For that reason He created us of one nature. When I see a person I must contemplate my own image there, and see and recognize myself in his person. . . . We also recognize what is said in Scripture, That no one hates his own flesh; for that is monstrous, something completely contrary to all humanity. Now when we speak of flesh: that extends to great and small, and to the most strange or alien in the world.21

Far away or near to us, all people are our own flesh and it is inhumane to hate them. However, there is more: all people are made in God’s image, and so we have another reason to love and pray for them.

17 See Luther, Auslegung über 1. Timotheusbrief, 1528, WA 26, 36. Bullinger, on 1 Tim. 2:1–2, In omnes apostolicas epistolas commentarii (Zürich: Froschauerr, 1537), f564. Calvin, commentary on 1 Tim. 2:1, Ioannis Calvini opera quae supersunt omnia (ed. Wilhelm Baum, Edward Cunitz, and Eduard Reuss; Brunswick: A. Schwetschke and Son (M. Bruhn), 1863–1900), Vol. 52:266 (hereafter, CO 52:266). 18 The Second Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Corinthians and the Epistles to Timothy, Titus and Philemon (trans. T. A. Smail; Edinburgh: St. Andrew, 1964), 205, 206; CO 52:265. 19 Sermon 11 on 1 Tim 2:1–2; CO 53:125. 20 Sermon 11 on 1 Tim 2:1–2; CO 53:128–129. 21 Sermon 11 on 1 Tim 2:1–2; CO 53:128.


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When St. Paul commands us to pray for all people he indicates that we ought to exercise our charity/love to each other, asking God to have mercy on all and to gather us together in the heavenly inheritance because He has created and formed us in His image. . . . If then we have some honor and reverence for God, there is good reason for us not to despise His image which He has engraved in all people.22

We pray for all people who are made in God’s image as an expression of our reverence for God, and the primary good that we ask for them—as for ourselves—is salvation, that God may have mercy on them as God has had mercy on us. Here the discussion of 1 Tim 2:1–2 is linked with the next two verses, which say that such prayers are good and acceptable to God who wills for all to be saved and come to the knowledge of God. Calvin follows Augustine’s explanation of “all” in v. 4 as meaning people of every nation and social state, not every individual. (This view is frequently cited in the medieval west as one among a number of opinions, but it becomes the interpretation for the Calvinist Reformed tradition.23) The means of salvation is proclamation of the gospel; Calvin explains this briefly in the commentary. Since the preaching of the Gospel brings life, [Paul] rightly concludes that God regards all [people] as being equally worthy to share in salvation. . . . There is a duty of love to care a great deal for the salvation of all those to whom God extends His call and to testify to this by godly prayers.24

Again, the corresponding sermon gives more space to the importance and gift of gospel preaching. Calvin emphasizes that listening with the ears is not enough; always it is the work of the Holy Spirit to make the word actually heard.25 Then he returns to the practical task given to Christians. So we see in summary St. Paul’s intention in this passage: that God wants His grace to be known to all the world, and He has commanded that His gospel be preached to all creatures; we must (as much as we are able) seek the salvation of those who today are strangers to the faith, who seem to be completely deprived of God’s goodness; let us strive to bring them to it.26

The message is clear: pray for all people to know God and be saved, and preach to them. 2. Praying for kings and rulers. Discussions of prayers for kings and other rulers reflect the social world and culture of the writers even more than prayers for “all people.” Theologians of the early church recognized that the kings and rulers of the NT age were not Christians and were often persecutors of the church and that this posed a real challenge for Christian prayers.

22

Sermon 11 on 1 Tim 2:1–2; CO 53:127, 128. See n.27 for Augustine. The ordinary gloss, Lyra, St. Cher, Dionysius, all give this as one among several possible interpretations, though Dionysius rejects this on the grounds of Matt 18:14 (p. 416). Protestants like Bucer (n.37) and Calvin adopt Augustine’s view and there is sometimes polemic (cf. OC 52:268–269; OC 53:147–156 emphasis on God’s grace, discussion of hidden-revealed will). Luther also treats God’s hidden-revealed will, Auslegung über 1. Timotheusbrief, 1528, WA 26, 36. Melanchthon cites Augustine but disagrees with him, Scripta Exegetica, CR 15:1319–1320. 24 Epistles to Timothy, 209; CO 52:269. 25 Sermon 13 on 1 Tim. 2:8; CO 53:156–58. 26 Sermon 13 on 1 Tim. 2:8; CO 53:158. 23


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Augustine refers to this briefly,27 but Chrysostom expresses it clearly. But some one perhaps will say, he meant not [prayers] for all people, but for all the faithful. How then does he speak of kings? For kings were not then worshipers of God, for there was a long succession of ungodly princes. . . . And then since the soul of some Christians might be slow at hearing this, and reject the exhortation, if at the celebration of the holy Mysteries it was necessary to offer prayers for a heathen king, he shows them the advantage of it. . . . For God has appointed government for the public good.28

Various parts of Chrysostom’s comment are picked up by his successors in both east and west. However, in the Latin west some of it was not relevant because all their kings were Christians. In fact, bishops were often territorial princes, so medieval exegetes could read this verse as a reference to ecclesiastical as well as civil rulers.29 Protestant theologians brought new perspectives on the roles of pastors and civil rulers and the character of ecclesiastical-civil relationships. Ministers of the church are pastors, not princes. Each one of the priesthood of believers, including civil rulers, can have a religious calling to serve God’s church; and even unbelieving rulers are established by God and must be obeyed according to biblical teaching. When Protestants explained 1 Tim 2:2, they were arguing on two fronts. Against the traditional church, they strongly emphasize the leadership roles that Christian princes have in the church; against “Anabaptists” who commonly rejected the idea that civil rulers could be Christians, they insist on praying for all rulers. Reaction to Rome and appreciation for Christian princes is especially evident in the first generation of the Reformation, when Luther30 and Zwingli31 both repeatedly use 1 Tim 2:1–2 for this purpose. The primary opponents Calvin has explicitly in view are usually Anabaptists, whom he considers “devoid of all humanity” in wanting to abolish magistracy. Exhorting his flock, he addresses another problem, the human pride in all people that makes them dislike being ruled by others. In response to both the principled and practical objections, he speaks of the privilege of having Christian rulers who not only provide for the public peace and moral society but also “undertake to promote religion, to maintain the worship of God, and to require reverence for sacred things”32 However, it is not only Anabaptists and people in Christian Geneva whom Calvin has in mind. The French exile/pastor knows well that there are still princes who persecute. [Yet the faithful must pray] for all magistrates, as was said about all people in general. For if we see princes who mistreat their subjects, overturn the pure teaching of the gospel,

27 Augustine [explaining vv. 2–4], “Otherwise someone might think . . . that we should not make these prayers for those from whom the Church suffers persecution, since the members of Christ are to be gathered from every kind of human being.” Letter 149, 18; in Letters 100–155 II/2 (trans./notes R. Teske, S.J.; Hyde Park, N.Y.: New City, 2003), 369. 28 Chrysostom, Homily 6 on 1 Tim. 2:1–4; NCPN Fathers, vol. 13, p. 426. 29 St. Cher, f210v; see also Dionysius, 415. 30 See for example, Luther, Ain lection wider die Rottengayster/ ond wie sich weltlich oberkayt halten sol (Wittenberg, 1525), B3r-v. 31 Huldrych Zwingli, Schriften (ed. T. Brunnschweiler & S. Lutz et al.; 4 vol.; Zürich: TVZ, 1995). Against papal rule, Artikel 37 of “Auslegung und Begründung der Thesen oder Artikel, die Huldrych Zwingli am 29. Januar 1523 bekanntgeben hat,” vol. 2, 361. On magistracy vs. Anabaptists, chap. 27 of “Kommentar über die wahre und falsche Religion,” vol. 4, 400. See also “Göttliche und menschliche Gerechtigkeit, 1523” vol. 1, 196. 32 Epistles to Timothy, 206–7; CO 52:267; cf. CO 53:133–34.


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who ask nothing but to trample everything under foot, who have no religion in them, we must indeed have compassion and pity for those who are tormented there.33

Calvin is very conscious of the “church under the cross” but here again (as with the relationship of prayers for the known and unknown, neighbors near and far) he says that “if we ought to pray for distant (strange) princes under whom we do not live, how much more ought we to pray for those who keep us in their protection. . . .”34 Considering the fact that this sermon was preached in late October 1554, when the Genevan magistracy was still opposed to Calvin—before the elections of February 1555—the praise is the more noteworthy. (Besides fitting his theological convictions, perhaps this was an exhortation to his opponents to change, since in the following sermon he states clearly that “one does not have to go outside the city of Geneva to be persecuted for the gospel.”35) 3. The Lord’s Prayer and praying for all people. One intriguing aspect of the exposition of praying for all people is the association between the Lord’s Prayer and 1 Tim 2:1ff. The patristic root of this, as of so many other points, is Chrysostom’s sermon on 1 Tim 2:1–4. God has given us a definite form of prayer, that we might ask for nothing human, nothing worldly. And you that are faithful know what you ought to pray for, how the whole Prayer is common. But one says, “It is not commanded there to pray for unbelievers.” This you would not say, if you understood the force, the depth, the hidden treasure of that Prayer. Only unfold it, and you find this also comprised within it. For it is implied, when one says in prayer, “Thy will be done on earth, as it is in Heaven.” Now, because in heaven there is no unbeliever, nor offender; if therefore it was for the faithful alone, there would be no sense in that expression. But it means: As there is none wicked in heaven, so let there be none on earth; but draw all people to the fear of Thee, make all people angels, even those who hate us, and are our enemies.36

Chrysostom’s thought was taken up by some exegetes, sometimes in expositions of Matthew, sometimes of 1 Timothy. Martin Bucer expresses this clearly in his commentary on the Synoptic Gospels in 1527. Discussing “forgive us our debts,” he quotes 1 Tim 2:4 about God willing all people to be saved and know Him. He interprets this in typical Augustinian fashion as all kinds of people and says: “since we cannot know them with certainty we ought to pray promiscuously for all” according to Paul’s teaching in 1 Tim 2:1–2.37 Calvin’s words in the 1536 Institutes, quoted above and retained without change to the end, are one of the clearest expressions of this interpretation of the Lord’s Prayer through the lens of 1 Tim 2:1ff. Here the fruit of Chrysostom’s and Bucer’s ideas is visible, though Calvin focuses on “our Father” rather than “in heaven as on earth.” In his note on the latter

33

Sermon 11 on 1 Tim 2:1–2; CO 53:131–32. Sermon 11 on 1 Tim 2:1–2; CO 53:132. Sermon 12 on 1 Tim 2:1–2; CO 53:142. 36 Chrysostom, Homily 6 on 1 Tim 2:1–4; NCPN Fathers, vol. 13, 428. 37 Martin Bucer, Enarrationes in Evangelia Matthaei, Marci, & Lucae, libri duo (Strassburg, 1527), 203r, 203v. 34 35


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phrase in the 1548 commentary, he addresses his mentors’ point in an indirect way. Calvin sees this petition as asking God that “all creatures may yield to Him” and that God may make all people “compliant and governable.” The question may be raised here, whether one should ask God for something which He states will never be, until the world come to an end. I reply, that there is no need to put every individual to the test, when we pray for the world to be obediently ordered at God’s bidding. It is enough that we testify, by our request, that we do hate and lament all that we see to be opposed to the will of God, and that we wish it abolished. . . .38

In effect, Calvin agrees with Chrysostom and Bucer that this petition of the Lord’s Prayer raises the issue of praying for all people so he must explain it. He regards it as contrary to what other Scriptures teach (about human rebellion) to understand this point as an assurance that all will obey (in this world). However, he also is prepared to leave the paradox and not argue about whether this prayer for all people actually applies to every individual. The focus for Christians is their own behavior and that of those they can influence; they pray for all to obey but concentrate on their own obedience. In his sermon on 1 Tim 2:8, Calvin expands the association between this pericope and the Lord’s Prayer in a somewhat different way, focusing on “our Father.” Here, there is no explicit reference to praying for all the world but rather an insistence on unity in prayer. [Christ] does not tell us each to call on God individually; when I say “Our” I speak in the name of all, and each one does the same. Thus we do not have access to pray to God if we are not joined together, for the one who separates himself from his neighbors closes his mouth such that he cannot pray to God in the fashion our Lord Jesus Christ ordained.39

The sequel to this point is Calvin’s consideration of those with whom we are joined to share together in prayer, and those not. For the rest, when we pray let us join together the churches also. If we want to pray to God well let us not do as many do who ask only to divide what God has joined together, so that we are separated like a dismembered body on account of some little ceremony which is nothing. . . . It is true that we cannot be joined together with those who separate from us; as we see the papists who call themselves Christians—but what? Can one have any sharing of prayer with them? Not at all, because they have departed from Jesus Christ. . . . But all who want to submit or belong to Jesus Christ, we must extend our hand to them, so that in mutual accord we may come to offer ourselves to God our Father.40

The first point is clearly an “ecumenical” openness to other Protestants. The second defines

38 A Harmony of the Gospels of Matthew, Mark, and Luke (trans. A. W. Morrison; Edinburgh: St. Andrew, 1972), vol. 1, 208–09; CO 45:198. 39 Sermon 16 on 1 Tim 2:8, CO 53:190. 40 Sermon 16 on 1 Tim 2:8, CO 53:191.


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why the faithful cannot pray with others. The breadth of Calvin’s thought about praying for “all people” and the ways that it is circumscribed are the same throughout his teaching, but the homiletical context here shapes the interpretation. Where the commentary discusses the theological contradiction raised by Chrysostom’s interpretation, the sermons focus on what people should do. The Genevans have already been exhorted to pray for all people and that includes Catholics; here they are given practical instructions about those with whom they can(not) pray—something of significant relevance in a city where at least a few still did not see anything very wrong with attending Catholic worship when they were in a neighboring village of that confession.41 And yet . . . after an extended explanation of predestination in preaching on 1 Tim 2:4, Calvin returns to a strong exhortation to pray for all people. Nevertheless, following the exhortation made here, let us not cease to pray for all people in general: for St. Paul shows us how God wants all to be saved, i.e., from all peoples and nations. Yet we must not fix our attention on the diversity which is manifest among people in such a way that we do not therefore recognize that God has created all of us in His image and likeness: that we are His work, that His goodness can extend to those who are today quite far from Him, as we also have experienced it. For in the time when He drew us to Himself (as has been said), were we not His enemies? How is it then that we are now members of His household of faith, children of God, and members of our Lord Jesus Christ? It is because He has gathered us to Himself. Is He not also the Savior of the whole world? Did Jesus Christ come to be the Savior of only two or three people? Not at all; but He is the Mediator between God and people. Therefore so much the more ought we to be sure that God keeps and avows us as His flock, when we strive to attract those who seem far away from it today. Therefore let us be consoled and strengthened in our vocation: if there is a dreadful brokenness or dispersion so that it seems we are indeed wretched creatures, lost and completely damned, let us nevertheless strive as much as we are able to draw to salvation those who seem quite far from it, and especially let us pray to God for them, waiting patiently for Him to please to make known His good will toward them, as He has already made it known toward us.42

Calvin’ s interpretation of praying for all people is grounded in his understanding of the complex interaction of various texts of Scripture. From the viewpoint of his carefully constructed theology, which cannot omit anything but must uphold the whole Bible, it is notable that he not only harmonizes 1 Tim 2:1 and 2:4 but also fits these together with the Lord’s Prayer in a way that harmonizes Matt 6:9 and 6:10 (as Chrysostom and Bucer read human beings to distinguish the elect from the reprobate, and because God’s word instructs us to pray “for all people” and all are made in God’s image, we practice praying for all people.

41 A number of cases are found in the Consistory registers. Karen Spierling has gathered many that relate to family networks; see for example, “Making Use of God’s Remedies: Negotiating the Material Care of Children in Reformation Geneva,” Sixteenth Century Journal 36.3 (2005): 785ff. 42 Sermon 13, on 1 Tim 2:3–5; CO 53:159–60.


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C A LV I N ’ S P R AY E R S F O R A L L P E O P L E Calvin’s teaching on prayer has received much more attention than his actual prayers, although the latter have begun to attract more concentrated interest. The best known prayers are the ones Calvin prepared for his liturgy, “The Form of Prayers.” There, the Sunday morning and the Day of Prayer texts have significant sections of intercessory prayers where the instructions of 1 Tim 2:1–2 can be perceived. The Sunday form gives half a page to rulers (including explicit mention of the city magistrates); a paragraph each to pastors and ministers, to all people, to the afflicted, and to the persecuted. This is further extended with prayers for those gathered in worship, for acknowledgment of sin, followed by a paraphrase of the Lord’s Prayer.43 The petition for all people expresses Calvin’s thought very clearly. We pray You now, O most gracious God and merciful Father, for all people everywhere. As it is Your will to be acknowledged as the Savior of the whole world, through the redemption wrought by Your Son Jesus Christ, grant that those who are still estranged from the knowledge of Him, being in the darkness and captivity of error and ignorance, may be brought by the illumination of Your Holy Spirit and the preaching of Your gospel to the right way of salvation, which is to know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent (John 17:3). Grant that those whom You have already visited with Your grace and enlightened with the knowledge of Your word may grow in goodness day by day, enriched by Your spiritual blessings: so that all together we may worship You with one heart and one voice and may give honor and reverence to Your Christ, our Master, King, and Lawgiver. Amen.44

The Day of Prayer includes the same general prayer for rulers (without the special reference to Geneva), and for ministers and for all people. However, the shape and extent of the intercessions for the afflicted are distinctive. After a long section expressing repentance, there are prayers, by name, for members of the community who are suffering some affliction and then intercessions for churches and people beyond the local community.45 The fact that the Day of Prayer was observed every week meant that this text, like the Sunday liturgy, was very familiar to faithful Genevans. Calvin’s prayers in the daily worship, which the printed liturgy left to the preacher’s discretion, rather naturally express many of the same themes as the published liturgy. Prayers for pastors and rulers are brief; those for people in need, suffering from either physical afflictions or persecutions, are more extensive.46 It is particularly interesting to note the phrase that introduces this “extemporaneous” prayer, which Calvin habitually used on Sunday afternoon and all

43

McKee, Pastoral Piety, 126–31. Ibid., 128. 45 Ibid., 172–77. 46 Ibid., 151–52. 44


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week days except Wednesday’s Day of Prayer. He says, “May He give this grace not only to us but also to all people and nations on earth. . . .”47 That this was heard and practiced by at least some of his followers is evident in the form for household morning prayers that Jean Rivery put together from Calvin’s own prayers. One of the links introduced by Rivery after the main prayer is, “Therefore we offer our supplications for all people, as for ourselves, in the name of Your Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, praying as He has taught us: ‘Our Father, who art in heaven . . .’”48 Rivery took to heart and passed on Calvin’s association of the Lord’s Prayer with praying for all people. His book was printed and directed to the family context, which was the more important in proportion, as believers in France or elsewhere under the cross did not have access to daily corporate worship as did Genevans. Calvin and prayer—the fundamental orientation of 1 Tim 2:1–2— joined with the perfect model of the Lord’s Prayer, shaped Calvin’s teaching and practice of prayer: God “Our Father” wills for Christians to pray for all who dwell on earth.

47 48

McKee, “Weekday Worship in Calvin’s Geneva,” in Pastoral Piety, 151. Ibid., 219.


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Calvin as Biblical Interpreter Among the Ancient Philosophers DAVID C. STEINMETZ Professor of the History of Christianity Duke Divinity School

L

God providentially guided the ancient classical authors into the perception of truths and the unmasking of errors. Even the errors they never caught are instructive. For Calvin, the only proper response to this rich intellectual heritage for a devout Christian people called to love God with their minds as well as with their hearts must always remain profound gratitude.

ike most educated Frenchmen of his generation, John Calvin studied the ancient classics before preparing for a profession—in Calvin’s case, the law. His writings are full of allusions to the literature and philosophy of late antiquity. As a young man, he even cherished the ambition of becoming a classical scholar and wrote a critical commentary on Seneca’s De Clementia, a treatise on mercy addressed to Seneca’s one-time student, the emperor Nero. In the end, De Clementia was the only ancient treatise Calvin was able to edit before his life took him in a sharply different direction. With the welcome patronage of the bishop of Noyon, Calvin could afford an elite education in the arts at Paris and later earn a doctorate in civil law at Orleans (with additional legal study at Bourges). Like his classmates, he was as comfortable in the Latin language as in his native French and, like the best among them, he could read, think, and speak in elegant Latin prose. While he later mastered Greek and Hebrew, his education was the continuation and development of a long tradition that had its roots in the culture of ancient Rome. Although it would be too much to claim that Calvin was formed intellectually like a late Roman gentleman, it would not be too much to claim he was the intellectual heir of generations of late Roman gentlemen, from his admiration for Ciceronian rhetoric and Stoic philosophy to his study of the fundamental principles of Roman law. The interplay between Christianity and classical culture had not ceased with the death of the ancient Christian writers but was still a living part of his own world. Calvin found that lively conversation with ancient philosophers remained an inescapable part of his theological task.1

1 The standard work on this subject is Charles B. Partee, Calvin and Classical Philosophy (Studies in the History of Christian Thought 14; Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1977).


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When Calvin read the Bible, he did so, not only in company with his contemporaries and the Christian traditions that formed them, but also in an inescapable dialogue with the ancient philosophers of Athens and Rome—their wisdom, their faults, their ideas, both good and bad. He knew them “otherwise than by hearsay” and, as his commentary on Seneca demonstrates, could move sure-footedly from Aristotle to the Stoics to Cicero and back again to Plato. The ancient writers provided Calvin with categories, options, angles of vision, maxims, aphorisms, and figures of speech. They formed a considerable part of the furniture of his mind and were as familiar and comfortable to him as the streets of his native Noyon. There were, of course, other influences on Calvin, from Christian fathers like Augustine and Chrysostom to medieval divines like Peter Lombard and John Duns Scotus, to say nothing of contemporary reformers like Philip Melanchthon and Martin Bucer. Yet it would be a serious mistake to conclude that Calvin was nothing more than the sum total of the influences on him. Still, when Calvin’s contribution to the history of biblical interpretation is weighed and assessed, no one should underestimate the fact that he read Scripture with a mind formed by the classical authors he cited so effortlessly. In Calvin’s case, Jerusalem never parted company with Athens.

C A LV I N A N D P L AT O Calvin was not the first Christian theologian to value classical learning. Early Christianity was born into a society dominated by Greek and Roman culture. The process of the assimilation of this classical culture did not begin with the first Christian communities (nor end with Calvin and his contemporaries) but was well under way in the Jewish communities that preceded and, to some extent, spawned them. Not only did Gentile Christians read the stories of Abraham and Sarah, of Moses and Miriam, and of David and Tamar with minds formed by Greco-Roman rhetoric, philosophy, and literature, but so, too, did the first Jewish Christians. As the ancient Israelites plundered the riches of the Egyptians during their hasty exodus from Egypt, so, too, did the early Christians—especially their learned converts—bring with them old habits of thinking and seeing characteristic of the rich classical culture in which they had been formed. Not every idea from classical culture found a natural home among early Christian intellectuals. In the end, no one could explain who Jesus was without reference to the long biblical narrative leading from Abraham and Sarah in the OT to Mary and Joseph in the NT.


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While early Christians were not satisfied to use biblical terms like “Son of David,” “Son of Man,” “Suffering Servant,” or “Messiah,” as though they were exhaustive, they could not omit them without giving a distorted version of who Jesus was and the significance of his life and mission. Whoever else Jesus might be and whatever else he might have done, he was first and foremost the fulfillment of an ancient Abrahamic covenant. Without that biblical narrative, Jesus was unintelligible. Some ideas from classical culture looked promising as interpretive tools for the Christian message, but proved disappointing on closer inspection. For example, the Greek philosopher Plato differed with philosophers like Aristotle who thought the human soul was mortal.2 Plato argued that souls were nothing if not immortal. Immortality of the soul was not exactly the point made by Christians, who emphasized the culturally distasteful idea, borrowed from Judaism, of a resurrection of the dead. Still, Christians did not give up on souls. They also thought that souls continued to exist by the will of God after death and prior to the bodily resurrection, even if in a somewhat shadowy and less than fully human form—all of which made Plato seem at first like a natural ally of the Christian gospel. Unfortunately, Plato appears to have worked from a set of assumptions that early Christians found unacceptable. His world divided naturally into things temporal, which started and ended in time, and, things immortal, which neither began in time nor ended there. The principle was simple enough: whatever has a beginning has an end, and whatever has no end has no beginning. The soul is self-moving and therefore can neither come into being nor be destroyed. In other words, Plato set out to prove the immortality of the soul (that it has a beginning but no end) but ended by proving its divinity (that the soul lacks both, beginning and end). Granted both the natural immortality of the human soul and the natural mortality of the human body, every immortal soul needed to be recycled over time in many perishable bodies. In short, Plato’s view of the immortality of the soul has more in common with the reincarnationist views of Shirley MacLaine than with the theology of Saint Paul. Calvin understood these distinctions quite well and did not juxtapose resurrection of the body and immortality of the soul as mutually exclusive alternatives. He rejected the disposable body and self-perpetuating soul of Platonic philosophy as well as the Aristotelian soul that was inseparable from its body. The soul continues to exist when its body dies, but only and solely by the will of God. The soul is an “immortal yet created essence.”3 But the soul, even though it is the “nobler part” of human beings, was not created to remain divorced

2 Plato is aware of arguments against the immortality of the soul as he makes clear in the Phaedo 226–7, 231–39. Aristotle treats the issue in De Anima, I.4, II.1. See also C. C. W. Taylor, Socrates: A Very Short Introduction (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998); Richard Kraut, ed., The Cambridge Companion to Plato (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992). 3 Institutes I.xv.2.


