New Publication on Psalms as Resistance Poetry

I'm pleased to note that my article that examines the first century BCE Jewish text Psalms of Solomon in light of the features of resistance poetry has just been published in the Journal of Ancient Judaism 9 (2018): 366–385. Here is a link to the article: Psalms of Solomon as Resistance Poetry. The abstract is below:

Two trends in recent scholarship provide a new set of lenses that enable contemporary readers to appreciate more fully the contents and genre of Pss Sol. On the one hand, scholars such as Richard Horsley, Anathea Portier-Young, and Adela Yarbro Collins have now explored the ways in which early Jewish writers engaged in a kind of compositional resistance as they grappled with their traditions in light of the realities of oppressive empires. These approaches enable us to consider the extent to which Pss Sol also may embody a kind of resistant counterdiscourse for the community in which it was edited and preserved. On the other hand, scholars within biblical studies (e.g., Hugh Page's Israel's Poetry of Resistance) and beyond have examined the dynamics of the poetry of resistance. Such poetry has existed in many times, places, and cultures, giving a voice to the oppressed, protecting the memory of victims, and creating a compelling vision of a possible future in which the oppression is overcome. In this article the poetry of Guatemalan poet Julia Esquivel is interwoven with Pss. Sol. to illustrate these dynamics and to illuminate the kinds of concerns that scholars like Barbara Harlow and Carolyn Forché have highlighted within the poetry of witness. Since Pss Sol has yet to be explored through these dual lenses of resistance and resistance poetry, this article examines these early Jewish psalms in light of these scholarly trends. I argue that Pss Sol can be understood as a kind of resistance poetry that enabled a community of Jews in the first century BCE to resist the dominant discourse of both the Roman Empire and its client king, Herod the Great. The themes of history, identity, and possibility that pervade resistance poetry in other times and places are central features of Pss Sol.

Some of this research is reflected now in how I read the early Christian hymns that are embedded in the New Testament. Several of these hymns resonate strongly with the kind of "spirituality of resistance" that the Psalms of Solomon demonstrate, suggesting to me that the earliest Christian hymns were not strictly religious but also reflected other concerns of the early followers of Jesus in their Roman imperial context.

Book Release Today!

Very excited to announce that today is the official release date of my book. New Testament Christological Hymns: Exploring Texts, Contexts, and Significance is a study of hymns and poetic passages in the New Testament that describe Jesus in exalted language and give us a window into the origins of Christian worship. I received the author copies two weeks ago and am really happy with the final product. IVP Academic did a very impressive job with this book from start to finish. This book represents the findings of my investigations into early Christian hymns over the last fifteen years. Please check it out if you have an interest in the development of early Christian worship and early Christian engagement with Jewish and Greco-Roman culture.

It is available at the IVP Academic site (on sale today) and also on Amazon at my author page.

New Book on Early Christian Worship

I am pleased to announce that my third book, New Testament Christological Hymns: Exploring Texts, Contexts, and Significance, is being released this summer on Aug 7 by IVP Academic. Click here for the link to the publisher’s page. Focusing on the passages in the New Testament that describe Jesus in a hymnic style, this book touches on early Christian worship, the Greco-Roman and Jewish cultural contexts of the New Testament, and the development of early Christian belief. Comparing these early Christian compositions to other first century expressions of hymnic praise helps provide new perspective on the significance of these fascinating and rich passages. It also gives us a lot to think about for contemporary worshipers of Jesus. Please check out the web site and see what you think.

If you were to ask me for a little more detail about what the book is about, here is what I would say:

This is a book about worship in the New Testament in which I show that praise of Jesus uses some of the same language that was used in praise of the Roman emperor, in part, to emphasize that Jesus was greater than the emperor. This language, which just sounds religious to us (savior, Lord, son of God), actually had very significant political implications. To worship Jesus in this way was to affirm a view of reality that was counter-cultural and anti-imperial. But this worship of Jesus did not arise from nowhere; it draws on a long tradition of Jewish resistance poetry that can be traced back through to some of the oldest poetry of the Hebrew Bible. It also draws on prophetic promises of divine renewal that were still alive in first century Judaism. So in the book I argue that we should seek to understand worship passages in the New Testament in light of their interaction with these larger cultural factors. When we do so we gain new insight into some of the richest passages in the New Testament and also into what the earliest worship of Jesus was about. And, if we take them seriously, there is a challenge for modern Christians in terms of how we engage with our culture and with the prevailing political powers today.

