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Book Notes: Samuel Wells, Improvisation (Part 1)

February 16, 2010 in Book Reviews with 4 Comments

With deep gratitude to my friend David Vinson for putting me on to it, I am now reading through Samuel Wells, Improvisation: The Drama of Christian Ethics.

(Two asides: (1) everyone needs a friend or two who read everything we should have read and lets us know about it; and (2) since getting a conservative Reformed theological education that was seriously deficient in the area of ethics, I have never ceased to be thankful that out in the larger world there are people doing ethics that are not only interesting, but also profoundly Christian. Thank God for the breadth of the church. Amen.)

Wells is writing a book of ecclesial ethics. This has several important ramifications. In terms of the overall shape of the book (and ethic), Wells wants to build an ethic that is rooted in scripture, and therefore narrative in shape, but enacted by the church, and therefore dramatic–but not simply scripted by the scripture and so it consists in dramatic improvisation.

Because this is an ecclesial ethic, Wells distances his approach from those that are weighed down with various “realisms” and other limiting factors: “there are no ‘givens,’ no nonnegotiable facts about existence that one must simply except, other than the great gift of the gospel” (15).

Further, because it is an ecclesial ethic, it is insufficient merely to say the right things. A truly Christian ethic must be embodied in a community.

Put these concerns for drama, the gospel, and the church’s life together, and Wells charts a course that is music to my ears: “I see the Bible as making the conversation that is Christian ethics possible, rather than concentrating on command and making conversation impossible” (16).

After the introduction, Wells walks through the first section, building his case as follows: Ethics as Theology (ch. 1); Theology as Narrative (ch. 2); Narrative as Drama (ch. 3); and Drama as Improvisation (ch. 4).

The chapter on ethics as theology gives a tremendously succinct overview of how perspectives on Christian ethics changed in different eras of church history. It ends with a call to see ethics as enabling faithful imitation of God and Christ as those formed by the Spirit.

The chapter on theology as narrative gives another quick overview–this time of the Bible and Jesus’ place in the narrative. Wells outlines dangers entailed in seeing Christian ethics focused too much on the whole world: it ignores God’s visible means of action (the church) and becomes coercive to outsiders. There’s an opposite, dualist danger, too–that the church so separates itself that it neglects God’s care for the world and cutting itself off from other ways God is at work besides the church. Finally, a “gnostic” danger so privatizes “ethics” that people who are maintaining the sufficient doctrinal purity end up thinking they’re being faithful to God while ignoring the love to which they’ve been called (and acting quite against it).

On a narrative account of ethics, what is the goal? Witnesses. “These witnesses are the church’s truth claim–it has no purchase on truth that is detached from the transformation of lives and communities brought about by its narrative and practices” (41).

So far, so good. The book is going to head toward a Christianized idea of “virtue” ethics, in which the type of people we are, formed by practice, story telling, etc., will lead us into faithful performance in the present. I’m finding a good bit of affinity between Wells’ proposals and some of my own thoughts on Pauline ethics, especially as it is attuned to the narrative dynamics of the Christian story.

Next time: Drama and Improvisation

Anderson Reviews Rowe

February 12, 2010 in Book Reviews with 0 Comments

At First Things, Gary Anderson (OT Prof at Notre Dame) gives a glowing review of Kavin Rowe’s, World Upside Down.

Unlocking Romans on RBL

February 9, 2010 in Book Reviews with 5 Comments

The Review of Biblical Literature just put up a review of Unlocking Romans.

I find book reviews fascinating. One is never sure what a reviewer will pick up on or what they’re bringing to the table with them that is shaping their perception of the work.

In this case, the reviewer chose to hone in on three passages where he thinks reference to Jesus’ resurrection, or its significance, is somewhat questionable: Romans 1:4, 4:17, and 8:12-39. Probably one of the most substantive points of critique in my reading of Romans is what to do with the absence of resurrection in 1:18-3:26. (Maybe that’s why I’m hoping I agree with Douglas Campbell’s reading of the letter!) I’ll need to tackle this more head-on at some point. Eventually I should make a list of the issues folks have an give some sort of super-rejoinder in the spirit of continuing conversation and dialogue.

