The Complexity of Biblical Scholarship

As I write this, I am sitting on a plane coming home from our annual society meetings. Every year, the Society of Biblical Literature and the American Academy of Religion join forces to host a lengthy weekend of scholarship, networking, and collaboration. Smaller societies often attach themselves to the AAR and SBL, making the event a full-scale Bible-con [Really, the only thing missing are costumes…even though some of the outfits and beards I saw had to have been close to Iron Age and Greco-Roman fashion trends.].

The experience of this weekend is, well, complicated. On the one hand, I believe it’s necessary. Any professor of Bible needs to attend the annual meetings. It’s a place where professors can speak “nerd” unencumbered by the exaggerated eye-rolls of their kids , spouses, or students for a few days. At these conferences, professors can scratch their itch for scholarship, and for some, this may be one of the few instances where they can relive the joys of intense Bible study. Most importantly, these annual meetings allow professors to see what is coming down the pike.

At the annual meetings, we are exposed to the trends that sit on the horizon, for better or worse. For example, biblical scholars, archaeologists, and historians will continue to flesh out how our understanding of the Philistines is changing in light of recent archaeological research. Whence did they come? What were the dynamics of the five Philistine cities throughout the Iron Ages? In another session, I heard how perceptions of Deuteronomy 1-3 are changing, and these apparently have great implications on how we understand the form and function of certain sections of Scripture. In this instance, the paradigm shift that has been building is now accelerating.

On the other hand, there is a palpable sense of egotism and disconnection associated with the conference. For instance, in one session I sat in a large ballroom listening to several world-renowned scholars discuss elements of Deuteronomy’s historical development as a text. Is there an identifiable “core” whence the final form came? If so, can we date it, and what did it look like? Don't get me wrong, I love these questions! I think that they can give us insight into the nature of God’s revelation through time. However, such questions can never be an end in themselves. We must frame such discussions in terms of how they illuminate the final form of the text.

So, in the example of finding a “core” of Deuteronomy, at some point we must explicitly ask how any “core” can illuminate our understanding of Deuteronomy as it now exists in our Old Testament. Indeed, the answers are hard to anticipate and susceptible to a predictable line of questioning. Nevertheless, because God’s word is the product of a lengthy period of development that spanned centuries, cultures, languages, and environments, critical endeavors have their place. The disconnection of scholarship becomes evident when the discussion abruptly stops with the reconstruction of the historical process. Unfortunately, none of these famous scholars attempted to discuss how their proposals illuminated the final form of Scripture.

Yet I came to acknowledge the egotism and disconnection of the conference on Sunday (late) morning when I took about an hour to slowly peruse the exhibit hall and look at all the books for sale (Ginny should be happy that I resisted the temptation to buy loads of Christmas presents for myself). As I walked through the hall, I noticed countless people emphatically pitching their ideas to acquisition editors and publishers. Moreover, there was the constant networking and angling. But I don’t wrinkle my nose at this. This is the system. It’s a system of too many Ph.Ds. with not enough jobs. It’s a vocation that is very much about ideas and the communication of those ideas. But where the line is crossed, at least in my mind, is when the dissemination and development of ideas fosters an egotism that leads to pretentiousness. “That person’s ideas are so outdated. Besides, mere exegesis is unsophisticated. We must have ideological criticisms coupled with interdisciplinary approaches.” Unfortunately, I saw a lot of this too....

As I ponder these thoughts and feelings, I cannot help but think of the call that Brent Strawn has recently given to scholars. In The Old Testament is Dying (Baker, 2017), he argues that there is an increasing level of illiteracy with respect to the Old Testament (as well as Scripture in general). In short, there is an increasing number of people within the American church that don’t know what’s in the Old Testament (and Scripture for that matter) and that don’t use the Old Testament (and Scripture) regularly or properly. This is leading to the death of the Old Testament (and Scripture), and this trend is observable from the lay people all the way to the ministers and preachers.

Nevertheless, the church’s academic institutions are not helping! Strawn laments the increase in specialized scholarship that has no appeal or relevance to the Average Joe or Jane in the pew. There were multiple occasions this past weekend where I thought, “What is the use of this garbage?!”

I teach at Christian institutions, both seminaries and Christian colleges/universities. Therefore, I have to remember that my efforts are to be driven by convictions that go beyond myself. I fill a vital role within the Kingdom of God. I have the facility, time, and energy to dig deep into the wonders of Scripture and theology. However, I have to remember that I exercise my skills in a context that transcends my ego, my desires, or even my interests. I serve a global movement that spans cultures, time, and space.