The book is currently available for pre-order at a discount on the IVP Academic site as well as on Amazon, and will ship on Aug 7, 2018.

Commands of Jesus We Happily Ignore

I guess I have not read Mt 23:1-12 in a long time because when I read it in today’s Lenten gospel reading it really struck me that we Christians are highly selective in what aspects of Jesus’s teaching we follow. In this passage alone are several commands which Christians simply bypass. Jesus says, “Do whatever they [the Pharisees and scribes] teach you and follow it.” And later on he instructs them that they are not to be called “teacher,” “father,” or “instructor.” For my part, I don’t know anyone who takes these instructions at face value. I don’t know of any Christians who make pharisaic teaching a priority or who consciously seek to follow the teachings of the scribes and Pharisees from the first century. And as for not calling anyone father or teacher?

The reason for this is that we (appropriately) interpret the teachings of Jesus in light of their larger contexts: literary, cultural, and historical. In Jesus’s teaching in Mt 23:1-12 his main point is clear and is explicit in v. 12: “The greatest among you will be your servant. All who exalt themselves will be humbled, and all who humble themselves will be exalted.” And Jesus makes this point, like any good teacher, through memorable statements and illustrations, and, in this case, through hyperbole. We know he doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t call anyone father; his point is that God is the one Father of all humanity, and humans shouldn’t take on titles that obscure that reality. If we were to obey that literal “command” we would actually be missing the point.

So as we read this passage in context, we take it as condemnation of those who teach the right thing but do not embody the accompanying humility; we take it on ourselves that we should follow that particular teaching (the humility part), and view the rest as somehow less important.

This is all very interesting to me as a professor of scripture since it raises all kinds of issues of interpretation. When people say they take the Bible literally, or just read the Bible and do what it says, it is just not so simple. Every reader of scripture must make these kinds of interpretive decisions on nearly every line. This is part of the “fun” of reading the Bible! But it can also be a source of real division when one group interprets a passage one way and another group takes it entirely differently—and then those differing interpretations are used to test whether one is “in” or “out” of “our” group.

The reality is that no one reads the Bible in a vacuum, free of other influences. Alongside the Bible we have a history of interpretation that is part of whatever Christian tradition we find ourselves in. In addition to our tradition, we also have our own reason and our own experience. Taken together, tradition, reason, and experience play very important roles in our interpretation of a sacred text like the Bible. This is as it should be, but sometimes we may forget this and think that what we are “seeing” in the text is the one obvious meaning. An awareness of the interplay of these various influences might at least give us some intellectual and spiritual humility as we engage with the views and interpretations of others who differ from us.

As for the point of this passage in Matthew, we are aided by other references throughout the New Testament to the importance of humility and taking the attitude of a servant. In fact, in one of the earliest examples we have of a hymn in praise of Jesus, it is the humility of Jesus that is the subject of the praise:

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus,
6 who, though he was in the form of God,
did not regard equality with God
as something to be exploited,
7 but emptied himself,
taking the form of a slave,
being born in human likeness.
And being found in human form,
8 he humbled himself
and became obedient to the point of death—
even death on a cross. (Phil 2:5-8)

In view of this emphasis on humility, this Lenten season seems to be a perfect time to exhibit humility about our interpretation of scripture. (And if you disagree with me about that...well, ok.)

Imagine Better

“We do not need magic to change the world. We carry all the power we need inside ourselves already: we have the power to imagine better.”

-J.K. Rowling’s 2008 commencement speech at Harvard University

As an educator in a college that includes the liberal arts and sciences as well as education, this quote really resonates with me. And, in my most optimistic moments, I like to think that this is one of the best things that an education grounded in the liberal arts provides for students: a capacity for imagination. An ability to see problems and challenges from multiple perspectives, and to draw on a wide range of knowledge and experiences to imagine solutions and ways forward that can lead to a better world. I don’t have to look very far to find examples of graduates who are doing just that.

 At the same time, I have to acknowledge that few students see it this way as they begin their educational journey in college. Education for all but a few is instrumental—a means to an end. Get a degree to get a job. I don’t say that to lament this reality; just to acknowledge it.