I found the conclusion to the review a bit puzzling. He suggested that resurrection is a key to Paul’s theology more generally, but also that I did not sufficiently take the particularity of Rome’s purpose into account. I’ll have to ponder how giving attention to both a more contextualized and less contextualized understanding of resurrection in Paul might have helped  things.

Truth be told, I think that the viability of my thesis comes down to the strength of Romans 1:1-7 to provide an interpretive key for making sense of Romans 1:14-17. The parallels are sufficiently substantial that I continue to think that the presence of Jesus’ resurrection in 1:4 tells us what it means, in the first instance, that the Righteous One will live from faith.

I’d love to get some conversation going here about some of the key texts. I’ll let the comments tell me if that would be a worthy pursuit.

Dorian Gray–and other idolatries

February 8, 2010 in Book Reviews with 4 Comments

My first Kindle e-book was The Picture of Dorian Gray. I hadn’t ever been compelled to read it in school, which is why (a) I could read it and simply enjoy, and (b) I hadn’t ever read it before.

I want to say to all the e-reader skeptics out there that I was one, too. I didn’t want a Kindle but was gifted one and I absolutely love it. The e-ink is fabulous. It’s not like reading off a screen at all. The only think I do miss is being able to thumb through pages to find something I’ve passed. I especially like the built-in dictionary. Some people uses fancy words and stuff…

But about the book itself: the story is about Dorian Gray who, as a beautiful young man, has a picture painted of him that, as they say, captures him perfectly. He’s so enthralled by the beauty and wonder of youth that he wishes for the picture to age instead of him. And his wish is granted.

The story goes on to chronicle the life that ensues, a life in which the vanity and apparent freedom from recrimination that the Dorian Gray embodies destroys his soul. The picture ages gruesomely, and he knows that he has escaped nothing, and been trapped by something awful.

The story contains some forthright reflection on issues of sin and death; it echoes the Faustian questions of whether a sold soul can be redeemed.

But it also got me thinking of how it might embody other areas in life in which we are reticent to change, other than appearance. Is there an inherent death and decay that comes from holding onto something at a stage of development and insisting that this is the ideal of perfection? No doubt, we can treat our work in such a fashion–books that we’ve written (God help us if we ever so treat our blog posts!), ideas we’ve come to.

I sometimes wonder if there is an analogy to be had when we hold too tightly to particular moments of our theological past as well. When we idolatrously cling to a beautiful image of a pristine past, do we become the aging wraiths that bear the marks of hardening and degradation we will not allow to our systems? In this case, I know, the image is reversed. But…

The beauty of the thing frozen in time can become a mask for what lies beneath. We must age. We must grow old. We must die. Must our ideas as well? If not, are we not at least confronted with the possibility that we should say, “Yes, it was a beautiful child, and now it must become a man?”

Or maybe I just need a nap.

Image © Coris. Found at http://msnbcmedia3.msn.com/j/msnbc/Components/Photos/060524/060524_dorian_vmed_9a.widec.jpg

Paul’s Story of Salvation

February 5, 2010 in Book Reviews with 8 Comments

I’ve put it off as long as I could, but I’m finally starting to climb Mount Everest (= reading Douglas Campbell, The Deliverance of God: An Apocalyptic Rereading of Justification in Paul).

I confess that I’m going into this kicking and screaming–not just because the book is 1180ish pages long, but also because I tend to find Campbell’s representations of views he doesn’t agree with to be disappointing. That is to say, I sometimes find that he’s taken a good swipe at a theory, but that nobody I know who holds to the position he’s engaging actually thinks about their own theory what Campbell is dismissing it for.

