Psalm 51: Miserere mei, Deus

For various reasons I have been reflecting on the penitential psalms for much of 2020. If this is a response in any way to Covid-19 then it has been an unconscious one. The grouping of Psalms 6, 32, 38, 51, 102, 130 and 143 together dates to before the time of Cassiodorus (487–585). Some attribute the group to Augustine (354–430) but Cassiodorus’ Expositio Psalmorum, or Exposition of the Psalms, is the earliest extant work that clearly identifies each of these seven as a closed group of psalms. The identification of seven such psalms is somewhat puzzling. There are other psalms, for example Psalm 25, that seem to fit well with the others due to its penitential concern. A convincing case can even be made that Psalm 25 is ‘more penitential’ than some of the seven. Some have argued that the link is God’s wrath, noting that all of them either (i) mention God’s anger, or (ii) are cited, or referred to, in the early chapters of Paul’s Letter to the Romans [1].

Whatever the original thinking behind their grouping they have been bound together in liturgy, sung worship, devotional commentary, and theological dispute ever since the sixth century. They can also be seen to display a certain symmetry befitting their sevenfold nature. The symmetry I refer to draws attention to the central psalm, Psalm 51. Either side of Psalm 51 the opening words of four of the psalms reveal two pairs. Psalms 6 and 38 both open with a similar address, generally made identical in their Latin liturgical titles as Domine, ne in furore tuo. In a similar way Psalms 102 and 143 have identical openings in Latin: Domine, exaudi.

Domine, ne in furore tuo unites Psalms 6 and 38 as the psalmist petitions God that he will not rebuke, despite his anger. In the penitential framework, implicit in the identifying of this psalm group, this anger is assumed to be the result of the psalmist’s sin. The opening of Psalms 102 and 143, in a similar vein, is a plea that God will hear and answer the fearful lamenting psalmist. Psalm 51 at the centre of the group, even without the framing provided by this symmetry, is the penitential psalm par excellence. Many commenters have gone further, seeing it as the psalms of psalms [2]. What makes Psalm 51 so special?

This psalm is one of the thirteen psalms that contains a biographic comment about the life of David. Though critical scholars make a strong case that such headings are late additions to the psalms, they have played an important role in Christian interpretation of the psalms. This is especially the case with Psalm 51 because it relates one of the most, if not the most, pivotal moment in David’s life. It condenses the terrible events of 2 Samuel 11 into a few words:

To the leader. A Psalm of David, when the prophet Nathan came to him, after he had gone in to Bathsheba. (Psalm 51 heading, NRSV)

David’s adultery with Bathsheba might well have amounted to rape. Even without this possible dynamic, with the murder of Bathsheba’s husband, Uriah, we see David commit two conjoined sins. It is not just the depth of the iniquity of one so beloved of God that is notable here. It is the remarkable gracious forgiveness of the living God that transforms this psalm into something truly special:

David said to Nathan, “I have sinned against the Lord.”
Nathan said to David, “Now the Lord has put away your sin; you shall not die. (2 Samuel 12:13, NRSV)

Here in the heart of the First Testament we see grace at work. Psalm 51 and 2 Samuel 12:13 both highlight the acute generosity of God. The wider narrative of 2 Samuel 12 does, however, reveal complications in that Nathan has to tease the truth from David, and despite God’s gracious forgiveness, sin still has its unpleasant consequences.

This biographical heading and the narrative in 2 Samuel enable a penitential theology that sees David as a model penitent. In this way, the penitential nature of these psalms means that their words have been understood on the lips of Christ as he prays as his body, the Church. Both their use in confession and in a rich Augustinian tradition have made the penitentials, and especially Psalm 51, the inspiration for some remarkable music in a variety of traditions. The four examples mentioned below are as varied as the theological, doctrinal, and pastoral aspects of this psalm, known simply as the Miserere. The collision of sin, penitence, forgiveness, and grace defies any singular mood.

In terms of the Latin choral tradition Gregorio Allegri’s (c. 1582–1652) Miserere is perhaps the most well know. There is story that the detailed score for the various choral parts of this music was kept secret so that it could only be used in the Sistene Chapel. This was the case until one day a fourteen-year-old, by the name of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, witnessed a performance and then subsequently wrote down the score from memory.

Howard Goodall’s recent Have mercy on me – miserere mei stands in the same tradition of use of the Latin text. Unlike Allegri’s work the vocals are supported by musical instruments. But like Allegri, it uses the beauty of music to invite reflection on the superabundant forgiveness and mercy found in Psalm 51.

The Estonian composer Arvo Pärt in his Miserere does something very different. His lengthy work from 1992 takes each word of the Latin text one at a time in its opening minutes. As each word is sung it is answered by a bassoon. This reveals the penitent petitioning God for mercy with disturbing slowness. Perhaps they are struggling with fear of God? Maybe they simply need to show the solemnity of their petition? As the work unfolds it provides a journey to the day of judgement and beyond.

We conclude with this post with mention of arguably the wildest interpretation of Psalm 51: Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah. The dependence here is of course more of a riff and there’s no hint of Latin. Psalm 51 awakens in me the immense gratitude and solace that despite my sin, in Christ, I can say with Cohen’s David:

And even though it all went wrong.
I’ll stand before the lord of song.
With nothing on my tongue but hallelujah.

 

References

    1. Harry P. Nasuti, Defining the Sacred Songs: Genre, Tradition, and the Post-Critical Interpretation of the Psalms, Sheffield Academic Press, 1999, p.33.
    2. Susan Gillingham, Psalms Through the Centuries: A Reception History Commentary on Psalms 1–72, John Wiley & Sons, 2018, pp.304–316.

Reel Spirituality: My Top 10 ‘Theological’ Films

Top 10 lists can be rather self indulgent. And if you find them so you might want to skip this post! I am hoping, however, that this post might have some value in celebrating the role that good cinema can have on our personal spirituality. I am hoping that this post will inspire some dialogue—please comment below, politely please!

The films below are not ‘Christian films’—although a small number are meant to be religious, or spiritual, to some extent. They are films that have been made by people at the top of the cinematic game who want to shed light on the big issues of life, as well as no doubt having other motives too. Such films when viewed through our vision of Christ, and imagination informed by faith, have the potential to enrich our minds and hearts. Films can also be a tool for sharing our faith.

This is not a film review and I want to avoid spoilers, but some elements might be given away so please don’t read the supporting text if you are a purist and have not seen one of the films.