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from the body.4 Human redemption is never complete until the body is restored to life, and soul and body are reunited. What Calvin regarded as exegetically unviable is the notion that the soul sleeps until the resurrection, an idea he attributed to the Anabaptists. He was convinced souls continue to exist by the will of God, are fully conscious, capable of both perception and intelligent reflection, but remain as less than fully redeemed until rejoined to a human body. How else could one make sense of the parable of Lazarus and the rich man or the words of Jesus to the thief on the cross, “Today you will be with me in paradise”? In his treatise against the Anabaptists and their doctrine of the soul’s sleep, Calvin produced an astonishing list of texts that either flatly contradicted the doctrine or were rendered unintelligible by it.5 This is not to say that there are not many ideas of Platonic or Neo-Platonic origin that rest comfortably in the theology of John Calvin. Indeed, it would have been remarkable if Calvin, alone among his educated peers, had no Platonic elements whatever in his thought. There were, after all, ideas in Plato that seemed to Calvin to have grasped at the truth. Unlike Epicurus, Plato offered in Timaeus a theory of creation. In his view, a divine day laborer, the so-called craftsman or demiurge, had created the world by reordering the primordial chaos that preceded it. Unfortunately, chaos was not as pliable as the craftsmen would have liked, and its stubborn disorder prevented him from making a perfect world. Still, he did the best he could with the materials at his disposal—a theory of the origin of the universe that was not quite what the Christians had in mind when they spoke about creation out of nothing. But to affirm a creator god of sorts was, from Calvin’s perspective, at least a step in the right direction. Furthermore, when Calvin celebrated the primacy of the soul over the body and spoke feelingly about the body as a prison house, he was not merely echoing Platonic sentiments (though he was surely doing that as well). Calvin was a man who suffered from chronic ill health (from tuberculosis to ulcerated hemorrhoids). He knew from bitter experience how imprisoning the human body can be. But at the same time, he was firmly committed to the Christian doctrine of resurrection. The resurrection of Jesus Christ closed the door for him on Plato’s view of immortal souls in disposable bodies. Still, in the short run, Calvin agreed with St. Paul that the human body is a tent waiting to be struck, a perishable entity laid aside at death. Calvin joined Paul in awaiting—as Plato did not—the resurrection that completed human redemption.

4

Institutes III.xxv.3. Calvin’s Psychopannychia is a long discussion of biblical texts Calvin regards as relevant. It can be found in Ioannis Calvini opera quae supersunt omnia (59 vols.; ed. Wilhelm Baum, Edward Cunitz, and Eduard Reuss; Brunswick: A. Schwetschke and Son [M. Bruhn], 1863–1900). 5


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C A LV I N A N D T H E E P I C U R E A N S If Plato needed careful correction at Calvin’s hands, Epicurus and his Roman disciple, the poet Lucretius, required a more drastic treatment. Over and over again, Calvin makes it painfully clear that he regards the main tenets of Epicurean philosophy as entirely incompatible with Christian teaching. Either Epicurean philosophy is true, in which case Christian theology is hopelessly and irredeemably false, or Christianity is true, in which case Epicurean philosophy is a sad delusion. While it is difficult to spell out with certainty the details of Epicurean philosophy, the main lines are clear enough.6 The existence of the world is not the result of the action of a creator God or gods, however conceived, but of random collisions among atoms. No one created the atoms; they were simply there from the very beginning. The gods did not reshape the atoms into an ordered cosmos, but were themselves the product of certain random couplings and collisions. In other words, gods as envisioned by the Epicureans did not create the world. They were created by it. Human beings and the gods have a common origin in a random concatenation of atoms and a common status as “creatures” of an accidental world. However, unlike the gods, human beings are mortal. They were not “made” to last, if we can use the word “made” at all in a creatorless creation. Furthermore, the gods have no interest whatever in human beings and make no effort to guide their lives by a kindly providence. Indeed, Calvin’s characterization of an Epicurean deity as a “God in a watchtower” may actually overstate the degree of interest the gods have in mere mortals.7 After all, there is no evidence the gods are even spectators of human affairs, much less concerned spectators. Calvin shared Cicero’s distaste for the Epicurean idea that human beings should pursue pleasure as their highest good rather than cultivate virtue. Of course, Epicurus did not have in mind a bacchanalian orgy of sensual pleasures. On the contrary, excessive pleasure was sure to disappoint its practitioners in a way that moderate pleasure would not. The Epicureans were not against sex or alcohol, but these pleasures should be enjoyed in moderation. There were, after all, thousands of moderate pleasures possible, from reading a good book or watching a spectacular sunset to eating a ripe pear or taking a brisk walk with the dogs. Ironically, to maximize pleasure the Epicureans found themselves compelled to cultivate at least one virtue, the virtue of temperance. “Nothing in excess” was the key to happiness. The good news, as Epicurus and Lucretius understood it, was that death is the end of

6 Marcus Tullius Cicero provides a great deal of information about Epicureanism in De finibus I.9–21 and De natura deorum I.8–20. 7 Institutes I.xvi.8, I.xviii.1.


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human existence. There is no afterlife, no judgment, no accountability, no punishment, and, in short, nothing whatever to fear. The non-existence that follows death will be like the non-existence that preceded birth: no pain, no regrets, no worries, just the endless peace of non-being. While Calvin found nothing to admire in Epicureanism (or in his unnamed contemporaries who followed, either openly or covertly, its tenets), he found particularly distressing the notion that God has little or no interest in human affairs and does not guide whatever transpires in history by the secret “bridle” of his providence.8 The notion of a God in a watchtower, a detached and indifferent deity, who may observe but never interferes in human life or shapes human destiny, seemed to him a particularly toxic and misleading notion. No Epicurean Samuel ever raised a monument to divine help. No Epicurean Newman ever prayed for divine guidance. The Epicurean gods were not dead, but they were clearly underachievers, bored, disengaged, and lazy, taking no interest in human life and unlikely to change. For Calvin, God is the great helmsman who is steering history toward its final end and ultimate destination. Providence is not merely a matter of seeing, but of acting. It involves not only God’s “eyes,” but also God’s “hands.” There is no such thing as an event not willed by God, though one has to be careful in defining God’s will in relation to events that are evil. Not a sparrow falls to earth without the will of God. So far from the “lazy God” of the Epicureans (the so-called deus otiosus), Calvin’s God is never in repose, never withdrawn from the world, but always engaged, in bringing the world by his “secret plan” to its predetermined end.

CALVIN AND THE STOICS Not surprisingly, Calvin found more to like in Stoicism, which argued that happiness is found in virtue and stressed rationality, objectivity, and clear thinking over passion—not that Calvin escaped entirely the famously short temper of his father and older brother.9 Seneca, the Roman Stoic whom Calvin chose to edit, was concerned primarily with moral issues, Stoicism being, after all, as much a way of life as a view of reality. The sage or practitioner who attains wisdom through the cultivation of virtue is the only person who can attain some degree of freedom from the forces that shape the destiny of the unreflective, though such “freedom” seems to be largely a liberated attitude rather than freedom of action in the metaphysical sense. It is, after all, impossible for human beings to

8 9

Institutes I.xvi.8. Brad Inwood, ed., The Cambridge Companion to the Stoics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003).


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control history. What they can control is their judgment concerning what happens in history and their feelings toward it. Voluntary evil—what Christians label sin—is generally regarded by Stoics as the result of ignorance. By growing in virtue and thus in wisdom, the more advanced adherents of the Stoic way of life are largely indifferent to the ups and downs of human existence. Since happiness is found in virtue, Stoics are happy in good weather and in bad, in times of joy as well as in grief, in illness no less than in good health. Happiness does not rest on circumstances, but only in devotion to virtue. Stoics have learned (to quote St. Paul), in “whatsoever state” they find themselves, “therewith to be content.” Still, whatever happens, happens by necessity. It is part of a perfectly rational whole that cannot be changed, though virtuous human beings who live (as they should) in accordance with nature can adjust to whatever the future may bring. As Epictetus observed in his Handbook 8: “Do not seek to have events happen as you want them to, but instead want them to happen as they do happen, and your life will go well.”10 In the words of the old Doris Day song, “Whatever will be will be.” It is clear that Calvin preferred the Stoics to the Epicureans by a wide margin. In his commentary on Seneca (De Clementia I.1), he summed up his view by remarking that “the Stoics, who attribute the superintendence of human affairs to the gods, assert providence, and leave nothing to mere chance. The Epicureans, although they do not deny the existence of the gods, do the closest thing to it: they imagine the gods to be pleasure loving, idle, not caring for mortals, lest anything detract from their pleasures. . . .” Calvin regarded the Stoics and Aristotelians as “closer to the truth” than the Epicureans, because the Stoics value virtue for its own sake and the Aristotelians for its proper use. On the whole, Calvin seemed to prefer the Stoic notion that virtue should be esteemed for its own sake and not depend on anything else, not even its practice. On the one hand, Calvin agreed with the Stoics that nothing happens by chance, and that every event, however trivial, is determined by God (though Calvin and the Stoics had different gods in view). Human beings cannot change the course of history, but they can believe that there is a governing rationality behind its apparently haphazard twists and turns. Nothing, not even a toss of the dice at a gaming table, is contingent; everything happens by necessity. While human beings, even the most astute or prescient, may be surprised by what happens tomorrow, the Stoic deity never is.

10

Nicholas White, Handbook of Epictetus (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1983).


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On the other hand, although Calvin admires the Stoics for their unwavering commitment to virtue and their distrust of a haphazard universe, he is no Stoic. He cannot imitate Tertullian by accepting, as Tertullian did, the materialistic metaphysics of the Stoics in which “spirit” becomes a kind of rarefied matter. Nor is he an admirer of a studied indifference in the face of grief and misfortune so esteemed by the Stoics. David wept for the loss of his son Absalom, Peter for his denial of Christ, and Jesus over an unrepentant Jerusalem— a failure of discipline that would have disqualified them from being considered Stoic sages. While Calvin may be regarded as “Stoic” in his view of a deterministic universe in which nothing happens by mere chance, he is not “Stoic” in his view of God, who so loved the world that he died for it.11 The good news for Calvin is not merely that the universe is not in the hands of the dark powers of fate and fortune (though that is worth celebrating) or even in the care of a god who is indifferent to the misfortunes of “unaccommodated man, poor, bare, forked creature.” The good news is that the world is in the hands of a God “whose nature and whose name is Love.” Behind the doctrine of providence, even behind the dark abyss of predestination, lies the mystery of divine love. Nothing in Stoicism even comes close.

C A LV I N A N D C I C E R O The Roman statesman, lawyer, and man of letters, Marcus Tullius Cicero, was important for Calvin for a wide variety of reasons, not least for serving as his informal tutor in the teaching of ancient Epicureanism. Cicero was no Epicurean—far from it—though his best friend Atticus claimed to be. Unlike Atticus, Cicero could never bring himself to regard even moderate pleasure as the chief end of human life. Like the Stoics, Cicero commended the pursuit of virtue as the only worthy end of a human life rightly ordered.12 Cicero was also not a Stoic, though he admired aspects of their philosophy. His philosophical starting-point was the skepticism of the later Academy of Plato, having studied with its former head, Philo of Larissa. What the Academics admired about Socrates as portrayed by Plato was his uncanny ability to call into question both sides of any argument and to undermine deftly the dogmatism of adversaries too certain of the correctness of their positions. Socrates moved dialectically from side to side, showing the flaws in every argument and the uncertainty in every certitude. It was a method much admired by Cicero, who never gave it up, even when his mind altered on certain substantive questions. He found

11 12

Calvin is particularly critical of the Stoics in Institutes I.xvi.9. For useful introductions, see J. G. F. Powell, ed., Cicero the Philosopher: Twelve Papers (Oxford: Clarendon, 1999).


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their dialectic useful for his work as a legal advocate and cherished the intellectual freedom it gave him from any philosophical dogmatism. Martin Luther, on the other hand, was no admirer of this method and chided Erasmus for his attempt to see every side of a question and to suspend judgment on difficult but essential questions. “The Holy Spirit is no skeptic,” thundered Luther. “Take away assertions and you have taken away Christianity.”13 Luther’s adversaries labeled him a Stoic and regarded his deterministic account of the human will as the final proof. They dismissed his tough and unyielding stance on difficult questions and mocked his certitude as far too certain by half. Calvin agreed with Luther and for many of the same reasons Luther offered. While Calvin regarded humility, even intellectual humility, as a virtue, he worried that skeptics might overdo humility by doubting what never should be doubted. Like G. K. Chesterton, Calvin could imagine a race of skeptics too humble to believe the multiplication table. Though Calvin disagreed with Cicero over the utility of Academic skepticism, he was deeply in his debt for insight into important issues in ancient philosophy. It was Cicero, after all, who tagged the Epicureans as practical atheists, a charge repeated by Calvin in his treatise, De scandalis, and in more detail by his one-time college head, Noel Beda. Neither Calvin nor Beda were overly concerned with ancient Epicureans, but were far more interested in contemporary figures thought to be more or less Epicurean, like the painter Hans Baldung Grien, or the writer François Rabelais—although the alleged last words of Rabelais sound more like Cicero than Lucretius: “I am off in search of a great perhaps.” Lucretius and the Epicureans were not expecting to find “a great perhaps,” but only the certitude of endless nonexistence. Anything else was a fairy tale. Cicero also provided Calvin with an idea not directly found in St. Paul, but that Calvin regarded as an exegetically illuminating gloss on what he did say in Rom 1. Paul argued that the Gentiles, although they lacked the law and the prophets, nevertheless knew from the natural order that there was a God. To be sure, the Gentiles knew less about the true God than the Jews did. But the crucial question was not how much they knew, but what they did with what they did know—and on this theme Paul was nothing but gloomily pessimistic. In his view, the Gentiles refused to know the true God and substituted false gods made in the likeness of creatures, all with predictably disastrous moral consequences. Calvin added to Paul’s argument an idea from Cicero that all human beings have an innate or intuitive knowledge that there is a god or gods of some sort. This knowledge can be suppressed, but it cannot be avoided. It is the unsought answer to an unasked question

13 Martin Luther, “De servo arbitrio” in Luthers Werke in Auswahl 3 (ed. Otto Clemen; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1966), 98–100.


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written on the human heart. Cicero called it a “sense of divinity” and regarded it as universal.14 It may even explain to Cicero and Calvin why the Epicureans, who have no use for gods, nevertheless affirm their existence. Still, gods who do nothing godlike are not-gods, and philosophers who affirm their existence are, to all intents and purposes, atheists, however theistically they may construct their theoretical metaphysics. It could be said of the incompetent and lazy gods of the Epicureans as of incompetent physicians: “he is not a healer who does not heal” (Medicus non est qui non medetur). Calvin, of course, had an idea in mind that is somewhat more complex than the notion of a straightforward revelation of God’s power and deity through the natural order, even when coupled with an inescapable “sense of divinity.” While Calvin had no doubt whatever that the “heavens declare the glory of God” and that some inkling that a god exists is present in everyone without exception, he wants to explain why human beings fail to see what is plainly before them. He is not satisfied with the argument that human beings see clearly the self-revelation of God in nature and history and simply abuse what they know (though he knows that people are wicked enough to do precisely that). In Calvin’s view, the human intellect is not merely limited and fallible, as Cicero would be the first to admit. It is fundamentally damaged goods. Sin has skewed the human intellect as badly it has corrupted the human will.15 Calvin argued that human beings are like old men who want to read a book, but have mislaid their glasses. They can see well enough to know that the book they want to read is on the table before them, but, when they open it, unfortunately, the words seem blurred and illegible. The problem is not with the print itself but with their sight. Their vision would have been excellent, if the human race had not fallen. But no one now sees the world with unfallen eyes. Of course, Cicero had nothing to say about a primordial fall and would have had a difficult time with Calvin’s argument. But he did provide one of the key elements in Calvin’s interpretation of Paul by suggesting a universal “sense of divinity.” The notion strengthened Calvin’s argument for human responsibility before God and helped him explain why fallen human beings are inveterate idolaters. Calvin referred to the human mind as a “factory of idols.” Confronted by the generous self-revelation of God in the universe, even if dimly seen, and haunted by a sense of divinity, sinners grasp for the true God in nature and catch instead some poor substitute, a non-god whose claims are hollow and whose promises are empty. The human condition cannot therefore be described for Calvin as a neutral stance

14 Calvin cites Cicero on Rom 2:8 and 3:9, but not on Rom 1:18–23. He introduces the concept of “sense of divinity” in Institutes I.iii.2 and I.iv.4. Cf. Cicero, De natura deorum 1.14.63. But Calvin intends the commentaries and the Institutes to complement each other. 15 I have treated this argument in detail in ch. 2, “Calvin and the Natural Knowledge of God,” in David C. Steinmetz, Calvin in Context (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995), 23–39.


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toward the true God, but only as a firm commitment to a false one. Faith cannot make a new commitment until it renounces the old one.

AT H E N S A N D J E R U S A L E M It may seem to a modern reader that Calvin’s citations of, and allusions to, classical authors may be either a quaint archaism (like a penchant for collecting antique china busts of John Wesley) or even an unfortunate affectation, a sort of window dressing that does nothing to advance whatever substantive point Calvin was trying to make. But it would be a serious misreading of Calvin’s mind to reduce the significance of his engagement with classical sources to a kind of non-essential homework display. Calvin engaged the world of Plato and Aristotle, of Lucretius and Seneca, because it was the intellectual world in which he lived and in which he had been formed. He was, if you like, speaking the native language of the educated classes in sixteenth-century France and not merely the obsolete dialect of a long-forgotten and scarcely relevant past. When Calvin used words like “virtue” or “soul” or “immortal,” he was using language with a long history in Western culture. No educated person could say “immortality of the soul” without thinking of Plato’s positive (but problematic) employment of the phrase or of Aristotle’s negative assessment of Plato’s arguments. There were, after all, people in Calvin’s world who were called “Stoics” and “Skeptics” and “Epicureans.” The categories may not have fit exactly Calvin’s contemporaries, but they were close enough to be useful labels in a rough sorting. When Calvin fulminated against modern “Epicureans” in his century (as Archbishop Thomas Bradwardine had fulminated against modern “Pelagians” in the fourteenth century), he was not criticizing people who had too refined a taste in food and drink—not epicures in our sense—but agnostics who believed too little. At best these skeptical Europeans affirmed a god who took no interest in them; at worst they took no interest in any god, especially not the Christian God. All of which means that often classics-deprived students who read Calvin today (or Luther’s De servo arbitrio, for that matter) may be unable to grasp the point when Calvin (or Luther) muster ancient authors to help them clarify a point of theology or interpret a biblical text. But the arguments of Calvin and Luther, for all their unfamiliar twists and turns, are worth understanding. Even though Calvin always valued what he regarded as the final authority of Scripture over the lesser authority of ancient non-Christian writers, how-


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ever perceptive, he knew that ancient wisdom was the providential gift of a good God and should never be despised. At the same time, no philosophy, ancient or modern, fits in every respect the odd shape of the Christian gospel. The inescapable fact of philosophical asymmetry often makes Christian intellectuals seem like eclectic thinkers, who, so to speak, pick the strawberries out of the philosophical fruit salad and leave the kiwi untouched. To some extent, the charge is true. Even Thomas Aquinas could not follow Aristotle on every question, not even every purely philosophical question, without doing damage to fundamental Christian convictions. Calvin was, if anything, more eclectic. While he found much to like in Seneca, Plato, and Cicero, and numbered them among his teachers. he did not become a latter day member of an ancient school. In his view, Christians have a moral duty to engage secular learning at its best. After all, baptism is a renunciation of sin, not a wholesale repudiation of culture. But Christians have no duty to buy an entire ancient philosopher, whiskers and all, and declare themselves Stoics or Platonists or Aristotelians. Commitment to Christ requires a looser commitment to everything and everyone else. Still, Tertullian went too far when he suggested that Jerusalem should have nothing to do with Athens, as though ancient wisdom clashed at every point with the self-revelation of God to Israel and the church. That might have been the case if, as the Epicureans maintained, there were no providential care of erring and wayward humanity. But the Epicureans were wrong. God made the marvelously inventive human intellect and providentially guided the ancient classical authors into the perception of some truths and the unmasking of some errors. Even the errors they never caught are instructive. For Calvin, the only proper response to this rich intellectual heritage for a devout Christian people called to love God with their minds as well as with their hearts is—and must always remain—profound gratitude.


From Erasmus to Calvin: Exploring the Roots of Reformed Hermeneutics JAMES BRASHLER Professor of Bible Union-PSCE Calvin’s debt to the church reformers who preceded him both inside and outside the reform movements of the sixteenth century has not been sufficiently understood or appreciated. The humanistic methods of interpreting and teaching classical texts—including Scripture—as developed by Erasmus of Rotterdam decisively shaped Calvin’s biblical hermeneutic.

O

n the occasion of the 500th anniversary of the birth of John Calvin, at least one thing is agreed upon by his most ardent admirers and his most vociferous critics: as a second generation reformer of the church, Calvin developed his own ideas about the gospel in conversation with earlier voices of reform, especially the voices of well known first generation spokesmen for reform like Ulrich Zwingli, Martin Luther, Phillip Melanchthon, and Martin Bucer. What has not been acknowledged by many who call themselves Calvinists, however, is that Calvin—especially in his primary ministry of interpreting and preaching the Scriptures—inherited a rich and varied stream of academic and ecclesiastical traditions from less well-known first generation reformers. These traditions came together in the creative and disciplined mind of John Calvin and developed over some three decades of his preaching and teaching in Geneva and Strasbourg. Promulgated by his followers, Calvin’s ideas shaped a Weltanschauung, a theological way of looking at the world, which developed into the Reformed tradition and has had a profound impact on the history of Christianity around the world. The exegetical methods, philosophical concepts, and theological doctrines Calvin inherited— some of them going back centuries to church leaders like Augustine, Bernard of Clairvaux, and Thomas Aquinas, others emanating from more recent figures such as Nicholas of Lyra, Gabriel Biel, Desiderius Erasmus, and Martin Luther—creatively synthesized characteristics of both scholasticism and humanism. Unfortunately, the terms “humanism” and “scholasticism” have become vague and confusing concepts at the hands of Calvin’s interpreters, both sympathetic and otherwise. In this article, I will argue that Calvin’s debt to the church reformers who preceded


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him both inside and outside the reform movements of the sixteenth century has not been sufficiently understood or appreciated. Moreover, the humanistic methods of interpreting and teaching classical texts—including Scripture—as developed by Erasmus of Rotterdam and his followers1 decisively shaped Calvin’s biblical hermeneutic.

C A LV I N T H E R E T I C E N T H U M A N I S T S C H O L A R One of the reasons we do not fully understand the traditions Calvin inherited is partially attributable to his reluctance to disclose details about the development of his own faith and sense of vocation. In his “Reply to Sadoleto” Calvin wrote, “I am unwilling to speak of myself, but since you do not permit me to be altogether silent, I will say what I can consistent with modesty.”2 He went on to say, “. . . it would not have been difficult for me to reach the summit of my wishes, viz., the enjoyment of literary ease with something of a free and honorable station.”3 This is Calvin the humanist scholar speaking, the author of a critical edition and commentary on the Roman philosopher Seneca’s De clementia (1532). Such a life had been modeled by Erasmus of Rotterdam, the peripatetic humanistic scholar who had never completed his intended edition of this treatise by Seneca. Calvin explicitly refers to Erasmus in his edition of Seneca’s De clementia, and as William Bouwsma observes, Calvin “displayed a kind of sophomoric satisfaction at having discovered in Seneca ‘things which have escaped the notice of even Erasmus’. . . .”4 Erasmus left Basel for Freiburg in 1529 when the reformist movement led by his junior colleague Johannes Oecolampadius triumphed. He returned in 1535, the same year in which Calvin sojourned briefly in Basel and wrote the first edition of his Institutes of the Christian Religion. Although Calvin repeatedly refers to the writings of Erasmus and no doubt made use of his critical edition of the Greek NT, there is no evidence that they ever met. Rather than personal contact, Calvin can be linked with Erasmus only through the indirect influence of those humanistic scholars turned first generation reformers whose writings Calvin studied. And although there is much about Erasmus that Calvin found objectionable, particularly his arrogance, his lack of piety, and his steadfast refusal to espouse openly the cause of reform of the church, few would deny that the methods of humanistic scholarship and teaching associated with Erasmus characterize the preaching and teaching of Calvin. In the preface to his Commentary on the Psalms, the typically self-effacing Calvin opened the door just a little to permit a glimpse into his own sense of vocation. He relates that although at an early age his father had destined him for theological studies and the priesthood, his father later encouraged him to pursue the study of law in order to prepare for a more lucrative pro-

1 Alister McGrath, The Intellectual Origins of the European Reformation (Oxford: Blackwell, 1987), 198, points out that it is misleading to identify humanism too closely with Erasmus and as the opposite of scholasticism. Nevertheless, it is undeniable that Erasmus and his followers sparked a complex cultural, intellectual, and ultimately a religious revolution that profoundly changed the ecclesiastical and political history of Europe and the world. 2 John Calvin, “Reply to Sadoleto” in A Reformation Debate: Sadoleto’s Letter to the Genevans and Calvin’s Reply (ed. John C. Olin; trans. Henry Beveridge; Grand Rapids: Baker, 1976), 54. 3 Ibid. 4 William Bouwsma, John Calvin: A Sixteenth Century Portrait (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), 13.


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fession as a jurist. Calvin said that he dutifully acquiesced to his father’s wishes until “God, by the secret leading of his providence, turned my course another way.”5 According to Calvin’s account, this new direction constituted a conversio subita, often understood as a sudden conversion. Instead of fulfilling his intent to enjoy the quiet life of a scholar, Calvin felt called by God to use his training as a humanistic interpreter of classical texts for the reform of the church. Many scholars have puzzled over the nature and cause of this so-called conversion. Alexandre Ganoczy has suggested that the Latin phrase conversio subita is more adequately understood as “a conversion ‘suffered’ (subie in French) by Calvin and not an instantaneous conversion.”6 Ganoczy also helpfully points out that Calvin’s description subordinates the idea of conversion to a theologically based concept of vocation. Heiko Oberman uses phrases such as “the unexpected intersection of his [Calvin’s] designs with God’s providence” and “beyond all expectation” to explain what Calvin meant.7 And William Bouwsma points out in his biography of the Genevan reformer that “Calvin attached little or no significance to ‘conversion’ as a precise event in his many discussions of the Christian life and the way of salvation.”8 I think subita in the introduction to Calvin’s Psalms commentary, which was written some fifteen or more years after his commitment to the cause of reform, should be understood as “unexpected” or “surprising,” and does not describe the suddenness of his change in overall vocational direction. This unexpected change of direction ultimately led Calvin to respond positively to Farel’s impassioned plea that he join the reformist movement in Geneva. Calvin does not provide any description of the proximate causes and influences that led to his unexpected change of plans. For Calvin, it was an act of God that turned him from the literary life of a humanist scholar to the dangerous and arduous life of a reformer of the church. Exactly how and why that transformation occurred is not something Calvin chose to divulge.