Where and when does the capacity to imagine better enter in?

From the vantage point of my academic discipline—biblical studies—I see the shaping of the human imagination as a major part of what the biblical writers were about. Through narratives, through psalms, even through letters, the biblical writers invited their readers to envision a world in which God was at work. As much as Christians have prioritized doctrine and right-beliefs over the centuries, it seems to me that the biblical writers were interested in inviting readers to see themselves in a world in which the God who created the world was also actively at work. And from there, to imagine their part as participants in God’s ongoing work of creation and new creation and to enjoy the realities of what it means to be a child of God. And if that is one way that “imagining better” is reflected in the discipline of biblical studies, there are many, many other ways it is reflected in other subjects, all of which contribute to a well-rounded liberal arts education. Ideally.

A recent essay in the Chronicle of Higher Education laments the piling up of BS in higher education. The author, sociologist and professor Christian Smith, lists many things that he considers BS. It is an extensive list of things that, for the most part, are ingrained features and aspects of contemporary higher education that distract from or distort the best of what higher education could be. One could argue with any of his individual laments about the nuances and complexity of each one, but the collective force of the list is jarring. It suggests that, taken together, there are some very serious systemic problems in higher education. But three points of analysis stand out to me.

First, ideas have consequences. The kinds of ideas and thinking that develop in universities make their way into society over time. Accordingly, the currents of BS flowing through universities today will become visible in our public and political life and, Smith claims, actually already are visible in our current highly polarized and divisive political rhetoric. Our institutions of higher learning are supposed to be producing educated citizens and leaders who can participate in the political process and find new solutions to problems, but apparently they have not done so.

Second, Smith notes that many of the people perpetuating the BS within institutions of higher education are well-intentioned people who are doing so unwittingly; with the best of intentions they are participating in a system that is flawed and by participating in it and contributing to it, they contribute to the problems.

Third, what is needed are those who can creatively break out of the current paradigm and foster new forms of higher education that reflect the ideal of what liberal education is all about. Some combination of “visionary traditionalism” (I really like that phrase) and “organizational radicalism” is what is called for. The author suggests we need “people with the capacity to retrieve and revitalize the best of higher education’s past and restructure it in ways that are most effective in the future” (Smith, “Higher Ed is Drowning in BS”).

The solution for higher education is not going to be found in a wholesale return to the past, but it can likely be found in the heart of what higher education, particularly in the liberal arts tradition, is: critical reflection and creative thinking. About the past; about the present; about the future. About problems; about possibilities. Imagining better.

Those of us in higher education need to imagine better for the sake of higher education so that our students can imagine greater for their lives, their communities, and the world as a whole. And I think further that those of us in Christian higher education and at faith-based institutions can look to the examples of prophets and poets in ages past who, through their writings now preserved as scripture, invite all of us to imagine better. And perhaps we all can find this current in different ways in whatever subject area we are passionate about.

Jesus in the Wilderness

“And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness” (Mark 1:12)

Lately I am not into wilderness. I don’t want to be in a place, physical or metaphorical, where I am at the mercy of the elements, where I am unsafe, where my very survival is at issue. I much prefer to be in control of my surroundings, feel safe in the life I have ordered, and have my mind on things higher up on Maslow’s hierarchy of needs than simply staying alive. Therapeutic moral deism—a popular distortion of Christianity which envisions a God whose sole purposes are to improve my life and help me follow clearly demarcated moral guidelines—encourages me, perhaps unintentionally, to avoid the wilderness. But here in the gospels, Jesus is led (driven!) by the Spirit into the wilderness. And here in Lent, if I am to enter into this season of reflection, I am invited to reflect on the reality of wilderness. And I am beginning to think that, in many ways, I am in the wilderness like it or not, so I might as well face it.