Number 10 on my list is The Thin Red Line. This film seems like a typical, albeit very good, war film at the start of viewing. It is towards the end of the film that events and words work to achieve a special depth and profundity. The film’s conclusion also makes sense of other earlier elements in the film. Even if you normally don’t watch war films why not give this one a go? Like many of the films below it does have some gritty aspects—these help root the film appropriately in the full horror that is war. I would recommend you check all of the film’s below in terms of their rating/classification before watching—I know not all Christians approve of various adult themes in cinema.

The next film, Of Gods and Men, is closely based an a true story. This adds to a sense of growing concern for the monks, who are centre stage, as you watch this film. It becomes increasingly apparent that there won’t be a classic happy ending. This film, like a number of others here, raises questions about the value of life and to what extent we stick with the calling that God makes on us in the face of extreme hostility.

Number eight on my list is a film that I find to be as beautiful as it is at times harrowing. It shows the gospel and the Church being worked out in South America. To my mind, it simultaneously celebrates the gospel whilst casting an immense shadow on some aspects of the Church as institution. The film also has one of the most remarkable portrayals of conversion to Christianity that I have ever seen on screen. Like all the films here it contains tears. In each film the tears are shed in different contexts. Here the tears are shed as awareness of sin comes home to someone who has trafficked uncountable people, and even killed his own half-brother.

Number 7 on the list, Silence, takes place at a similar time to The Mission. I can’t say a lot without giving too much away. What I can say, is that it is difficult to watch the terrible experiences that so many converts to Christianity experienced in Japan’s early years of engagement with Europeans. It raises profound questions about how to respond to religious persecution in its most life-threatening forms.

Signs is an unusual film. And it is one where it is important to play close attention to what’s going on right from the outset, otherwise the deeper aspects of the film will be missed. In particular the opening minute, or so, reveals key information about the main protagonist, Graham Hess, played by Mel Gibson.

Next, at five, on my list is Life is Beautiful. This film tackles the most disturbing events of the Twentieth Century. Some viewers might find its handling of the subject matter of the horrors of the holocaust have overstepped a line. It is certainly vital to note that from the outset it claims to be ‘a parable’. Never has a film had a more bittersweet conclusion.

Less controversial is the next film on my list, Bladerunner. This film has become a cult film and I won’t get into the issues surrounding the existence of multiple versions of the film. I will however recommend the Director’s Cut for those who need to make a choice without wanting to investigate further. Like other films on this list the real (reel?) revelation occurs in the closing minutes. These closing minutes contain some of the most amazing dialogue in any science fiction film, as well as some less than subtle imagery. The philosophical questions explored in this film are also central to this film’s wonderful sequel, Bladerunner 2049.

Number 3, Gran Torino, is another film which seems to be something different at the outset than what it is later revealed to be. The film does have a lot of bad language, because of the realistic portrayal of one of the sub-cultures that it a key part of the film. The film has, in my view, one of the profoundest ends to any Hollywood film. When I watched this with one of my teenage son, last year, the closing credits felt like a religious experience.

I struggled to choose between the next two films and I’m having second thoughts even as I type. But a ‘joint first’ seemed inappropriate. Terrence Malick is the only director to appear twice on this list and I know he does not appeal to everyone. But please give this film a go if you haven’t seen it. It is a truly amazing film and is undeniably unique. It’s weakness, for some, is that the plot is difficult to piece together on the first viewing. Once the plot is pieced together it reveals an amazing and rich journey of faith. A faith journey as messy, complex, yet full of grace, as many of us in the audience can testify to.

A dialogue spoken at the beginning of the film is a vital lens through which to see the whole film:

The nuns taught us there are two ways through life, the way of Nature and the way of Grace. You have to choose which one you’ll follow. Grace doesn’t try to please itself. Accepts being slighted, forgotten, disliked. Accepts insults and injuries. Nature only wants to please itself. Get others to please it too. Likes to lord it over them. To have its own way. It finds reasons to be unhappy when all the world is shining around it. And love is smiling through all things.

My top choice proves to be a difficult film for some. It is certainly long, but not overly so for me. It has Tom Cruise playing a ill-spoken misogynist who make me cringe. Yet, this film is nothing less than biblical in some ways. Most obviously, all of the film’s many characters are united by an event straight from the Book of Exodus. Even the title is a deliberate play on the Latin term magnalia Dei, the Mighty Acts of God—a reference to the God of Israel’s deeds in the exodus of his people from captivity in Egypt. At a more subtle level, the lives of the characters, like those of the Patriarchs, have repeating patterns. The film can be understood as a reflection on Providence, but of course its probably not quite what Paul Thomas Anderson had in mind. Like number two on this list, The Tree of Life, this film is meant to be seen through the lens of an opening dialogue, After the portrayal of some remarkably unbelievable stories the narrator concludes:

It is in the humble opinion of this narrator that this is not just “something that happened.” This cannot be “one of those things”. . . This, please, cannot be that. And for what I would like to say, I can’t. This was not just a matter of chance. . . These strange things happen all the time . . .

In faith, of course, such words connect with us with the central faith and hope we have in Christ.

Please feel free to disagree and offer your own suggestions below.

Already I’m concerned that I’ve found no place for A Hidden Life . . .

Matthew 28:16–20: We Have One Job . . .

1. Making Disciples—Therefore, go and make disciples of all nations . . .

“You had one job”, has become a popular Internet meme over the last couple of years. It is a way of celebrating those tasks that seem like they should be simple, but an individual has managed to get them disastrously wrong. To this end, the Internet is awash with examples of benches facing walls, tee-shirts with upside down logos and ineffectual security barriers. The one job that the Church has differs in just about every way to this meme. The one job of the Church is stated in the famous Great Commission:

Therefore, go and make disciples of all nations . . .

A job, or task, it might be. But let’s be honest this is not an easy one. It is rather more challenging than getting benches the right way around and logos up the right way. And a lot trickier than building a barrier. We can all remember times when this one job might have looked rather less than straightforward. There are times when being a disciple feels embarrassing. There are times when it brings fear. Perhaps the fear of losing our job or of discrimination. For some it might bring the fear of violence. Even when we overcome fear and embarrassment the right words seem difficult to find in the heat of the moment. On some occasions the right words do come but the person we share with, smiles happily that our faith is good for us, but they have their own alternative. Sometimes our efforts elicit hostility; when we listen in turn we find out about someone’s pain from how a Christian ill-treated them. There are also times when we encounter someone who cannot entertain the idea that God is a God of love due to some personal tragic experience.