I began Deliverance of God with a similar apprehension, as he takes his baby steps toward his argument and outlines what he’s going to be disagreeing with.

But then I found myself more and more resonating with his concerns about how Reformed theology depicts God, justice, and the world, culminating in this marvelous sentence, summarizing what he calls the “justification” position:

“In a very real sense, ethical legislation based on retributive justice is the fundamental structure of the universe, as well as of the divine nature” (17).

I’m not saying I’m fully on board yet; and the reasons Campbell is going to disagree with this sentence are going to raise some red flags for me, but I’m ready to read with him now–because he’s nailed the shortcoming of theology in the Reformed tradition (and probably in the broader Christian tradition as well, though I’ll allow my friends to correct me on that point). The structure of the universe is not law, the story of the universe is not a court drama.

1151 pages to go.

In accordance with federal guidelines, I hereby disclose that I was given a free copy of the book being reviewed in this post. I did not agree to write a review, either positive or negative, in return for the volume. In fact, I didn’t even know it was coming and had already bought my own copy. But that’s another story.

From Resurrection to New Creation

February 4, 2010 in Book Reviews with 4 Comments

Michael Pahl has a new book out over at Wipf and Stock, From Resurrection to New Creation: A First Journey in Christian Theology.I had a chance to read it along the way. It is a fantastic intro to Christian theology. If you’re charged with doing a “Christianity 101″ course in your church, this is the place to go.

Check out these endorsements (some of which are more sketchy than others…):

“In this clear and compelling introduction to Christian theology, Michael Pahl explains the biblical roots and practical significance of the most important Christian convictions. He rightly directs our attention to God’s resurrection of the crucified Jesus as the center of Christian faith and practice. Readers will come away both informed and inspired.”
—Michael J. Gorman
St. Mary’s Seminary and University

“This is the way to do theology, as rooted in Story, God’s own Story that emerges with yearning for resolution at the time of Jesus and which only Jesus Christ resolved. Theology has too often lost sight of this Story, but Michael Pahl’s book calls us back once again to the Bible and to the earliest theologians’ way of doing theology-let the gospel story be told and let that Story shape how we understand theology.”
—Scot McKnight
North Park University

“Michael Pahl profoundly grasps what too many Christians miss: that the death and resurrection of Jesus transforms everything. Carefully interpreting these events and their relationship to other areas of Christian faith, From Resurrection to New Creation shows us how the entire story of God, humanity, and the cosmos can only be rightly read in light of Jesus’ saving work. This book is remarkable for its breadth of biblical engagement, its incisiveness of theological perception, and its lucid and accessible prose. Those taking a first journey in Christian theology could ask for no better guide.”
—Daniel Kirk
Fuller Theological Seminary

“A splendid little book that explores the essentials of Christian theology in a fresh, lively, and insightful manner. By beginning with the resurrection, Pahl is able to make a point about both the center of Christian theology and how to do theology in a way that takes seriously the New Testament’s historical context. Highly recommended!”
—David M. Miller
Briercrest College

Inhabiting the Cruciform God (Part 3: Theosis?)

February 1, 2010 in Book Reviews with 5 Comments

Since one of my readers/FB friends guilted me into taking responsibility for the fact that theosis is a huge them of Michael Gorman‘s Inhabiting the Cruciform God, I will deal with it in this final post on the book. I was intending to not deal with it because the other two issues (justification and non-violence) are more in my everyday world of wrestling with Paul. And it’s my blog. But, it’s Mike’s book, and the subtitle is “Kenosis, Justification, and Theosis in Paul’s Narrative Soteriology,” after all, so here we go.

I’ll start with what I think is the strongest element of Gorman’s discussion of theosis. The emphasis on theosis (becoming like God) is derivative of Paul’s insistence that we are saved by participation in the death and resurrection of Christ. The Christian call to be “Christ-like” is the call to become conformed to the narrative that moves through the cross to the resurrection. So when Gorman speaks of “theoformity” or “theosis,” he is talking about a God who is made known in the death and resurrection of Jesus, not a vision of God detached from this world, whose identity is expressed in transhistorical categories. He is painting a picture of conformity to what I would call the story-bound God of the Bible.