P R E - R E F O R M AT I O N E VA N G E L I C A L H U M A N I S M I N F R A N C E In addition to Calvin’s personal reticence, information about Calvin’s formative years is sparse, particularly between the ages of twelve, when he went to Paris to begin his education, and twenty-three, when he published his first book on Seneca’s De clementia. We do know that in the early 1520s Calvin was sent to Paris to study. He later recalled his favorite teacher at the Collège de la Marche, the humanist Mathurin Cordier, who instilled in him a love of Latin style and rhetoric. Calvin never forgot the student-centered pedagogy of Cordier and later invited him to lead the academy in Geneva.

5 John Calvin, “Autobiographical Sketch from the Dedication of the Commentary on the Psalms” in Calvin: Commentaries (ed. Joseph Haroutunian; Library of Christian Classics 23; Philadelphia: Westminster, n.d.), 52. 6 Alexandre Ganoczy, Le jeune Calvin: Genese et evolution de sa vocation reformatrice (Wiesbaden: F. Steiner, 1966), 302. 7 “Initia Calvini: The Matrix of Calvin’s Reformation” in Calvinus Sacrae Scripturae Professor (ed. Wilhelm Neuser; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1994), 114n3. In the same place, Oberman also acknowledges that such a conversion can take place “in a flash.” 8 Bouwsma, John Calvin, 11.


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At the Collège de Montaigu Calvin studied philosophy and is reported (perhaps spuriously) to have acquired the nickname “Accusativus” for supposedly correcting his fellow students when they made a mistake. There Calvin may have encountered the piety of the Brethren of the Common Life, a reformist movement that originated in Holland under the leadership of Gerhard Groote. Church historian Heiko Oberman cites the following description of this devotio moderna attributed to Pieter Dieppurch, rector of the Hildesheim house of the Brethren of the Common Life: “We are not cloistered monks, but as religious persons we desire and strive to live in the world.”9 Jean Standonck, a proponent of this piety, headed the Collège de Montaigu and shaped its curriculum before Calvin became a student there. He combined a biblically-based evangelical piety with austere discipline, especially for the students who were too poor to pay for their schooling. Students with financial means, including Calvin, may have been excused from the more rigorous aspects of discipline at the Collège de Montaigu. One of the students at the college some twenty-five years before Calvin was Erasmus, who claimed that he “carried little away from there except a body plagued by the worst humors, plus a most generous supply of lice.”10 By the time Calvin studied there, however, Standonck had been forced to leave. The reform-minded Scottish theologian John Mair (also spelled Major), who taught such reformers as Ignatius Loyola and John Knox, was a faculty member of the Collège de Montaigu. However, claims by Karl Reuter that Calvin studied under Mair have been challenged.11 Alister McGrath, asserting that Calvin’s writings provide evidence that he was taught a version of late medieval theology with scholastic roots going back to William of Ockham, Duns Scotus, and Gregory of Rimini among others, summarizes Calvin’s early education by saying, “. . . Calvin may have absorbed much of the dialectical outlook of either the via moderna or schola Augustiniana moderna during his Paris period, without specifically attaching this influence to any one named individual.”12 McGrath lists the following six characteristics of the new Augustinian school of thought that Calvin would have encountered in Paris: 1. A strict epistemological “nominalism” or “terminism.” 2. A voluntarist, as opposed to an intellectualist, understanding of the ratio meriti. 3. Extensive use of the writings of Augustine, particularly his anti-Pelagian works. 4. A strongly pessimistic view of original sin, with the Fall being identified as a watershed in the economy of salvation. 5. A strong emphasis on the priority of God in justification, linked to a doctrine of special grace. 6. A radical doctrine of absolute double predestination.13

9 From Annalen und Akten der Brueder des Gemeinsamen Lebens in Luechtenhofe zu Hildesheim (ed. R. Doebner; Hannover, 1903), 113. Cited by H. Oberman, Werden und Wertung der Reformation (Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr (Paul Siebeck), 1977. (My translation.) 10 The Colloquies of Erasmus (trans. Craig R. Thompson; Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1965), 351. 11 Karl Reuter, Das Grundverständnis der Theologie Calvins (Neukirchen: Neukirchen Verlag, 1963), 1–20. This thesis has been challenged by Alexandre Ganoczy, Le jeune Calvin, 179–92. 12 McGrath, Intellectual Origins, 101–102. 13 Ibid., 104.


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Thus at an early age, Calvin’s intellectual and spiritual identity was formed by a complex mixture of both humanistic and scholastic traditions.

P R E - R E F O R M AT I O N E VA N G E L I C A L S I N F R A N C E One of the influences on Calvin that has been underestimated by many is the lively reformist evangelical tradition of humanists and their sympathizers in France during the early decades of the sixteenth century. Foremost among representatives of this group was Jacques Lefèvre d’Etaples, a pioneering French biblical scholar. He was highly regarded by many of the reformist party, but he remained loyal to the teachings of the church and its hierarchical leadership as his enduring commitment to the immaculate conception of the Virgin Mary and the existence of purgatory attests.14 During his studies in Italy, Lefèvre had become acquainted with the ideas of Italian humanists such as Marsilio Ficino and Pico della Mirandola. Inspired by their rigorous study of classical literature and their desire to work closely with the best manuscripts available, he became a biblical scholar and revised St. Jerome’s Vulgate, the traditional Latin translation of the Bible. Lefèvre, making use of a tradition derived from Nicholas of Lyra, distinguished two literal senses of Scripture, one that conveys the actual historical meaning and a second that conveys the meaning of the words as they apply to Jesus Christ. Betraying a pervasive antiJewish bias found in many of the reformers’ writings, Lefèvre linked the historical meaning (sensus literalis historicus) with what he called the false carnal sense of the rabbis, while at the same time discerning a literal-prophetic meaning (sensus literalis propheticus) intended by the Holy Spirit to be applied to Jesus Christ. Demonstrating the philological rigor of the humanists, Lefèvre identified many deficiencies of Jerome’s Vulgate and published his own Latin translation of the Bible, which he later translated into French. In April, 1534, Calvin met with Lefèvre d’Etaples in Nerac, the chateau of Marguerite de Navarre, the sister of King Francis I. Shortly thereafter Calvin renounced his ecclesiastical benefices, thereby cutting his economic ties to the church. While it is speculative to claim that this visit with Lefèvre led Calvin to distance himself financially from the church and to set out on the path of reform in opposition to the established church, it is clear that Calvin’s association with French evangelistes like Lefèvre d’Etaples reinforced his humanistic approach to ancient texts, especially the Bible, and shaped his emerging discontent with the established church. Another important early supporter of the reformist party in France, Gerard Roussel, thought by some to have been a “closet Calvinist,”15 became the bishop of Oloron. He com-

14 15

Bernard Cottret, Calvin: A Bibliography (trans. W. Wallace McDonald; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2000), 59. Ibid., 61.


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bined traditional Roman Catholic piety with a very Luther-like understanding of justification by faith. In his words, “We say with Saint Paul that faith justifies, because faith is like a hand that takes hold of and receives Jesus Christ, with his life and justice, and makes them ours. But God is the one who gives this hand, who puts Jesus Christ and his justice in this hand, who makes this hand able to take hold of and receive them.”16 Roussel ultimately refused to identify fully with the cause of reform, which later led Calvin to terminate a relationship that one historian has characterized as “an almost fraternal friendship.”17 In a caustic critique of Roussel, Calvin wrote, “What sacrilege under heaven is more execrable than the Mass? And nevertheless you initiate priests into these criminal ceremonies. . . . You take delight in this sort of crime.”18 Two other leading French evangelicals who contributed to the humanistic circles of which Calvin was a part and who may have played an indirect role in Calvin’s journey to becoming a reformer of the church were Guillaume Briconnet and Marguerite de Navarre. Briconnet, the bishop of Lodeve and later of Meaux, exercised his ecclesiastical influence to provide a safe haven for reform-minded scholars and clerics. Marguerite de Navarre, the sister of king Francis I and thus a high-profile sympathizer with many evangelicals, embraced a mystical piety in her Mirror of a Sinful Soul. While there is no evidence that either one of these sympathizers with reformist views directly contributed to Calvin’s identity, they were a part of the simmering climate of reform that ultimately came to a boil and led more radical evangelical humanists like Calvin, Nicholas Cop, and William Farel to oppose the church hierarchy as well as the authority of the king of France.

E A R LY S I X T E E N T H C E N T U R Y B I B L I C A L I N T E R P R E T E R S The burgeoning stream of commentaries, sermons, and polemical writings that emerged from the first generation of reformers gave expression to the humanistic principles of interpretation and teaching that Calvin practiced throughout his ministry in Geneva. The floodgates that Luther opened led to a deluge of printed commentaries, polemical pamphlets, sermons, and devotional works. It is difficult, however, to determine how many and specifically which publications Calvin read and incorporated into his own thinking.19 We are dependent to a great extent on scholarly reconstructions of Calvin’s sources, because Calvin himself said very little about the authors upon whom he was dependent. As Raymond Blaketer has observed, “Calvin’s dialogue with the exegetical tradition and with contemporary biblical expositors is typically subtle and oblique. He mentions primarily those interpretations with which he disagrees, and he only infrequently mentions another interpreter by name.”20 In the case of Calvin’s commentary on the books of Moses and Joshua, for example, Blaketer lists the following authors of

16

Gerhard Roussel, cited by Cottret, Calvin, 61. Ibid., 103. 18 De Christiani hominis officio in sacerdotiis Papalis ecclesiae, cited by Cottret, Calvin, 103. 19 Alexandre Ganoczy, La Bibliotheque de l’Academie de Calvin (Geneva: Librairie Droz, 1969), provides an inventory of the books in the library of the Geneva Academy taken in 1572, eight years after Calvin’s death. However, it is not known if any of those books came from Calvin’s personal library. 20 “Calvin as commentator on the Mosaic Harmony and Joshua” in Calvin and the Bible (ed. Donald K. McKim; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), 35. 17


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commentaries as possible sources: Conrad Pellikan, Johannes Bugenhagen, Martin Borrhaus, Johannes Brenz, and Wolfgang Musculus.21 For Calvin’s commentary on Romans, David Steinmetz cites the following authors (among others) as possible sources: Erasmus, Colet, Lefevre d’Etaples, Bugenhagen, Oecolampadius, Bullinger, Pellikan, Brenz, Musculus, and Bucer.22 My point is that Calvin, who preached and taught extemporaneously, did so after careful preparation that included consulting other commentators on the text.23 Many of the first generation commentators to whom Calvin turned were evangelical humanistic scholars engaged in the reform of the church in their particular contexts. They provided new and invigorating insights into the meaning of Scripture based on careful text-critical and linguistic analysis that was possible due to the rapidly improving grammatical and lexicographical knowledge of Greek and Hebrew at that time. Some of them incorporated the ideas of Jewish scholars, usually in order to make apologetic or polemical responses in favor of Christian interpretations of passages from the OT. The liberating spirit that permeated the rigorous philological and historical methods of the humanistic interpreters of Scripture contrasted sharply with the long and often tedious expositions of scholastic academics or traditional clerics who lacked the skills or the desire to work directly with the scriptural texts. Although Erasmus no doubt overstated the shortcomings of the church’s theologians and preachers for his own satirical purposes, he described the church of his day as “weighed down with human ordinances, burdened with scholastic opinions and dogmas, oppressed by the tyranny of mendicant friars . . . .”24 The first generation reformers, trained in the humanistic methods of textual translation and rhetorical analysis, have often remained unsung heroes in the story of the Protestant Reformation. Their pioneering work was not clearly acknowledged by second generation reformers like Calvin and his followers.

THE INFLUENCE OF ERASMUS Many if not most of the first generation reformers who spoke out against the abuses and inadequacies of the church were humanistic scholars who emulated the methods of Erasmus of Rotterdam. The Dutch humanist and cosmopolitan scholar who chose to remain within the Roman Catholic Church and refused to join Martin Luther and others in the emerging movement toward reform, championed the study of Latin and Greek. In the literary and rhetorical style of the ancients, and especially in the words of Jesus, Erasmus saw the eloquence (eloquentia) that in his view distinguishes human beings from beasts. Thus he contrasted the barking or stammering of the schoolmen with the words of Christ, the divine Word (Logos), in whose words Erasmus found the words of life. According to Erasmus, nothing was more essential for a theologian than having

21

Ibid., 34 David Steinmetz, Calvin in Context (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995), 65. Richard Muller, The Unaccommodated Calvin (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 144–45. 24 Desiderius Erasmus, “Letter to Albert of Brandenburg 19 October 1519,” in Christian Humanism and the Reformation: Selected Writings of Erasmus (ed. John C. Olin; New York: Fordham University Press, 1987), 136. 22 23


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access to those living words by knowing the ancient languages. Therefore, he published his Greek text of the NT in 1516 based on the best available manuscripts. He improved the accuracy of the text and added his own grammatical and stylistic comments in subsequent editions. Erasmus’s Greek NT replaced the Vulgate as the authoritative edition of the NT among humanist scholars and it was heartily embraced by those who sought to reform the church, including John Calvin. Erasmus’s enthusiasm for another ancient language, Hebrew, was tempered not only by his own limited knowledge of it, but also by his suspicion that the study of Hebrew might lead to a revival of Judaism.25 Nevertheless, he turned to one of the early Christian fathers who was renown for his ability in Hebrew, St. Jerome. In her fine study, Lisa Jardine has shown that Erasmus patterned his life after St. Jerome.26 However, Erasmus’ account of Jerome’s life did not follow the long-standing tradition of describing the lives of saints by means of fantastic edifying fictional narratives. Instead, relying on his thorough study of Jerome’s own writings, Erasmus showed how Jerome diligently pursued the study of bonae litterae as a way of life in which careful attention to texts—sacred and secular—defined the scholar as a saint. In his tribute to St. Jerome, Erasmus wrote, “Was there ever an individual expert in so many languages? . . . Who had the whole of Scripture by heart, as he had, drinking it in, digesting it, turning it over and over, pondering upon it? Who expended so much effort in every branch of learning?”27 According to Jardine, Erasmus’s humanistic way of life models a “transition from ‘sacred’ to ‘learned’ as the grounds for personal salvation.”28 In the eyes of many of his followers, Erasmus united Christian piety and humanistic learning in pursuit of what he called the philosophy of Christ. Erasmus boldly assumed Jerome’s role of an editor and exegete of sacred texts as his central purpose in life. He saw in Jerome a saint who epitomized his own deeply held commitment to the philosophy of Christ. Erasmus, the learned humanist, adopted Jerome’s modus operandi as his own way of life. He edited, translated, and interpreted ancient texts and in so doing he understood himself to be appropriating for himself and offering to his readers a way of life that exemplified Christian piety. In Jardin’s words, “What is legible in the restored text of Jerome, so Erasmus claims, is the quintessence of piety, that availability for profound and attentive reading by means of which reading transcends mechanical absorption and becomes spiritual education, the very enactment of the philosophia Christi.”29 In other words, for Erasmus and the many humanistic scholars who emulated him, ancient texts, and in particular the Bible, are to be read as powerful messages— even oracles—that mediate a new and compelling perspective on the ultimate issues of life and speak directly to all aspects of human life and society, especially ethics and religion.

25 In a letter to Wolfgang Capito in Strasbourg, Erasmus wrote, “Through efforts to revitalize Hebrew studies, Judaism prepares for a favorable moment to come back to life. . . ,” Correspondance des Reformateurs dans les pays de la langue francaise (ed. A.L. Herminjard; 7 vols., Geneva and Paris, 1866), I, 29–30, cited by David L. Puckett, John Calvin’s Exegesis of the Old Testament (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1995), 56–57 and 75 n33. 26 Lisa Jardine, Erasmus, Man of Letters (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), 55–82. 27 The Correspondence of Erasmus: Letters 298–445 (1514–1516) (Collected Works of Erasmus 3; trans. R.A.B. Mynors and D.F.S. Thomson; Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1976), 3:259 (letter 396). 28 Jardine, Erasmus, 59. 29 Ibid., 74.


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Much of Erasmus’ well known opposition to the clerics and scholastics of his day is found in his In Praise of Folly published in 1511. In that immensely popular work he satirically expressed his conviction that the literature of the ancients, especially the Bible and the writings of the Church Fathers, spoke to the lived realities of daily life in a very practical way that the learned lectures and disputations of scholastic theologians completely obscured. John Dolan aptly characterizes this perspective of Erasmus when he writes, Erasmus’ dislike of dogma, whether of the schools or of the Church, is a many-sided phenomenon, rooted partly in his own skeptical tendency, partly in his background in the undogmatic Devotio Moderna. But it is also expressive of his profound distaste for the whole trend of higher education in Europe since the time of Peter Abelard, that is, for dialectic. Dialectic, he feels, has . . . subverted theology to a ludicrous and profitless concatenation of quarrels.30

The humanism of Erasmus should not be construed as the beginning of Enlightenment rationalism, as Alister McGrath has pointed out.31 Nor should Northern European humanism be lumped together into one undifferentiated whole and set uncritically over against scholasticism. Stephen Ozment notes that humanism and scholasticism are terms that historians have defined in different ways, and he warns that “Humanism and scholasticism not only defy simple, solitary definitions, but also resist a prevalent scholarly tendency to depict them as mortal enemies.”32 He goes on to say, “. . . Protestantism can be identified exclusively with neither humanism nor scholasticism. Nor did the reformers begin as biblical humanists and end up as scholastics. From the start they were a peculiar blending of distinctive traits of both humanism and scholasticism.”33 Nevertheless, there were significant differences between scholasticism and humanism that are especially significant for understanding the distinctive approach each perspective took on tradition. Scholastic theologians tended to categorize and harmonize a rather narrow range of traditional ecclesiastical sources as the appropriate way to interpret Scripture. The access of the scholastic interpreters to Scripture was typically filtered through the Glossa ordinaria, the comments of earlier authorities.34 Humanistic scholars, on the other hand, eagerly expanded the number and types of ancient authorities they read and they went directly to the text itself in its original language. They analyzed the historical context, the rhetorical patterns and style, and the practical implications for society as well as the individual reader of the ancient authors. Secular authors were read alongside Scripture and the Church Fathers. By working directly with newly edited editions of the classical literature of Greece and Rome, the Scriptures in Greek and Hebrew, and the writings of the Church Fathers, humanistic scholars such as

30

John P. Dolan, The Essential Erasmus (New American Library; New York: Mentor Omega, 1964), 13. McGrath, Intellectual Origins, 36–37. Steven Ozment, The Age of Reform: 1250–1550 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1980), 305–6. 33 Ibid., 304. 34 T. H. L. Parker, Calvin’s Old Testament Commentaries (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1986), 4. 31 32


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Erasmus and his many followers challenged the preeminence of Jerome’s Vulgate and questioned translations that had traditionally been adduced in support of Roman Catholic doctrine and practice. Although for the most part humanists remained within the Christian faith—forsaking Christianity was not really a viable option in sixteenth century Europe— they did begin a momentous shift in both the theory and practice of teaching and learning that later fueled the emergence of the Enlightenment and subsequent challenges to creedal orthodoxy. Fueled by the humanistic desire to find truth by returning to the classical sources (ad fontes), groups of scholars came together in humanistic associations (sodalites) in many cities throughout the continent including Heidelberg, Erfurt, Augsburg, Nuremberg, and Vienna.35 There they frequently often joined forces with economic and political developments that shattered the established patterns of religion and society to give birth to modern Europe.

JOHANNES OECOLAMPADIUS, A LINK BETWEEN ERASMUS AND CALVIN One of Erasmus’s followers who wholeheartedly embraced the humanistic vision of his mentor Erasmus was Johannes Oecolampadius. He was born in 1482 in Weinsberg, Germany and died in 1531. He began his education first in the Latin school of Heilbronn and then at the University of Heidelberg, where he came under the influence of the humanist scholar Jacob Wimpfeling. As was the custom among some young humanist scholars, he changed his surname to Oecolampadius, based on a pun on his German family name (Huszgen=häuschen=Hausschein= oikos+lampadion), meaning “house light.” By 1510 he had been ordained a priest and held an endowed preaching position in his hometown church at Weinsberg that his family was instrumental in arranging. Oecolampadius did not thrive as a priest, however, and soon resigned his post. From Weinsberg he went to Tübingen to study Greek and theology. There he became a friend and fellow student with Philip Melanchthon. He also studied Hebrew with Melanchthon’s uncle, the well-known humanist scholar Johannes Reuchlin. After returning to Heidelberg for additional study focusing on Hebrew, Oecolampadius went to Basel. There he became an editorial assistant of Erasmus in the famous publishing house of Froben. Erasmus needed help with the Hebrew of the OT quotations in his publication of the Greek NT. In this role Oecolampadius functioned as a castigator, a term that can describe a wide range of editorial activities from basic proofreading and copy editing to actually making decisions about the correct reading of a manuscript and even to deciding what to include in a volume.36 Oecolampadius worked closely with Erasmus and acknowledged him as his mentor and role model. He added an effusive epilogue to the first edition of the Greek NT in which he praised Erasmus’ learning and scholarly energy that produced such a heavenly banquet for the readers.

35 36

Heiko Oberman, Masters of the Reformation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), 57. For a description of the range of activities entrusted to a castigator, see Jardine, Erasmus, 158–60.


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In 1520, after completing his doctorate in theology and moving to Augsburg to be the cathedral preacher, Oecolampadius experienced a crisis of faith brought on by his reading of Luther’s writings. To resolve his religious questions, Oecolampadius spent a little more than a year in a nearby monastery. He emerged an adherent of the reforming ideas of Martin Luther. After a brief stay at the castle of Franz von Sickingen, Oecolampadius made his way to Basel in 1522 to take up his work in the publishing house of Cratander. Soon, however, he began preaching in the church of St. Martin and lecturing at the University of Basel. His lectures on the book of Isaiah, summarized in the local dialect of German, drew large crowds. He soon became a leading spokesman for church reform in Basel. Gordon Rupp says of the reformer of Basel, “He had found his vocation as teacher and preacher, and like Luther could teach in the pulpit and preach in the lecture room.�37 His commentary on Isaiah, published in 1525, was based on the lectures he began in the spring of 1523. These lectures marked the beginning of the reformation in Basel that was officially accepted by the town council in 1529. Oecolampadius was installed as a professor of theology. Calvin, a French refugee fleeing France because of royal and ecclesiastical opposition to his reformist views, arrived in Basel in 1534. Oecolampadius had died three years earlier shortly after the battle of Kappel in which Zwingli lost his life, but Protestantism led by Oswald Myconius had been embraced by the Basel city council.

J O H N C A LV I N A N D J O H A N N E S O E C O L A M PA D I U S Although the geographical distance from Basel to Geneva is not very great, the cultural difference between these two cities in the sixteenth century was considerable. Despite its proximity to France, Basel, situated on the Rhine River, had close cultural connections with the cities of Bern, Zurich, and other towns in the Rhine valley. Especially its publishing houses and its textile industry made Basel an economic and cultural center. Geneva, on the other hand, situated on the Rhone River, maintained close cultural ties of language and commerce with France. Since Basel embraced the movement toward church reform a decade or so before Geneva, Basel was a natural destination for adherents of reform like Calvin who could no longer live safely in France. In Basel in 1535, Calvin produced the first edition of his Institutes of the Christian Religion as a short instructional book in defense of the reforming movement he now embraced. Although Calvin never met Erasmus or Oecolampadius personally, he did imbibe their humanistic approach to the interpretation of Scripture and to the vocation of teaching and writing that marked the lives of Erasmus and Oecolampadius.

37

E. Gordon Rupp, Patterns of Reformation (London: Epworth, 1969), 19.


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Calvin was familiar with the biblical scholarship of Oecolampadius and other reformers before him. In a letter to his friend Simon Grynaeus, who succeeded Oecolampadius as a professor of Greek in Basel, Calvin explains his intentions in writing a commentary on Romans.38 After describing what he considers to be the best way of interpreting Scripture as lucid brevity that makes clear the intended meaning of the original author, he evaluates the work of some of the others who have commented on Paul’s Epistle to the Romans. Phillip Melanchthon, he writes, demonstrates his deep learning, but comments only on matters that he considered important and ignores other important issues. Heinrich Bullinger commendably expounds doctrine clearly, Calvin observes, and he compliments Martin Bucer for his keen intellect mind and immense knowledge. But since Melanchthon is too selective and Bucer is too verbose, Calvin is hopeful that his work will be of use to the church because in it he intends to provide the best interpretation without being repetitious. Writing from Strasbourg to Pierre Viret in 1540, Calvin praises the work of Oecolampadius. “No one, as I think, has hitherto more diligently applied himself to this pursuit than Oecolampadius, who has not always, however, reached the full scope or meaning,” Calvin declares.39 Johannes Oecolampadius served as one of many intermediaries between Calvin and Erasmus. Through the writings of these transitional figures the humanistic values of Erasmus made an indelible stamp on the character of Reformed hermeneutics. This can be seen, for example in the similarities between Oecolampadius’s commentary on Isaiah and Calvin’s writing on the same book. In his commentary on Isa 1:1, Oecolampadius argues that the prophet is speaking to his own age while at the same time communicating “allegorical mysteries” (allegoriarum mysteria) that refer to Christ. Therefore, he says, interpreters “must not only possess a faithful understanding and knowledge of the languages, but they must also take into account the historical circumstances in which the prophecy occurred.”40 Throughout his commentary Oecolampadius understands Isaiah’s words to have a literal meaning for the historical situation of the prophet’s own day and at the same time they also have a prophetic dimension that speaks to the church in all times. Both are to be found literally in the language and rhetorical patterns of the prophet Isaiah. This is exactly the perspective of Calvin, who also stresses the historical context of the prophet Isaiah in his commentary, but at the same time he recognizes that Isaiah is also speaking of Christ at many points in his prophecy. Like Oecolampadius, Calvin argues that Isaiah correctly reported that he saw the Lord “in such a form as enabled him, according to is capacity, to perceive the inconceivable majesty of God.”41 Both Calvin and Oecolampadius recognized the principle of accommodation by which the infinite God could be known to finite humanity. They also both cite John 12:41 to support the interpretation that the Lord being referred to by Isaiah is Jesus.