All of these obstacles, and more, can be roadblocks where our effort at discipling grinds to a halt. Sometimes these obstacles are merely hard ground which we can overcome. But let’s be clear it’s a difficult job. There are two things that help with this job. The first is to remember that the calling is a corporate one. The second is to remember the remarkable resources that God give his people to carry out this commission or mandate or job. I’ll look at three such resources each of which reminds us that we are called as churches, in fact the Church, to this task.

2. Resource 1: The Authority of Jesus—All authority in heaven and on earth . . .

The task of making disciples is not a hobby or a marketing exercise. It is not something based on the authority of politicians, business people, economists, experts or any frail human. This is something that is God’s plan for creation. He doesn’t just permit it, it’s the actual point of the Church. William Temple, a Twentieth-century Archbishop of Canterbury, put it this way:

“The Church is the only organisation
that does not exist for itself,
but for those who live outside of it.”

It is important to note that the world is also ready for this role of the Church. This is all part of God’s post-Eden plan. The way back to God is the one-by-one discipling of those who hear the gospel. We can do much to serve people outside of the Church, and so we should, but our greatest hope is for them to become disciples of Jesus and to join God’s plan.

Sometimes we worry about such single-minded mission. What about the Church? By which we mean us—what about all our issues, concerns and needs? There is no tension if we understand mission and discipleship correctly.

God’s mission—being made a disciple—is not a one-time event. It is a lifetime pilgrimage. It is a lifestyle. Mission and discipling are on-going way of being and doing. As Church we are an organic living body—the body of Christ. As an organic entity we grow, firstly, by each of us becoming healthier, holier, more virtuous, more like Jesus (or whatever term we prefer), second, as new disciples join us. Paul famously said, that the gospel was “first to the Jew, then to the Gentile” (Romans 1:16). This might not only reflect the obvious racial and religious distinctions at the origin of the Church. Perhaps today he would say: “the gospel is first for The Church and then for the Nations”. Perhaps. In any case, the gospel of Jesus Christ is an organic reality—if the gospel is not alive and well in our lives and collective life—if we are not growing as disciples—we cannot disciple.

All authority has been given to Jesus and he freely delegates it to us—that is we his body. Like most biblical images its more than a picture, it’s an expression of an incredible reality. The plan was, and is, audacious. The Three-in-One-God sent the Son to become the man Jesus. Then Jesus who was both God and man made for himself a group of disciples. These disciples are no less than a revived Israel. This is the significance of the twelve – although at the Great Commission there are only eleven of course. The final stage is that Jesus delegates authority and empowers his disciples by the Spirit.

God’s authority had already been given to God’s people, of course. They were to reach and teach the nations—the ups and downs of that commission is the narrative core to the First Testament. Sadly, the story of Jonah sums up the overall impact made by the people of God. Jonah famously didn’t want to go and disciple the nations but went in another direction.

At the Great Commission the disciples were still reeling from recent events. They were still eleven not twelve. They had seen Jesus die the death of an insurrectionist. They had seen him resurrected. Some still doubted. They were, like us frail. The Great Commission started, and continues, from such a point of frailty. That is the right place to start because we have resources from God himself. For a plan such as this has the authority of God. An authority worked out in death and resurrection. An authority given first to Jesus and then to us. Surely such a mandate must stir our hearts to overcome fear? Doesn’t such authority put embarrassment in perspective? Surely such an important call must impact our life choices?

In this Great Commission we are the first to know the freedom we have in Christ. The gospel reveals God as a God of freedom. The gospel reveals that we are free in Christ. If we know what it means to live in such freedom we can’t help but contribute to the core work of the Church—in being free we become active for God.

3. Resource 2: The Baptism of Jesus—Baptising them in . . .

Have you ever thought about baptism as a resource? It is, but like all expressions of the gospel in our Information Age we can lose confidence in it. Despite first appearances, baptism is a powerful act—but it is not just something we do. It is not an arbitrary rite of passage. It is not a test, although maybe we experienced one afterword like Jesus did. It is nothing less than being incorporated into the body of Jesus. For as we go down into the water we die with Christ. As we rise from the water we are resurrected with Christ. It is the visible start of the life in the body, the Church. This is something to be remembered. It is something to call to mind as we continue the long walk as followers of Jesus.

But baptism is not about an individual. This sounds especially odd to those of us who see so-called believers’ baptism as the right approach (as do I). But it is only in our ridiculously individualistic modern world we could see it as an individual affair. It is about joining a body of people. Sometimes the individual guilt and feeling of failure we have around speaking the gospel is because we see it as an individualistic enterprise. It is not. We all have parts to play to be sure—but as corny as it sounds we are a team. But the Jesus team takes teamwork to a whole new level—we are one body. We need to know our part in the bigger work of the Church. Because together we have been baptised into one body. None less than the body of Jesus Christ.

The poet Gerard Manley Hopkins captures this idea in his short but remarkably rich poem, As Kingfishers Catch Fire, where he says:

. . . — for Christ plays in ten thousand places,

Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his

To the Father through the features of men’s faces.

Christ plays in the churches, as we gather in worship and fellowship. What a beautiful truth.

Many religions have acts of cleansing with water. But no other has an act of union with the living God. As we carry out Jesus’ task, we baptise in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. Baptism is a great encouragement—when we see others baptised we are reminded of our baptism. This rather odd act is a life-giving one. It is an organic act. We visibly see the Church grow, one disciple at a time. As we see others baptised we see the gospel at work in the present and remember it at work in our past.

4. Resource 3: The Presence of Jesus—I am with you . . .

What a remarkable promise. What an encouragement. But what does it mean? Firstly, we can note that God has always been with his people. As Israel set out to inherit the Promised Land, we hear, God speak to Joshua:

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.

Joshua 1:9

On the return from exile and during the building of the Second Temple we read:

Then Haggai, the Lord’s messenger, gave this message of the Lord to the people: ‘I am with you,’ declares the Lord.

Haggai 1:13

How do we experience the presence of Jesus? Let’s be real and let’s be honest—it does not always feel like Jesus is right here in our midst. But our feelings are no measure of spiritual reality. There’s also some serious theology behind the promise of Jesus being with us. Because God as holy creator is distant, or transcendent. Yet in His grace He is close, or immanent. It has always been so. The first two chapters of the Bible show God as transcendent in the first creation account (Genesis 1:1–2:3) and God as immanent in the second creation account (Genesis 2:4–25). After the events of Genesis Chapter 3 it is in Jesus Christ that God’s resolution of the problem of our frailty and his holiness is made. God the Father is wholly other—neither our flesh, nor spirit, can survive his presence. But in Jesus, the God-Man, we have God with us, by the Spirit. This is mystical and not magical. We can’t conjure Him, we can only seek to experience him because God has promised to be gracious to us. And Jesus has promised to be with us to the end of the age. He’s bridged the gulf between us and God. Unlike the human response to fixing a broken relationship, Jesus didn’t meet us halfway—he came the whole way. Jesus came the whole way to make us disciples. He came the whole way to make disciples of all nations.