Gorman argues that Paul understands theosis like this: “Theosis is transformative participation in the kenotic, cruciform character of God through Spirit-enabled cruciformity to the incarnate, crucified, and resurrected/glorified Christ” (7). I resonate deeply with the notions that God is known most fully in the Christ-event (kenotic = emptying, as in Christ’s self-emptying in Phil 2; cruciform = cross shaped), and that our lives are to be conformed to the image of the crucified Christ.

There’s one point at which I’m more cautious about theosis as Gorman describes it, and it has to do with the concern that Jesus as God is performing a function that in Paul is more often played by Jesus as quintessential human: second and last Adam. On pp. 6-7, Gorman lists a number of passages that are often associated with theosis, none of which in my estimation are speaking of becoming Christlike in the sense of Christ’s divinity, but Christlike in the sense of Jesus’ inauguration of a new humanity.

  • Romans 8:29 speaks of being conformed to the image of the son. This is the sonship that Jesus has as a result of his resurrection (Romans 1:4), the sonship that makes Jesus Davidic king / true Adam: his enthronement to the right hand of God.  Yes, to be truly human is to be God-like, renewed after the image of God in which we were created, but is this what is meant by “theosis”?
  • 1 Corinthians 15:42-49 is to the same effect: we’ve born the image of the earthly man, we’ll also bear the image of the heavenly. This is about Jesus as last Adam. Again, humans were created in God’s image, but this seems to be more about anthroposis than theosis.
  • 2 Corinthians 3:18 speaks of being transformed into the image of God from glory to glory. The idea of “new creation” is in view here as well: it’s God who said, “Let light shine out of darkness who has shone in our hearts…” the new image comes as part of new creation.
  • 2 Corinthians 5:17, 21: “If anyone is in Christ–new creation!” Again, being creation is about being truly human once again. To be truly human is to be in God’s image and therefore revelatory of God’s image. But is this what Gorman means by theosis?

Throughout, I felt that the idea of theosis leaned most heavily on Jesus being divine, whereas such passages as these gain their traction from the resurrected Jesus being the firstborn of a new/renewed humanity. I agree that Jesus reveals God, and that the cross is the revelation of God for Paul, but I’m not sure that Paul means it with all of the same ontological identification that Gorman seems to lean on. Put more simply: I found Gorman more ready to bring the church’s understanding of Jesus as fully divine to bear on his Pauline exegesis than I am, and I wonder if this hasn’t caused some of the “humanness” of Jesus to be downplayed or even replaced by the divinity? I like much of what he’s saying, but I’m cautious about going whole hog on this as a reading of Paul.

And there’s one point at which I disagree. In the last chapter, Gorman states almost against his will that theosis is the center of Paul’s theology. I say “against his will” because he isn’t entirely happy with the idea of a “center” (171). Though I agree that, as Gorman defines it, theosis might rightly be trumpeted as the center of Paul’s soteriology, this is not the same as to say that it is the center of Paul’s theology in general. I think this is an important distinction. Though such narrative participation is certainly at the heart of what it means to be joined to Christ, it is that Christ event itself rather than a model of how we participate in it, that is the center of Paul’s theology.

The Christ event itself, not our participation in it, determines how Paul reads  scripture, how he identifies the one true and living God, how God will act not only in the lives of Christians but even in the life of Israel–in addition to what our lives should look like. I don’t think participation is “big enough” to cover all that Paul says, but the surprising event itself not only covers how Paul understands the participatory and transformative nature of the event but also the broader contours of the story within which we who are jointed to it live and move and have our being.

