Archive - June, 2010

Language and Social Programming

In Fuller’s Biblical Division, we have a requirement that students use a gender-inclusive translation of the Bible (NRSV or TNIV) as their English translation. My students often ignore this, despite my desperate pleas, so I have to find ways of compelling them against their will. *ahem*

This spring a student asked some good, pointed questions about this requirement, so I figured I would answer him here, perhaps in hopes of getting some discussion going.

To the overall question, why require a gender-inclusive translation? My overall answer is this: to keep transforming the culture of the church until we actually believe (and therefore act like) that women and men are equal members of the body of Christ, equally addressed by the word of God, and equally empowered by the Spirit to serve in it (and therefore lead it).

My non-theological answer to why gender-inclusive language is essential: I am raising a daughter. At the age of 2 or 3 or 4 or 5 gender identity is one of the key ways she’s making sense of the world. She counts boys and girls (and whether the presence of a female dog ups the ante on the girls side so that they win). And, when she hears masculine language, she automatically excludes herself from the addressees.

As a man, this is something that experientially I will never be able to relate to, but as a dad I know that I want my daughter to hear the words of the Bible and know that they are expressed to her as much as they are to her brother. I don’t want girls or women who pick up the Bible to think that they are only members of the family of God by implication or by necessary consequence.

My student asked specifically about requiring the now defunct TNIV and the NRSV that was sponsored by the World Council of Churches and has not been well received in evangelical circles.

This is a crucial question. In my estimation the reason that these gender inclusive translations have not caught on in evangelicalism is precisely because conservative churches are theologically opposed to gender equality. It is because they are guarding against the sort of transformation that I think needs to take place that they choose to preserve and further language of masculine hegemony. In resisting even gender-inclusive language for humanity, however (e.g., not allowing α͗δέλφοι to be translated “brothers and sisters,” but instead insisting on “brothers”), the English translation expresses an exclusivity that was not there in the Greek. This is a case where “more literal” is not equivalent to “more accurate.”

The final couple of questions from my student were along the lines of who cares? and why bother? Why not use “mankind” and “man” rather than human? In addition to what I’ve outlined above, the reason I care is that women who are learning to locate themselves, as women, in the world, need to be told and have reinforced from every angle that they do not have to become male (or approximate maleness) in order to fully realize their humanness, to become who God desires them to be as restored image-bearers of Christ.

The church has been shackled by the idea that maleness is ontologically superior to femaleness. This has ramifications for how the church thinks about Jesus and how it thinks about gender among us humans.

With respect to Jesus: the ESV gives some hints as to the necessity for certain people to hold onto Jesus’ maleness as a sine qua non of salvation. A translation that prides itself on rendering words consistently and accurately translates ἄνθρωποι as “people” in 1 Timothy 2:4, “…desires all people to be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth.” With this desire for all people as the set-up, however, the ESV simply cannot bring itself to say that a human is a sufficient category for a savior. No, it has to be male: “For there is one God, and one mediator between God and men [!, ἄνθρωποι], the man [! ἄνθρωπος] Christ Jesus” (1 Timothy 2:5).

We need to embrace gender-neutral terminology for humanity so that we can start to disentangle ourselves from skewed notions about maleness and salvation. And if you think I’m just making up the idea that the maleness of Jesus is an essential part of conservative evangelical theology, then maybe you can drop a note to Paternoster Press and ask why, after printing Neil Williams’ new book The Maleness of Jesus, they canceled the contract and are refusing to distribute it.

Of course, as soon as being male is required to represent humanity before God, then being male is required to represent God before God’s people. The continuing deafness of the evangelical world to the biblical passages that give counter-testimony to 1 Timothy 3 from the early church is another lingering effect of gender-exclusive Bible translation. So long as we think that to be truly human is to be man, and so long as we think that a man must be the mediator between God and man, women will never be able to participate as full, co-equal partners.

So yes, I care. And as a man I think it’s more important for me to champion this cause than it is for women to champion it themselves. Because the call of the gospel isn’t to spend all our time getting worked up over our own rights, but to spend all our time getting worked up over how life can come to the other.

Ideas & Neighbors

I had coffee with a student this afternoon. It helped crystallize for me one way in which seminary education can be dangerous. Note well: dangerous does not equal bad. But like many good and helpful things, it can be dangerous as well.

The danger is simply this: seminary can teach us that people are ideas to be argued with rather than neighbors to be loved.

Synergy

I know the blog has been sleepy for the past couple of weeks. I beg the pardon of my loyal fan base. I have been wrapping up the spring quarter, prepping for a summer intensive, and then teaching said summer intensive.

So now, on June 28, my summer begins in earnest. And you can expect more blogging from me.

I know what you’re thinking: that the reason I can blog now is because I have more free time. That isn’t really how it works for me, normally. What creates blogging is when I’m doing creative work. In fact, the times when the blog is most prolific tend to be when I’m writing the most and/or prepping new course material.