The biblical scholar in me is helpful at this point. I can take a step back from my personal feelings about entering the wilderness and ask what wilderness meant to the gospel writers, when they chose to include this detail from the life of Jesus in their narratives. Recognizing the cultural, historical, and literary context of this event from the life of Jesus is a good starting point. Such reflection can provide some guidance for more personal reflections about wilderness.

source: faith.nd.edu

For Jewish writers in the first century, the wilderness could be viewed as a place of individual isolation and struggle, but that was not its only meaning. The theme of “wilderness” also had many other connections, some with deep roots in the Jewish worldview embraced by the New Testament writers. Wilderness was the place where their ancestors had wandered for forty years: a place of communal (rather than individual) purification and testing. It was also a place of a place of divine revelation. Moses is associated with the wilderness, encountering God at the burning bush and receiving the Torah on Mt. Sinai, in addition to leading the Israelites through their wilderness wanderings. All of these aspects of Israelite history suggest the importance of wilderness for the early Jewish worldview. In addition, in the period of the Second Temple, the wilderness was a place where rebel leaders against oppressive regimes had gathered their forces, particularly in the Maccabean era. Finally, the wilderness has associations with the concept of exile: the forced removal of the people of Israel from the land of promise during the era of the monarchy. Though the Bible also recounts a return from exile in the era of king Cyrus, for many Jewish authors in the Second Temple period, the exile continued to define their reality as separated in some way from the covenant blessings of God.

With this rich palate of associations related to the idea of “wilderness,” any serious reader of the New Testament might want to pause to consider what particular connotations may be in mind when a gospel writer explicitly points out that Jesus was led into the wilderness. One might expect divine encounters and divine revelation in a narrative that involves a journey into the wilderness. (For an accessible and helpful look at the significance of the wilderness in the era of the New Testament, see Daniel Smith’s Into the World of the New Testament, especially chapter four).

To me, it seems that the notion of the wilderness in these passages makes a link between Jesus and Moses very strong. Such a connection is supported when we see other places in the gospels where Jesus and Moses are both shown to be a part of God’s working in the world (see John 1:17, for example). The full significance of Jesus can only be appreciated when his advent is seen as part of the long history of God’s working in the world. For the earliest Christians, themselves Jews, the significance of Moses and the Torah cannot be overestimated. Thus, in his being led into the wilderness, Jesus is shown to be a participant in God’s age old plan of redemption of God’s people. And this to me is a vital recognition: for the gospel writers Jesus is not just a radical new initiative on the part of God to redeem humanity. Jesus is part of God’s plans from of old. “Wilderness,” as a theme, is one way of showing that connection to the reader.

This way of reading the wilderness temptation of Jesus does not preclude the idea that Jesus models a personal practice of piety in which one is purified through time alone in the wilderness, even as one faces and strives to resist temptation. Christians have always identified personally with this narrative, finding in it encouragement and hope when in temptation. But it is important to also recall that a personal application of this passage to “my life” is not the whole story. Jesus’s going into the wilderness is a way of the gospel writer saying: “Hey, pay attention. This story I am recounting is not only about a unique individual overcoming temptation; what follows will be rich with divine revelation.” Just as God was revealed in the wilderness in the past, God is being revealed in the gospel in the life of Jesus, albeit in a new way. The gospel writers are inviting us to make the connection that this story (the story of Jesus) is part of that story (the story of God and God’s people). New Testament historian N. T. Wright puts it this way: “Jesus is acting out the great drama of Israel’s exodus from Egypt, Israel’s journey through the wilderness into the promised land” (Mark for Everyone, p. 6).

When I think about this passage, yes it can lead me to think about my own experience of wilderness, my own experience of exile. I can take comfort in knowing that Jesus was in the wilderness as well, and that I am not alone in whatever physical or spiritual wilderness I find myself. Those are good things to consider. But I can also consider the larger idea that the story of Jesus is a part of the ancient story of God’s redemptive work in the world.

The prophet Isaiah’s words are thus a very apt reminder of the rich tapestry of wilderness themes throughout scripture: “In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord” (Isaiah 40:3). So whether I find myself in a real or metaphorical wilderness, such a place is a fitting one in which to prepare the way of the Lord.

The Imaginal World of Early Christian Hymns

Saturday at the annual meeting of the American Academy of Religion and the Society of Biblical Literature I will present a paper in the Religious Experience in Antiquity section. My paper explores the ancient rhetorical concepts of deixis and mimesis as they relate to early Christian hymns. Specifically, I will look at how these concepts can shed some light on Philippians 2:6-11, considered by many to be an early hymn quoted by Paul in his letter.