Sometimes we joke that God must have a made a mistake in delegating the discipling of the nations to the Church. But this is no joke. We are not inadequate for the task, because despite our weakness we have been given resources from God:

  1. We have the authority of Jesus himself.
  2. We have the gospel on show here in our midst in numerous ways including baptism.
  3. More than these two, we have Jesus with us.

We have not been set-up to fail. We have been equipped by the living God so that together we can make disciples of all nations.

 

Biblical Wisdom

In the previous post we saw that wisdom literature emerged throughout the Ancient Near East. This naturally leads to the question of what differences there might be between the wisdom literature of different nations. For the biblical scholar the question is more acute—in what sense is the biblical wisdom material distinct from the wider Ancient Near-Eastern wisdom literature? This post will firstly identify the scope of the biblical wisdom literature and then return to the question of what might distinguish it from wider wisdom literature.

Three books of the Old Testament (Hebrew Bible) are generally recognised as being wisdom literature. These are the books of Proverbs, Job and Ecclesiastes. These three books will obviously be a major concern of this series of posts. In addition to these three books other parts of the Old Testament are said to exhibit wisdom elements. Most notably, several psalms are identified as either wisdom psalms and/or as containing wisdom elements. Wisdom psalms will be considered in a later post, and several subsequent posts will address the question as to just what is meant by wisdom literature. The two wisdom books of the Apocrypha, Ecclesiasticus and the Wisdom of Solomon, will also be considered in two later posts.

We have already considered the origin of wisdom literature within society’s smallest social units, such as family and village. This origin, together with its frequent concern with the everyday, means that there is generally little direct cultic content. The development of wisdom literature amongst the elite sections of society, such as the court and scribal circles, meant that although it developed in sophistication, it continued to have a universal influence because of the engagement of the learned elite with literature of other nations. At the same time however, some specific Israelite content and influence became possible as the court and scribal circles had a relationship with cultic worship.

Many scholars have recognised a very specific religious concern of biblical wisdom literature which marks it out as distinct from the wider body of Ancient Near-Eastern literature. This theme, or locus, concerns ‘Fear of the Lord’ as in some sense central to the pursuit of wisdom. Although the wider Ancient Near-Eastern wisdom literature mentions deities on occasions there are no other extant wisdom texts in which there is a recognition of the foundational importance of a relationship to a deity as a necessary basis for the successful pursuit of wisdom.

It is interesting to note that an argument for a seminal role for ‘Fear of the Lord’ is found in all three wisdom books, as well as in some psalms which are identified by scholars as wisdom psalms. The Hebrew word commonly translated as ‘fear’ has a semantic range which places it somewhere between honouring and respecting somebody, on the one hand, and being terrified of someone, on the other. Such an awe for God is seen as transformative in the biblical wisdom literature. This is clearly the case in Proverbs were from the start we read that:

The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge,

    but fools despise wisdom and instruction.

Proverbs 1:7 (NIV)

In this way, Proverbs claims that wisdom does not reside in the Book of Proverbs, or other literary works we call wisdom, but in using them from a certain perspective. Fear of the Lord is a lifestyle which provides a lens for the correct appropriation of wisdom literature. such a committed stance is also to the fore in Job:

And he said to the human race,

    “The fear of the Lord—that is wisdom,

    and to shun evil is understanding.”

Job 28:28  (NIV)

In Ecclesiastes we find that such fear of God can be understood as obedience to God’s instruction:

Now all has been heard;

    here is the conclusion of the matter:

Fear God and keep his commandments,

    for this is the duty of all mankind.

Ecclesiastes 12:13 (NIV)

Future posts will return to these three wisdom books and to the significance of ‘fear of the Lord’. Our next post will look at the theme of Creation in wisdom literature.

 

Exodus: Apollos Old Testament Commentary

Exodus: Apollos Old Testament Commentary, Desmond Alexander, London: Apollos, 2017. xxpp. 764pp. hb, £39.99, ISBN 978-1-78359-434-4 / $45.00, ISBN 978-0-8308-2502-8

IVP kindly supplied a copy of this book for review. For those unfamiliar with the Apollos Old Testament Commentary series, its stated aim is to combine rigorous academic commentary with interpretation for the contemporary evangelical church. In this specific volume ahead of the commentary proper, is a 32 page introduction to the Book of Exodus. The opening section on ‘the exodus story’ (pp.1–4) provides a helpful and insightful statement of the theological purpose of the Book of Exodus. For Alexander, Exodus 15:17 is an especially important verse. He understands it as crystallising the idea that the exodus of the people of God from Egypt is a preparation of Israel at one mountain (Sinai) in anticipation of dwelling with God before another (Zion) in the Promised Land. Alexander helpfully stresses the breadth of the nature of salvation portrayed in Exodus. He outlines its motifs of redemption from slavery, purification, ransom from death and sanctification. Three short sections orientate Exodus within (i) its literary context, i.e. Genesis to Kings, (ii) the rest of the Old Testament/Hebrew Bible, (iii) the New Testament. The differences of opinion as to the structure of the book are usefully outlined and the author concludes that chapter 18 (Jethro’s visit to Moses) is a ‘hinge’ between chapters 1–17 (Israel’s escape from captivity) and 19–40 (Israel’s covenants with Yahweh).

A large section of the Introduction is concerned with the relationship between the Book of Exodus and history. Alexander outlines the archaeological evidence for an exodus of people from Egypt with regard to its correspondence with the Book of Exodus. Alexander does not advocate a definite date for the events described in Exodus, pointing to the lack of evidence, especially with regard to the conquest of Canaan. Some readers, even those of an Evangelical stance, might feel that Alexander has been too accepting of even the finest details of the account of Exodus—his approach is not especially sympathetic too approaches that privilege literary form over historicity.  Alexander appears to favour an early date for the events described in the book of Exodus but he recognises that certainty is not possible based on the limits of both text and archaeology. The Introduction concludes with a postponement of any decision about the route of the Exodus until the commentary proper and some comments on the text of the book.