If my time at the 2017 annual meetings has done anything, it’s reinforced my conviction that my vocational pursuits must ultimately be for the edification of the Church. Indeed, there is a place for intense scholarship, for there are too many critical questions leveled at the Church to ignore it. However, critical scholarship carries with it a certain set of assumptions and goals. Quite frankly, those assumptions and goals often do not communicate well with the average person sitting in the pews on in the chairs of my classroom. Thus, my task is, and will remain, distilling down the worthy trends and results of intense research in a manner that empowers and informs the Church. For the more informed the Church is, the more boldly it can display its banner and impact the world.

Our Public Shaming on the Way to Death

In The Old Testament is Dying, Strawn makes extensive use of the analogy that the Old Testament is (like) a language. This eventually requires him to talk about language change and even language death. And this is important, because language death is rarely abrupt. Rather, the death of a language is more nuanced, drown out, and complicated. As for the most critical juncture in the process, it’s “when a generation of speakers stops communicating its language on a regular basis to its children” (p. 69).

Sound familiar?

Yet, for the moment I want to focus on the process of death. Namely, I want to focus on what happens to a language as it dies. According to Strawn, a dying language goes through something called repidginization, where said language is massively and abruptly simplified and reduced. It aggressively retracts and loses all notion of sophistication and complexity (pp. 69–70), and the result is something called a pidgin. During this process, a language is on life-support, used only when absolutely necessary and only for as long as necessary. Eventually, there comes a moment when a language is completely ignored and disregarded. At that moment, a language dies.

Nevertheless, repidginization does not have to result in death. The process could lead into another process called creolization. Creolization describes how a pidgin (a severely retracted and dying language) actually becomes a new language. When this happens, the new language takes on the growth cycles of languages, including expansion and initial moments of intense irregularity (pp. 64–65). Perhaps most importantly, a creole need not display very many, if any at all, vestiges of its historical roots. In other words, the process of creolization could be such that any relationship between the original language and its descendant is only revealed by knowledge of the historical process.

Applied to the Old Testament, the data suggests, as detailed extensively by Strawn, that repidginization is upon us. You don’t have to look far to see popular theologies built upon unsophisticated or erroneous ideas of the Old Testament. There are those of the so-called Prosperity Gospel and what I call “life-coaches-posing-as-preachers” (what Strawn calls “Happiologists”—i.e. Joel Olsteen and company). And I don’t have to mention the general lack of use of the Old Testament by preachers. Yet the criticality of the situation is perhaps most clear when one realizes that certain attacks on the faith are actually zeroing in on Old Testament pidgins and not the real language.

In chapter 4, Strawn interacts with the so-called New Atheists, a flamboyant group of educated enemies of Christianity. Their goal seems to be fairly simple—highlight the ostensible ludicrousness and incoherence of the faith to the point that any Christian is assumed to be a moron. What becomes clear, however, is that Dawkins and company assumes an understanding of and interaction with the Old Testament message that does not properly represent the whole. In keeping with the linguistic analogy, Dawkins targets pidgins of the Old Testament and not the language proper.

What I am trying to say is that the death of the Old Testament is not merely an internal phenomenon. Indeed, it started as in internal issue, but it has now metathesized and opened up the community to external attacks as well. In other words, the death of the Old Testament is now more than just the Church forgetting a critical part of its message. The death of the Old Testament is also now about the public shaming on the way to death. The death of the Old Testament comes with a propaganda video designed to highlight fundamental errors and hypocrisies. Thus, our responsibility in reviving the Old Testament must also be about preserving the coherence of our message so that we can respond to those who seek to trivialize our message for purposes of disingenuous attacks.

But make no mistake. Bringing the Old Testament back from the dead is no magic formula. It will not automatically provide answers to all of life’s questions and enigmas and dissolve all attacks from malicious skeptics. What it will do is revive a Canon necessary for formulating proper answers and responses. It will not render critical theological discourse pointless, but it will make it possible and fruitful. Moreover, it will demonstrate that the effectiveness of any apologetic scheme is directly related to a literacy in the totality of Scripture.