One really interesting aspect of this discussion is the distinction that some have made between what is “imaginal” and what is “fictional” in early Christian worship. By fictional we refer to something that is not real and that is simply made-up. By imaginal we refer to something that, even though it is unseen, one understands it to be real. However, it is seen only in the mind of the worshipper. A concrete example of this is the depiction in Rev 4-5 of angels and others around the throne of God offering worship to God and to “the lamb” (i.e. the crucified and exalted Jesus). Someone reading Rev 4-5 will not actually see or be able to verify the reality of what is being described. However, the reader is invited to picture the scene as one that is actually occurring in the spiritual or heavenly realm. For one who accepts the portrayal in Rev 4-5 as in some sense real, it is not fictional but rather imaginal. One has to use one’s mental faculties to imagine the reality that is being portrayed.

A passage like the hymn in Phil 2:6-11 is similar in that it invites the reader to picture the realities it describes not as though they are made-up, but as though they are real. The first half of the hymn describes the earthly life of Jesus including his death on the cross. That description, though poetic, is clearly intended to communicate the author’s understanding of Jesus’s life and death. The second half describes his exaltation and reception of the divine name, including the worship of all creatures. This second part of the hymn is where the concept of the imaginal world is useful. This picture of Jesus as the exalted lord of all is not a reality that is visible in any way in the human world. But the hymn paints this portrait of reality that the reader is invited to accept not as fiction but as real. It is a glimpse into the imaginal world of early Christian belief.

While this heavenly worship can only be imagined, nevertheless there is also a concrete link between the imaginal world and the real world. The description of heavenly worship certainly mirrors to some extent that of the worship of the early Christians through the confession, “Jesus Christ is Lord.” If, according to Phil 2:6-11, every knee in heaven, on earth, and under the earth will eventually bow in acknowledgement of Jesus, and every tongue will eventually confess his lordship, the early Christians were already participating in that reality. In fact, as they recited this hymn (if it was a hymn that they recited), then they would actually be confessing that “Jesus Christ is Lord” even as they were describing an imaginal scene of heavenly worship. In their experience of worship they were participants in this unseen reality. This appears to be one way that early Christian hymns bridged the conceptual space between the earthly and the divine.

It is this connection between the real and imaginal worlds that the concepts of deixis and mimesis can help to tease out. I’m looking forward to some good discussion around this topic next weekend and I'll post some further thoughts soon.

St. Jerome: Patron Saint of Biblical Scholars / Catherine McAuley: Sister of Mercy

Just received an email from Joe Atkinson at the Catholic Biblical Association pointing out that Sept 30 is the feast day of St. Jerome, the patron saint of scholars. I thought I'd share some of Joe's email:

Saint Jerome is a Doctor of the Church and the Patron Saint of Scholars and in particular of the Catholic Biblical Association. He was born in 331 AD in what is now known as Croatia and eventually lived the last 30 years of his life in a cave in Bethlehem, dying in 420.

Arguably, his most famous line is "Ignorance of Scripture is ignorance of Christ" which occurred in his commentary on Isaiah.

His learning was a way of purification for him. He is most famous for his translation of the Scriptures in Latin (the Vulgate).

May the Lord richly bless all our endeavors and keep us faithful. May our work help in the building up of His kingdom.

Always encouraging to think of the work of those who have gone before. And a good reminder to look up from my grading and administrative work for a moment to keep in mind the larger tradition of scholarly work on scripture that I am fortunate to be part of as a biblical scholar in the 21st century. Also, a good excuse to make an (increasingly rare) post to my blog...

By a similar token I just received an email from Sister Sheila Carney reminding those of us at Carlow University that today is Catherine McAuley's birthday, the foundress of the Sisters of Mercy. She was born on this date in 1778, and her legacy continues in the work we do here at Carlow University, founded by the Sisters of Mercy in 1929.

The final days of September are rich with opportunities to remember these remarkable people from centuries ago whose impact is still felt today. Thankfully, my inbox contained these timely reminders!

A Guest Lecture on the Banquet Parables

Professor Jack Alverson, co-chair of the humanities department and professor of theology here at Carlow for 25 years, gave a guest lecture in my parables course. He spoke on the great banquet parables in Matthew 22 and Luke 14, and my students and I were very fortunate to have had the opportunity to experience a class session by a master teacher like Dr. Alverson.