38 John Calvin, “Epistle to Simon Grynaeus” in John Calvin, The Epistles of Paul the Apostle to the Romans and to the Thessalonians (trans. Ross MacKenzie; ed. David Torrance and Thomas Torrance; Grand Rapids, Eerdmans, 1961), 2–3. 39 John Calvin, Letters of Calvin (trans. E. Bonnet; repr. Edinburgh and Carlyle, Penn.: Banner of Truth Trust, 1980), 64. In the same letter Calvin is mildly critical of Capito, because his work is not yet complete, and more so of Zwingli, because he “takes too much liberty,” and of Luther, because he is “not so particular as to propriety of expression or the historical accuracy.” 40 Johannes Oecolampadius, In Iesaiam Prophetam Hypomnematon (Basel: Cratander, 1525). (My translation.) 41 John Calvin, Commentary on Isaiah (trans. William Pringle; Edinburgh: Calvin Translation Society, 1850), 200.


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Both Oecolampadius and Calvin shared a deep commitment to applying the justice of God as revealed especially in the prophets to the social and political realities of their own day. This can be seen, for example, in Calvin’s commentary on Isaiah 1:15, where he says, “For in whatever way you kill a man, whether you cut his throat or take away his food and the necessaries of life, you are a murderer.”42 Oecolampadius makes the same point in his commentary on that verse. Another similarity between Calvin and Oecolampadius can be seen in their comments on Isa 1:10. Both commentators point to the unbelief of Israel and link it to the Jews of their own day and their rejection of Jesus as the Messiah. Oecolampadius has a pronounced moralistic streak that often manifests itself in facile and extended comparisons that link the sins of ancient Israel described in Isaiah with what Oecolampadius sees as the sins of his own day, especially the sins of his Roman Catholic opponents or the sins of the Jewish community. Ironically, in the exegetical work of this dedicated student of Hebrew there is a persistent anti-Jewish polemic all too commonly found in many sixteenth-century Scripture interpreters, Protestant and Roman Catholic alike. Unfortunately, neither Calvin nor Oecolampadius rose above the widespread anti-Jewish interpretations common in their day. However, their shared view of the overall unity of Scripture, both the Old and the New Testaments, enabled both of these Reformed biblical interpreters to avoid the excesses of Luther and some of his followers, whose writings fueled virulent anti-Judaism. Brian Gerrish sums up the theological intent of Erasmus and links it with Calvin when he says, “True theology is a matter not of marshalling formal arguments more clever and subtle than those of one’s opponents, but of grasping the poetics of scriptural discourse and letting it make a better person of you. Calvin agreed.”43 Erasmus championed the humanistic study of the language and rhetoric of the biblical text and believed in its capacity to transform sinful human beings into faithful followers of Jesus Christ through exegetically sound preaching and teaching. That legacy was spread throughout the cities of Europe as disciples of Erasmus such as Johannes Oecolampadius pressed for fundamental reform of the church. John Calvin inherited that humanistic spirit and joined it with a theological vision of a renewed church rooted in the Scriptures and committed to a radical—even revolutionary—vision of God’s love and justice in this world and the world to come.

42 43

Ibid., 62. Brian Gerrish, Grace and Gratitude (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993), 17.


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Between Text & Sermon Genesis 9:8–17

W. SIBLEY TOWNER, Professor Emeritus Union-PSCE Richmond, Virginia

God gave Noah de Rainbow sign, Don’t you see? God gave Noah de Rainbow sign, No more water but fire next time, Better get a home in dat rock, Don’t you see? –African-American spiritual Somewhere over the rainbow Skies are blue, And the dreams that you dare to dream Really do come true. –E.Y. Harburg, 1939

ON THE FIRST SUNDAY IN LENT, YEAR B, preachers are asked by the Revised Common Lectionary to deal with God’s no-more-floods pledge and with its sign, the rainbow. It ain’t easy. But then, getting from there to here, from meant to means, from text to sermon, never is. The following reflections on three aspects of Gen 9:8–17 are meant to help. DELUGE AS HOLOCAUST The peace and quiet of Gen 9:1–17 come as a relief after all the Sturm und Drang of the three preceding chapters. The chapter opens with a reprise of God’s gift of sexuality to humankind and the initial charge to “be fruitful and multiply” (Gen 1:28). Multiplication is urgent; for humankind has been reduced to a mere eight individuals. Other than this not so disagreeable responsibility, God asks little of the Gentile Noah, and of all the peoples and animals that are yet to come. The so-called “Noachic Covenant” of Gen 9:1–7 makes only two things incumbent upon all humankind. The eating of blood is prohibited (v. 4), and the killing of a human being (whether by beast or person) is penalized according to the law of retaliation—blood for blood (v. 6). In Gen 9:8–17, God promises (seven times!) never again to drown all life; and, as a reminder to self, God puts the rainbow in the clouds. But this encouraging commitment is the denouement of a story of universal destruction. The good creator was “sorry” (Gen 6:7) to have made the corruptible animals and human beings. “Sorry,” indeed: God wiped them all out except for eight persons and a lot of beasts. The sea outside the ark must have been crowded with bloated, floating corpses! How could a good and loving God do such a thing?


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We cannot write this horror off simply as the result of “destiny-producing deeds”—sins such as concupiscence and designs of evil (Gen 6:1–8)—that automatically generate terrible consequences. No, the authors of Genesis are clear about this. They have God saying explicitly, “I will blot out from the earth the human beings that I have created” (Gen 6:7). Auschwitz happened at the hands of Nazis, not God. But the flood? They taught that God did it. However, in Gen 9:8–17 God offers humanity a second chance. THE TWO ENDINGS OF THE FLOOD STORY In critical studies of Genesis, it is commonplace to discern in the flood story the interweaving of the version set down perhaps as early as the ninth century B.C.E. by the Yahwist (J) with the late-exilic or post-exilic Priestly source that provided a narrative framework for the entire Pentateuch (c. 550–450 B.C.E.). The J ending of the flood story is in Gen 8:20–22. In these verses, God acknowledges that “the inclination of the human heart is evil from youth” (8:21) and that the way forward will have to swerve away from a frustrating quest for human perfection toward a world with warts. The promise to this severely chastened but still flawed world of living beings is comprehensive: no more world destruction, period (cf. 8:22). Some traditional interpreters solved the problem of the two endings of the story by simply conflating them. But the J and P denouements are very different and should be kept distinct in exposition. For example, one finds no anthropological analysis in 9:1–17, but gets instead accounts of reciprocal covenanting. Then there is the clause,“and never again shall there be a flood to destroy the earth” (9:11). To traditional interpreters that language seemed to sound more qualified than the blanket promise of 8:22. It seemed to leave the door open a crack for another form of destruction. They spoke of fire next time. Genesis 9:8–17 makes no hint of such a new holocaust, but neither does it rule it out. In the larger context of the canon, expectation of a final conflagration was alive and well in eschatological texts in both testaments. An example is 2 Pet 3:10: “But the day of the Lord will come like a thief, and then the heavens will pass away with a loud noise, and the elements will be dissolved with fire. . . .” Given their belief in a fiery end, it may not be so odd that a text that speaks only of water should remind readers of fire. The African-American spiritual printed at the beginning of this essay urges folk who escape from the flood to seek shelter from the fire. Centuries before that spiritual was sung, poets and preachers spoke of water and fire in one breath. Here, for example, is John Milton: Such grace shall one just Man find in his sight, That [God] relents, not to blot out mankind, And makes a Covenant never to destroy The Earth again by flood, nor let the Sea Surpass his bounds, nor Rain to drown the World With Man therein or Beast; but when he brings Over the Earth a Cloud, will therein set His triple-colour’d Bow, whereon to look


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And call to mind his Cov’nant: Day and Night, Seed-time and Harvest, Heat and hoary Frost Shall hold their course, till fire purge all things new, Both Heav’n and Earth, wherein the just shall dwell. –Paradise Lost, Book XI: 890–901

The apocalyptists, Milton, the spiritual singers to the contrary notwithstanding, do not do it! This text is not about fire. It is about hope. It is about a fresh start. It is about a new world of timeless safety and order. THE RAINBOW We know that the rainbow is a meteorological phenomenon that occurs when light is refracted through water droplets to reveal its bandwidths as a spectrum of colors. That secular scientific knowledge has not prevented the beauty and evanescence of the rainbow from continuing to stimulate our imaginations, however. The rainbow that the teenage Dorothy (a.k.a. Judy Garland) sings about in the film “The Wizard of Oz” is, as is evident in the excerpt at the beginning of this essay, a gateway to another dimension, like hope itself, powerfully attractive and always unattainable. Traditional societies have always generated legends and etiologies aplenty about the mysterious rainbow. Long before the Irish avowed that a leprechaun guards the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, the Norse imagined that the bow was a bridge between earth and heaven. For ancient Greeks, it was the mode of transportation of Iris, their messenger. It was the “jeweled necklace of the Great Mother Ishtar” in Old Babylonian myth, a creator serpent in cultures ranging from Aboriginal Australian to Estonian, and the weapon of the heavenly archer in Hindu lore. Ancient Israel, too, may once have seen the bow of the warrior god hung up in the sky. YHWH had a bow, you know. Habakkuk tells us so: “You brandished your naked bow, sated were the arrows at your command” (Hab 3:9). But the Priestly writer provides an entirely different etiology for the rainbow. Now it is God’s sign to us and to self of the “everlasting covenant” (9:16). As such, it is a divine act of grace, a guarantee of survival, like Adam and Eve’s britches, like Cain’s mark. It appears when rainclouds arise. (Note that God does not repeatedly set the rainbow sign in the clouds [v.13]; it simply is and appears there [vv. 14,16].) Is God tempted from time to time to get rid of the pestiferous creatures on earth? Is God tempted to turn the beneficent rain into the waters of chaos that only God can hold back and deploy (Gen 7:11)? Even when God is justifiably enraged at human behavior the rainbow says to God’s self, “Self, don’t do it!” “I will remember” (v. 15) is more than a cognitive process. It is a reenactment of the covenant promise. Rabbinic commentators enlarged upon this sign to human advantage. The bow proclaims to sinful human beings that their sins will never be ghastly enough to end the world. In fact, the midrash asserts that when people are pious enough, the bow is not even visible, presumably because there is little likelihood of God being provoked. As for God, with this promise God puts a limit on wrath and judgment. Preachers can do much with God’s self-imposed check on omnipotence. In Gen 9:8–17, God offers the hope of a second chance. The rainbow covenant is God’s


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unilateral, post-diluvial gift of grace that springs, as grace so often does, from God’s willingness to change course. This text offers hope for a post-holocaust world where the evil waters of chaos will never again overwhelm “people together with animals and creeping things and birds of the air” (Gen 6:7), as they did with the exception of life preserved on the ark (Gen 7:17–23), and where a humdrum existence lived out in the midst of trustworthy natural orders will be possible.


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Psalm 114

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RICHARD D. NELSON Perkins School of Theology, Southern Methodist University Dallas, Texas

PSALM 114 IS CONCISE, VIVID, AND TIGHTLY STRUCTURED. Falling into the category of “hymn” or praise of God, its intention is reflected in its single imperative: “Tremble, O earth” (v. 7). By implication, this imperative is also directed at those who read Ps 114. Its purpose is to inspire awe and wonder at the creative and redemptive deeds of “the God of Jacob.” The psalm solidifies Israel’s sense of election as God’s “sanctuary” and “dominion.” It links Israel’s foundational story of election to the mythic story of creation as God’s victory over the forces of chaos. God’s saving acts are not limited to the past, for God works in the present as the one who “turns the rock into a pool of water” (v. 8). The only conceivable reaction to this vision of God’s victory is awestruck faith. This psalm brings together parallel story worlds. Exodus and creation are synchronized and both are made present for the reader. The psalm selects only a few key elements from Israel’s narrative of origin (Red Sea event, wilderness miracle, and Jordan crossing), but in so doing evokes the entire story from exodus to entry into the land. Israel’s unique national epic is overlaid by and merged into the creation myth of divine victory over chaotic waters, a heritage Israel shared with neighboring peoples (Ps 77:16–20). Thus the traditions recounted in Exod 14–15 and Josh 3–4 are recast in terms of cosmic conflict and theophany (that is, God’s awesome appearance as Divine Warrior). Sea is not just dried up or divided; it sees something or someone frightening and flees (cf. Pss 77:16; 104:7; 106:9). Jordan is not just stopped, but turns tail and retreats. God’s majestic creation victory over chaotic waters is a preemptive display of “shock and awe.” No actual fighting needs to be done. The mere appearance of the Divine Warrior, the theophany, is enough (cf. Ps 48:5–6). The intense reaction on the cosmic plane to God’s mighty act of liberation continues on earth. Mountains and hills lose their familiar stability and hop about like aggressive rams and frisky lambs. This image derives from the theophany tradition’s portrayal of the effects of the Divine Warrior’s passage (Judg 5:5; Ps 18:7; 29:6) and God’s descent on Sinai (Exod 19:18). All this serves as a backdrop for the call for a universal reaction, “Tremble, O earth” (cf. Ps 96:9). Among its range of meanings, this verb denotes “writhe as though in labor,” “shudder in fear,” “wobble in instability” (see Brown, Driver, Briggs, The New Hebrew and English Lexicon, 1979, 297). The same image appears in Pss 77:18, 97:4–5, and 104:32. God’s saving deeds are not isolated in the distant past. While Ps 114:1–4 are in the past tense, vv. 5–8 move into present tense. (This is obscured in translations such as the NJPS and NIV, which put everything but v. 7 into past tense.) The poet’s questions in v. 5, addressed to those entities terrified and shaken by God’s appearance, bring the past tense story of the exodus and creation into the present moment: “that you flee . . . turn back . . . skip?” In v. 7, God’s pro-


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vision of water in the wilderness (Exod 17:6; Num 20:11; Deut 8:15) is made contemporary and brought into the here and now when it asks “who turns.” The God of Jacob is the one who keeps on changing hard and flinty rock into pools of life-giving water. All this serves to support Israel’s identity as God’s chosen people. Because creation and exodus liberation are corresponding acts carried out on different planes, God’s purposes as Creator and Redeemer are one. Thus the exodus was not merely a matter of a few fugitive slaves splashing through the shallows. It was an earth-shaking, world changing event on par with the act of creation itself. Israel is not just one of several insignificant ethnic groups inhabiting Syria-Palestine, but God’s own sanctuary and dominion. Moreover, this fact of special election as God’s people has been true from the very moment “when Israel went out from Egypt.” “Sanctuary” perhaps indicates that the reality of the temple being located in Judah was implicit from the very start (compare “holy abode” in Exod 15:13). “Dominion” seems to point to Israel as a political reality. This parallel between sanctuary and political dominion also suggests the election formula of Exod 19:6: “a priestly kingdom and a holy nation.” As a poem, Ps 114 is skillfully constructed. Four sets of paired verses (vv. 1–2, 3–4, 5–6, 7–8) are set into a concentric pattern. Verses 1–2 and 7–8 focus on God and God’s actions, while the topic of the inner sections, vv. 3–4 (third person narrative) and vv. 5–6 (second person questions), is the reaction of elements of the natural world. A somewhat parallel concentric pattern pairs “sea” and “Jordan” (v. 2) with “pool” and “spring” (v. 8), while inside this appears a pairing of “mountains” and “hills” (vv. 3–6) with “earth” (v. 7). The poetic parallelism is firmly synonymous and extremely regular. Not only does each verse exhibit parallelism within itself (“Egypt”/“people of strange language”; “sanctuary”/“dominion”; “fled”/“turned back”; and so forth), but there is also parallelism between the paired verses (“Israel”/“house of Jacob”/“Judah”/“Israel” in vv. 1–2 or “sea”/“Jordan”/“mountains”/“hills” in vv. 3–4.) Each verse reflects exactly the same pattern of eliding an element of parallelism in its second half: “went,”“became,”“looked,”“skipped,”“why is it?”“tremble,”“turns.” In the first part of the psalm, the reader encounters a mystery that is not cleared up until near the end. Who is the referent of the “his” pronouns of v. 2? What or whom did the sea and Jordan see in v. 3 that caused their precipitous retreat? The answer is not revealed and the tension relieved until the climax of v. 7. It all has been caused by the “God of Jacob.” God is not the grammatical subject of a single verb until v. 8, but in vv. 7–8, God moves from behind the veil to center stage. The questions put by the poet in vv. 5–6 have a taunting flavor. This is lost in the colorless NRSV translation “Why is it?” but captured well in “What alarmed you?” (NJPS) or “What ails

you?” (RSV). These echoing questions focus the reader’s attention back on vv. 3–4 and cause us to think again about what we have read. They insert the reader into the poetic frame as an observer and evaluator. Moreover, these questions delay the resolution of the poem by holding off the identification of the cause of such flight and unstable movement. They invite (and perhaps tease or entice) the reader to solve the puzzle and interpret what is described. Come on now, you know the answer to this question! They also shift the time frame from past to pre-


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sent, bringing the past of vv. 1–4 into the now: “Why is it . . . that you flee?” In this way, the distant past of exodus and creation are made present for the reader and the way is prepared for the imperative of v. 7 that calls for a trembling reaction now. In Judaism, this psalm is part of the “Egyptian Hallel” (113–118) used in connection with several festivals, but especially the Passover Seder. Perhaps Mark 14:26 refers to this practice. Ancient Christian tradition linked Ps 114 to the resurrection. The Revised Common Lectionary prescribes it for Easter evening. In the Easter Vigil service, it responds to the subject of baptismal death and resurrection set out in Rom 6:3–11, thus picking up both the Easter and sea motifs. Significantly, this psalm does not describe exodus liberation in terms of freedom from slavery but of escaping from a foreign people and culture. Israel gets away from an alien people speaking an unintelligible language. The horror of being dominated by a nasty people speaking an uncouth language is reflected in Isa 33:19 and Deut 28:49. Perhaps we might think of the feelings of loss and inferiority commonly experienced by migrants, refugees, and displaced persons overwhelmed by daily humiliating contact with a language they understand poorly or not at all. First Peter insists that membership in the people of God offers a way out of alienation, homesickness, and loss of identity by bestowing a new and superior identity as “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation” (1 Pet 2:9). Following 1 Cor 10:1–6 (especially v. 4), we know that Israel’s story of exodus reflects our own story as a people liberated and chosen by God. Our initiating moments of creation and exodus are the cross and Easter resurrection. The Gospel traditions speak of nature’s reaction to those awesome redemptive events: darkness over the cross (Mark 15:33) and an earthquake to greet the resurrection (Matt 28:2). Paul can taunt the powers defeated by resurrection: “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” (1 Cor 15:55). Flowing water becomes the image of the new life (John 4:13–14; 7:37–38). Resurrection is not merely an event in the past, but expressed in the present perfect tense of the mystery of faith: “Christ is risen.”


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James 1:17–27

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TOM WHARTENBY Galax Presbyterian Church Galax, Virginia

OVER THE PAST FORTY YEARS, I HAVE HAD many interesting conversations with my father-in-law who is 102 years old. Much of the time his mind seems cloudy and out of focus, but every now and then the clouds dissipate and his mind sharpens. Since he has been an ordained Presbyterian minister since 1932, we often discuss the church and the Bible. Not long ago I asked him his favorite passage. He gazed off somewhere I could not see and answered, quoting the KJV perfectly, “Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and cometh down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variability, neither shadow of turning (Jas 1:17 KJV). He then looked at me and asked, “Ever preach on it?” I had to admit that I rarely preach on James. He said, “Why not? It’s what true Christianity is all about.” True religion, or to be more precise, true Christian religion, is what the letter of James is all about. It is certainly what this passage, set to be read on the fifteenth Sunday after Pentecost (Year B), is all about. Biblical scholars routinely observe that the author, whoever he was, was a very practical Christian who freely dispensed advice on what it meant to live life as a Christian. Luke Timothy Johnson counts fifty-nine imperatives in the 108 verses of this letter (Luke Timothy Johnson, The Letter of James. The New Interpreter’s Bible 12, Abingdon, 1998, 179). James’ preference for what Christians do over what Christians believe is well-known from the ever-popular faith vs. works debate found in ch. 2. What must be kept in mind, however, is that these moral imperatives all rest on a theological base. That base is found in the lead verse of the passage under consideration. True religion worships the true God. For James, the true God is the giver of every good and perfect gift, the God who is constant and faithful. Human passions are volatile, human beings unreliable, but God is rock solid. There is no evil or malice in God. James is not simply a moralizer; he is a teacher of Christian wisdom. James’ goal is to teach us to live “a life which is in accord with true piety” (Pheme Perkins, First and Second Peter, James, and Jude, Westminster John Knox, 1995, 85). Wise living is living in a way that reflects the Creator God as God truly is. Curiously, Martin Luther found little of the gospel in this letter, dismissing it as an “epistle of straw” (“Preface to the New Testament” in Luther’s 1522 translation of the Bible). The great reformer said that he did not find Christ in it. It is true that the author mentions Jesus only twice and focuses on God and a Christian’s duties to God. But it is also true that Jesus was similarly focused on God and doing God’s will. Like James, Jesus viewed God as a loving Father who knew how to give good gifts. Surely we preachers can find Christ lying in the straw of this letter. So how does one worship the gift-giving God? The short answer is by allowing one of


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God’s good gifts, the “implanted word,” (v. 21) to bear fruit. Perhaps referring to Jeremiah who spoke of God’s writing the divine instruction on the human heart (Jer 31:33), James speaks of the implanted word of truth (v. 18) making Christians the first fruits of God’s new creation. This implanted word is God’s antidote for the corrupting passions which torment the soul and poison the body. Christians are to be shaped by God’s word of wisdom rather than the volcanic urges that boil up from within (v. 14) or the toxic poisons that come from without (v. 27). Christians then can model for all of creation what it looks like to live as the image of God. First fruits imply more fruit to come. The gift-giving God’s purpose is that the Word implanted in the church should bear much fruit in all creation. In this way, the church continues the mission of Israel to be a light to the nations. James quickly gets down to specifics in this passage. Christians living wisely are “quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger” (v. 19). At first I was puzzled by James’ linking of slow to speak with slow to anger. After further review, it was clear that he did so because Jesus linked speech and anger. Commentators have long noticed the connection between James and Matthew, especially in the Sermon on the Mount (Matt 5–7): You have heard that it was said to those of ancient times, ‘You shall not murder’; and ‘whoever murders shall be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that if you are angry with a brother or sister, you will be liable to judgment; and if you insult a brother or sister you will be liable to the council; and if you say, ‘You fool,’ you will be liable to the hell of fire. (Matt 5:21–22)

Wise Christians will not engage in angry, hurtful, or destructive speech. One need not perform any fancy hermeneutical footwork to preach a sermon in our time and place using this bit of Christian wisdom. American culture is perhaps unsurpassed in the theory and practice of angry speech. The recent political contests across our country leap to mind. In fact, angry verbal abuse has become one of the principal forms of entertainment in our society. Watch the talking heads on media outlets from various points on the political spectrum. Listen to the sports gurus or tune in to a “reality show” sometime. Nor is the church guiltless in this matter. The national assemblies of major Christian denominations sometimes rival secular political conventions in their level of venomous speech. James has a word for us Christians: we deceive ourselves if we think God’s work is well-served by angry words. James’ thought seems to move forward using catch words rather than strict logic. His next paragraph is a case in point. The RSV expresses this more clearly than the NRSV: “Let every man be quick to hear . . .” (v. 19), and “But be doers of the word and not hearers only . . . (v. 22). Wise Christians are better listeners than talkers…or so James teaches. But we are to be even better doers than listeners. Or perhaps we should say that Christians carefully listen to God’s word and then scrupulously do God’s word. Once again James is echoing Jesus’ words found in Matthew’s Gospel, “Not everyone who says, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father in heaven” (Matt 7:21). Wise Christians build their houses on the rock of God’s word heard and obeyed. In the closing verses of this passage, James repeats his demand that good Christians bridle their tongue. He seems to view controlling the impulse to talk as the primary exercise in self-


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discipline which true Christian piety demands. Later, James will equate blamelessness in speech with perfection (Jas 3:1–2). But Christian living is more than self-discipline; Christian living is also self-giving. How otherwise could Christians reflect the self-giving God we worship? Sounding very much like Amos (2:6–8; 4:1; 5:12; 8:4–6) or Isaiah (1:12–17, 23; 5:8–24; 58:1–12), James demands that Christians care for the widow and the orphan (1:27). This admonition is a critical counter-weight, preventing Christians from believing that true piety is to be found exclusively in prayer and self-denial. True holiness is more than keeping one’s self “unstained by the world” (1:27). True holiness involves making concrete provision for those unable to take care of themselves. This care is more than spiritual care. Later James will write, “If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, ‘Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill,’ and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that?” (Jas 2:15). The fullness of this passage offers the preacher a rich variety of fruitful possibilities. One could preach a theological sermon focusing on the generosity of God. One could preach an ethical sermon that underscores the church’s responsibility to the poor and powerless. One could preach a sermon focusing on the nature of human beings as pushed by inner urges and pulled by forces without. One could certainly dedicate a full Sunday’s homiletical enterprise to the Christian duty of serving God through disciplined speech. Whatever the choices, the sermon or sermons, as my father-in-law understood, will all do well to contain wise teaching concerning the concrete service inspired as the community responds to “the perfect gift” (1:18) generously offered by the Lord our God.


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Major

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Reviews Matthew 1–7: A Commentary by Ulrich Luz Hermeneia, Fortress, Minneapolis, 2007. 432 pp. $75.00 (cloth). ISBN 978-0-8006-6099-4.