The Old Testament is Dying: Blame the System

Here is a stinging quote from Strawn:

“If individual believers’ knowledge is suffering, if they can’t speak the language, then at least part of the blame must be laid at the door of the religious systems (and their leaders) to which they belong and to which they adhere (even if only loosely, which is, of course, part of the problem). To be more direct, the failures in religious knowledge reported in the [U.S. Religious Knowledge Survey] appear to reflect massive failures in the religious system(s) in question, especially the education arm(s) of said system(s), and the leaders responsible for those systems and that education. For Protestant Christianity, that means not only the failure of “Sunday school” or “Bible study” phenomena (whether for children or adults), but also the failure of the sermon to be an effective tool in disseminating the language that is the Christian faith, not to mention other failures to provide adequate linguistic instruction in the Bible’s—and, more specifically still, the Old Testament’s—contribution to that faith” (The Old Testament is Dying, 27).

In The Old Testament is Dying, Strawn invokes an analogy. The Old Testament is a language. Just as language can describe the world, construct a worldview, and articulate reality, so too can the Old Testament (Scripture as a whole for that matter). Yet just as a language can suffer and die, so too can the Old Testament (as well as Scripture). To prevent the death of a language, it must be used…used often…and used properly. So too for the Old Testament and Scripture. But what happens when the data tells us that a language is suffering? What happens when the data informs us that people no longer use it properly, can handle it, or use only small portions of a language? Logic would tell us that said language is on its way out the door. Or, at the very least, it’s on its way to be being so transformed that it’ll no longer be identifiable.

According to the United States Religious Knowledge Survey, which is discussed extensively by Strawn in his second chapter, this is what’s happening to the Old Testament and Scripture. For example, only 55% of people surveyed know that the Golden Rule is NOT one of the Ten Commandments. Or, only 45% know the names of the four gospels. Perhaps most strikingly, only 16% know that the critical difference between Protestant and Catholic views on the conviction that salvation hinges on faith in Jesus Christ alone (Strawn, 23). Indeed, some of the people in the survey make no claims to be Christian, but what if I told you that the raw data of those who claim to be Christian shows a higher level of error than Jews, Mormons, and atheist/agnostics? To put it bluntly, a vast number of people surveyed who claim to be Protestant Christians know little more than jack-squat.

So, to revisit the linguistic analogy again, “The vast majority of people surveyed are adherents who, presumably and by their own profession, “speak the language of faith,” but who are actually missing huge portions of the most basic vocabulary, syntax, and so forth of their (putative) religious tongue” (Strawn, 26). Thus, we must acknolwedge that we are the farthest thing from being fluent. And if we are not fluent, then the danger of losing the language lurks just around the corner.

Consider an example from my OT 100 class. I ask my students to watch a couple brief videos about the prophetic institution in addition to reading basic material from our textbooks. In turn, I ask them to share some new ideas and revelations about the institution that they have gleaned from the course material. Without exception, there are comments such as, “Well, I just thought the prophets were concerned with predicting the future.” Or, “I didn’t know that some of the prophets were not ‘prophets’ by vocation.” Then there is, “I just thought the prophets spoke to their context.” Translation: there are massive gaps in our students’ understanding of one of the foundational institutions of the Old Testament.

Sadly, all of this makes sense. Strawn goes on to share more data that exemplifies how the Old Testament is used. First, sermons that are “OT-only” sermons are dwarfed by their counterparts, “NT-only” sermons, by approximately 2.5 times. In fact, “OT-only” sermons are surpassed by “no-text” sermons! Second, the Psalter is used with prejudice, and the lectionaries are similarly prejudicial in the OT content they employ. All of this adds up to a scenario where using the Old Testament is highly selective, if at all. The result is, at best, a skewed view of the Old Testament. Again, how can we even begin to call ourselves fluent?

So, in closing let's return to the beginning. We are suffering the results of a flawed system. If Strawn's data is true, and there is really little reason to doubt the essence of what it communicates, then our youngest generations are doomed from the start. We don't give them a steady dose of the Old Testament, and if we do we are giving it to them at our own convenience. Naturally, then, the question that arises is what can we do about this flawed system. Can anything be done? Can it be redeemed? Or, are we merely just going to flounder in our illiteracy until the moment when the language goes the way of ancient Sumerian?  

The Old Testament is Dying...

I am starting to wade through one of Brent Strawn's most recent works, The Old Testament is Dying. I say "one" of his most recent works because this guy must have a team of robots...or monkeys...that help him pump out publications. He also just put out The World Around the Old Testament (with Bill Arnold), and it seems like every time I turn around he is publishing some article or editing some volume.