I found navigating the main body of the commentary frustrating at times as the major section headings and occasional excurses are not listed in the contents page. Each of the smaller textual units is examined in five sections:

  • Translation: Alexander’s own translation of the verses is presented. This translation is fluent and engaging.
  • Notes on the text: The rationale behind the choice of key words and phrases made in the translation is presented and important textual variants are discussed. All of the Hebrew is transliterated and important matters of grammar explained at length.
  • Form and structure: The textual unit is explored at length. Here Alexander is especially helpful in justifying the reason for the identification of the specific verses as a unit and the relationship of the unit to other parts of Exodus. A key strength is the thorough exploration of intertextual relationships of the unit with the rest of Scripture, especially the Book of Genesis.
  • Comment: It is here that the passage in unfolded in detail in a verse-by-verse manner. The focus remains tightly upon the passage in its original context.
  • Explanation: In this section, Alexander helps the reader start the interpretive journey from ‘then’ to ‘now’. It is here that the passage is engaged with theologically and Alexander puts the passage into New Testament perspective. This step is helpful for the preacher and is the most distinctive feature of this commentary (and indeed the series) compared to some other full-length technical commentaries. This reader found these sections to be helpful ‘points of departure’.

In its entirety this commentary makes two theses as to how the Book of Exodus should be handled. The first thesis is methodological and is, perhaps surprisingly, not made readily apparent in the Introduction. The second is theological and central to Alexander’s understanding of the whole book. In turn these two theses are:

  1. The enterprise of source criticism in its documentary and fragmentary forms has been rather unfruitful. This is not because Alexander rules out complex textual development per se, but rather classic source criticism has not found anything like scholarly consensus. Indeed, time-and-again Alexander shows that literary units are just that, units, and programmatic efforts to dissect them are sterile exercises which are unwarranted. The commentary would have been a lot shorter without the consideration of the possibilities afforded by source critical approaches and some more conservative readers might have welcomed their omission. However, these sections taken together provide a thoroughgoing challenge to anyone pursuing the source critical approach for understanding the Pentateuch.
  2. At the outset (pp.1–2) points out the role of Mount Sinai in Exodus as a preparation for living with Mount Zion in the, to quote Alexander, the ‘land flowing with milk and syrup’. This approach is both nuanced and compelling.

To conclude, the identification of these two theses makes this commentary not only a very good technical commentary on the Book of Exodus but ensures it makes specific methodological and theological contributions to the scholarship on what is a pivotal text of the Hebrew Bible. In summary, anyone wanting a rigorous and thoroughgoing examination of Exodus from a stance of Christian faith will find what they need in this latest addition to the Apollos Commentary series.

 

 

Regurgitating Jonah

Prologue

The Book of Jonah is for children. We might not say so, but our actions and thoughts often say otherwise. It is most likely met in church and home as a story for children. As adults we are perhaps embarrassed by its improbabilities.

We are however missing something if we dismiss this oddest member of the Twelve Minor Prophets. It is so different to the other Eleven. This oddness does not make it suitable for children nor relegate it to irrelevance. Rather, the opposite is true. This book has the capacity to challenge us in a way that adults need to be challenged and children do not.

It is only adults that know about cynicism, disappointment, running away, apathy and selfishness to a great enough depth to be the target of such a sharp and barbed prod from God.

To follow this meditation you will need to have a copy of Jonah available.

 

Running Away

Make yourself comfortable. Loosen your shoulders. Breathe deeply and slowly. Imagine you are Jonah. Keep asking what do you feel, taste, hear, smell and see.

Read Jonah 1:1–3

Why are you running away from God? You know so much about his ways. But sometimes you choose to go in the wrong, in fact the opposite, direction. Why is it sometimes so hard to do the things of God?

Why is it that there are some people that you do not want to be with? Is it their poverty that makes you run away from them? Is it their sin you can’t abide? Do you flee from them because of their ‘pagan’ religion?

How is it that running away from people can be the same as running away from God himself? Surely you know there is no running away from God? Where can you hide from him?

 

Where Can You Flee?

Read Jonah 1:4–12

You find it easy to judge others. Especially those who don’t share your faith. You are, after all, born of a chosen nation. You are born of a famous father, Amittai, who was a prophet of great renown. You too have been chosen for the same privileged role—to utter judgement on the nations.

Waking up you remember that you’ve ignored Yahweh’s call. Worse than that you have fled his presence, or at least you have tried to leave him behind.

Bleary-eyed you find that the pagan sailors have eyes wide-open to God. They see him at the heart of this storm. They perceive he is angry with someone on the ship. A fraction of a second after you judge them for their silly superstition you realise it is true, that it is you that God is angry with.

You have to do the right thing—your life for theirs is not the end you had expected. But you can’t bear to be responsible for their deaths too. You surrender to being thrown overboard; as you are going to die either way. You hear yourself say “Pick me up and throw me into the sea; then the sea will quiet down for you; for I know it is because of me that this great storm has come upon you.”

 

Going  Overboard

Read Jonah 1:13–16

Your horror grows as the sailors can’t bring themselves to throw you overboard. You’ve rarely heard such earnest prayer. Prayer born out of desperate fear and anguish. Calling on God’s name for salvation.

You are paralysed with fear. You can’t find the courage to throw yourself overboard nor can your lips find words, try as you might.

As your rather dull life flashes before you, you realise that you were at the crossroads of something important which your life had been moving to. But now it is too late, you’ve missed the boat—or rather you’ve got on the wrong one. It’s almost a relief when rugged calloused hands grab you roughly and throw you into the roaring waves.

 

Composing a Psalm

Read Jonah 1:17–2:9

Your lungs have barely started burning as you hold on to what you think is your last breath, when you realise that you are not drowning. Damp squidgy glutinous material is all around. The smell is like the fish market you passed through yesterday, yet one hundred times worse.

You attempt to calm yourself after your breakfast has made a reappearance. Your mind tries to find the words for this new experience. All you can do is patch together snippets of the psalms you have sung so often before. You patch verses together and they sort of work.

You are trying to believe that being in the stomach of a fish is God’s salvation rather than just the start of a slower death.

You realise that despite your daily commitment to the psalms, “songs of trust”, you’ve never really been tested before. This really doesn’t seem the best way to learn such a lesson—you ask yourself, “Why did I flee from God?”

Unlikely though the prospect seems you promise yourself, and God if he can hear you, that next time you will do what he asks. Even if it is pronouncing judgement on the smelly undeserving people of Nineveh.

In that moment you have to admit that you smell far worse, however, than any Ninevite.