I’ve heard it said that creativity creates creativity. It’s not a pot that can be emptied, it’s more like yeast that multiplies and grows as it is fed.

This summer and fall I will be finishing my book, Jesus Have I Loved, But Paul…? and getting up to speed with my christology of the Synoptic Gospels. So look for ideas along those lines, and sundry other happy musings, as Storied Theology reflects the story of my summer and fall.

Here we go…

Yes, I Amuse Myself

I would probably feel bad about this–if it weren’t for the fact that Flannery O’Connor accuses herself of the same vice. In writing to her friend “A”, she talks about reading her own stories and laughing and laughing at lines she finds humorous.

I don’t laugh and laugh, but in proofing an article this week I have been regularly amused by one particular sentence. So my process toward formation into the image of O’Connor continues, one slow step at a time.

Of course, when you see the sentence in question, the emphasis will no doubt be put on “SLOW” step…

“Thus, one option is to argue that there is neither intentionality nor significance in this change [from έ͑νεκεν to ε͗κ in the Isa. 59 citation in Rom 11.26]–unless it is to highlight that Paul came close to using a verse that would have served his purposes well had it not been so edited before he got his hands on it.”

Re: The Mountain Goats

Due to the wayward influence of The Foolish Sage, my new musical addiction is The Mountain Goats. I could try to describe their music, but instead I’ll describe its effect on me: it’s like listening to lyrics that Flannery O’Connor would have written had she been born a dude in Southern California in the late 20th century.

Here are the lyrics to “Against Pollution”:

When I worked down at the liquor store
Guy with a shotgun came raging through the place
Muscled his way behind the counter
I shot him in the face

This morning I went down to the Catholic Church
‘Cause something just came over me
Forty-five minutes in the pews
Praying the rosary

When the last days come
We shall see visions
More vivid than sunsets
Brighter than stars
We will recognize each other
And see ourselves for the first time
The way we really are

Decorative grating on my window
Gets a little rustier every year
I don’t know how the metal gets rusty
When it never rains here

A year or so ago I worked at a liquor store
And a guy came in
Tried to kill me so I shot him in the face
I would do it again
I would do it again

When the last days come
We shall see visions
More vivid than sunsets
Brighter than stars
We will recognize each other
And see ourselves for the first time
The way we really are

And here’s a poor video of them singing at a concert:

(NB: Though I do call Flannery O’Connor my girlfriend, I shall not be applying said appellation to The Mountain Goats in general or John Darnielle in particular.)

No Better Friend, No Worse Master

Theology is my friend. Theology is my friend. Theology is my friend.

If I say it enough, I’m sure to believe it.

And I know it’s true. I am a theological reader of scripture. Once upon a time I thought that what I loved was theology proper, but then I discovered that what I thought of as theology was more like a biblical or exegetical theology. But I still love theology.

Ok, so why did I go into a fit of madness yesterday and post this as my Facebook status: “Dear Theology, I want to be your friend, but days like this make me want to disown you forever”?

I think it goes back to Monday’s post wherein I reflected on the impossibility of hearing things we don’t already “know.” The theology we bring with us to the Bible creates a way of “seeing” that determines what “scripture actually says.” And so, my FB friends were quick to point out that we all read the Bible with some theology, that we can’t lay that aside, etc.

They are certainly correct. Heck, I know people who think that the defining characteristic of Jesus is his command “Do not judge,” and they even think that the Sermon on the Mount proves them right! See? It’s hard to see what we don’t believe is there…

I’m currently wrapping up a course on The Cross in the New Testament. I’ve taught it twice and am about to teach it again next week. This class surveys the cross / death of Jesus in the New Testament, and then does some theological integration on the issues of discipleship and atonement theories.

Three big take-aways from both the lecture and the readings are these: (1) when the NT talks about the cross it is infinitely more concerned with how we live lives of faithful discipleship than it is with how the death of Jesus “works” to save us; (2) there are numerous models of “atonement” in the NT that address different facets of the problem of the human condition; and (3) penal substitution might be less pervasive than you think, and probably needs to be rethought in more biblical categories.

The problem with “knowing” how the death of Jesus works is that it keeps us from being able to see how the NT writers talk about it. The papers I’m grading demonstrate a fascinating reticence to embrace models other than a traditional penal substitution model; they often overtly state that we don’t have to do anything as Christians–and the cross of Christ tells us so. They then will chide scholars for not paying attention to the Bible (passages like Isa 53 in particular). *sigh*

This is why I have a love-hate relationship with theology–not because I’m not a theologian of sorts, or because theology isn’t important, but because our theological systems serve their purpose all-too-well: they give us grids for making sense of what we see in scripture, whether that’s the sense that scripture makes or not.

And this is why I’m more broadly skeptical of erecting any theological statement, howsoever so broad it may be, as the “grid” through which we read the scripture. The spiral of reading scripture and theological articulation must always allow for scripture to come back and correct the faith of both the individual and the church.

Theology: no better friend, no worse master.