THIS NEW RELEASE COMPLETES the Hermeneia edition (three volumes) of Ulrich Luz’s critically acclaimed commentary on the Gospel of Matthew, originally published in the German Evangelisch-Katholischer Kommentar series (four volumes). This volume (Matthew 1–7) is based on the thoroughly revised fifth German edition of Vol. 1 (finished in 2000 and published by Benziger and Neukirchener in 2002). It replaces an earlier English edition in the Continental Commentary series (Fortress, 1989), which was translated from the first German edition of 1985. One might ask why there is a need for a new translation. The main reason is that the revised fifth edition in German has grown from 420 pages in the first edition to 553 pages. The twenty-five percent increase in content includes not only clarifications and corrections of Luz’s earlier notes and positions, but also new discussions of Matthew’s texts from narrative-critical, sociological, and reader-oriented exegeses. These thoughtful revisions reflect Luz’s genuine appreciation of recent methodological advances and his honest interaction with critical reviews from colleagues over the past fifteen years. As a result, he offers new insights gleaned from current Matthean scholarship. More importantly, Luz has had more time to explore and develop the so-called “history of the text’s influence” (Wirkungsgeschichte) approach that he adopted from Hans Georg Gadamer, a philosophical hermeneutician, and began to apply to his reading of Matthew in the first edition. This approach attends not only to what biblical texts might have meant to their first readers in historical contexts, but also seeks to find well-reasoned ways to make sense of their meaning for the present time. It assumes that every reader comes to biblical texts with presuppositions and perspectives formed and shaped in different ecclesial and interpretive traditions (e.g., Orthodox, Roman Catholic, Reformed, Anabaptist, or Pentecostal). Thus, critical reflection on influential expositions of Matthew’s themes in major commentaries and theological writings across denominations, as well as a text’s influence in such popular forms as sermons, hymns, and the arts throughout history may provide the reader with ecumenical insights and corrective examples for consideration. In order to bring “the biblical texts of the past into the present” and in so doing bring some “judgments about the present” (p. 65), Luz adds to his exegetical comments on each pericope of the Gospel a section


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entitled “History of Interpretation,” in which he surveys church history to highlight contested interpretations of the texts and discusses their theological implications, pastoral relevance, and social consequences. These discussions help the reader compare, contrast, and discern what “directional meaning” might be appropriately drawn from Matthew’s texts for the purpose of theologizing, preaching, or teaching today. This innovative section is a characteristic of Luz’s commentary and is particularly important for an age that has often forgotten the lessons of history. A fascinating feature of this new edition is Luz’s use of Christian arts to illustrate changing views of Matthew’s nativity stories in the history of the church. Indeed, paintings reflect an individual artist’s view of the nativity stories, but also create new understandings of the texts for the viewing audience and function for many as a pictorial Bible. A critical survey of paintings reveals the variety of interpretations (e.g., christological, salvation-historical, pietistic-exemplar, and political) that circulated in the church in different times and settings. Readers are thus presented with multiple meanings that may speak to their special concerns and interests. Those willing to learn from historical interpretations (textual, artistic, liturgical, and life) and critically assess their impact (positive and negative on individuals and society) will find assistance as they seek to bring out potential meanings of the texts appropriate for new situations. Hindsight can be very instructive when making new interpretive decisions. This volume is a must read for serious students of Matthew, especially preachers and teachers, for other compelling reasons. First, as Vol. 1 of a three-volume commentary, it provides judicious and updated introductory materials on the literary character, source traditions, and historical situations of Matthew’s Gospel, from one of the best Matthean scholars. This material presents a clear picture of recent scholarship and sets up signposts for current debates on critical issues in Matthean studies. Most remarkable in the introduction is Luz’s succinct definition and discussion of the “history of the text’s influence” approach he has pioneered in recent years. Distinguishing Wirkungsgeschichte from Auslegungsgeschichte and Rezeptionsgeschichte, Luz makes it clear that his purpose is to discern the “effective power of the texts themselves” rather than the people who receive the texts (p. 61). His interest goes beyond the realm of history to the practice of hermeneutics. Luz is unable to discuss all of Matthew’s texts in detail and explains why he favors some texts “whose later influences paradigmatically form and illuminate the present situation of churches, confessions, and Christians” (p. 62). This approach, he insists, reminds us of the “abundance of the meaning potential in biblical texts” and helps us learn from “successful and unsuccessful realization of biblical texts” in our attempt to preach and teach Matthew with integrity today (pp. 64–65). Readers interested in further exploration of this approach may consult two other perceptive books by Luz: Matthew in History: Interpretation, Influence, and Effects (Fortress, 1994) and Studies in Matthew (Eerdmans, 2005), in which he explains the rationale, methods, and significance of this approach. Moreover, this volume covers the first seven chapters of Matthew’s Gospel, so it contains gospel traditions peculiar to Matthew (i.e., the nativity stories and the Sermon on the Mount). The importance of Jesus’ virgin birth for christological discussion and the signifi-


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cance of the magi’s visit for Christmas celebration go without saying. How have Christians made sense of Jesus’ divine origin in the early church and in a post-Enlightenment era? As mentioned above, Luz’s attention to Christian art sheds new light on this question. What about the Sermon on the Mount? How did godly and intelligent people in the past wrestle with its high moral demands? In much of his discussion of the “History of Interpretation,” Luz brings the reader face to face with the radical discipleship commanded by Jesus. Is the Sermon on the Mount a new law to be obeyed, as assumed in the ancient church, or a preparation for the gospel, as suggested by Luther? How can one follow such exhortations not to resist evil-doers and to love one’s enemies in a time of terrorism and war (even though the Anabaptists and Ghandi have done so)? Can one trust in the loving care of God the heavenly Father so much that there is no need to save money for emergency or retirement in a capitalist society? The Sermon on the Mount is extremely challenging for any reader serious about discipleship. Luz’s commentary is a superb resource for serious reflection and critical discernment. Also noteworthy and useful are excurses on the fulfillment quotations and concepts such as righteousness, Son of God, disciple, and false prophets. In these short essays, Luz offers lucid explanations of key themes and motifs in Matthew’s Gospel to help the reader better understand Matthew’s narrative logic and theological convictions. Since Luz writes this commentary particularly for preachers and teachers, his insights on “preaching and teaching” in Matthew’s Gospel (pp. 168–169) and his reflection on the “praxis of the Sermon on the Mount today” (pp. 395–400) are particularly noteworthy. With his meticulous exegesis, precise exposition, and theological acumen on the history of interpretation and the history of the text’s influence, Luz has made Matthew’s Gospel understandable and relevant to contemporary Christian faith and discipleship. Moreover, as he explains Matthew’s texts and intentions, he urges thoughtful readers to exercise critical discernment and responsible judgment as they prepare to preach and teach Matthew’s Gospel. Any serious scholar, preacher, or teacher who wishes to explore the abundant meaning and vital relevance of Matthew’s Gospel for the faith and life of the church, or who wants to learn about the “history of the text’s influence” approach as a way to bring biblical texts of the past into the present, cannot afford to miss this new classic on the Gospel of Matthew. It sets a very high standard for any Bible commentary yet to be written. John Y. H. Yieh VIRGINIA THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA


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Stories with Intent: A Comprehensive Guide to the Parables of Jesus by Klyne Snodgrass Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2008. 846 pp. $50.00 (cloth). ISBN 978-0-8028-4241-1. AT THE TITLE SUGGESTS, the book is a “comprehensive guide,” not simply a commentary, on the parables of Jesus. Klyne Snodgrass provides a scholarly treatment of thirty-three units of synoptic material (plus parallels, including parallels in the Gospel of Thomas) classified as parables. He treats each parable under the following headings: “Parable Type,” “Issues Requiring Attention,” “Helpful Primary Source Material” (other canonical and non-canonical sources), “Comparison of the Accounts” (when a parable appears in more than one Gospel), “Textual Features Worthy of Attention,” “Cultural Information,” “Explanation of the Parable” (where previous issues raised are dealt with), and “Adapting the Parable.” Prior to the treatment of the parables, there are two chapters that introduce the parables more generally. One takes up characteristics of parables, interpretive issues, and related matters; the other discusses parables in the ancient world. There are several features, besides those already named, that make the book a new and refreshing work. First, Snodgrass has collected a vast amount of primary source materials from the OT, Hellenistic Judaism, rabbinic Judaism, and Greco-Roman literature in general to illumine the cultural contexts of the parables. Here the book has no peer in recent works on the parables. Second, Snodgrass makes the case that the parables of Jesus stand within the prophetic tradition of Israel. No one else makes the case so clearly and forcefully as he does, and that is an important contribution. He says, “The primary reason Jesus’ parables are stories with intent is . . . that they are prophetic instruments” (p.8); they serve “a prophetic purpose within the comprehensive narrative scheme to engage people with God’s kingdom” (p. 34). And, finally, the book engages parable scholarship broadly. References to the work of others are plentiful, and critique is frequent. One of the old, classic questions of parable study is: What is it we seek to hear? Do we seek to hear the texts? Do we seek to hear the historical Jesus? Or do we seek to hear both? Snodgrass wants to hear both. For him, the texts are vehicles for hearing Jesus, not roadblocks or detours. “I am convinced,” he says, “that the parables are . . . the surest place where we have access to Jesus’ teaching” (p. 31). If we hear the texts, we also hear Jesus. To be sure, Snodgrass grants that in certain cases the final framing and shaping of a parable by an evangelist is evident and affects its meaning. An example of that can be seen in the Parable


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of the Weeds in the Wheat and its interpretation (Matt 13:24–30, 36–43). But even here, Snodgrass says, “Granted the shaping by Matthew, I think we hear the voice of Jesus in both the parable and its interpretation” (p. 211). The title of the book contains wording that is decisive: the parables are “stories with intent.” Snodgrass is confident that he can get at the “intent” of Jesus in the telling of the parables: The intent of the teller—Jesus himself—with all the power and creativity of his teaching must be the goal of our interpretive work. These are stories with intent, the communicative intent of Jesus . . . I seek to hear the intent of Jesus to his contemporaries—his disciples and his fellow Jews. (pp. 2–3)

References to “the intent of Jesus” and the “intent of the parable” show up throughout the book and may pose a problem for many readers. If “authorial intent” behind a document is elusive, how much more is it elusive in the case of parables and other oral traditions that were written down by subsequent authors. But Snodgrass is confident that one can still hear “the voice of Jesus” within the parables. One need not assume that the parables address the church of a particular evangelist. The parables, he says, were all “addressed to quite specific contexts in the ministry of Jesus” (p. 20), and while those specific contexts have not been preserved in many cases, we can place the parables into the general context of Jesus’ ministry. Thus it is possible to hear “the voice of Jesus” (a recurring phrase) in the parables. At first all this sounds as though Snodgrass is, in a way, updating the work of Joachim Jeremias, who addressed the “intent” of Jesus in his parables and wished to recover the original meaning of each parable in order to hear “the authentic voice” of Jesus. But this approach is actually quite different. For Snodgrass, the notion that one can get to an “original version” of a particular parable is “misguided,” for most of Jesus’ parables “would have been told numerous times, in various contexts, and with small and sometimes not so small variations” (p. 25). For example, the Parable of the Lost Sheep appears in both the Gospel of Matthew and the Gospel of Luke, but each version is quite different. Many an interpreter might argue that one (usually Luke’s version) is closer to the original. But in the view of Snodgrass, that is an unnecessary and mistaken procedure. The parable could well have been told by Jesus on more than one occasion, addressing a different audience in each, and for different purposes. There are times, however, when Snodgrass actually does seek to reconstruct an earlier account of a parable. In his work on the Parable of the Two Sons (Matt 21:28–32), he asks, “What is the original form of the parable, and is it from Jesus or Matthew?” He concludes that it is from Jesus. And, again, he proposes that Matthew’s version of the Parable of the Wicked Tenants (Matt 21:33–46) is likely to be “the earliest account” of the parable, earlier even than Mark’s (p. 283). Moreover, whenever he or any other interpreter decides on the beginnings and endings of a parable unit, one has to make a decision about an earlier form of a parable. What does one do, for example, with the saying at the end of the Parable of the Workers in the Vineyard (Matt 20:1–16): “So the last will be first, and the first will be last”? Does it belong to the parable, or is it a floating saying that has been tacked on by the evangelist? Snodgrass believes it has been tacked on by Matthew.


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There is a remarkable amount of learning and information in this book. It is instructive for both the specialist and a broad audience. A lot of questions are raised, fresh insights are provided, and the fruits of a seasoned scholar who has immersed himself in the study of relevant biblical and other related ancient texts are handed over to the reader to aid the interpretive task. Methodological issues are raised primarily at the beginning of the book. After that, most attention is devoted to exegetical and theological work. Snodgrass discusses the parables in detail and concludes in each case with a section called “Adapting the Parable,� in which he speaks forthrightly concerning the significance of the parable for the church today. The parables of Jesus continue to be of interest to people in general, and they constitute a good portion of lectionary readings in the church. This book will be a fine resource for in-depth studies of the parables and for the preacher who is looking for a comprehensive guide that will illumine the parables and provoke reflection upon them. Arland J. Hultgren LUTHER SEMINARY ST. PAUL, MINNESOTA


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Mark by R. Alan Culpepper Smyth & Helwys Bible Commentary. Smyth & Helwys, Macon, Ga., 2007. 622 pp. $60.00 (cloth). ISBN 978-157312-077-7. R. ALAN CULPEPPER, a premier Johannine scholar, turns his exegetical skills to the Gospel of Mark and produces a first-rate theological commentary on the first Gospel written in early Christianity. The Smyth & Helwys Bible Commentary series is dedicated to providing sound, credible, and scholarly interpretation on the books of the Bible for serious contemporary Christians. The series’ format includes multimedia art, photographs (including the author’s own), maps, and a CD (which allows enhanced searches), in addition to a variety of sidebars with observations ancillary, but intriguingly relevant, to the main comments of the interpreter. Culpepper’s offering is an excellent example of the intent of the series. In his words, “It is our hope that this commentary will foster biblical preaching, devotional reading, and moral decision-making for those who draw inspiration from Mark” (p. 3). Writers in this series complement the commentary sections with theological reflections (“Connections”). The layout of the volume aims to be user friendly and generally succeeds in this endeavor. Its sidebars, printed helpfully in an alternative color font, address linguistic, cultural, and interpretive issues, drawing on various sources, including theater and sociology. The sidebars also include a wide range of reflections. Chapter 1, for example, features reflections from Origen, Albert Schweitzer, Gerd Theissen/Annette Merz, Stephen Hawking, and Matthew Arnold. Other items in the sidebars include sermonic reflection on “Sabbath Resistance” by Barbara Brown Taylor, Josephus’ alternative account of the death of John the Baptist, numerous references to patristic theologians, and a variety of cultural issues (e.g., “age in antiquity,” “patrons, brokers, and clients,” “rank and status” in the Dead Sea Scrolls, “children in antiquity” and “divorce among first-century Jews”). Culpepper’s sidebars on “mystery religions” and “pesher interpretation,” found on the same page (p. 138), demonstrate his sensitivity to both Greco-Roman and Jewish contexts for the narrative of Mark. Culpepper’s introduction to the commentary addresses many traditional concerns: the function of a commentary, five eras in Markan scholarship, Mark’s leading themes, setting, date of composition, and authorship. There are few surprises here. The overview of the “five eras” concludes with a discussion of the “creative Mark” and the “natural” flow of redaction criticism into narrative studies. This “era,” however, only leads us through the 1980s and early 1990s. It is probably too soon to say whether recent postcolonial scholarship on Mark and “empire” or the latest work in performance theory and Mark’s oral environment will


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constitute another era, although Culpepper includes a few noteworthy contributions from these categories in his selective bibliography. On traditional issues in Markan scholarship, Culpepper proposes little that is new and takes the following positions: he advocates for Rome rather than Galilee/Syria as the provenance of the Gospel; he dates the composition between 68–73 C.E.; and claims, “there is no reason to doubt” the traditional authorship of John Mark, though “this traditional identification is only of limited value for reading the Gospel” (p. 31). This conclusion is not surprising for an interpreter whose scholarship has placed more attention on the narrative itself than on the world behind it. Culpepper’s decades-long approach to narrative studies informs much of this volume, although this methodology does not control all of his exegetical decisions. He carefully interprets later segments of the narrative in light of earlier passages, with a few forays into reader-response territory (e.g., Robert Fowler). Those familiar with Markan scholarship will find few surprises, but less informed readers will benefit greatly from Culpepper’s discussion. Interpretive decisions he makes about Mark 1 provide a few examples. Following N. Clayton Croy’s recent argument, Culpepper regards Mark 1:1 as a second-century scribal notation added as a superscription to an awkward beginning, which—like the Gospel’s ending—may have been lost. However, he also argues that the title “Son of God” is original to Mark 1:1 and not a later addition, apparently nullifying the claim about the second century provenance of 1:1. Culpepper sees Mark 1:14–15 as an introduction to the first main section of the Gospel rather than as a “conclusion” to the preface. He also favors the more difficult textcritical reading of “moved with anger” (orgistheis) over “moved with pity” (splagchnistheis) in 1:41, envisioning a Jesus angry at the disease itself (p. 62). In 1:44, he prefers a “negative” rather than positive use of the dative, with the result that the cleansed leper is directed to show himself to the priest and offer for his cleansing what Moses commanded as a “testimony against them.” Culpepper takes this to mean “either an indictment of the powerlessness of the cultic system in contrast to the power of Jesus or a condemnation of their unbelief ” (p. 63). This is but a sampling of the exegetical insight in this volume. Elsewhere, other interesting decisions will generate discussion and debate. Culpepper interprets the well-known crux of 4:10–12 regarding Jesus’ teaching in parables in light of both the mysteries in Greco-Roman mystery religions and the revelation in pesher interpretation at Qumran. He concludes that Jesus is the “secret” and that his parables represent a “veiled kingdom” for outsiders (p. 139). Culpepper maintains that Jesus’ encounter with the Syrophoenician woman “may have been a turning point” for his ministry (p. 242), forcing his attention away from Jewish settings as a result of this engagement with a Gentile (i.e., “Greek”) woman who cleverly turned Jesus’ offense into an advantage. Culpepper draws no clear conclusion on the meaning of Mark 9:1, but he helpfully recognizes the transfiguration passage as a parallel to the baptism scene—one that introduces the second half of the Gospel (just as the baptism, where a voice from heaven also speaks, commences the first half). In Mark 10, the Pharisees challenge Jesus on the issue of divorce in order to provoke him into speaking a word of criticism against Herod, so that he might share the fate of his


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predecessor, John the Baptist (p. 328). Culpepper is noncommital on the ending of Mark, though the “connections” he articulates presume the Gospel ends at 16:8. Most of my criticisms are minor. The regular use of “A.D.” for dates is inconsistent with the list on the abbreviation page. In my view, the “testing” of Jesus’ disciples is only implicit, rather than thematic. There is nothing in Mark comparable to the Fourth Gospel’s portrayal of Jesus’ testing of Philip (John 6:6). Late medieval art dominates the art selections (Michelangelo’s “Head of John the Baptist” and Gruenewald’s “The Crucifixion of Christ” are outstanding examples), and very little contemporary art appears in the volume. Each reviewer has his or her own preferences and my own inclination would have been toward more engagement with feminist and postcolonial scholarship. Several places would lend themselves to such engagement, as Culpepper recognizes the role and influence of Rome throughout his commentary. It was heartening to see Jesse Jackson and Gustavo Gutierrez cited in the theological “connection” sections, but exegetical scholarship by minorities and women is increasingly available. Overall, this is a useful and highly readable volume and valuable guide for a reading of the Gospel of Mark. It is also much more than a commentary on Mark. It is a teaching tool. Culpepper provides the busy pastor, the serious theological student, and the engaged contemporary Christian with insights from the cultural world surrounding early Christianity’s first story about Jesus. They will also encounter the history of interpretation on Mark, contemporary theological reflections upon it, and artwork generated by Mark’s story. In addition, Culpepper’s “connections” provide engaging resources for contemporary exploration of the theological implications of this ancient Christian Gospel for contemporary followers of Jesus. For example, who would have thought that Mark 3:20–35 (and the issue of blasphemy) would have relevance for contemporary interreligious dialogue? Culpepper maintains that “for a Christian religious leader to say, ‘Mohammed was a demon-possessed pedophile,’ poses a serious hindrance to the reconciling, forgiving, and peace-making work of the Holy Spirit” (pp. 128–29). And how might Jesus’ difficult teaching on divorce and remarriage (Mark 10:1–12) relate to contemporary struggles with women in ministry (in some circles) and the issue of homosexuality (in other ones)? The door has been opened for contemporary reflection. Scholars will find it a useful resource for the classroom setting, especially in the context of theological education. Emerson B. Powery MESSIAH COLLEGE GRANTHAM, PENNSYLVANIA


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Acts by J. Bradley Chance Smyth & Helwys Bible Commentary. Smyth & Helwys, Macon, Ga., 2007. 562 pp. $60.00 (cloth). ISBN 978-157312-080-7. OVER THIRTY-FIVE YEARS AGO in an article in Interpretation, Paul Minear expressed a concern that the book of Acts was becoming theologically unintelligible to American Christians. Modernity and its robust skepticism made Luke’s depiction of the “persistent purpose of God” appear far-fetched to many; moreover, assertions of providential design and accounts of apostolic signs and wonders in Acts could “lead to supercilious rejection of both Luke and his early readers” (“Dear Theo: The Kerygmatic Intention and Claim of the Book of Acts,” Int 27.2 [1973]: 150). Minear therefore summoned Interpretation’s readers to convene fresh theological conversations with Acts, conversations that creatively mediate faithful dialogue between the people of God today and the word of God, as Acts bears witness to it. Although his commentary never refers to Minear, Bradley Chance seems impelled by similar concerns. Chance, who teaches at Missouri’s William Jewell College, writes that his chief aim is to explore the theological contours of Acts. For him, this means focusing on the story Luke tells, drawing insights and lessons from the narrative depiction of God and God’s activity among the human participants in the drama. The commentary is less about deducing Luke’s theological or kerygmatic agenda for his time and more about fashioning a creative engagement with a scriptural account of God and God’s agents in a way that attends to both the text and twenty-first century Western worldviews. Chance therefore frequently highlights aspects of Acts that raise questions about relating the divine will and human freedom. When God orchestrates events either obtrusively or subtly—ranging from Philip’s strange encounter with the Ethiopian eunuch to Paul’s custody as an opportunity to bear witness in Rome—Chance presses readers to understand God as participating within the world as a party to its history. Incorporating proposals from process theology and open theism, he finds Acts especially congenial to views that set providential design and human participation in a creative, integrated tension. Quoting Marjorie Hewitt Suchocki, whom he cites often, Chance asserts, “God works with the world as it is in order to bring it to where it can be” (p. 439). His exegesis takes aim at simplistic and overbearing understandings of divine sovereignty that hold sway in many popular readings of Acts. These are the same kinds of understandings that make Acts problematic for other readers, and that are easily overwhelmed by the modernist skepticism that Minear identified. Most


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impressive is Chance’s ability to make his theological case in language that nonspecialists will find thoroughly accessible. This accessibility is a main feature of the growing Smyth & Helwys Commentary series. Directed toward students and churchgoers willing to dive into a hefty volume, the commentary does not assume its readers possess more than a little knowledge of the relevant first-century historical context and the terminology of critical biblical scholarship. Sidebars, printed in contrasting color and font and sprinkled throughout the text, provide additional information on linguistic matters, historical backgrounds, and interpretive questions. The series preface insists that this contributes to a “user-friendly” layout for a “visual generation.” What some users find amicable, however, others nevertheless may experience as distracting. The Smyth & Helwys format requires Chance to separate “commentary” on a section of biblical text from “connections” he draws between the text and the contemporary church. While the “commentary” sections provide a competent and thorough overview of the Acts narrative, they do not enter into explicit conversation with a wide range of other interpreters. The sparse endnotes and numerous sidebars (perhaps an effort to maintain a “user-friendly” resource), direct readers to only a limited amount of secondary sources, mostly Bible dictionaries and a small sampling of comprehensive commentaries that are at least ten years old (commentaries by Joseph Fitzmyer, Luke Timothy Johnson, John Polhill, and Ben Witherington receive the most attention). Some pivotal interpretive issues that could intrigue many students of Acts are simply underdeveloped. For example, there is little sustained attention given to the sociopolitical consequences of the gospel in various cultural settings, particularly as portrayed in Acts 16–19. Also, Chance’s consistent claim, echoing Ernst Haenchen and others, that Luke portrays Christianity as nonthreatening to Roman interests, is more assumed than demonstrated. To add substance to his exposition, Chance reads the Acts narrative in light of other material from the first-century world, including the Pauline corpus. Although he occasionally notes the difficulties in reconciling the messages of Luke and Paul, for the most part Chance finds complementarity if not consistency between their theological claims. Considering the theology of Acts in concert with the book’s literary and historical facets, Chance explains how Luke could have exercised certain creative freedom and still been a legitimate historian, but he usually abstains from issuing his own opinions in debates about the historical veracity of the events Luke depicts. He clearly states that weighing in on those debates is not his aim, and he rightly regards most of them as dependent on speculation determined by an interpreter’s theological and methodological presuppositions. Still, the commentary often must acknowledge specific exegetical controversies concerning history or Luke’s possible use of sources. When it does so, it briefly cites voices from opposing perspectives, showcasing only hyper-credulity (usually represented by Ben Witherington) and hyper-skepticism (Gerd Lüdemann often fills this role), and then drops the matter. Such an approach may be efficient, but it is akin to watching the old CNN show Crossfire: one finds nearly polarized opinions but is hardly invited either to appreciate the nuances of the issues on the table or to grasp their implications.