 

Vomited Up

Read Jonah 2:10–4:3

Since being regurgitated you have done all that God asked. You walked 400 miles from where the fish vomited you up. You’d begged for help to get fresh clothes and food. You have pointed out to the people of Nineveh that these ‘pagans’ do things that are an abomination to God.

The people believed you! At first you enjoyed being a celebrity. The king believed you! If the kings commands were taken at face value, why even the cows and goats had repented.

But then God does a U-turn because of his mercy. Where is the justice in all this? What use is Law if it can be overturned with repentance? Are these pagans God’s chosen? Are these Assyrians God’s holy nation? Why can’t God stand up for his ways, punish those that do wrong? Wouldn’t punishing these people vindicate his own people?

 

An Angry Prophet

Read Jonah 4:4–11

Pray:

Father, we confess that too often we reject you ways. We want to know your mercy and grace, and yet we are slow to help bring news of your mercy and grace to others.

Father, we pray that we might learn to see this world with your eyes. Grant us wisdom to walk with you and to honour you with our choices.

Help us see temptation for what it is—a journey away from you.

Father, we pray that we would see others as you see them. Help us know with our hearts that you love all men, women and young people. Help us to love irrespective of wealth, status, ethnicity, gender and peoples’ mistakes.

Help us see the plank in our own eyes that we can love more truly.

Lord we are your servants. Help us learn from Jonah’s weakness that we can begin to echo better Jesus’ meekness.

Father, help us to be people of prayer. May we may pray more with our own words. May we pray liturgy together more passionately. May we desire your Spirit’s words more voraciously. And may we read, and be read, by your Word more frequently.

Amen.

 

Afterword: The Two Brothers

Read Luke 15:11–32. Whilst you do so imagine you are the first son (or you can be a daughter) and that the second son is called Jonah.

 

 

 

Book Review, Part 2—The Psalter as Witness: Theology, Poetry and Genre

This is the second, and final, part of this review of The Psalter as Witness: Theology, Poetry and Genre, Dennis Tucker, Jr. and W. H. Bellinger, Jr. (editors), Waco, Texas: Baylor University Press, 2017. 216pp. hb. $49.95, ISBN 978-1-4813-0556-3

Part 2: Theological Themes in the Psalms

Human Transience, Justice and Mercy: Psalm 103, Johannes Schnocks

In this contribution Schnocks uses a combination of approaches which consider both the shape of the Psalter (synchronic methods) and the shaping of the psalms (diachronic approaches) to explore the nature of divine mercy in Psalm 103. He does this by considering the theme of human transience raised in Psalm 90 (the first psalm of Book 4). Psalms 102 and 103 are seen to deepen the intermediate position proposed in Psalm 92. This ongoing dialogue provides a firm context within which Psalm 103 articulates the nature of the forgiveness of sins offered by YHWH. Schnocks shows how the three strophes (vv.6–10, vv.11–13 and vv.14–18), at the heart of the psalm, present a theology of divine mercy which is a rich reflection on God’s nature and his covenant relationship with Israel. This chapter is not only interesting in its own right but it also provides a helpful illustration of the potential for exploring the dialogue between the psalms made visible by synchronic approaches which recognise the shape of the Psalter.

 

The God of Heaven in Book 5 of the Psalter, W. Dennis Tucker Jr.

Zion Theology has long been recognised as a central theme of the Psalter. Zion Theology is explored helpfully in terms of its key motifs and with awareness that it underwent a shift in emphasis, albeit not a straightforward linear one. The spatial nature of the language in Book 5 which refers to YHWH is explored. Tucker also examines the fivefold use of the phrase ‘maker of heaven and earth’ in Book 5, noting that it is not found in the other four books. The use of this term, almost an appellation, is part of a shift in Zion Theology necessitated by the destruction of the First Temple. The evidence in Book 5 is shown to point to the term ‘God of Heaven’ becoming increasingly important in the light of defending the inviolability of Zion. Interestingly, despite YWHW’s identification as ‘God of Heaven’ the psalmists who wrote and edited Book 5 testify to the nearness of God. Indeed the motif of ‘God of Heaven’ is used in a manner consistent with YHWH as ‘Divine King [who] will intervene into the history of his threatened people’ [pp.98–9).

 

The Theology of the Poor in the Psalter, Johannes Bremer

Bremer opens by identifying what he sees as five threads of thought that run through the Psalter from a synchronic perspective. One of these is a theology of the poor. It would have been helpful at the outset for more to be said concerning what features of the psalms can be said to constitute a theology of the poor. Notwithstanding this point, Bremer shows that a theology of the poor is a key concept within the first David Psalter (Pss.3–41) in that each of the recently recognised four sections concludes with a psalm (Pss. 14, 24, 34 and 41) within which various elements constitute a theology of the poor. With reference to the work of Hossfeld he argues that the second Davidic Psalter mirrors this theology of the poor. He also points out that all of these Davidic psalms are from a perspective of close familiarity with the poor. This is not the case, however, with the Asaphite psalms in which there is a clear distance between the psalmist and the poor. The theology of the poor in Book 5 is rather uneven. The theme is all but absent from the Psalms of Ascents but important in the various Hallelujah/Hallel psalms (Pss. 104–106, 111–113, 115–117 and 146–150). The chapter closes with a brief outline of the diachronic explanation of the synchronic whole with which the chapter has been largely concerned.

 

The Elohistic Psalter: Formation and Purpose, Frank-Lothar Hossfeld

The chapter commences with a helpful reminder that Herman Gunkel was not only concerned with form criticism but devoted some attention to the formation of the Psalter. In particular he attempted to explain the existence and nature of the Elohistic Psalter (Pss. 42–83) with which Hossfeld is concerned. Hossfeld suggests that Gunkel was unwise to attempt to account for the shape of the Psalter by giving so much attention to its middle. Hossfeld briefly sketches the legacy of Gunkel’s account of the Elohistic Psalter before favouring some recent studies that have provided alternative explanations for the use of divine names in the Elohistic Psalter. He concludes that the Elohistic Psalter is part of the middle of the story of the shaping of the psalms as well as the middle of the Psalter. More specifically he suggests that its origin lies with the activities of the Asaphites who edited the second Davidic Psalter, as well as some of the Korahite psalms, namely Pss. 42–49. The chapter concludes by building on this with the very specific evidence from (i) two parallel psalm pairs: Pss. 14/53 and 40:14–18/70 , (ii) the inclusion of the second David Psalter (Pss. 69–71), (iii) the content of the second part of the Korahite Psalter (Pss. 84–85, 86–89). By way of conclusion the argument is drawn together with regard to the implications for an understanding of the formation of the Psalter.