Borges, “Gospel According to Mark”

A friend of mine drew my attention to The New Yorker‘s fiction podcast.

Specifically, he drew my attention to a reading of Jorge Luis Borges’s “The Gospel According to Mark.” I commend it to you in all its disturbing Borgesness.

(The story can be found in Borges, “Collected Fictions” [trans. A. Hurley])

You Can’t Learn What You Don’t Know…

Something along those lines, “You can’t learn what you don’t already know,” was one point of an E. P. Sanders retrospective on his teaching career. (Anybody have the link for that? It was a talk he gave at Duke a year or so ago.)

I discovered afresh this weekend that this is absolutely true. We hear what we think we are going to hear. Especially when we’re listening to something we think we already know about.

Have you ever been in a situation where you thought someone was going to say one thing, but said something else? And have you ever then not been able to recall what they actually did say because you remember your own expectation more vividly?

I spoke this weekend to a college group about the resurrection of Jesus. Among the implications of “new creation” that I outlined was that God’s work of redemption occurs not just with respect to individuals but also with respect to communities and also then with respect to the whole created order (natural, social, etc.).

Or, if you won’t take my word for it, “He comes to make his blessings known far as the curse is found,” where “far as” entails everything, starting with the dirt and going on up to God.

Folks were with me, tracking, not watching too many of the passers by on the beach (yeah right)… But then I sent them to talk for a few minutes in small groups about these questions:

  • Where is there “darkness” or “curse” or “fallenness” in the corners of the world you inhabit?
  • What would new life look like in such a situation?
  • How might you [in a cross-shaped way?] be an agent of that new life?

Interestingly, every response I got was looking at the larger setting of the world, or the felt needs, as means to the end of bringing about the conversion of another individual. The corporate and cosmic potential of new creation in the resurrected Christ fell entirely on deaf ears.

What does this mean?

For one thing, it reawakened me to the need to keep working for a transformed idea of what “gospel” means among the evangelicals with whom I run. It’s not just about personal conversion and forgiveness of sins so that I’m in a right relationship with God. It’s also about feeding, healing, restoring so that the world experiences rectification.

For another, it reinforced the fact that teaching and learning are hard work. Maybe this is why teaching is the best kind of learning…

Graduation and the Kingdom

Charged with the task of delivering this afternoon’s commencement address at Fuller Northern California, I have been wrestling for a month or so over what graduation from seminary has to do with the Kingdom of God.

The closest thing I can come up with is this: Seminary graduation is a manifestation of the Kingdom akin to the triumphal entry. It is a time of celebration, of declaring what is true, of recognizing that God has been at work. And, it is a moment that must live in dialectical tension with the cruciform enthronement that awaited our feted king.

The Kingdom of God is not like a food shipment arriving on the pier, it’s like a single seed thrown on the ground producing a hundred-fold crop. It’s not the arborist showing up with a 50 year old oak to transplant into your yard, it’s like a tiny mustard seed.

While graduation celebrates having degree in hand, such attainments in the kingdom are consummated by a very different hand:

Unity and Diversity

A couple of things around the blogsphere have prodded some thinking about unity and diversity in the church. These came up at the same time as someone sent me an e-mail responding to the “unity of the church” section in my Romans book. His questions included these:

How, practically, are you supposed to get a charismatic, a Baptist, a Catholic, and a Lutheran together in one service? I’m not throwing up my hands, I’m just saying the problem is deep. Or is it permissible to function more according to preference in local congregations as long as there is demonstrable unity in service among churches?

This is a sticky wicket, to be sure, but here are a few of my thoughts:

(1) If the New Testament is our canon, then we have to take serious stock of the fact that the “rule” of Christian faith and practice is inherently diverse (i.e., McGrath is right). To go no further, take full stock of the different stories of Jesus that Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John each tell–and that, likely, with some of them having access to one or two others. This shows us not only that we often come to the Bible with expectations about history that cause our readings to cut against the biblical grain, but that we come with an expectation of a type of unified message that the NT doesn’t exactly embody.

(2) Despite the theological diversity, there is a cosmic reality that all who are disciples of Christ participate in the one world-wide family of God which is the new humanity.

(3) The binding together of conviction 2 with reality 1 means that the kind of unity we strive for should not be one of theological conformity but of rich participation in a common life of worshiping God and serving the world and one another.

One of the most clarifying moves in NT scholarship of the past 30 years is to open our eyes to the fact that Ephesians was right: Paul’s Gospel of one new humanity in the dead and risen Christ means that even the God-given Law is no basis for separation among the people of God. How much less all the theological positions we’ve endlessly generated on far less authority?

So no, I don’t think it’s enough merely to serve together. I don’t think it’s enough merely to appeal to an invisible church that we’d run from if we saw it with our naked eyes.

I think that real church unity is only to be had when people with deeply different theologies and ethnicities and… and… sit in the same room on Sunday mornings worshiping God together.

I know that’s idealistic. I know that’s asking too much. But I believe in the God who gives life to the dead, so sometimes that’s how I roll.

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