He introduced the class to hermeneutical philosopher Paul Ricoeur’s notion of a threefold process of orientation, disorientation, and reorientation. With regard to parables, the initial setting of a parable is familiar and orients the reader to the short story which is to unfold. In the case of the banquet parables, a king holds a wedding banquet for his son and invites guests. Readers and hearers are immediately drawn into the story since people know about royalty and they know about weddings, wedding invitations, and all that goes with such an event. Even accounting for cultural differences across time, space, and cultures, the setting is familiar enough to orient the reader.

Disorientation occurs when something in the parable catches us off guard, surprises us, or disturbs us. In these parables, we begin to be disoriented as the invited guests decline the invitation. Although this may not seem all that odd in our day, professor Alverson explained to the class that in ancient Mediterranean society, such a refusal would have been seen as highly insulting. But where we become really disoriented is through the violence that results, particularly in Matthew’s telling of this parable. Inexplicably, some of the invitees murder the messengers with the result that the king send his troops to kill those individuals and burn their city. At the beginning of class, my students’ reactions to this parable focused on being confused at the meaning of such details, and also of their inclusion in Matthew but their omission in Luke. Further disorientation occurs as the king invites others and eventually compels people off of the streets to come to the wedding. Finally, in Matthew, one such guest who was not wearing wedding clothes (why would he be, if he was a person just dragged in from the streets?) is confronted by the king about his clothing and then bound and thrown out to where there “is weeping and gnashing of teeth.” How such an unpopular banquet with a vindictive,  murderous, fashion loving, and unpredictable king represents the kingdom of heaven is indeed a puzzle. Disorientation has fully set in!

Reorientation then occurs as listeners puzzle over the point of the parable and begin to come to grips with the challenge that the parable presents. In this way, parables invite the listener or reader to see the world in a new way. In particular, to consider that the arrival of the kingdom, in the person of Jesus, is not only surprising but also disturbing.

Comparing the two versions of the parable in Matthew and Luke can help us to appreciate the unique emphases of each gospel, and also make sense of what the parable would have meant to the audiences that first heard it from the mouth of Jesus. By framing the parables within their narratives in different ways, and by including different details, Luke and Matthew have told it in a way that speaks to their own concerns and perhaps the issues facing their own readers, a generation or more after the period in which Jesus actually spoke this parable. Matthew thus seems to be confronting the problem of religious certainty, by framing the parable as a response to the attitudes of certain Pharisees. Those most certain that they understand the messianic kingdom and are part of it should think twice; they may actually be the ones who are outside of it. Luke, on the other hand, seems to be emphasizing the extent to which the kingdom is the place where all are welcome, particularly the poor and those of low social status: those that are brought into the banquet at the end when the rest refused. This again offers a challenge to the wealthy and privileged who think their place in the kingdom is assured, but this is a different challenge than the one put forward in Matthew’s gospel.

Naturally we were unable to address all the questions that parables of these kinds raise, and the discussion here only scratches the surface. The parables of Jesus are designed to provoke, challenge, and cause readers to question what this means and how it can be so. But Dr. Alverson helped us understand these parables a little more clearly as he reinforced many of the concepts we had been engaging with throughout the semester. He also gave the class some new language to use (orientation; disorientation; reorientation) which provides a very useful framework for identifying the challenge of each parable that we will read in the remainder of the semester.

The Parables of Jesus: Ancient Stories with Enduring Meaning

In July I posted about the significance of contemplation and action here at Carlow University. These two dimensions of Christian spirituality and practice are integral to the heritage of the Sisters of Mercy and are also a key feature of Carlow’s new general education curriculum, the Carlow Compass. In contemplation and action courses second semester students are challenged to reflect on an issue from the perspective of a particular academic discipline, and to choose a small but meaningful act of service which they will practice throughout the semester. We are calling it “a small act of mercy.” Students will reflect on this act in conversation with the course readings, in discussion with their classmates, and in their own times of reflection. In January the first round of contemplation and action courses will be offered, and among them will be my course “The Parables of Jesus: Ancient Stories with Enduring Meaning.”