 

The Elohistic Psalter: History and Theology, Joel S. Burnett

This chapter functions as something like a sequel to the previous one. Burnett considers three theological emphases of the Elohistic Psalter. The first, and most obvious, is the preference for the divine name Elohim which seeks to shroud YHWH in mystery whilst simultaneously identifying him as the deity behind other divine names. The second is the clear presentation of the supremacy of Israel’s God among the other gods. Burnett argues that this is not just a static theme, but one that culminates climatically in the penultimate Elohistic psalm (Psalm 82), in the portrayal of the divine council and Elohim’s superiority over its members. The third emphasis is the portrayal of divine judgement on earth as in heaven. In this way a hope is described whereby the calamitous events of Exile can be reversed. With these three themes in mind, Burnett considers how the first Korahite collection (Pss. 42–49) provides a lead-in to the Elohisitc Asaph-David collection and the second Korahite collection (Pss. 84–85, 87–88) cogently follows this literary unit. At a later stage he suggests that Psalms 2 and 89 were added to foster the joining of  the first Davidic Psalter to the Elohistic Psalter.

 

Part 3: Genre and Theology

The Psalter as a Book: Genre as Key to its Theology, Egbert Ballhorn

Ballhorn starts by recognising both the innovation, and yet also the limits, of Gunkel’s form criticism (Gattungskritik). In particular he laments the effort of some commentators in the 1920s to reorder the psalms. The revolution created by the recognition of the literary character of the psalms as a Psalter is celebrated before he moves on to consider the Psalter’s ouverture. Psalms 1–3 are explored as this ouverture, although rather surprisingly there is no mention of Robert Cole’s 2013 monograph on these psalms: Psalms 1–2: Gateway to the Psalter. Ballhorn helpfully adds further insight as to how these first psalms function as a hermeneutical lens by recognising how Psalms 1 and 2 connect with the language of the Pentateuch (Psalm 1) and that of the Latter Prophets (Psalm 2). Psalm 3 is also singled out as the first of the psalms that conforms to the expectation of what constitutes a typical psalm. In this way Ballhorn sees the first three psalms as teaching readers that addressing God in prayer is only possible by building on the twin pillars of torah and trust in the promise of God’s anointed seated in Zion.

 

Genre, Theology, and the God of the Psalms, Rolf Jacobson

This final chapter, rather appropriately, considers what sort of God it is that the psalms testify to. More specifically the ‘prayers of help’ (individual laments) and Royal Psalms are used to answer this question. Jacobson is aware that some scholars, such as Gerstenberger, view such an enterprise as impossible; decrying the possibility of a singular theology of the psalms—Gerstenberger famously speaks of theologies of the psalms, in no small measure because for him the pursuit of Sitz im Leben eclipses more recent canonical endeavours. In examining the ‘prayers for help’, God’s impassibility and immutability in terms of his being, character and election of Israel is first recognised. At the same time the psalms also assert, however, that when it comes to  more specific actions for Israel and for the individual, God ‘is far from impassible’ [p.175]. The election of Israel in the Royal Psalms is considered by first noting the rich semantic field within the Hebrew Bible which is not fully echoed in the psalms. What the psalms do is rather more specific. They focus on the election of specific people, most notably David. These two threads come together in witnessing that YHWH is a God of  relationships—he hears the cries of the weak and is in covenant with Israel, releasing his people’s divine purpose.

 

Final Comments

Edited books of this type can often feel rather haphazard but here the twelve contributions have been shaped together well. This results in a sense of common endeavour among the twelve contributors to collectively advance the canonical approach. For me two of the contributions stand out because they not only make the most of the new canonical consensus but they have wider theological promise too. The first is Brack Reid’s paper which offers some interesting possibilities and potential for reading the psalms Davidically in terms of a theology of suffering. The second is Bremer’s contribution on a theology of suffering. These two also cohere in terms of their focus. Several other contributions remind the reader that a theology of the poor is a key concern of the Psalter.

So to conclude this volume is highly recommended to advanced students and scholars with either an interest in the Psalter or the interplay between synchronic and diachronic approaches to the Hebrew Bible / Old Testament. A knowledge of Hebrew is necessary to get the best from most of the contributions and the collection. This contribution indicates that the synchronic approach has reached a level of genuine maturity and consensus. Undoubtedly scholars still have much to explore. There is also a vital need to ensure that the broad insights of the new consensus can be appropriated within the Church to enable the Psalter to function fully as life-transforming Scripture.

 

 

D is for Deuteronomistic History

Perhaps the choice of topic for the letter ‘D’ is a surprise. Many readers may not have heard of this theory. This idea seeks to explain the observation that the books of Deuteronomy, Joshua, Judges, Samuel and Kings tell a coherent story. The coherency of the story is explained in a variety of ways all of which centre on the strong literary relationship of the book of Deuteronomy and what in the Hebrew Bible are termed the Former Prophets (Joshua, Judges, Samuel and Kings). The earliest explanations of this literary relationship which were made well over one hundred years ago proposed that the Former Prophets were edited by someone who was committed to the theological outlook of the book of Deuteronomy. Later the German scholar Martin Noth (1902–1968) suggested that Deuteronomy and the Former Prophets had such strong similarities in terms of themes and literary style that they were at some level a single literary work. This work was dated to the exilic period (the exile will be our next topic). Like all intriguing theories it has been revised and refuted by other scholars.

It is likely that no overall theory will ever be recognised as the consensus but what is clear is the base data—anyone reading from Deuteronomy through the books of Joshua, Judges, I Samuel, II Samuel, I Kings and II Kings (the Hebrew Bible’s books of Samuel and Kings were each split in two for the Christian canon) will find they are carried forward in a compelling account spanning the Israelites poised to conquer the promised land to their exile from the land. The story is a complex ‘Game of Thrones’ history with strong theological claims and themes throughout. In the English-speaking world Joshua to Kings are seen as historical books whilst in Hebrew their theological freight is to the fore in their designation as Former Prophets. We would do well to note that history meets theology here in a complex and rich tapestry, for as we shall see the Hebrew Bible resists our modern categories that would separate the marriage of history and theology asunder.