So in general, I like where Gorman is going and think that his focus on theosis has drawn a number of important dynamics of Paul’s narrative soteriology to light. But I’m not quite ready to jump on the theosis train yet. Of course, Mike has plenty of time to teach me why I’m wrong…

(Dislaimer: I received a gratis copy of Inhabiting the Cruciform God from the good folks at Eerdmans publishing company)

Inhabiting the Curicform God (Part 1: Justification)

January 29, 2010 in Book Reviews with 11 Comments

If you don’t know who Michael Gorman is, you better find out in a hurry.

I use his Apostle of the Crucified Lord in my Acts- Revelation course because (a) students devour it; and (b) once they have, they speak of Paul differently, they read Paul differently, their understanding of the gospel is articulated in terms of the narrative of the cross.

I use his Cruciformity: Paul’s Narrative Spirituality of the Cross in my Cross in the New Testament course because (a) I want my students to understand that biblical “ethics” is about living into a story, not about lists of right and wrong; and (b) because I want to subvert the idea that when we study the cross in the New Testament the most important thing is “theories about the atonement.” No, discipleship and “spirituality” are the more prominent interpretations of Jesus’ death on the cross.

If you want a quicker in to Gorman’s reading of Paul, you can check out his Reading Paul for a great orientation.

But in this and one subsequent post I want to say a few words about Inhabiting the Cruciform God: Kenosis, Justification, and Theosis in Paul’s Narrative Soteriology (for my gratis copy of which I pass on my thanks to the goodly folks at Eerdmans). Today I mostly want to talk about justification, next time we’ll deal with nonviolence.

Gorman begins with a reading of the Christ-hymn in Philippians 2, which he calls Paul’s “master story.” “Although/because Christ existed in the form of God, he did not regard equality with God something to be exploited for gain, but emptied himself…” Although [x] not [y] but rather [z]. That’s Paul’s narrative.

The surprise of this story is that Christ reveals what it means both to be truly God and what it means to be truly human by not exploiting the power and position he had, but by self-emptying (=kenosis). For Paul as an apostle, his own life story must manifest the same: although he’s an apostle, he doesn’t exploit his position for gain, but labors and gives himself for the salvation of the churches (see 1 Thess 1, 2 Cor throughout).

We come now to chapter 2, whose subtitle begins, “justification by co-crucifixion.”

Gorman argues for a vision of participation in Christ in which justification happens by co-crucifixion. This means, among other things, that we must never imagine that there is a rift between justification and transformation (= sanctification) or between justification and justice. For my part, I would suggest that Gorman is here part of a growing chorus of voices that is helping get Paul scholarship back to one of the most important aspects of Reformed theology, one that had been set aside by several generations of Paul scholarship (perhaps culminating with E. P. Sanders): justification is a facet, and function, of Paul’s union with Christ soteriology.

For Gorman’s proposal concerning justification, two elements are indispensable: (1) the faithfulness of Jesus, expressed in going to the cross, is the reason that the cross effects our justification; and (2) this faithfulness is covenant faithfulness–fulfilling a covenant that demands both love of God and love of neighbor.

In short, what this means is that being united to the story of the self-giving son, Christians find themselves reconciled to both God and other people–and living into the narrative of God- and neighbor-love as the Spirit who joins them to Christ works out his cruciform image in them as individuals and as communities.

The means by which justification is accomplished (Christ’s faithful death) demonstrates the mode by which it comes to us (our own faithful response to God) and the manner in which we are called to live in the present (59).

In working out this theology, Gorman stresses that it is by grace: it is not self-generated; it is corporate: we are not saved on our own, but in Christ and as part of a body; it is an introduction into a new life that includes participation now in Jesus’ resurrection (69-70).

How does transformation happen in the Christian life? “Paradoxically, this death experience called faith results in life, both present and future” (80).

Two crucial take-home points for Pauline soteriology emerge from this chapter: (1) justification and union with Christ are not two separate theological models, but one model in which the former is a component part of the latter; and therefore (2) justification can never come without personal and corporate transformation into the image of the crucified and risen messiah.