Here is the course description from the syllabus:

This course examines one of the most noteworthy aspects of the teaching style of Jesus: his use of simple stories to engage his listeners and to challenge them to consider new ways of understanding the world and their place in it. Our exploration of the parables of Jesus will consider what we can learn from them both in terms of what they teach and also in terms of how they communicate. Since justice, mercy, and virtue are prominent themes in the parables, this Contemplation and Action course allows ample opportunity for students to reflect on Carlow University’s Mercy heritage with its commitment to service, social responsibility, and ethical reasoning. In addition to course readings, reflection papers, class discussion, and the composition of their own parables, students will also engage in small act of service throughout the semester. These activities will become part of a reflective framework by which they can begin to hone their personal ethic and perspective on social responsibility in light of the Mercy tradition. 

For this course I have selected Amy Jill Levine’s Short Stories by Jesus: The Enigmatic Parables of a Controversial Rabbi as the primary text. Her analysis of the parables within their first century Jewish context is very illuminating. Those familiar with her work will not be surprised to learn that in this volume she challenges a number of “traditional” readings of the parables, particularly those interpretations that present Judaism in a negative light and Christianity as a refreshing alternative to the stale legalism and hypocrisy of the Pharisees. She shows that in many cases such readings derive from a kind of latent (or blatant) anti-Judaism, and that these readings are not supported by sound exegesis. Instead, she challenges readers to hear the parables as first century Jews would have heard them, and as coming from a first-century Jewish teacher. In this way, we can hear the challenge of each parable anew, and then consider the challenge it may offer contemporary readers. While she does not always succeed in forwarding a new or better reading of every parable, her placing of each in its historical context is commendable and provides excellent background material with which to work. And though this will be my first time teaching this course with this textbook, it seems to me that this volume will be accessible to undergraduate students.

In addition to Levine’s book students will use Louise Schottroff’s volume, The Parables of Jesus, to help them do some further research on some parables of their choosing. In a completely different vein, students will read Henri Nouwen’s The Return of the Prodigal Son in which he reflects on his sustained encounter with Rembrandt’s painting of this important scene within the parable. In many ways, his reflections move well beyond the kind of historical and exegetical work we will be doing in class. And I will be interested to see how students engage with his work at the end of the semester.

Lucian's "The Ignorant Book Collector:" When a Classic Hits a Little too Close to Home

My former professor and good friend David Aune recently passed on to me a generous selection of some of the volumes he had collected from the Loeb Classical Library. I was thrilled to receive this kind gift since, as a doctoral student, I had only been able to acquire but a bare minimum of Loeb volumes, and in the intervening years, I have had little need to enhance my collection (being close to a university library at all times). But since my graduate student days I, like many, had become enamored with the sharp wit and incisive prose of Lucian (a second century Greek writer and satirist). My favorite was his "Alexander the False Prophet," and I am proud to say that I did already own the volume that contains that piece. So I was thus quite delighted to find among the volumes that David sent me volume three of the eight volumes of Lucian included in the LCL. Given my predilection for Lucian, this was the first of the volumes David sent me that I chose to spend some time looking through (with my apologies to Homer and Plutarch). On perusing the table of contents I was intrigued to find an essay entitled "The Ignorant Book Collector." As expected, the essay highlights the folly of an individual who prides himself in acquiring a large library of fine volumes in the hopes that he will gain a reputation as a learned and wise man among his peers. As I prepare to unload these green and red Loeb volumes onto my own office shelves, I cannot help but pause to consider the irony of having received this fine set of books in which the first thing I read is an essay which criticizes book owners who are not worthy of the books they possess. And so I'll quote Harmon's translation of a particular convicting paragraph of this essay:

What good, you strange person, will it do you to own them, when you do not understand their beauty and will never make use of it one whit more than a blind man would enjoy beauty in favourites ? To be sure you look at your books with your eyes open and quite as much as you like, and you read some of them aloud with great fluency, keeping your eyes in advance of your lips; but I do not consider that enough, unless you know the merits and defects of each passage in their contents, unless you understand what every sentence means, how to construe the words, what expressions have been accurately turned by the writer in accordance with the canon of good use, and what are false, illegitimate, and counterfeit. (Lucian, Vol. 3, LCL, p. 177 trans Harmon)

Ouch. To be sure, Lucian raises a high standard of what it would take to really be counted as a learned and erudite reader of ancient texts. I don't dare to hope to go so far as to "know the merits and defects of each passage" in my new collection of Loeb volumes. But I am reminded by his sarcasm and wit, once again, that the value of the classics for a scholar of Christianity and Judaism in antiquity is not so much in understanding the origins of key words or interesting parallels or giving in to "parallelomania," but rather in coming to grips with the thought world which informs ancient Greek and Roman authors of all stripes. With such a broad understanding, scholars of early Judaism and early Christianity can more fully appreciate the world in which educated Jews and Christians contributed their own works and can more effectively articulate the kind of meaningful connections by which these authors engaged the thoughts and hopes and fears of that world in light of their understanding of the actions of the God of Israel in history.