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Chance reserves the right to remain noncommittal on many historical matters in order to keep the commentary concentrated on its main aim. He is hardly unaware that the narrative and theology of Acts exist amid questions of historiography and genre, considerations of the first-century social milieux, and the book’s long reception history. Although the commentary de-emphasizes those topics to facilitate a creative engagement with the God and gospel of Acts, it would be a loss were some readers to conclude that historical considerations have little bearing on the theology of a biblical narrative. Perhaps an unstated intention also guides Chance’s commentary: to divert readers from getting locked into an exegetical task that possesses merely penultimate value yet captivates many interpreters, namely, assessing the degree to which Acts reflects tendentiousness as a report of ancient history. Because they are the commentary’s most noteworthy feature, Chance’s theological proposals are the rightful focus for any evaluation of his book. He deserves credit for taking seriously the challenge of describing for a broad range of readers how Acts might inform Christian faith, piety, and ministry today. As mentioned, the working out of God’s purposes is a prominent and thoughtful piece of Chance’s theological discussions. The “connections” section of each chapter draws theological lessons from Acts around other topics such as the inclusion of women in the life and leadership of churches; the nature of Christian devotion, character, and obedience; the task of bearing witness to nonbelievers; the practice of baptism and its connections to the Holy Spirit; and the ways in which people respond to the call of God. Although each of these issues pertains to a wide variety of faith communities, taken together, they suggest a particular concern for a Baptist milieu, perhaps the context of the commentary’s intended audiences. Also worth noting is Chance’s reading of the relationship in Acts between the adherents of the gospel and those Jews who reject or oppose it. As seen especially in the commentary’s attentive discussion of Acts 13, Chance associates this aspect of the story with accounts of Gentiles who respond positively to the gospel. In all cases, among all audiences, the gospel encounters mixed and sometimes unexpected reactions. When Acts includes harsh judgments to or about Jewish characters, it does not denounce Judaism as a whole but calls out the specific “characters who embody the kind of exclusive spirit that resists the universal gospel” (p. 419). Even the ending, including Paul’s words to the Jews of Rome, underscores this mixed reaction. For Chance, this is nothing new, for the story of God throughout Scripture is fraught with instances of resistance and rebellion. But, again in Acts, even as God’s representatives scold this opposition, God remains ever faithful. Chance’s commentary, therefore, pursues many of the weighty theological questions that Acts can raise for contemporary believers. It will be a helpful resource for Christian readers and communities who seek continuity between their experiences of faith and Luke’s high-spirited story of the early church. Matthew L. Skinner LUTHER SEMINARY SAINT PAUL, MINNESOTA


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Reviews

Judges: A Commentary by Susan Niditch Westminster John Knox, Louisville, 2008. 290 pp. $45.00 (cloth). ISBN 978-0-664-22096-9.

DRAWING UPON HER considerable expertise in folklore studies, Susan Niditch examines the “multilayered and multivoiced” book of Judges as a repository of traditional and oral literature. Recognizing its marvelously diverse narrative materials, she identifies three major voices, all emphasizing the role of God in Israel’s fate: 1) an epic-bardic voice, perhaps dating to the late second millennium B.C.E., in Judg 5; 2) a covenant-oriented Deuteronomic theologian, probably of the late monarchic period, in Judg 2 and in the hero stories of chs. 3–16; and 3) a humanist voice with nationalist interests, reflecting the postexilic era, in Judg 1 and 17–21. The introduction provides a clear summary of the characters and themes of Judges and of the major scholarly views about its historicity, redaction, and versions. It also explains Niditch’s folkloristic approach, which involves sensitivity to the text, texture, and context of biblical literature. The commentary itself examines Judges chapter by chapter. For each chapter, Niditch first offers her own translation, in which she strives to give contemporary readers a sense of the oral and aural qualities of the quasi-poetic text. The translation conveys the rhythms, word plays, and repetitions of the Hebrew while adjusting to English word order. (An appendix presents another version of the translation that is even closer to the word order of the Hebrew original.) The translation is annotated with information about selected words, phrases, and issues. The emphasis here is on textual variants, which Niditch takes seriously as witness to the oral-world mentality of biblical antiquity, in which different versions existed at the same time. Niditch then briefly discusses the overall contents and “voice” of the chapter and also, where appropriate, its possible authenticity. Finally, she pro-

vides an analysis of each subunit of the chapter, focusing on the folkloric features of the characters and reported events. In so doing she frequently points to parallels with other biblical materials as well as comparative materials from other cultures, especially from the Aegean. Readers who expect a detailed treatment of virtually every term and concept may be disappointed, but those who are eager to learn how ancient audiences may have experienced the text will be richly rewarded. Niditch also offers refreshing new insights into Israelite views of war, violence, power, national leadership, ethnic identity, and women’s roles. Her interdisciplinary folkloristic approach, although lacking attention to issues of collective memory, nonetheless delivers a lively exposition that does justice to the vibrancy of this biblical book.

CAROL MEYERS DUKE UNIVERSITY DURHAM, NORTH CAROLINA

The Early Monarchy in Israel: The Tenth Century B.C.E. by Walter Dietrich, translated by Joachim Vette Biblical Encyclopedia. Society of Biblical Literature, Atlanta, 2007. 396 pp. $47.95. ISBN 978-1-58983-263-3.

THIS BOOK BY WALTER DIETRICH is part of the ten-volume Biblical Encyclopedia series, now translated into English. The well-done translation of the German original (Kohlhammer, 1997) is slightly revised and aims to serve “as a textbook reflecting the current state of scholarly discussion” (p. x). According to the subtitle, the book covers the tenth century B.C.E.; more precisely, it is about the time of the first three kings: Saul, David, and Solomon. Following the guidelines of the series, Dietrich (University of Bern) organizes his book in four parts. The first part provides an overview entitled “The Biblical Account of the Time Period” based on two literary-historical theses: 1) that “underneath the Deuteronomistic text, dated roughly during the exile, there is an older


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and thus preexilic textual layer that was known to and used by the Deuteronomistic redaction” and 2) that “this material was quite extensive and organized to a large degree as we find it now in the Hebrew Bible” (pp. 26–27). Dietrich thus focuses on this pre-exilic textual layer in 1 Sam– 1 Kgs 11 and analyzes it narratively. The second and largest part of the book deals with “The History of the Early Monarchy,” one of the most controversial reconstructed periods in the history of ancient Israel. Aware of methodological problems and “minimalist” approaches, Dietrich provides a rather traditional reconstruction, i.e., one that is not “overcautious” with regard to the credibility of the biblical texts (p. 110) and that follows the conventional chronology. Part 3 discusses “The Literature of the Time Period”— an enterprise loaded with uncertainties. Dietrich first presents six traditional hypotheses about texts dating back to the tenth century B.C.E. (e.g., the so-called “Succession Narrative” and the “Yahwist History”). The hypotheses are evaluated critically with respect to their original independence/unity or early dating. Subsequently, Dietrich presents his own redaction-historical analysis of 1 Sam–1 Kgs 11. In his view, only a few small units reach back to the early monarchy, whereas the (pre-Deuteronomistic) narrative history dates from the eighth, perhaps even the seventh, century B.C.E.. The fourth and last part of the book, “Theological Conclusions,” addresses issues like “state rule and divine rule” and “election and rejection.” While the guidelines of the Biblical Encyclopedia lead to some repetition and are problematic for consideration of the tenth century B.C.E. (especially in Part 3), the book effectively addresses historical, literary, and theological questions in relation with each other. Dietrich provides masterful explanation of complex issues and controversial scholarly discussions in an indepth but accessible manner. I highly recommend this book for pastors, teachers, and laypersons interested in the time of Saul, David, and Solomon and the biblical texts about this period.

ANNETTE SCHELLENBERG SAN FRANCISCO THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY SAN ANSELMO, CALIFORNIA

The Destiny of the Righteous in the Psalms by Jerome F. D. Creach Chalice, St. Louis, 2008. 168 pp. $21.99. ISBN 978-08272-0634-2.

Professor of Old Testament at Pittsburgh Theological Seminary, a member of the Psalms Section of the Society of Biblical Literature, and identifies James L. Mays as a significant mentor. As these associations suggest, this study is in tune with recent scholarship, considers the Psalter as a book, and has concern for the Psalms as a resource for the church’s theology and ministry. This book argues “that the concern for the destiny of the righteous is a central organizing subject that provides a fruitful entrée into the Psalter as a whole” (p. 1). Part 1 asks, “Who are the Righteous in the Psalms?” “Righteous” is a relational term denoting those who depend on God, recognizing that they are “poor and needy.” The “psalms of vengeance” deal with the enemies of the righteous. The lives of the righteous are marked by praise, a concern for shalom, and a desire “to be near God” (Ps 73:28). Part 2, “The Destiny of the Righteous and the Shape of the Psalter,” argues that the shape of the book communicates a concern for the destiny of the righteous. After the assurances that the Lord watches over the righteous in Pss 1 and 2, Pss 3–89 call that assurance into question: “Where is your steadfast love of old?” (89:49). Psalms 90– 150 assert that “the Lord reigns” and will keep his promises. These promises were reshaped and eventually experienced their fulfillment in Jesus of Nazareth. Part 3, “The Embodied Hope of the Righteous,” focuses on the king, Mount Zion and torah as representations of “the embodied hope” of the righteous. The portrait of the king in the royal psalms is eventually realized in Jesus. Mount Zion is the place where the righteous celebrate God’s nearness, and the resurrected Jesus is “a temple that is now a person” where the righteous find themselves near God. Finally, torah becomes “the avenue through which the righteous secure their destiny” (Pss 1, 19, and 119). The book offers careful and creative studies of a good many psalms, but it does more than

JEROME CREACH IS


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that. Creach is arguing a thesis and states that thesis, restates it, and reviews it until with the concluding summary the reader gets the point: the theme of “the destiny of the righteous” indeed runs through the psalms and provides a fresh avenue for getting at what they are all about.

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politics of the region into a larger religious context. Study questions at the end of each chapter will guide any group into a larger discussion of history, the Bible and land claims, and theological reflection on place. The book would provide excellent preparation for any person or group planning to travel to Israel and the West Bank.

JAMES LIMBURG, Professor Emeritus

THOMAS B. DOZEMAN

LUTHER SEMINARY

UNITED THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY

ST. PAUL, MINNESOTA

DAYTON, OHIO

God’s Land on Loan: Israel, Palestine, and the World by W. Eugene March Westminster John Knox, Louisville, 2007. 131 pp. $19.95. ISBN 978-0-664-23151-4.

THIS BOOK BY EUGENE March presents a biblical theology of land that interweaves the contemporary Israeli and Palestinian conflict over territory with theological reflection on the biblical claim that God owns all land and that humans are never more than momentary caretakers. The dual focus on the past of the Bible and the contemporary history of war in the Middle East influences March’s structure. The book begins in the present. The opening chapter provides sketches of the diverse population in contemporary Jerusalem, which includes Arabs, European and Middle Eastern Jews, Bedouins, Christians, and Muslims. The second chapter places this diverse population in an historical context by reviewing the modern history of Palestine from the Ottoman Empire to the rise of the state of Israel and the cycle of conflicts that continue into the present. The third chapter moves from history to biblical theology, exploring the divine claim on all land. March closes by raising questions that bear on Jewish and Christian relations with regard to the land of the Bible. This is a helpful book for anyone who wishes to wade through the cycle of violence that has characterized the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. March provides a clear summary of the evolution of treaties, wars, and negotiations between the two parties in the past sixty years. The many maps are a bonus, since they bring the geopolitical developments into clear light. The theological reflection on land aids the reader in framing the

Jesus and the Peasants by Douglas E. Oakman Cascade, Eugene, Ore., 2008. 336 pp. $38.00. ISBN 9781-976752-275-5.

THIS COLLECTION OF ESSAYS is a valuable addition to the reference library of pastors, preachers, Bible teachers, or students interested in the life of the historical Jesus. Douglas Oakman writes from perspectives that are often ignored by biblical scholars today. Focusing on the economic situations that motivated Jesus and the people he addressed, Oakman opens the texts to exciting sociological, archaeological, and anthropological vistas that uncover the day-to-day values that concerned Jesus and the peasants and farmers he labored to assist. A few brief examples will illustrate the basis of his conclusions. Oakman contends that in the original form of the Lord’s Prayer, Jesus expresses profound concern for the landless workers who face imprisonment or slavery if they cannot pay their debts. Although the admonition to forgive one another’s debts calls for a non-violent economic revolution, Jesus challenges the very heart of Rome’s method of rule through excessive taxation, as well as the oppressiveness of the HerodianJudean political order, thereby evoking a violent response. As another example, in the Parable of the Prodigal Son, the behavior of the Father and the profligate both violate customary rules of inheritance and debt repayment as Jesus tries to envision possibilities for a new way of life and economic relationships. In the Parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus shows that there are greater values than money and wealth, such as being family to another human being (even an enemy) and


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living out the worth of “general reciprocity.” Oakman argues, convincingly, that one reason why Revelation almost did not make it into the canon was because its essential message is not eschatological millenialism but rather one that provocatively attacks the way in which Rome used religion and the support of Jewish elite leaders to dominate the economy and maintain power. Providing careful analysis accompanied by excellent charts and graphs (useful for teaching and preaching), Oakman contends that Jesus’ historical activity was not about religion and theology or one’s personal relationship to God, but rather about real life, the value of money and wealth, and political power vis-à-vis the honor and power of the one true God. For twenty-first century Christians who face similar struggles with critical issues of violence and economic oppression, Oakman’s studies are valuable opportunities to hear Jesus’ call to action afresh.

EARL S. JOHNSON, JR. FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH JOHNSTOWN, NEW YORK

Ephesians and Colossians by Charles H. Talbert Paideia Commentaries on the New Testament. Baker, Grand Rapids, 2007. 296 pp. $24.99. ISBN 978-0-8010-3128-1.

THIS IS THE FIRST OF eighteen projected commentaries in a series edited by Charles Talbert and Mikeal Parsons. The target audience is advanced undergraduate and seminary students. An examination of Talbert’s comments on Eph 5:22–6:9 provides a good example of how the commentary works as a whole. Talbert identifies this pericope as a household code. First, he discusses its Greco-Roman origins and its use by Jewish writers. Second, Talbert concludes that the codes are an example of Christian concord and, as such, they cohere completely with the theme of ethnic unity (Eph 2:11–22) that dominates the first three chapters. Furthermore, the codes are not a model for a Christian family but “an organizational chart for a family business” so that the estate runs smoothly (p. 150). For Roman society, concord in the home led to concord in the state which led to pax Romana in the empire.

Moreover, Talbert argues that Gal 3:27–28 affirmed an egalitarian ethos in the worshiping community, not in the home and the wider community. The Ephesians passage shapes Christian identity by asserting, on the one hand, that Christians adhere to the same relational values as non-Christians, while, on the other hand, affirming that they do so out of their Christian devotion. The codes would enable Christian growth by preventing divisions and making the community operate more cohesively and effectively. They might also make Christianity more appealing to outsiders. Finally, Talbert concludes that the codes, like most Pauline ethics, provide an indication of Christian identity formation modeled after Christ and are not casuistic law written in stone (pp. 136–57). This book is outstanding. It should appeal to its target audience and be a useful resource in the classroom. Talbert’s knowledge of GrecoRoman culture is extensive, and his grasp of Second Temple Judaism is good. However, the book is not flawless. For example, many believe that Ephesians used Colossians as its primary template. Some would argue that Eph 5:21 is a transition between 5:15–20 and 5:22–6:9 and is a part of the household codes. Finally, Talbert states that the limit to eschatological suffering in Jewish apocalypses is temporal, not numerical. First Enoch 47: 4, Ezra 4:33–37, 2 Bar. 23:4–5, and Rev 6:9–11 would argue against him. Still, I found this a very helpful commentary.

THOMAS B. SLATER MCAFEE SCHOOL OF THEOLOGY MERCER UNIVERSITY ATLANTA, GEORGIA

We Preach Not Ourselves: Paul on Proclamation by Michael P. Knowles Brazos, Grand Rapids, 2008. 256 pp. $24.99. ISBN 9781-58743-3211-8.

MICHAEL KNOWLES MERGES the horizons of homiletics and NT interpretation in a study intended for pastors and teachers as he examines Paul’s understanding of the spirituality of preaching. As an alternative to the focus on form and technique in contemporary homiletic literature, Knowles


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invites preachers to learn from the model of Paul and to compare their own experiences with his. Paul articulates a “Jesus-centered spirituality that can best be described as ‘cruciform,’ a spiritual vision shaped by Jesus’ crucifixion and resurrection” (p. 15). The task of the preacher is not only to repeat Paul’s words, but also to articulate “new configurations of [Paul’s] voice” (p. 22) for the contemporary audience. Paul’s justification for his ministry is most clearly focused in 2 Cor 1:1–6:13, and Knowles limits the study to this section of the epistle. After a brief summary of the historical setting of 2 Corinthians, Knowles examines the text of 1:1–6:13, dividing it into six chapters based on the textual units he identifies. In each instance, he offers exegetical insights accompanied by implications for the contemporary preacher. Knowles convincingly demonstrates that Paul’s proclamation of the cross is inseparable from his embodiment of that message in the context of weakness. Paul’s message is a challenge to political power, the values of his detractors, and the perspective of contemporary society. A concluding seventh chapter challenges preachers to discover God’s grace in the context of obedient trust. Knowles interweaves textual commentary with reflections from a wide range of literature, demonstrating the continuing relevance of Paul’s theology of strength in weakness. Each section maintains a dialogue between the text and subsequent Christian tradition, indicating the perennial nature of the questions raised in 2 Corinthians. A major strength of the book is the inclusion of Luther, St. Paul of the Cross, Wolterstorff, and Barth in the conversation that Paul initiated. Illustrations from modern history and missions also indicate the continuation of Paul’s spiritual vision. Knowles effectively interprets Paul’s cruciform ministry in 2 Corinthians, but his case could be strengthened by greater attention to the inner coherence of Paul’s argument. Knowles sometimes divides major sections at unusual places, separates thought units, and atomizes the text into smaller units in ways that often disconnect them from the primary argument of the text. Although one may quibble with

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specific exegetical conclusions, the book admirably fulfills its purpose.

JAMES W. THOMPSON ABILENE CHRISTIAN UNIVERSITY ABILENE, TEXAS

Paul, Judaism, and the Gentiles: Beyond the New Perspective by Francis Watson Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2007. 416 pp. $32.00. ISBN 978-0-8028-4020-2.

THE FIRST EDITION OF Francis Watson’s Paul, Judaism, and the Gentiles (Cambridge University Press, 1989), a revised doctoral dissertation, received a considerable number of reviews. In this latest edition, the mature scholar returns to several lingering questions. The structure of the book is largely the same, but Watson interacts with more recent work (although admittedly very selectively). Watson’s two-fold thesis was (and remains) ambitious. He offers his own vantage point on Paul and the Law, and he suggests a new approach to the situation behind Paul’s letter to the Romans. Not a year has passed since Watson’s original work without substantial scholarship on both these vast topics with their attendant sub-issues. On Paul and the Law, Watson places himself in the context of Sanders’ and Dunn’s seminal works. Watson emphasizes the christological priorities of Sanders over against Dunn’s focus on inclusion/exclusion. Against Sanders, he stresses that Paul’s Christology led to a universal condemnation of humanity by the Law. For Watson, Paul offers among his peers a stronger sense of divine agency as God transforms and enables the believer in advance of the final judgment according to works. Watson advocates that “works of the Law” refers to life within the boundaries of God’s elect people, but the phrase may or may not include reference to the boundary markers of circumcision, food laws, or Sabbath. He is surely right in these regards, but others have argued the same. Paul is, for Watson, a radical Jew whose conception of God’s grace in Christ led to repudiation of circumcision as self-castration/mutilation. Paul advocated sectarian separation from the syna-


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gogues. In relation to the Roman Christians, the subject of much of the book, Jewish members of the audience must leave the synagogues and join with Gentile Christians in a new, united community. Unfortunately, the revised edition does not reinforce the primary argumentation of the original edition supporting a JewishChristian contingent in Rome (see the discussion of Rom 1:5–6, 13; 15:15–16 on pp. 188–91 and Das, Solving the Romans Debate). Watson overlooks a discrete pattern in these passages: Paul’s apostolic activity to “Gentiles” includes “you” Romans. Paul repeatedly emphasizes that the Roman addressees, whom he has yet to visit, are included in his mission to Gentiles, not the trivial point that they live in the midst of a Gentile world. Romans 11:13, another instance of this pattern, maintains the contrast throughout chs. 9–11 between the Roman Gentiles in the second-person and the Jews in the thirdperson. Even the discussion of Rom 16 needs to be expanded in light of more recent counterpoints. Watson’s insightful reading of Romans does not itself offer decisive evidence in favor of his overall thesis. These passages can often be interpreted in similar terms for an exclusively Gentile audience divided over its relationship to Judaism. Readers will nevertheless benefit from interaction with this wide-ranging thesis.

A. ANDREW DAS ELMHURST COLLEGE ELMHURST, ILLINOIS

The Nature of Biblical Criticism by John Barton Westminster John Knox, Louisville, 2007. 206 pp. $24.95. ISBN 978-0-664-22587-2.

JOHN BARTON OF OXFORD University has written a defense of biblical criticism in response to various “caricatures” (p. 8) presented by many who question its usefulness. The book is organized around four misconceptions regarding biblical criticism. The first misconception (ch. 2), maintained by both religious conservatives and “discourse analysis/text linguistics” scholars, is that biblical criticism is rationalism seeking discrepancies in the Bible. Barton shows that finding discrepan-

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cies is neither new nor particular to higher criticism. Augustine, for example, paid little attention to conflicting words or events in his emphasis on the meaning of the Bible. Biblical criticism is not noticing discrepancies, but is rather reading attentive to genre: “Critical scholars recognize what kind of text they are dealing with” (p. 23). Conservative attacks on biblical criticism highlight its supposed Enlightenment origins. Barton argues that the origins are earlier and far different. He traces higher criticism via the Renaissance ultimately to Aristotle’s Poetics and patristic application of Aristotle’s principles, visible in Jerome and in the patristic school of Antioch. The second misconception (ch. 3) involves the use of the label “historical-critical method” for biblical criticism: “The critic, it is said, is interested in the earlier stages of the biblical texts rather than in their final form” (p. 39). Barton answers that some criticism is precisely concerned with “later stages” (p. 41). For example, rarely do scholars dissect “the fragments out of which some psalms may have been composed” (p. 71). Also mistaken is the supposed emphasis on history: “The critical impulse certainly has nothing to do with history, but altogether with the literary character of the work” (p. 21). On the other hand, “the meaning a text has is connected with its origins in a particular historical and cultural setting” (p. 80). The fourth misconception (ch. 4) is the supposed quest for the author’s intent. Barton highlights tradition history: the interest in traditions of the Pentateuch or Deuteronomistic History is not in the authors. We well know that “the attempt to fix an ‘original’ meaning is more or less bound to fail” (p. 79). Rather, what critics point out is that “there are some things the text cannot mean” (p. 114). The final misconception (ch. 6) is that biblical criticism is an attack on Christian faith in the Bible. But before addressing the question of whether this is inherent to biblical criticism, Barton discusses two proposed solutions to this “problem.” He finds the “canonical” approach deficient since it forecloses possibilities for what the text might mean on the basis of an already existing theory about what this meaning is bound to be. Secondly, regarding “advocacy readings”


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(p. 150), Barton admits there are texts and false readings of them that perpetuate power structures, but he holds that criticism of both is based on the sort of objective readings of the texts that biblical criticism provides. According to Barton, biblical criticism has always been concerned with significance. In fact, critics such as David Clines and Philip Davies accuse biblical studies of being too theological. But the theological appropriation of higher criticism of the Bible is “not constrained by prior convictions about the text’s meaning . . . (which includes the scholarly guild)” (p. 124). Biblical criticism is no less religious than approaches such as the canonical one, but . . . is actually more so. . . . Prayer begins in attention to what is there, and then reflects on that ‘thereness’ in the light of religious convictions. But attention comes first. (p. 181) In sum, “A critical approach is inherent in a religious commitment in the first place.” It entails “an attitude of receptiveness to a reality we did not ourselves create” (p. 186).

ROBERT D. MILLER II THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA WASHINGTON, D.C.

Biblical Theology: Issues, Methods, and Themes by James K. Mead Westminster John Knox, Louisville, 2007. 328 pp. $29.95. ISBN 978-0-664-22972-6.

BIBLICAL THEOLOGY remains a vital issue for pastors and academics who wish to teach the “whole counsel of God” within their confessional context. Such transformational teaching has never been easy, for it is no simple task to integrate the Bible’s contents and their implications for shaping theology and life into a coherent whole. Thus, books offering ways to navigate the various aspects of biblical theology are always welcome, and James Mead’s volume provides such assistance. Mead divides his concise analysis into six appropriate chapters: “Defining Biblical Theology,” “The History of Biblical Theology,” “Issues Raised in Biblical Theology,” “Methods Used in

Biblical Theology,” “Themes Developed through Biblical Theology,” and “Prospects for Biblical Theology.” His revised definition of biblical theology focuses not only on what it reveals about God’s person and deeds as they relate to the creation and human beings but also includes God’s relationship with people and human interpersonal relationships. This revision is necessary in Mead’s view because late twentieth-century postmodern approaches contain insights that supplement those gained by the historical, literary, and dogmatic methods utilized in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. His definition and preferred method are synthetic, unitary, generous, hopeful, and discerning. Given the diverse nature of current theological trends, this book is valuable for at least three reasons. First, it treats the Bible as a coherent whole that divulges a good, powerful, and relational God who is revealed most fully in Jesus Christ. This holistic message is crucial for presenting a Christian metanarrative in a postmodern world. Second, it summarizes the past and present main currents in the discipline. Thus, readers can refresh and advance their knowledge of the evolution of biblical theology in a relatively short number of pages. Third, it incorporates key insights from many viewpoints in an irenic fashion. Mead treats others fairly and kindly regardless of their methodology. I highly recommend this book for anyone wishing to link scholarship and a living relationship with God. Mead proves himself a worthy interpreter of the Scriptures and a helpful guide through the many trails of biblical theology. He generally leaves normative teaching to other authors, but he lays the groundwork fairly and clearly.

PAUL R. HOUSE BEESON DIVINITY SCHOOL BIRMINGHAM, ALABAMA

Imagining Theology: Women, Writing, and God by Heather Walton T & T Clark International, London, 2007. 152 pp. $110.00 (cloth). ISBN 978-0-567-03173-0.