By way of conclusion it is worth noting a central aspect of the book of Deuteronomy. The book displays many of the characteristics of an ancient near-eastern legal document. Read in this light it represents a legal covenant between Yahweh, the God of Israel, and the nation of Israel. In keeping with such treaties it uses the language of blessings and curse. The former the result of keeping the agreement and the latter the consequences of breaking the terms of covenant. In short if Israel serves Yahweh faithfully then they will know the blessings of peace and prosperity in the Land that they have been given by God. If, on the other hand, they follow the other deities of the ancient near-east or are led astray by idols they will lose the land and the peace and prosperity granted by Yahweh. The Former Prophets unfold the story of the gaining of the Land and the complex journey which leads to its loss in the midst of war, calamity and exile.

C is for Creation

There is no escaping the centrality of the theme of Creation in the Hebrew Bible. Not only is it encountered on numerous occasions, both explicitly and implicitly, but it is also the point of departure of the book of Genesis and therefore the whole Hebrew Bible.

In the previous post we considered two polar opposite approaches to the Hebrew Bible and their respective presuppositions. These were scientific atheism and highly conservative Christianity. Both conservative Christian approaches and militant atheism share a tendency to translate the two accounts of creation found in Genesis 1–2 into propositional truth. In this way the outcome is either:

  1. The Bible’s account of creation is so at odds with astronomy, geology and evolutionary biology that the biblical account is false, or
  2. The Bible’s account of creation is so at odds with astronomy, geology and evolutionary biology that these sciences are wrong.

Of course there are alternatives. These alternatives centre on considering what these texts are—i.e. they are not a series of straightforward propositional truths. This is not to question their potential for conveying truth but rather to recognise that there is something more complex at work in these texts and that their interpretation is richer than a series of true/false statements. I want to suggest that an initial reading of the two accounts of creation in Genesis 1–2 which recognises their cultural milieu indicates two useful starting points.

Firstly, there is a poetic dynamic to the accounts:

  • They are highly rhythmic and stylised—for example the six fold refrain of ‘. . . and there was evening, and there was morning . . .’ (see 1:5, 8, 13, 19, 23 and 31).
  • There is word play—for example the use of ‘adamah as earth (as in topsoil) in 1:25 and 2:6 and the use of ‘adam as the first man (earth creature) in 2:7.

Some poetic features are lost in translation but the rhythm and form are readily apparent.

Secondly, the two creation accounts in Genesis and other elements of Genesis 1–11 are part of a number of Ancient Near-Eastern texts which deal with origins. They arose in a context which saw a number of accounts for the origin of the world and explanations of the way things are. For example, there are Akkadian, Egyptian and Babylonian creation stories. These Hebrew accounts provide their own unique answers to the questions being asked at that time.

Of course even when such considerations are handled sympathetically these texts can still be dismissed as wrongheaded, but the way we can dismiss or embrace them is richer than polarising modern science against ancient text as propositional statements which capture timeless truth. The possible ‘thicker’ readings lack the simplicity and closure of the ‘thinner’ alternatives. They raise questions as well as provide answers. The central claims of Genesis 1–2 provide the presuppositions underpinning the whole of the Hebrew Bible—that the Hebrew God, Yahweh, created the universe and that humankind are, at some level, special within this creation. There is no scientific proposal here which can be tested. Rather, this is elegant use of the possibilities of poetry to populate the imagination with rich theological images. This thicker possibility leads us to wonder and perhaps argue about how we interpret the account—how do Adam and Eve fit with the scientific consensus? As a Christian who is also a scientist I welcome the fact that neither scientific consensus nor the Bible trumps the other at the outset of a process of critical evaluation and consideration.

 

Further reading

For a stimulating scholarly exploration of the centrality of creation in the Hebrew Bible see Herman Spieckermann, ‘Creation: God and World’, pp. 271‒292 in The Hebrew Bible: A Critical Companion (ed: John Barton), Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2016

B is for Bible

The word Bible derives from the Greek word biblion which originally meant scroll. Over time the word Bible came to mean a collection of books of religious significance. In modern English the word tends to have a wider meaning as a massive tome providing comprehensive coverage of a topic. The object considered in this series of posts defies any simple attempt at classification. A key background issue to this series of posts is the differences of opinion on just what the Hebrew Bible is.

When we read the Hebrew Bible we interpret what is says having already made a decision as to what it is. This is the classic conundrum of interpreting any text—interpretation requires a starting point or to put it formally, presuppositions. The challenge of good reading is to allow the object to challenge these presuppositions.

Two polar presuppositions are worth considering in order to illustrate this point. The most conservative Christian readings perceive the Bible as the final word on matters beyond those of religion or doctrine to include history and science. Such a stance does not invite the possibility of reading the Bible and expecting to have this view challenged, modified or refined. Any apparent tensions or contradictions with secular accounts of history, geology, physics, psychology, etc. are explained in terms of the failings of the alternatives not as either limitations of the Bible or the possibility that the Bible has been interpreted inappropriately. At the other end of the presuppositional spectrum, the convinced atheist will tend to read the Bible in a similar but opposite fashion—such a reading reveals numerous discrepancies within the Bible. Such ‘discrpencies’ are especially apparent if the Hebrew Bible is read as a mechanical propositional account of the universe. I am not suggesting that either atheists or conservative Christians are deliberately closed to critical thinking or changing their minds, rather I am suggesting that these polar positions mean that the Bible is understood in a rigid way that resists adaption to a new understanding.

Both approaches have a tendency to flatten the Bible into propositional truth and ignore the poetic devices, literary forms and the nuances invited by the different genres of literature which comprise the Hebrew Bible. To make matters worse, some who read in this manner describe their readings as ‘literal’ when in fact they have removed the Bible a priori from the realm of literature.

My view of the Bible (either the whole Christian Bible or the Hebrew Bible) is that it is neither (i)  the product of cultures who imagined a God and sought to collect writings to testify to this claim in a haphazard and unconvincing manner, nor (ii) handed down from heaven as the final word on faith, science and history. This series of posts starts with the premise that this is a thoroughly human book—written over centuries, subject to editing and selection, diverse in genre and resistant to definition. This premise does not preclude either of the views mentioned above being correct in their judgement of the Bible’s veracity. It is, however, a starting point for what could in principle a more open journey to either theism or atheism. I have spent more than thirty years reading the Bible and am still ‘happy’ with the messy human premise but equally convinced that God was at work in the events that inspired the biblical authors, and working providentially in the authorship, collecting and editing of the constituent parts of the Bible. Year-on-year I find myself revising the details of my understanding of the nature of scripture and want to remain open to finding out from the Bible itself, just what it actually is. Perhaps this latter point is still an act of faith—believing that the Bible can change readers, can teach, can transform. But it can also be seen as a working hypothesis which is constantly being tested.