Nevertheless, I digress.

Strawn is a Professor of Old Testament at Chandler School of Theology (Emory University), a flagship school of theology in the southeast and a darling of the United Methodist Church. He also serves the Church through speaking and what-not. Consequently, when he puts out such a provocative title, I am bound to notice....and take his word under consideration.

So, off the cuff, is the Old Testament dying? To open, Strawn shares a story that solidified his conclusion. While speaking to a group of "saints" at a local church somewhere around Atlanta, he was astonished that his audience did not know that the famous words Jesus uttered on the cross, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me" (quick, can you recite it in Aramaic...or Hebrew?!), were actually a quotation from the Old Testament. I can't say that I am surprised by this. I grew up in the church, even the United Methodist Church, and the level of biblical illiteracy is more striking by the day. Moreover, I don't see it changing if the status quo remains.

I teach a range of students at a number of institutions devoted to theological education. Every semester it seems that there is an increase of comments such as these.

"I don't really know too much about the Old Testament, but at least I am excited to learn!"

"I really like the psalms because they seem to give me just the right word whenever I need to hear it. But I don't like the historical books. They seem so....historical."

Or think of it this way. When is the last time that you heard a sermon preached that utilized an Old Testament passage as its primary text?

I do remember one time that my father decided to preach a series of sermons on the book of Genesis. One week led to a month, and a month led to multiple months. About a year later, he was still preaching from Genesis, although he would take a break periodically to address special Sundays. This likely was my dad's least popular sermon series. But never mind that it's the foundation of Scripture. Never mind that the cosmic problem that still plagues humanity--that thing called Sin--is introduced there with dramatic detail. Never mind that the cosmic solution to that problem is also introduced in Genesis. And never mind that in articulating that cosmic solution the doorway to Christ is opened. Never mind all of that. "Just give me Jesus...and maybe some Paul..."

So, yeah. I think that the Old Testament is dying. But is it dead? Gosh...I hope not!! Yet more importantly, I still believe that it's possible to reverse the trend. However, bucking trends are never easy. It takes commitment, patience, and a "bull by the horns" mentality.

So, pastors preach from the Old Testament! If you don't know how to handle it, find some guidance! Whether it's a professor near by, a book to guide you, or more formal education, it doesn't matter really. Remember, it's Scripture. And when I say preach from it, don't just use it as a "footnote," merely to support some point. Develop sermon series from an event recollected, a book found therein, or a theme rooted there. Professors, let's make it exciting and fun! Let the Old Testament personalities shine through our boring lectures and assignments. Let's show our students that its content is just as potent today as it was when it was written millennia ago. Above all, let's not back down from what makes it so difficult to handle.

I'm sure that Strawn will have other things to say. However, I do know, based on the sub-title alone, he too believes that there is a treatment to this death spiral.

Today is the day...

It’s graduation season. As such, people all over the United States will flock to countless academic institutions to celebrate the achievements of their loved ones. One of the more memorable elements of any graduation ceremony, at least in higher education, is the processional of the professors. This is where all the professors line up behind a grand marshal and march into the room to take their place near the graduating students. What makes this processional so intriguing is the eclectic mix of academic regalia. There are so many colors and styles to the robes worn by the professors, and to be honest, these outfits are kind of a big deal. However, there is a level of irony that gravitates around these academic outfits. Save for convocations, graduations, and other “official" academic celebrations, one's regalia normally just hangs in the professor’s office essentially as decoration piece.

Yet one’s academic regalia is also something of a proclamation. By means of its design and color scheme, these outfits identify the professor with their ultimate level of education and the institution from which they graduated. So, when a professor puts on their regalia, it becomes a statement of their academic history and heritage. By implication, these statements are also something of a status symbol.

“Look at Prof. So-and-so. They graduated from Harvard…those are Harvard’s colors.”

When I defended my dissertation in 2012, I received my academic regalia as a gift from my parents. They spent way too much money on it, but they were happy to make the purchase. In their minds, it was money well spent, for it symbolized the culmination of their son’s 25 years of formal education. I am grateful for their gift. However, I must confess that for five years now it was been a bit of a sore spot for me…a source of frustration every time I saw that black plastic garment bag hanging in the closet.

After graduation, I gathered with my professors and fellow graduates for a picture (almost 5 years ago to date). As this unfolded, I distinctly remember one of my professors looking at me and saying, “You are going to get a lot of use out of this.” In response, I said nothing. Why? Because I didn’t believe him. There was no job other than the one waiting for me in the private sector selling industrial bearings. The whole pomp and circumstance was somewhat demoralizing.