LITERARY WORKS BY MEN have often been studied


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for their theological contributions. In this book, Heather Walton makes a strong case for more fully incorporating fiction, published diaries, journals, poetry, science fiction, and feminist philosophy by women into the discussion of theology. She especially encourages “religious feminists [to] open themselves to literature” because it offers a realm for “tension, conflict, dialogue, and vital relation” with religious tradition (p. 16). Walton is the Director of the Centre for Literature, Theology, and the Arts at Glasgow University, and her particular knowledge is reflected in the choice of topics in this book. The introductory chapter is an overview of influential works read widely by women during the 1970s–1990s. Among these works are the novels of Doris Lessing, Alice Walker’s The Color Purple, and Toni Morrison’s Beloved. Pioneering work by feminist theologians Carol Christ and Judith Plaskow and womanist ethicist Katie Cannon are also included, along with the “dialogic engagement” (p. 12) of Kathleen Sands and Rita Nakashima Brock. In nine successive chapters, Walton examines interdisciplinary connections between literature and theology—political, sexual, “mythmaking,” and “symbol.” She examines the water symbolism in two novels by Marilynne Robinson (Homemaking and Gilead) and engages novels by Miche*le Roberts to speak about “revisioning, a practice” borrowed from Adrienne Rich that Walton also relates to the hermeneutical work of NT scholar Elisabeth Schüssler Fiorenza. Walton also draws upon the Nazi-era diaries of German Jew Etty Hillesum for themes of beauty and resistance; the 1939 journal and 1945 prose of Elizabeth Smart and the work of French feminist philosopher Luce Irigaray for their “extreme faith”; and Elaine Graham on the “post/human” or cyborg. In a distinctive chapter on the Queen of Sheba, Walton retells the story of the two women who came before Soloman to settle a dispute over a single live infant (1 Kgs 3:16–27). Turning a familiar interpretation upon its head, Walton’s midrash suggests that the woman who gave up the claim to the child was not the biological

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mother. Through use of a fictional child born to the Queen of Sheba and Solomon, Walton connects the Queen’s child, the sacrifice by the childless woman, and the death of Bathsheba’s first son. This allows Walton to speak about suffering and the judgment of God. She thus illustrates for readers the process of “birthing the Word” (p. 78) as a woman preacher—here, giving birth to Wisdom’s word/Wisdom’s child as Walton draws a parallel between Solomon and Jesus. The one drawback of the book is its cost, as it is not yet available in paperback. Some of the essays, however, can be found in other published sources. Walton’s book provides the opportunity for women in different social locations and various forms of ministry to explore the interplay of theology and contemporary literature.

DEBRA REAGAN UNION-PSCE RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

Alone in the World? Human Uniqueness in Science and Theology by J. Wentzel van Huyssteen Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2006. 365 pp. $40.00. ISBN 978-0-8028-3246-7.

(Edinburgh, 2004), Wentzel van Huyssteen, professor at Princeton Theological Seminary, addresses the question of what defines humanness. Paleontology, archaeology, and biology have contributed to our knowledge of other primates and the evolution of hominids. What is distinctive about humanness? This is not just an empirical question; we decide on criteria. Van Huyssteen explores the empirical sciences on cognitive evolution, imagination, rock art (beautiful photography), symbolization, and language. He sees continuity between humans and earlier hominids, as well as discontinuity: by passing thresholds of self-reflective thinking and symbolization, new possibilities have become real. Religion is involved as well, as demonstrated in the following quotation: the evolution of those characteristics that made humans unique from even their closest sister species, i.e., characteristics like consciousness, language, symbolic minds

IN HIS GIFFORD LECTURES


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and symbolic behavior, is directly related to religious awareness and religious behavior. (p. 213) Van Huyssteen opts for interaction across disciplinary boundaries (“transversality”). Science may inform religious thought, while scientific choices such as criteria for humanness are informed by religious, philosophical, and political preferences. That humans are in God’s image (imago Dei) is interpreted in light of the available knowledge as referring to our embodied moral and religious sensibility and cognitive abilities. Religious meanings have to be worked out in relation to other things we have discovered, as there is no place for a modern universal rationality or for a pre-modern treatment of tradition as a repository of revealed data. We must live without a privileged foundation, intertwining ideas as far as possible. Van Huyssteen’s theological engagement with modern knowledge is valuable and well

done, though the connection between the methodological sections and the reflections on human nature was not as clear to me as it was to him. Van Huyssteen’s information on science draws on first-rate scientists who have invested in communicating their ideas. He could have interwoven their contributions somewhat more in a thematically driven account.

WILLEM B. DREES LEIDEN INSTITUTE OF RELIGIOUS STUDIES LEIDEN UNIVERSITY, THE NETHERLANDS

Social Selves and Political Reform: Five Visions in Contemporary Ethics by C. Melissa Snarr T & T Clark, New York, 2007. 134 pp. $125.00 (cloth). ISBN 978-0-567-02603-3.

MELISSA SNARR PROVIDES a skillful and perceptive examination of the moral anthropologies of Walter Rauschenbusch, Reinhold Niebuhr,


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Stanley Hauerwas, Beverly Harrison, and Emilie Townes. Snarr argues that by investigating the concepts of the social self we are able to understand better the ways that Christian ethicists validate and encourage the participation of individuals and communities in the political forum. She writes that “variations in moral anthropology (particularly concerning the nature of the self) do much to drive different views on Christian political engagement” (p. xviii). Scholars, however, have not paid enough attention to the concept of the social self in contemporary Christian ethics. The chapters of Snarr’s book place each ethicist’s thought in its social context, discuss his or her view of the social self, and include helpful comparisons among the ideas of these thinkers. Snarr considers the five major veins of thought in Christian ethics represented by Rauschenbusch (social gospel), Niebuhr (realist), Hauerwas (communitarian), Harrison (feminist), and Townes (womanist) most frequently for their differences. Her critical analysis of their moral anthropologies focuses primarily on the convergence of their arguments. In her conclusion, Snarr uses the best ideas about the social self to develop six core convictions or insights that promise to guide an enlightening moral anthropology. She writes, I hope this study conveys the agreement among seemingly divergent authors on the essentially social nature of the self and its major implications: that Christian formation is largely an issue of institutional formation, that a fundamental task of the Christian life is institutional reform, and that the processes (not just outcomes) of institutional practices are central in Christian social ethics. (p. 120) Insightful comparisons made by Snarr about the concepts of the social self held by these thinkers make this book a significant contribution to the field. The intended audience for the book is primarily academic. One of its goals is to motivate Christian ethicists to examine more carefully the problems of their own political systems and to speak out on reforms that are greatly needed. In addition, Snarr addresses questions that may help church leaders who are interested

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in encouraging congregations to become more politically engaged.

ELIZABETH HINSON-HASTY BELLARMINE UNIVERSITY LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY

Knowing Truth, Doing Good: Engaging New Testament Ethics by Russell Pregeant Fortress, Minneapolis, 2008. 388 pp. $29.00. ISBN 9780-8006-3846-7.

AWARE THAT CHRISTIANS often find themselves deeply divided over how the Bible should be used in making ethical decisions, Russell Pregeant seeks to present a comprehensive proposal for analyzing the ethical teaching of the NT and evaluating its significance for contemporary Christians. To achieve his goal, Pregeant employs a hermeneutical method that makes use of Alfred North Whitehead’s theory of language as open-ended and yet striving for a comprehensive understanding within the world of experience. Accordingly, Pregeant approaches the ethics of the NT in five steps. First, he employs the historical-critical method to establish an initial meaning of the text. Second, he reads the writings of the NT as a whole to uncover their basic ethical patterns. Third, he looks for ambiguities, gaps in meaning, and the presence of other currents of meaning in the text. Fourth, he traces out the implications of competing strands of ethical meaning in the text. Finally, he seeks to reconstruct these competing strands of meaning. By applying this approach, Pregeant provides readers with a method that enables them to employ the insights of the NT and their own experiences to make ethical decisions for their lives. Pregeant’s work is a comprehensive and reliable study that is in conversation with a wide range of scholars. Like many works of NT ethics, this one provides its readers with an overview of the ethical teaching in the NT writings, beginning with the ethics of the Jesus movement, before considering each of the canonical writings. What distinguishes this work from most other books on NT ethics is its careful attention to method and application. Aware that there are competing ethical strains within the NT, Pregeant proposes


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a way to listen to these diverse voices and adjudicate among them. This work, however, gives a great deal of attention to contemporary gender and sexuality issues, which could give the impression that these are the central ethical issues of the NT. It also tends to privilege the teaching of the historical Jesus and Paul over other NT writings, which could suggest a canon within the canon. That said, Pregeant has made a significant contribution to NT ethics for which I am grateful.

FRANK J. MATERA THE CATHOLIC UNIVERSITY OF AMERICA WASHINGTON D.C.

The Future of Faith in American Politics: The Public Witness of the Evangelical Center by David P. Gushee Baylor University Press, Waco, Tex., 2008. 335 pp. $24.95. ISBN 978-1-60258-071-8.

OBSERVERS OF THE ROLE of religion in the political life of the United States will attest to the affinity of many evangelical Christians to causes and issues embraced by political conservatives. Within the last thirty years, groups such as the Moral Majority and the Christian Coalition have functioned as vigorous proponents of conservative politics. Yet, as David Gushee shows in this very insightful book, evangelical Christians are conducting internal debates about the proper alignment of faith, stances on social issues, and resultant political action. There is even something of a revolt against the “Religious Right,” to such an extent that a “left” has emerged that is characterized by a measure of openness to freedom of choice on abortion and to samegender civil unions. For his own part, Gushee opts for the center. The cogency of a centrist position is grounded in his judgment that many key figures in the evangelical camp seem to be moving from the left and from the right toward the center. But coupled with this descriptive move is his affirmation about prescriptive norms based on theological and biblical norms as well. For Gushee, a position in the center will offer a “faithful and more fruitful rendering of Christian con-

victions in the public arena” (p. 4). Readers will discern a level of ambiguity and some unresolved tension between the descriptive and prescriptive poles in the method employed in the book. This will explain why, for example, in a discussion on race, Gushee will allow that a descriptive rendering of the center can attest to the judgment that racial reconciliation ought to be the goal, whereas his own crafted prescriptive rendering would suggest that racial justice ought to be the desired end. It is only when, in offering four excellent chapters on various topics ranging from admonitions against torture in the war on terror, family dynamics, the climate change crisis and creation care, and justifiable war theory that his own carefully crafted prescriptive norms can hold sway. Another valuable aspect of the book is the collection of important documents that have emerged from the evangelical center over the past few years, many of which bear Gushee’s mark. The articulation of political stances is never limited to the privacy of the voting booth, but will inevitably surface within the dynamics of congregational life. Pastors will, therefore, find Gushee’s analyses and vision of a cogent center quite stimulating, since so many of the parishioners whom they serve might hold such views.

SAMUEL K. ROBERTS UNION-PSCE RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

Thumpin’ It: The Use and Abuse of the Bible in Today's Presidential Politics by Jacques Berlinerblau Westminster John Knox, Louisville, 2008. 190 pp. $16.95. ISBN 978-0-664-23173-6.

“THE BIBLE IS BACK,” writes Jacques Berlinerblau. “And it’s as somewhat relevant as ever” (p. 133). Recent decades have seen a rapid resurgence of the role of religion in both formal and informal public life. Biblical references adorn speeches from across the political spectrum. But those who worry about theocracy need not lose any sleep, according to Berlinerblau. The same Protestant commitment to sola scriptura that makes the Bible central to public life in the United States invalidates all the resources that could produce


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politically effective consensus on any interpretation of the Bible. When Scripture interprets Scripture, interpretations proliferate—and cancel out—each other. Thus, the Bible has great symbolic significance but almost no impact on the substance of policy. The symbolic importance of the Bible means that every politician today needs an effective “Scripture game” in order to succeed. Berlinerblau analyzes contemporary political discourse to break down moves such as “the citeand-run,” “the generic,” and “the transvaluation.” He argues that masters of the game know to keep their references to the Bible sparse, positive, vague, shallow, veiled—and “not too Christey!” (pp. 83, 85). Berlinerblau sets forth short, sharp analyses of the Scripture games of John McCain, Barack Obama, George W. Bush, Hillary Clinton, John Edwards, Mitt Romney, and more. He sorts through the tangles of biblical references in debates about the environment, abortion, and foreign policy. These close studies are both timely and of enduring significance. Berlinerblau gives the reader new ears with which to hear political discourse in the United States. Berlinerblau’s analysis would have been even sharper if he had paid more attention to the significance of race for the cluster of topics he is considering. For instance, Berlinerblau explains why John Kerry did poorly among white evangelicals, but he does not ask why Kerry did so well among African American evangelicals who value the Bible at least as highly. Did Kerry’s Scripture game play differently to these different constituencies, or was his use of the Bible trumped by other considerations? Such questions trace the limits of the book. But the book’s ability to raise them with new precision underscores its value. Berlinerblau writes with a sharp-edged wit that will attract many readers and alienate a few. But it makes the book a lively read and a good choice for broad-minded undergraduate, seminary, and adult Sunday School classes that are trying to understand religion and politics in the United States today.

TED A. SMITH VANDERBILT UNIVERSITY NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE

APRIL 2009

The Church: Signs of the Spirit and Signs of the Times. The Christian Story—A Pastoral Systematics, Vol. 5. by Gabriel Fackre Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2007. 185 pp. $22.00. ISBN 978-0-8028-3392-1.

THIS IS THE FIFTH volume in Gabriel Fackre’s pastoral systematics, The Christian Story. Although building on previous volumes in this series, The Church stands on its own as a contribution to contemporary ecclesiology. Drawing on his rich experience as pastor, professor, and ecumenist, Fackre makes the case for a relationship between the “empirical reality in which the pastor lives and works and the ecclesial Reality described in doctrinal terms” (p. x). His organizing principle is the four “birthmarks” or “signs of the Spirit” that emerge from the church’s birth and nurture in the Acts of the Apostles: kergyma, leitourgia, diakonia, and koinonia. In Part 1, Fackre discerns these signs (and resistance to them) from the Acts narrative as interpreted in tradition and lived out in the narrative of ecclesial life in both local and atlarge contexts. In Part 2, he relates the four foundational signs to the marks of the church in the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed. Fackre develops his ecumenical ecclesiology in contrast to alternatives that seek, on the one hand, to secure the signs of the church by an apostolic ministry, and on the other, to limit them to the congregation. In contrast to the current trend in ecumenical ecclesiology that makes koinonia (communio) constitutive of the church’s being, Fackre is very Protestant in his assertion that kerygma and leitourgia (Word and Sacrament) are the constitutive marks of the church. However, all of the signs of the Spirit are required for the church’s plene esse (fullness or completeness). Fackre concludes with a charge to pastors as custodians of these marks. Fackre deftly weaves together biblical, doctrinal, and ecumenical insights to address a variety of practical issues that pastors face today, such as the use of “praise music” and communion for the unbaptized. Most welcome is the methodological use of narrative and Fackre’s grounding of ecclesiology in pneumatology, although this could have been developed more fully in light of


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ongoing mainline suspicion of the Holy Spirit. One weakness of the book is the minimal attention given to the recent “missional” focus in North American ecclesiology, especially in relation to the mark of “apostolicity.” Readable and engaging, this volume deserves to be read by anyone who is interested in finding an ecclesiology that is grounded both in the church’s tradition and in the lived reality of local churches. Full of helpful discussions and suggestions for daily ministry, it would serve nicely as a textbook for seminary courses on ecclesiology and as an aid to pastors.

CHERYL PETERSON TRINITY LUTHERAN SEMINARY COLUMBUS, OHIO

God’s Ambassadors: A History of the Christian Clergy in America by E. Brooks Holifield Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2007. 356 pp. $30.00. ISBN 978-8028-0381-8.

THIS VOLUME IS A masterful achievement. As if looking through a kaleidoscope, Brooks Holifield provides an awe-inspiring telescopic overview of ordained ministry in four hundred years of American history while examining the texture of his subject in microscopic detail. In the introduction, Holifield sets forth three arguments to be addressed in each of the following chapters: 1) “Clerical authority has assumed multiple forms that . . . underwent continual evolution,” always registering “the force of social location” (p. 3); 2) “The narrative of decline . . . fails to do justice to the complexity of clerical history” (p. 4); and 3) “American churches and clergy have collectively decided. . . that the ministry is only partially a profession” (p. 4). With these arguments in mind, he begins with the ministry of Jesus and ends with presentday concerns, arranged chronologically. Holifield contends that the roots of the theologies and structures of ministry were developed before being exported to the American colonies. Prior to American independence, clergy played a powerful political and cultural role and also provided spiritual guidance in spite of the fact that there was often a lack of adequately trained clergy.

During the antebellum period, ministry bifurcated into educated and populist forms as revival, immigration, and migration stimulated population growth and diversity. Following the Civil War, growing urbanization changed the dynamics of clergy function, while the rise of other professions diminished their status. Clergy responded with a greater emphasis on education. As Holifield moves into the twentieth century, he traces the emergence of liberal-conservative and urban-rural divisions. These divisions dominated the century and continue to influence current contoversy over issues of gender, sexual orientation, environment, and war. Writing an integrated narrative involving many streams of Christianity over a four hundred year period is no small achievement. Holifield accomplishes this with excellence and grace. He has created a readable account from a vast array of material, both primary and secondary. Extensive footnotes often indicate where others have disagreed with some of his conclusions. In my judgment, this volume will become a classic. It will be of interest to all who practice ministry as well as those who are preparing to enter its ranks.

D. WILLIAM FAUPEL WESLEY THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY WASHINGTON, D.C

The Church in the Shadow of the Mosque: Christians and Muslims in the World of Islam by Sidney H. Griffith Princeton University Press, Princeton, 2008. 220 pp. $35.00. ISBN 978-0-691-13015-6.

AFTER MORE THAN thirty years of specialized research focused on the literature of Arabic Christian theology, Sidney Griffith seeks to introduce this part of Eastern Christianity’s intellectual and cultural heritage to a broader audience. This is a worthy undertaking, realized in a way that non-experts are likely to consider accessible and appealing. Arabophone Christianity is not well known in the West, as Griffith observes, but the history and cultural achievements of these now diminished religious communities deserve wider recognition, not least because they show


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how a significant portion of medieval Christianity directly engaged the conceptual world of Islam. Griffith begins with a brief description of the situation of Eastern Christians living under Islamic rule in medieval times. He then goes on to consider at length how Nestorians, Melkites, Syrian Jacobites, and Egyptian Copts, among others, responded theologically to their new circumstances. Initial views of Islam tended toward the apocalyptic. By the mid-eighth century, Arabic had become a means to reexpress Eastern Christian identity, a bold act of contextualization that revitalized ancient commitments. Within this literature are defenses of major Christian doctrines like the incarnation and the Trinity, formulated in the idiom of the Qur’an. One also finds here robust challenges to some of the dogmatic claims advanced on behalf of Islam, including the crucial issue of Muhammad’s prophethood. Especially helpful is Griffith’s discussion of the literary genres typically utilized by these authors, which he classifies under four headings: “the monk in the emir’s majlis (court),” “question and answer,” “epistolary exchange,” and the systematic treatise. Arabic Christian theology passed out of its most creative phase by the fourteenth century. Nevertheless, many of these texts continued to be copied and studied within the Arabic-speaking Christian world, primarily as a way to preserve distinctive theological identities. Outside the Middle East, Christians will have other reasons to familiarize themselves with these writings. Griffith emphasizes two in particular. One is the need for Western Christians to ground their efforts toward dialogue with Muslims in the historical experience of those churches most intimately familiar with Muslim faith and practice. Contemporary Christians who proceed into dialogue without knowledge of this rich theological heritage deprive themselves of a major tool of understanding. Griffith also sees in this literary legacy a promising model for ChristianMuslim dialogue today, one governed by mutual respect and a deep commitment to the exchange of ideas across confessional boundaries. In ninth/ tenth-century Baghdad, Muslim and Christian scholars constructed a community of discourse about religion and philosophy that in fact opened

APRIL 2009

up each of the traditions to the influence of the other. Griffith is hopeful that greater knowledge of this history might inspire fresh attempts at Muslim-Christian convivencia.

STANLEY H. SKRESLET UNION-PSCE RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

Roman House Churches for Today: A Practical Guide for Small Groups by Reta Halteman Finger Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2007. 206 pp. $15.00. ISBN 978-0-8028-0764-9.

IN THIS CASE, THE SUBTITLE

of the book is important: “a practical guide for small groups.” This insightful book is designed for use in Christian education. It engages the arguments of Romans using an inductive method that emphasizes reconstructed house churches in Rome, whose backgrounds and interests shape the concerns and biases that Paul addresses in his letter to Rome. To appreciate the book fully, one must accept possibilities that cannot be proven (but are nonetheless reasonable hypotheses) to recreate a number of house churches in first-century Rome. This is certainly the case with many specifics Reta Halteman Finger ascribes to the five house churches imagined. But this is not fiction. Finger draws upon previous reconstructions that provided detailed examinations of the Roman church (Minear, Lampe, and especially Jewett). This led me to recall my first reading of Minear’s The Obedience of Faith, and how imaginative and helpfully suggestive it was. Drawing from Rom 16, Finger exercises creative detective work in recreating five churches (ch. 3). She then describes the larger religious and social context of first-century Rome (chs. 4 and 5). These informative and succinct social analyses prepare the reader for the task of creating characters and reconstructing the Roman house churches (ch. 6). An “introduction” of Paul to Rome, fictionally given by “Phoebe” (ch. 8), sets up the exploration that follows as these reconstructed house churches are used as foils for the reading of Romans (chs. 9–17). Several valuable appendices help in teaching about this period of church history. These include how to


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form the house churches, how they can identify themselves, and ways that contemporary issues can be examined informatively in light of the arguments of Romans. I tried out the method presented in the book while teaching a freshman Bible class that dedicated a significant amount of time to Romans. I highly commend this book for its heuristic value. My students had some difficulty, largely because it was my first attempt at the project, but I saw great possibilities for exploring the social issues embedded in Romans, and ways to bring them not only to awareness but also appreciation. The book is a delight to read and a joy to use in teaching, and I highly commend Finger for her imaginative, yet grounded, reconstruction of the first churches to read (hear!) Romans.

WENDELL WILLIS ABILENE CHRISTIAN UNIVERSITY. ABILENE, TEXAS

Thinking Theologically: The Preacher as Theologian by Ronald J. Allen Fortress Minneapolis, 2008. 96 pp. $12.00. ISBN 978-08006-6232-5.

IN THIS CONCISE, ACCESSIBLE contribution to the Elements of Preaching Series, Ronald Allen seeks to move theological reflection from the background to the foreground of the preacher’s work. Reminding preachers that their theological positions provide a lens through which they interpret Scripture and preach the gospel, Allen seeks to help preachers become more conscious and intentional about the theological positions that inform their preaching. To this end, Allen provides a brief overview of eleven different contemporary theological “families” (e.g., process, postliberal, liberation), explores the implications of each family for preaching, and critically evaluates the strengths and issues in each theological approach. Examining the homiletical implications of each theological approach in relation to


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a single text (Luke 7:1–10), Allen seeks to make concrete the ways in which various theological positions shape different kinds of sermons. In addition, highlighting the complexity of the theological enterprise, Allen notes the interplay of these different contemporary theological approaches with various historical traditions (e.g., Reformed, Roman Catholic, Pentecostal), as well as the ways in which a preacher’s theological position may draw elements from several different approaches. Allen does not seek simplistically to “label” preachers’ theologies, which rarely fit neatly into a single box, but to provide a dynamic framework within which preachers may clarify and evaluate their own theological positions. Thinking Theologically is suggestive, rather than exhaustive. Readers who come to the book expecting a thorough and nuanced treatment of contemporary theological options will be disappointed. Because of the brief nature of the volumes in the Elements of Preaching Series, Allen necessarily provides rather oversimplified sketches of contemporary theological approaches and their homiletical implications, leaving it to the reader to pursue these matters in more detail and depth. This suggestive approach, however, contributes to the book’s value for preachers. The book actually does what the title states. Rather than pretending to provide definitive interpretations, Allen sets the reader to “thinking theologically” about preaching. As I engaged Allen’s work, I found myself asking theological questions, not only about the positions he describes, but also about my own biblical interpretation and preaching. I was often intrigued, even surprised, by my discoveries. Equally importantly, Allen prepares preachers to continue their theological thinking by providing a helpful framework and valuable tools, including important representative readings, that will enable preachers to explore more intentionally and fully the theological convictions that shape their preaching.

CHARLES L. CAMPBELL DUKE DIVINITY SCHOOL DURHAM, NORTH CAROLINA

APRIL 2009

Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary: A Guide by Gail O’Day and Charles Hackett Abingdon, Nashville, 2007. 161 pp. $17.00. ISBN 978-0687-64624-1.