Next up: co-crucifixion and non-violence.

World Upside Down (part 2)

January 27, 2010 in Book Reviews with 4 Comments

Continuing our review of C. Kavin Rowe’s World Upside Down, we come to the synthetic chapter (chapter 4, where he works through a narrative in tension between the church being a catalyst for instability and its innocence in Roman court) followed by a final chapter that works out the theological implications of the study.

Chapter 4 bears the title of the book, “World Upside Down,” and uses the Jewish charges against the Pauline mission in Acts 17 as its springboard. He traces three interrelated characteristics of the early church: they proclaim Jesus as universal king; this, in turn, sets the church on a universal mission; and that mission is generative of communities that are, in some sense, set apart from their surrounding cultures.

Rowe argues that the charges brought against the Christians accurately reflect Luke’s theological assessment of the early Christian movement: “these men who have turned the world upside down have come here, too…. They are all acting against the decrees of Caesar, proclaiming that there is another King, Jesus.” He maintains that there are three points aimed at one overarching charge of sedition: “by proclaiming another king, the Christians act against the decrees of Caesar and thereby turn the world upside down” (95-96).

Rowe goes on to say that “Jesus is king” is a confession that sets up a rival to Caesar. Moreover, Jesus’ kingship is embodied in a this-worldly transformation: it impacts the world within which we live. The force of Jesus as rival to Caesar is underscored by Luke’s use of κύριος as a title for each (106). A rivalry is created: Christians must deny what Caesar claims for himself and hence his authority on earth. Jesus comes to establish a rival peace as a rival king by rival means (in particular, suffering and death, 115).

Finally, it must be remembered that it is Jesus’ resurrection that is the impetus for mission: Jesus as Lord of all is the reason that a mission that extends to all generates communities to the ends of the Roman empire. (Some of my readers will be surprised not at all by the fact that this portion of my book has lots of “Yes!” in the margin.)

The final chapter draws some theological conclusions. It is no accident, Rowe claims,  that when a whole set of practices constitutive of pagan culture are called into question (such as sacrifice, magic, temple-based economics) that the culture is confronted with possible collapse (146). “To see the potential of the Christian mission for cultural demise is to read it rightly. Indeed, this is but the flip side of the reality that God’s identity receives new cultural explication in the formation of a community whose moral or metaphysical order requires and alternative way of life” (146).

In Luke’s telling of the story, the formation of alternative communities, with alternative cultures, is inseparable from the reality of Jesus’ resurrection from the dead to be lord over all. Moreover, the existence of such communities, with their alternative forms of life, become the context within which the truth can be spoken and known (161). Thus, the Christian claims are “madness”–but only to those without eyes to see (162).

But this inability of the outsider to see is one part of a story told for the purpose of demonstrating the inherent necessity of Christian mission. All, even Rome, need conversion so as to understand the true story of Jesus. This, though, is not a coercive narrative, for “Acts narrates the life of the Christian mission as the embodied pattern of Jesus’s own life… Put succinctly, according to Acts, the missio Dei has a christological norm” (173).

The final part of the final chapter, where the missional implications of the Christian message are explored, are worth their weight in gold. Rowe has written a bold piece of theology.

Of course, I do have a couple of quibbles, and since I don’t want you to think that either my free book or my friendship with an author has overmuch colored my opinion, I offer a disagreement for your consideration. I am not as persuaded as the author that “Lord” (κύριος) is a cipher for the God of Israel, such that calling Jesus lord equates him ontologically with God–Jesus is God of all if Lord of all. Rowe references some of his earlier work, in which he has argued that the use of κύριος language in Joel, quoted in Acts 2, identifies Jesus with the God of Israel.