So, after graduation I packed up that expensive robe set and hung it in the corner of a closet, as far out of sight as possible. I didn’t want to look at it. It symbolized my greatest frustration—years of theological education in the pursuit of a calling and passion that I knew was real…but had very little to show for it.

Since that day in May 2012 I have opened up that closet for a number of reasons, and each time I have felt those emotions of frustration rise. Childish? Perhaps. But the thought of that garb hanging in the closet has kept me grounded and focused on a field that is getting more difficult to penetrate by the day.

But today is the day that I take out that regalia and say, “Hello," because today is the day that I signed my first official, real contract. So, I celebrate my appointment as Assistant Professor of Old Testament for Wesley Biblical Seminary.

I am extremely grateful for this opportunity. This school, based in Jackson, MS, aligns with my theological heritage, and it will offer me a more official, somewhat permanent context to do what I love—study Scripture and teach the Old Testament. Most importantly, this is an opportunity to live out a calling first detected my Freshman year of College. It has been a challenging journey at times, but God is faithful.

Now, I have a chapter to write on the Gilgamesh Epic....

Dever, Archaeology, and Biblical Studies

I’m in the initial stages of writing a book about the intersection of archaeology and Biblical Studies. More precisely, I am writing on some of the most important archaeological finds for Old Testament studies. You know, which find revolutionized the field? Which ones created new paradigms? Which ones proved something about the Old Testament? As it is an expansion of blog series I did for Wesley Biblical Seminary in the Fall semester of 2017, the topics that will be covered range from Mari, Sennacherib’s Annals, Ketef Hinnom, and others. You can read all about it here.

A by-product of this project is the need to fall-off-the-log when it comes to my understanding of the relationship between archaeology and Biblical Studies. What is the purpose of archaeology, and what is its relationship to Biblical Studies? Is there a relationship? And what about the popular term “Biblical Archaeology?” So, when I scanned my most recent volume of Biblical Archaeology Review (43.3 [May/June 2017]) yesterday, I quickly moved to William Dever’s article “Whom Do You Believe—The Bible or Archaeology?”

Dever is one of the world’s most respected Syro-Palestinian archaeologists, and certainly the most famous American. But more to the point, I have found myself agreeing with a lot of what he says about the nature of archaeology and its relationship to Biblical Studies. I was first exposed to him during my Biblical Archaeology course during my post-graduate studies at Asbury Theological Seminary. And truth be told, this article, although brief, personal, and informal, reinforced my appreciation of the guy’s position.

One of the first things that peaked my interest came shortly after he asked why reconstructing a history of ancient Israel mattered. He initially gave the typical, non-offensive, cookie-cutter answer: “…because it provides perspective.” However, he quickly went somewhere that I didn’t necessarily expect. He also linked the answer to authority. Acknowledging “people of faith” within the debate, he said, “Unless God is manifest in history…he is invisible. It is ultimately a question of authority. What can we believe and what moral imperative do we have” (p. 44)? Sure, Dever doesn’t necessarily align himself here with people of faith, but linking the important of history, particularly Israel’s history, with moral authority is an interesting, and ultimately laudable, angle to take. I study history, particularly Israel’s history, because I want God to be visible in real space and time. And when God is visible, his authority becomes more difficult to brush aside and/or ignore.

Another important implication he offers is that archaeology and Biblical Studies are two independent sources that must be synthesized in the pursuit of historical Israel. “Both [archaeology and Biblical Studies] are valuable, but both have obvious limitations. Beyond recognizing that fact, sound method and honest require that these two sources for history be dealt with independently and then compared. At that point, we have what I call “convergences”—points at which parallel lines of evidence come together” (p. 44). Such convergences sound like what I call potential “points of synthesis,” which are the phenomena that construct Biblical Archaeology—the application of archaeological data upon the Biblical Studies.

Many Evangelicals don’t like Dever, and I understand why. Some people may criticize Dever’s historical pursuit of “ancient Israel” as naïve and fundamentally flawed. I’m in neither of those camps. What I appreciate about Dever is his ability and willingness to keep archaeology and Biblical Studies separate and yet emphasize that in many instances the two disciplines can augment each other in the pursuit of a common goal.

So, back to the title of the article. Whom do I believe? I believe both, and I think Dever would echo this.