IN THE OPENING PAGES of this book, NT scholar Gail O’Day and liturgical historian Charles Hackett (both of Candler School of Theology, Emory University) share perspectives of their Reformed (O’Day) and Anglican (Hackett) theological traditions regarding lectionary use and interpretation, particularly in the life of the congregation. Both authors underscore how their formative faith backgrounds provide different starting points for approaching lectionary texts. For Hackett, the read and preached texts were seasoned in a word-sacrament service viewed primarily through the lens of a particular liturgical time. For O’Day, the preached word (i.e., exposition of the biblical text and its meaning for one’s life) has been experienced as the crown of the liturgy (a* la Zwingli). Though the post-Vatican II liturgical awakening among Protestants initiated for many a shift of preaching’s context to one in which “worship life became more regularly shaped by liturgical time” (p. xiii), O’Day still peers through the lens of biblical texts in perceiving the liturgical year. Readers will discover how the lectionary engenders cross-tradition conversations regarding these two points of view which, eventually, embraced the inseparable link between story and time (canon and calendar) and its resultant proclamation of the larger narrative of the gospel. In short, living the church year, reading the Christian story, and liturgically inhabiting it year after year will enable one to understand reality more and more in terms of God’s will and God’s love. (p. 38) Overall, O’Day and Hackett present a cogent, theological case for lectionary use, including the history of its use in the church, and a practical guide for using the lectionary to deepen a congregation’s experience with the Bible. Their clear, compact overview of the history of both lectionary use and the complementary evolution of the church year are a “must read” in that it undergirds the theological case for lectionary use. The subsequent discussion of the lectionary as her-


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meneutic (effectively illustrated by the parables of the Good Samaritan and the Prodigal Son) also addresses critiques of the Revised Common Lectionary regarding issues such as text selection, criteria for selection, and selectors. Readers who peruse the end pages of the book (expanded notes and works cited) will find that O’Day’s and Hackett’s discussion is grounded in highly reputable scholarship by persons such as Dix, Jungmann, Willis, Bradshaw, Taft, Cuming, Talley, Cobb, Reumann, West, and Hickman— names that display longitudinal and horizontal axes in perspective across both time and traditions. Representative, foundational primary sources (treatises, sermons, liturgical texts, and so forth) also percolate throughout the book—Justin Martyr, St. Augustine, Leo I, and Hippolytus—further solidifying the discussion. Moreover, the notes provides rich historical insight and clarification and pointers for those interested in further study. In short, the valuable end pages, in toto, validate this book’s merits. Bottom line: O’Day and Hackett’s Guide to Preaching The Revised Common Lectionary belongs not on the bookshelf but on the desk of every pastor-preacher.

PETER C. BOWER NUMINE AND RURAL VALLEY PRESBYTERIAN CHURCHES NUMINE AND RURAL VALLEY, PENNSYLVANIA

Teaching Preaching: Isaac Rufus Clark and Black Sacred Rhetoric by Katie Geneva Cannon Continuum, New York, 2007. 184 pp. $16.95. ISBN 9870-8264-2897-4.

KATIE CANNON, PROFESSOR of Christian Ethics at Union-PSCE, sets down in book form the oral preaching lectures of her homiletics mentor, Isaac R. Clark, who for twenty-seven years (1962–1989) was professor of homiletics at the Interdenominational Theological Center in Atlanta, Georgia. The core thesis of these posthumously published lectures is Clark’s understanding of propositional preaching: If you do not have a proposition, then you do not have a sermon. Clark viewed the proposition as the central, integrating, and controlling sentence

of the entire sermonic discourse. His aim was the creation of effective oral communication. While the how-tos of propositional methodology are not unique to Clark, what is impressive about his homiletic is his insistence that more is at stake in the teaching of homiletics than the mere preparation of an effective sermon. For Clark, the very soul of the preacher is at stake and therefore must be equally nurtured and developed. Teaching out of a preaching tradition where the emotive and celebratory were often more highly valued than sound content and informed theological insight, Clark insisted that students grapple with the dialectical and dialogical tensions between the personal matter and the subject matter of preaching. In fact, his branding of a particular preacher as a much maligned “jackleg” was not merely based on a lack of preaching ability, but also on the defective content of the preacher’s character. This book is as much about how to live as how to preach. Clark taught his students to hammer out a sermon filled with substantive content born of theological reflection on God and the human predicament. Uncertain of the enduring appeal of Clark’s homiletic, Cannon tries to capture the essence of this gifted eccentric through his use of broken grammar and inappropriate classroom language. In so doing, she inadvertently consigns him to the narrow purview of the black church where his verbal assaults on anti-intellectualism are more acceptable. While this book is appropriate for a pastor’s study it might be a bit over-the-top for an introductory preaching class in a diverse setting. That notwithstanding, contemporary pastors and homileticians owe Clark a great debt and Cannon a hearty thanks.

CLEOPHUS J. LARUE PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY PRINCETON, NEW JERSEY

Feasting on the Word: Preaching the Revised Common Lectionary, Year B, Vol. 1, Advent through Transfiguration by David Bartlett and Barbara Brown Taylor Westminster John Knox, Louisville, 2008. 471 pp. $39.95. ISBN 978-0-664-23096-8.

THE LATEST IN A SERIES OF resources designed for


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lectionary preachers is Feasting on the Word. It features a strong and diverse cast of writers drawn from seminaries, colleges, denominational offices, and congregations. This book is the first of a twelve-volume set designed to provide insights on the readings for Sundays and feast days throughout the three year cycle of the Revised Common Lectionary. Four areas of commentary are provided for each reading: theological, pastoral, exegetical, and homiletical. While preachers have much to learn from this resource, a few words of caution are advised. The division within the commentary comes across as arbitrary at times. When is an insight exegetical rather than theological? Or what constitutes a pastoral perspective as opposed to a homiletical perspective? The layout of the text helpfully provides the reading of the day at the beginning of the entries. This feature provides a direct link to the perspectives offered on the texts, but runs the risk of isolating passages from their broader biblical contexts. It is also worth noting that the design of the book makes significant decisions about ways to treat the lectionary itself. First, the Revised Common Lectionary is designed to treat the psalm as a commentary on the OT reading of the day rather than as a reading in its own right. The decision to treat the psalm as a text in its own right represents a significant shift from the lectionary’s design. Second, the commentary makes decisions in regard to selecting texts that the lectionary offers as options. Advent 3 selects the psalm rather than Luke’s Magnificat, while Advent 4 chooses the Magnificat rather than the psalm. Christmas 2 avoids the optional OT reading from Sirach and the optional psalm from the Wisdom of Solomon. It will be helpful to stay alert to how future volumes deal with the different tracks for the OT readings during Ordinary Time. As a starting place, this set of commentaries offers pastors short and insightful perspectives on the lectionary readings that make it a worthy addition to a minister’s library. However, the goal of providing preachers “what they need in a single volume” undermines the long, hard work of crafting sermons that draw from careful and sustained attention to the text, a variety of

APRIL 2009

commentaries, theological literature, and a vast array of other resources.

PAUL GALBREATH UNION-PSCE RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

A Guide to Preaching and Leading Worship by William H. Willimon Westminster John Knox, Louisville, 2007. 103 pp. $17.95. ISBN 978-0-664-23257-3.

IF AN INTRODUCTORY workshop on worship could be put into print, it might read like A Guide to Preaching and Leading Worship by William H. Willimon. Intended for preachers and worship leaders, the book focuses on the planning and implementation of liturgy, prayer, preaching, and sacraments. Willimon has a great deal of experience both teaching and leading worship. He discusses theory and practice together as he demonstrates what theology can look like when liturgially enacted. The book is filled with nuts and bolts suggestions, including proper body language of the minister when the choir is singing, ways to evaluate sermons, and how to organize a worship committee. The book is a slightly updated version of Preaching and Leading Worship (Pastor’s Handbook, Westminster John Knox, 1984). Its tone is a bit authoritative: biblical preaching is lectionary preaching, sacramental theology requires frequent observance of the Lord’s Supper, and the sermon should not be placed at the end of the service. Though never explicitly stated, the reader gets the sense that “this is the way we do things.” The experienced worship leader may find the book too much of a review and too restrictive in its guidance, but those in need of a good “starter guide” will find helpful direction. One learns the “art” of worship leadership by beginning with the tried and true, and Willimon provides effective first instruction. His guidance is sound, born of the marriage of good theory and practice. In short, I recommend this book for the seminarian, the newly ordained minister, the commissioned lay pastor, and the minister in


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need of a good baseline education in worship leadership.

GEORGE C. ANDERSON SECOND PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH ROANOKE, VIRGINIA

A City Upon a Hill: How Sermons Changed the Course of American History by Larry Witham HarperOne, New York, 2007. 318 pp. $24.95. ISBN 9780-06-085427-0.

THE HISTORY OF THE United States has been marked by a paradoxical relationship to religion. On the one hand, the European settlement of North America was prompted by quests for religious liberty and missions of evangelical zeal. On the other hand, the principles of religious freedom and the separation of church and state were written into our most important political documents and continue to be affirmed in the face of constant challenges. It is fascinating, then, to be reminded of the powerful role that religious rhetoric in general and pulpit sermons in particular have had in shaping the history of the United States. Larry Witham, a journalist best known for his writings on science and religion, reviews United States’ history through the lens of religious rhetoric as proclaimed from Protestant, Catholic, and Jewish pulpits beginning with the Puritan settlers to the turn of the twentyfirst century. Witham’s engaging prose turns what could be an otherwise dull recitation of North American history into a lively narrative punctuated by well-known preachers and sermons that represent critical or transitional moments in the country’s development. His contention that historical and political events can be correlated to the proclamation of preachers in both churches and public venues is expressed visually by means of a “Timeline” included at the beginning of the book juxtaposing “Historical Events” alongside “Sermon Events.” Witham correctly discerns the defining element for the direction of the United States not in the preachers or sermons themselves but in the “biblical themes” promulgated by preach-

ing that shaped “America’s founding assumptions” (p. 2). From Puritan to contemporary times, preachers have appropriated language from the OT and from the NT to describe—if not to defend— the uniqueness of the American experience. Any recitation of influential preachers and sermons implies judgment on the part of the one making the decision concerning whom and what to include. Witham has done an excellent job of identifying a broad spectrum of religious leaders—including preachers of various traditions, genders, races, and political persuasions— who were at the same time public voices. His work begs the question, however, of the influence lesser known preachers and faithful members of religious communities had in shaping the direction of the nation. Nevertheless, Witham’s book is an excellent review of North American religious history and a poignant reminder, in an era when mainstream religion seems to have lost the voice it once had in North American society, that we remain a nation with a paradoxical relationship to our religious heritage.

BEVERLY ZINK-SAWYER UNION-PSCE RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

Hospitality and the Other: Pentecost, Christian Practices and the Neighbor by Amos Yong Orbis, Maryknoll, N.Y., 2008. 169 pp. $25.00. ISBN 9781-57075-772-3.

THIS BOOK TACKLES THE nagging issue of distinctions arising from adherence to different religious faiths and traditions that have more often than not been used as the basis for offering or withholding hospitality. Making extensive use of biblical scholarship as well as practical examples, Amos Yong analyzes the main thoughts and assumptions behind Christian profession and practice, employing concepts of hospitality from ancient Israel, the ministry of Jesus, and the practice of the early church. He also uses case studies from Sri Lanka and Nigeria as well as the United States to illustrate his arguments and to provide a practical grounding for his theology. The book demonstrates forcefully that inclusiveness was a mark of the first Christian


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community that grew out of Pentecost and that Christian exclusivity is therefore without sanction in the NT. The “Other” was and has always been part of God’s concern for the world. Yong develops the primary theme of hospitality successfully in chs. 2 and 3, where theology is emphasized more as a “performance” than mere head knowledge. Theology (the gospel) is equivalent to a dramatic performance to “be enacted not woodenly but creatively, and not irresponsibly but faithfully” (p. 54). In the process of interreligious encounter, the Christian may also get converted, not in the sense of giving up one’s Christian faith but in the sense that one’s faith is enriched and deepened. This, in Yong’s view, is a process of “mutual vulnerability,” in which each party is open to any benefits that may accrue from the encounter. The book is invaluable for its clear manifestation of hope and optimism in the face of the many instances of interreligious conflict in the world today. By his exploration of the Pentecost phenomenon, Yong calls attention to the pneumatological significance of multiculturalism and the interconnectedness of religious experience. The examples of mutual protection between Christians and Buddhists in Sri Lanka and between Muslims and Christians in Nigeria during periods of conflict and violence signify that hospitality to the religious Other is not altogether extinct. Yong’s book is a bold and insightful effort that provides useful ideas and proposals for the encounter between religions in the multicultural world arena of the twentyfirst century. One feels inclined to endorse Yong’s statement that although we may not have too many examples of genuinely dialogical and jointly owned interfaith ministry projects, we can hold out the few instances “as ideals that guide the practices of a just and hospitable world” (p. 157).

DAVID N. A. KPOBI TRINITY THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY LEGON, GHANA

APRIL 2009

God Against Religion: Rethinking Christian Theology through Worship by Matthew Myer Boulton Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2008. 260 pp. $28.00. ISBN 978-0-8028-2972-6.

IN A BROAD AND INSIGHTFUL monograph, Matthew Boulton advocates the importance of building bridges between systematic and liturgical theology. Boulton centers his work around a reading of Karl Barth’s interpretation of the creation narratives. With Barth as his guide, Boulton explores the possibility of liturgy as a theological compass. Here, Boulton understands liturgy both positively and negatively as ways to embody theology. This is an important insight that stands as a corrective both to systematic theologians who overlook the life of the church as well as to liturgical theologians who presume that the appropriate rite will fix the church’s worship problems. Boulton helpfully draws on Jacques Derrida’s insights on the expectations of reciprocity in gift giving to offer a strong critique of the presumptive nature of liturgical ordering and practice (and its implicit claim to offer forgiveness and reconciliation). Ultimately, Boulton points clearly to the work of the Spirit as that which brings us and our worship to life. Finally, Boulton offers practical suggestions for liturgical practice. In terms of baptismal practice, Boulton builds helpfully on his earlier explication of Luther’s emphasis on Christian faith as the life of ongoing baptismal pilgrimage. To this end, Boulton encourages a richer, deeper use of baptismal imagery. Here, Boulton works in concert with the direction of much of the work of recent liturgical renewal. When it comes to communion, however, Boulton turns away from recent work in liturgical theology and builds his proposal on further strengthening the Last Supper imagery at the table. Recent work in liturgical theology points to the importance of both resurrection meals (e.g., Emmaus road and John 21) and other Gospel meal accounts in eucharistic theology and practice. This book is an important and useful contribution that will benefit pastors, teachers, and students alike. In this era of specialization, Boulton’s aim is admirable and significant. Particularly noteworthy is the way in which


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Upcoming issues of Interpretation July 2009

Proverbs

October 2009

Gospel of John as the Church’s Book

January 2010

Liturgy and Lent second in the church year series

April 2010

Book of Ruth

July 2010

Jewish-Christian Relations

October 2010

God With Us: Perspectives from the Gospel of Matthew

January 2011

Liturgy and Easter third in the church year series


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Boulton weaves together Barth’s theology with insights from philosophy, art history, and liturgical theology. However, it is at this very integrative juncture of interdisciplinary dialogue that the book would be strengthened by insights from ritual theory and criticism. Liturgical studies increasingly recognize liturgy as a form of human activity seeking encounter and transformation from the divine in the midst of creation. In these fragile and tentative movements, Christians gather in hope and faith to encounter the risen Christ in their midst.

PAUL GALBREATH UNION-PSCE RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

Resounding Truth: Christian Wisdom in the World of Music by Jeremy S. Begbie Baker Academic, Grand Rapids, 2007. 412 pp. $22.99. ISBN 978-0-8010-2695-9.

IN THIS VOLUME, Jeremy Begbie focuses on the theological implications of music-making. Music is a ubiquitous force in a consumer culture, used to sell goods, establish moods, and divide crowds. Begbie traces how musicmaking in our Western culture has moved from “the cosmological to the anthropological” (p. 94), hinting that this theme continues to affect the mind and heart of the church. To enlarge the conversation, Begbie reviews what the Bible says (and neglects to say) about music. In one fascinating section, he surveys the wide range between Martin Luther’s enthusiasm for strong melodies, John Calvin’s calculated reservations of liturgical music for the sake of the Word, and Huldrych Zwingli’s fierce prohibitions against anything musical in worship that the Bible does not specifically authorize. Clearly these three dissonant perspectives continue to be heard throughout the ecumenical church! Begbie also populates this volume with theological musicians and musical theologians. An obligatory chapter on Bach highlights ways in which the composer’s faith found expression in melody and counterpoint. There are similar reflections on Messiaen’s eschatological

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approach to harmony and rhythm and MacMillan’s musical critique of sentimentality. Turning to the theologians, Begbie reviews the musical minds of Schleiermacher, Barth, and Bonhoeffer and provides helpful insights. Begbie grounds the musical arts in what he calls “the ecology of God.” As an expression of God’s creativity, music is given freely as a means for God’s children to give praise for the world’s creation and redemption. Tones are expressed rhythmically in time as a means for humanity to be lifted above time. Dissonance is a temporal expression of creation’s diversity. Sooner or later, clashing sounds may be resolved or heard in the larger symphony of grace. On every page, Begbie offers helpful wisdom for the church. When it comes to music, Begbie sticks with what he knows. There are few reflections on music beyond the Western European classical tradition. For instance, even though jazz has become more popular in Europe than in the United States, only a few words are offered regarding its prophetic voice. Even less is said of other indigenous forms of music that swell up from other parts of the planet. Moreover, after delineating the difference between making music and the hearing of it, many of Begbie’s assumptions have to do with understanding the printed notes rather than lifting them off the page. Perhaps this is one limitation of the musical art form. Paul could proclaim that faith comes from what is heard, but he did have to inscribe his words on a page for posterity. Still, this is a ground-breaking and extremely insightful book. It is well-researched, with abundant notes and a large bibliography, and will be a worthy companion for all who seek to know the mind of God through the creative arts.

WILLIAM G. CARTER FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH CLARKS SUMMIT, PENNSYLVANIA


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Do This in Remembrance of Me: A Ritual Approach to Reformed Eucharistic Theology by Martha L. Moore-Keish Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2008. 192 pp. $20.00. ISBN 978-0-8028-6244-0.

IT CAN BE A GREAT PLEASURE to watch a theologian’s mind at work—identifying a problem, articulating its importance, and sorting through myriad resources to build a case. Such was my experience of reading Martha Moore-Keish’s Do This in Remembrance of Me. The problem is the narrow view of Eucharist to which Reformed churches have been prone: sacrament as a means to reinforce doctrinal truth rather than as an encounter between a particular local manifestation of the church and a living God. MooreKeish’s resources include the writings of John Calvin (along with his contemporary opponents and his diverse progeny, especially Charles Hodge and John Williamson Nevin); key figures in the more recent ecumenical liturgical reform movement; and the interdisciplinary field of ritual studies. Moore-Keish identifies three gifts that a ritual approach to the Eucharist offers to Reformed churches: the enrichment of actual celebrations; a re-balancing of Reformed ecclesiology (among other topics) in which sacrament is honored as well as word; and the identification of a new starting point for interreligious dialogue—a surprisingly energizing list. The primary gifts of the book are two-fold. First, Moore-Keish provides an economical, up-to-date, and nuanced review of three significant conversations about aspects of the Eucharist—that of Reformed theology proper, liturgical theology, and ritual studies. Second, along the way, she demonstrates both an analytical mind and a teacher’s gift for finding accessible and memorable ways to summarize complex data. In a characteristic passage, MooreKeish identifies aspects of ritual theory on which she focuses: Rituals are about doing in several senses. Most obviously, they are about physical doing: dancing, singing, eating. . . . Rituals involve actions. In another sense, rituals are about doing in that they affect the world of the participants: they create relationships,

negotiate issues of identity and power, and order worldviews. . . . Finally, rituals are about doing in the sense of affecting the world as a whole: presenting models for a different world and even changing social structures. Rituals can transform.” (p. 90) In six sentences, we find ourselves swimming in the broad, swirling river of debate about the nature and power of rites; but we are not lost, as the map is clear and our guide is confident. Whether considering current table practices in one’s own pastoral setting or catching up on the state of thinking about the Eucharist today, Do This in Remembrance of Me is a worthwhile and enjoyable read.

SCOTT HALDEMAN CHICAGO THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY CHICAGO, ILLINOIS


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Notes

John Calvin: A Pilgrim’s Life by Herman J. Selderhuis InterVarsity, Downers Grove, Ill., 2009. 304 pp. $25.00. ISBN 978-0-8308-2921-7.

This biography aims to present John Calvin as a whole person rather than merely as a theologian and church leader. Calvin emerges first and foremost as a believer who struggled with God and with the way God governed both the world and his own life. Selderhuis draws on Calvin’s correspondence and Calvin’s commentary on the biblical figures with whom he strongly identified to describe Calvin’s theology in the context of his personal development.

Elements of Biblical Exegesis: A Basic Guide for Students and Ministers by Michael J. Gorman Hendrickson, Peabody, Mass., 2009. 286 pp. $19.95. ISBN 978-1-59856-311-5.

First published in 2001, this widely used guide provides students, teachers, and ministers with a practical approach to biblical exegesis that is built on a strong theoretical foundation. This revised and expanded edition addresses more fully the meaning of theological interpretation that attends to the biblical text as a vehicle of divine revelation and address. Updated print and Internet resources are also provided.

and theological appropriation. James D. G. Dunn, Donald Senior, Beverly Roberts Gaventa, Richard Hays, and Wayne Meeks are among the contributors.

In the Shadow of Empire: Reclaiming the Bible as a History of Faithful Resistance edited by Richard A. Horsley Westminster John Knox, Louisville, 2008. 199 pp. $24.95. ISBN 978-0-664-23232-0.

The Bible developed against the context of empires (Assyrian, Babylonian, Persian, Greek, and Roman), providing concrete meaning to the countercultural claims of Jews and Christians that their God was the true King, the real Emperor. Nine experts provide introductory essays to key sections of the OT and NT, sketching how a particular empire determines the historical situation addressed, and how the people (or God) adjust to or resist the empire. Contributors include Walter Brueggemann, Warren Carter, John Dominic Crossan, and Norman Gottwald.

Seeking the Identity of Jesus: A Pilgrimage edited by Beverly Roberts Gaventa and Richard B. Hays Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2008. 359 pp. $28.00. ISBN 978-0-8028-2471-4.

Between Experience and Interpretation: Engaging the Writings of the New Testament edited by Mary F. Foskett and O. Wesley Allen Jr. Abingdon, Nashville, 2008. 262 pp. $28.00. ISBN 978-0687-64739-2.

Eleven essays, written in honor of Luke Timothy Johnson, address a key intersection in his work: the relationship between religious experience, the writings of the NT, and their interpretation

In this sequel to The Art of Reading Scripture (Eerdmans, 2003), an interdisciplinary group of sixteen scholars—from the fields of biblical studies, theology, and church history—focus on the complex problems surrounding the quest for the historical Jesus. This collection of essays addresses sources and methods, the testimony of the biblical witnesses, and the testimony of the church.


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REVIEWS

Sharper Than a Two-Edged Sword: Preaching, Teaching, and Living the Bible edited by Michael Root and James J. Buckley Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2008. 103 pp. $16.00. ISBN 978-0-8028-6271-6.

In collected papers that were delivered at a conference for clergy and laity at Duke Divinity School, eight distinguished theologians and exegetes discuss how to preach and teach the Bible in the parish in our contemporary context, and how to live the sacred story in faith. Among the contributors are Ellen Davis, Amy Plantinga Pauw, and Richard Hays.

Teaching Preaching as a Christian Practice: A New Approach to Homiletical Pedagogy edited by Thomas G. Long and Leonora Tubbs Tisdale Westminster John Knox, Louisville, 2008. 239 pp. $29.95. ISBN 978-0-664-23254-2.

Fourteen professors of homiletics call for a radical change in how Christian preaching is taught. They encourage the field of homiletics to move away from a teacher-centered and learner-centered pedagogy and move toward a learning-centered methodology—one that understands the ministry of preaching as Christian practice with a centuries-long tradition to which new preachers deserve to be introduced.

Exploring Ecological Hermeneutics edited by Norman C. Habel and Peter Trudinger Society of Biblical Literature, Atlanta, 2008. 183 pp. $24.95. ISBN 978-158983346-3.

This collection of essays on the emerging field of ecological hermeneutics enriches eco-theology with eco-exegesis, presenting readings of texts from the perspective of Earth. Sixteen scholars seek ways to identify with Earth as they read and retrieve the role or voice of Earth, a voice that previously has been unnoticed or suppressed within the biblical text and its interpretation.

From Midterms to Ministry: Practical Theologians on Pastoral Beginnings edited by Allan Hugh Cole Jr. Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2008. 348 pp. $24.00. ISBN 978-0-8028-4002-8.

Twenty-five distinguished ministers, scholars, and theological educators reflect on the transition from being a seminarian to becoming a minister, addressing the two related but different “worlds” of theological school and ministry setting, each with its own set of expectations, values, challenges, focal points, and rewards.

Torture Is a Moral Issue: Christians, Jews, Muslims, and People of Conscience Speak Out edited by George Hunsinger Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2008. 272 pp. $26.00. ISBN 978-0-8028-6029-3.

Two dozen scholars, activists, military officers, and religious leaders call for an immediate end to the practice of torture, paying particular attention to its use in the American war on terror. This volume aims to underscore that torture is a moral issue, beyond partisan politics, and to help religious communities mobilize against it. Perspectives include Christian, Jewish, and Muslim arguments against torture.

Christianity and Law: An Introduction edited by John Witte, Jr. and Frank S. Alexander Cambridge University Press, 2008. 343 pp. $29.99. ISBN 978-0-521-69749-1.

In this introduction, seventeen scholars explore the main legal teachings of Western Christianity, set out in the texts and traditions of Scripture and theology, philosophy, and jurisprudence. Weightier matters of the law that Christianity has profoundly shaped—justice and mercy, rule and equity, discipline and love—are addressed, as well as more technical topics of canon law, natural law, and state law.


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A History of Presbyterian Missions: 1944–2007 edited by Scott W. Sunquist and Caroline N. Becker Geneva, Louisville, 2008. 390 pp. $34.95. ISBN 978-0664-50300-0.

This collection of interpretive essays addresses the breadth and depth of Presbyterian missions over a period of more than sixty years, highlighting areas of change and continuity. The volume includes reflections from Presbyterian mission leaders, first-hand accounts from missionaries, and an overview of the work in specific mission areas from Latin America to East Asia.

Medieval Christianity, A People’s History of Christianity, Vol. 4 edited by Daniel E. Bornstein Fortress, Minneapolis, 2009. 409 pp. $35.00. ISBN 9780-8006-3414-8.

This volume of A People’s History of Christianity explores the range of cultural and religious experience within medieval Christianity and the ways in which religious life structured all aspects of the daily lives of ordinary Christians. Twelve distinguished historians probe handbooks and registers, sermons and confessional manuals, illuminated manuscripts, and altarpieces to understand popular religion and its fascinating array of art and architecture, ascetic and devotional practices, pilgrimages and relics, heresies and revivals, as well as its crusades and pogroms.

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