Accordingly, I am grateful to David for this kind gift. And I am energized, once again, as I aim not to be deserving of being counted as a distant descendant of Lucian's ignorant book collector, but instead to be counted among those who truly benefit from wide reading. Not to be known as someone with a passion for expensive books, but rather to be known as one who has begun to take the time to understand these books in ways that open up understanding and enhance my ability to think carefully, critically, and creatively. But for now, I should probably set as my first goal just to unpack the boxes and start reading.

Resistance Literature and Biblical Studies

Thanks to several recent studies that succeed in examining early Jewish writings through the lens of resistance (Hugh Page’s Israel’s Poetry of Resistance; Anathea Portier-Young’s Apocalypse against Empire; Richard Horsley’s Revolt of the Scribes), I have begun working through some of the major works on the theory and history of resistance literature.

Barbara Harlow’s 1987 study, Resistance Literature (New York; London: Methuen), focused on the literature of 20^th century resistance movements that included the element of armed resistance. Looking at movements from Central and South America, Africa, the Middle East, and Asia, Harlow provided a rich picture of the ways in which literature contributes to resistance movements. While on the face of it, these movements in themselves do not appear immediately relevant to biblical studies, there are a number of elements of her analysis which can readily be seen to illumine the study of ancient texts. I enumerate six of these below.

First, Harlow is concerned with literature that is produced within a context of foreign domination, whether under occupation or in exile. Both of these notions, occupation and exile, figure prominently in the Hebrew Bible, early Jewish writings, and the New Testament.

Second, she focusses on literature that reflects an arena of struggle in which the culture and cultural heritage of the oppressed engages with the cultural, social, and political intervention of the oppressor. The writings of the ancient Israelites as well as those of Second Temple Jews show an awareness of and an engagement with cultural forces both within and without Israelite society or the author’s particular Jewish community.

Third, one important dimension of the struggle which she notes is that of the struggle to control the historical record. Early Jewish and Christian literature is heavily focused on the past, and particularly in remembering the events of the past in a way in which highlights the significance of these events for the present community. Complementary and even competing portraits of the past are preserved within the pages of scripture.

Fourth, in addition to the historical record, resistance movements seek to control the means of cultural production, even against the challenges of censorship or oppression by the dominant culture. In one instance, an author’s book was banned in Arabic and so he published it in Paris in French. Utilizing the language of the colonizing power allows an indigenous writer to adapt, invert, and even create new forms in the language of the oppressor. While not responding to precisely the same challenges, the translation of Hebrew scriptures into Greek, and the production of new writings either in Greek, Aramaic, or Hebrew, can be viewed, in a context of cultural struggle, as practices of resistance or accommodation or both.

Fifth, Harlow draws attention to the potential within resistance movements of utilizing a “rhetoric of nostalgia” which seeks to return to a previous ideal age, a stance which can create a tension even within resistance movements between the need to deal with the pragmatic needs of the moment and the need to hold out a vision of a utopian future. Such dynamic tensions are observable within the biblical texts and traditions as well.

Finally, Harlow points out that Western readers can inadvertently fail to engage with non-Western literary products on their own terms by using reading strategies that are culturally conditioned. In particular she mentions the notion of looking for the universal element and ignoring the historical particularity in a given text. Such a recognition provides a valuable reminder to readers of ancient texts as well to beware of uncritical reading strategies which seek to domesticate ancient texts so that they fall within the framework of what is culturally acceptable in contemporary culture, whether Jewish, Christian, or secular.

Such considerations suggest the value of further studies which seek to appreciate the ways in which some biblical texts themselves may have been written, or at least utilized, to inspire resistance within their readers to hegemonic social forces and cultural ideals.