To my reading of Acts 2, this imports too much into the text that stands in tension with the actual things Peter says about Jesus and God. Jesus was a man testified to by God through signs and wonders. The distinction is important. Moreover, I notice Rowe saying that the resurrection confirmed or affirmed Jesus as lord, but Peter in Acts 2 (like Matthew 28 and Romans 1, etc.) that at the resurrection God made (ἐποίησεν) Jesus Lord and Messiah. Something happened to Jesus at the resurrection, he became something he was not before–he was made Lord of all, his name became the name by which salvation is made known.

But this disagreement, I think, detracts little from the meat of the work, which offers a bold new thesis on the purpose of Acts and will surely provide fodder for considerable debate in the future. (For example: at an SBL book review session in Atlanta…)

What I like most about this book is how it moves from historical exegesis to theological imperative, angling itself against the idea that we read disinterestedly, and uncovering false visions of “inclusiveness” that have no room for the sorts of sweeping claims made by the early church. The theology, in particular, merits sustained attention.

Disclaimer: Like every academic who reviews a book for a journal or online venue, I received a complimentary copy of Word Upside Down from Oxford University Press.

World Upside Down (Part 1)

January 26, 2010 in Book Reviews with 2 Comments

Last week I read C. Kavin Rowe’s World Upside Down and wanted to say a few things about it here. As I indicated in my brief mention of the book last week, the book is a great “fit” for the Storied Theology theme that I hope somehow will (loosely) hold my blog together.

Rowe declares that it’s high time to reassess the notion that Acts is written, in large part, as political apologia, storying the compatablity between Rome and the church. And yet, he does not want us to fall off the horse on the other side, either, and turn Acts into a tract for political liberation through resistance movements.

Instead, Acts is “a highly charged and theologically sophisticated political document that aims at nothing less than the construction of an alternative total way of life–a comprehensive pattern of being–one that runs counter to the life-patterns of the Graeco-Roman world.” It is thus “a culture-forming narrative” (4).

The book is structured so as to, first, give attention to the collisions between Acts and pagan culture. In chapter 2, “Collision,” Rowe highlights the ways in which the narrative of Acts serves to undermine the reading which assumes that the church is not a threat to the Roman culture. The “new cultural reality” established by the church means that the sorts of uprisings we see in Lystra, Philipi, Athens, and Ephesus are not narrated simply to be dismissed, but are indicative of the impact of an alternative reality bumping up against “business as usual” in the pagan world. In this chapter, the exposition of Paul’s encounter with the philosphers on Mars Hill and the uprising in Ephesus are particularly instructive.

The next chapter gives attention to the passages that play well for the traditional reading of Acts. In particular, this chapter, “Dikaios,” chronicles Paul’s trials and vindication before the Roman authorities. This chapter is particularly instructive in the ways that it leads us through the story of Acts as a developing narrative. The trial scenes are not only to be read one by one, but in order, with an eye toward a development in Rome’s response to Paul. Ultimately, Paul’s vindication at the hands of the Romans becomes a tacit confirmation of the “otherness” of the church and its mission–the Romans do not have the epistemological tools to understand the gospel. The resurrection inaugurates a new reality that they cannot grasp.

One of the strengths of Rowe’s approach is that it enables us to step back and see yet another way that Acts depicts the early church as embodying the ministry of Jesus: as he was one in whom the Romans found no guilt, and even at the end pronounced dikaios, just, at his moment of death, and yet was opposed by those who would not accept the transformation of their vision of the kingdom of God, so also goes the church. Yes, Jesus does something new and subversive, but it’s not directly oppositional or antagonistic or seen to be a threat by the Romans (who don’t understand it at all).

In running through some of Rowe’s arguments with a friend who’s working on Acts, he’s wondered if looking to Rome isn’t looking too far afield. Is the purpose of Acts to be found more close to home, in the tensions between the early church and non-Christian Judaism (or even all types of Judaism including the conservative Torah-keeping Judaism with which the non-Jewish church struggles so much)? That’s a question worth pressing further.

Next time I’ll talk about the chapter where Kavin presents his suggestion for reading in light of the tension between collision and innocence and where he goes with the theological implications of his work.

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