A further (Jewish) critical thought on the Oxford Psalms Conference

In my last post I shared some critical thoughts about the recent Oxford Psalms conference. Given that I'm a Christian and one of my issues with the logic of the conference had to do with that fact, I'm delighted that a Jewish friend of mine shared her critical thoughts on the matter in response to the post. She wasn't present for various reasons, but one of them will become clear in her comments (which I post with permission):

I'd like to add my own pesky little issue here which has less to do with the content (although ultimately it most likely does) but rather the organization of the conference. If it was the intention of the organizers to foster a dialogue between communities I do wonder what prompted them to schedule the conference exactly on one of the important Jewish festivals, i.e. Sukkot? By this scheduling blunder they effectively excluded and silenced one particular segment of the Jewish academic and clerical community (namely the Orthodox). I do realize that there were some Jewish participants; however these would not represent, speak for and from that particular segment which is also part of the larger Jewish group. This is interesting because it is exactly that absent group that takes the Psalter (or they would prefer Sefer Tehillim) very seriously as a living tradition, both in liturgy as well as in individual petionary prayer. So, as far as the organizers are concerned – for the umpteenth time in comparable circumstances: it’s their loss. Sad thing though is, they probably don’t even realize that they did suffer a loss and will whisk it away as an irrelevant irritant….

This fact was pointed out at the conference, for which the organizers apologized. I'm not sure of the reasoning, but I think there were organizational complications that couldn't be avoided. However, given that the explicit agenda of the conference was to encourage a mutual "moving beyond" differences in Christian and Jewish exegesis, the absence of an incredibly significant segment of the Jewish population - a segment which stands in most continuity with the traditions that define Judaism - seriously limits the conference's capacity to make progress on its stated goals.

Critical thoughts on the Oxford Psalms Conference

I've just returned from the Oxford Psalms conference, of which Bob MacDonald has provided an overview in a series of posts (along with some photos and a youtube video of the reconstructed Temple Psalmody we heard in the chapel). The experience was enriching, eye-opening, and in particular motivating as far as my own particular strand of work is concerned (Childs' approach to the Bible). Despite a technical hiccup with the publication of my abstract, I had two amazing conversations with two of the Psalms' greatest contemporary students: Erhard Gerstenberger and Frank-Lothar Hossfeld. The beauty of these two separate dialogues is that Hossfeld and Gerstenberger are in fact Gegenspieler as far as methodology is concerned: Gerstenberger representing the "older" form critical approach (an approach whose presuppositions are rightly still foundational for much contemporary interpretation) and Hossfeld representing the "newer" synchronic approach (Sitz im Buch rather than Sitz im Leben). Part of my thesis is that there is, in fact, a bridge over the apparent chasm that separates these two approaches (one that allows for two-way traffic), and that Childs, properly understood, is the man who has brought that reality most clearly to view.

And therein lies the problem I have with an otherwise excellent conference: the complete silence  (beyond a few minor footnotes) concerning Childs' own contribution to the field that, I would claim, he helped shape into its present form. I find this problematic for a minor and for a major reason. Of minor significance is simply the irony that it is ultimately the work of Brevard Childs that has made the peculiar scope of this particular conference possible in the first place. Am I exaggerating? Perhaps - I'm not an expert on the history of scholarship. But before Childs' ground-breaking work, did not "Wirkungsgeschichte" belong in the church/Jewish history department? And wasn't "Jewish/Christian" dialogue a concern of systematic theology? And why should the Psalm's liturgical actualization within a community of faith now migrate from the department of liturgy to that of Biblical exegesis? Aside from the obvious (though seemingly forgotten) fact that it was Childs who put both the Psalm superscriptions and the shape of the Psalter on the interpretive agenda, was he not also the first to insist that the full scope of research questions displayed at this conference was in fact an integral and necessary part of the exegesis of the text itself?

My primary concern here is not, however, about apportioning recognition where it is due. My major concern is with the coherence of the conference itself and, along with that, the discipline of Biblical studies. One impression that accompanied me throughout the conference was the disjointed manner by which the various fields of research were brought into relation. A historical critical reading of a Psalm was simply one possibility alongside an analysis of the history of its interpretation. The musical renditions of the Psalms in the chapel were aesthetic (perhaps spiritual), but not connected in any academically accountable way with the actual meaning of the texts themselves. Even talk of the "convergence" of Jewish and Christian interpretation in the modern period seemed disconnected from actual faith claims made by these communities (can Christian exegesis be non-Christological?) as well the constructive interpretive proposals made by Biblical exegetes, whose primary task is to look at the meaning of the text itself.

It is one thing to present an "array" of approaches to the Psalms, but the very act of arraying presupposes that there is some unity which the diversity of approaches ought, in some sense, to illuminate. Even in a so-called "postmodern" context, a conference such as this one must at least, at rock bottom, assume the presence of a single subject matter: the Psalms themselves. Are they not the ultimate object of research? Ought not the various subject areas thus arrayed function to enlighten our reading of the Psalms themselves rather than something else connected to the psalms? I fear that the very telos of such a conference is threatened when there is no attempt to bring diachronic, synchronic, reception history (etc.) perspectives into dialogue with each other, a dialogue that is about the Psalms themselves.

If the conference was not about the Psalms, what was it about? What was its unifying object of inquiry? If one is to argue - as seems implied - that illustrating the tension between peshat and midrash is interesting in its own right, that questions of the ordering of the Qumran Psalms or Rastafarian reinterpretation or medieval religious usage are all interesting in their own right, then it seems that the only thing uniting these approaches is the phenomenon of human cultural endeavour, as it is engaged in referring to or preserving or creating or inspiring or involving in some manner Israel's psalms. It seems that our Psalms conference was ultimately an exercise in cultural anthropology. If what matters is what humans have done and do then it is perfectly understandable that Rashi is simply juxtaposed with Akhenaten, the Temple archives with Anglo-Saxon Psalters, Qumranic textual variants with postmodern paraphrase. On this view, the proper object of inquiry is not the text itself as a vehicle of some concept or reality but us, humanity in its aspect as cultural being. The consequence is that the intertextual web is expanded indefinitely and Biblical studies migrates to the cultural anthropology department, where it threatens to dissolve upon arrival.

The irony in this is that the conference's explicit agenda was theological, not anthropological. It's title, "Conflict and Convergence," points to a desire to overcome readings by the Jewish and Christian faith communities which are mutually exclusive. The assumption is that the modern university can now, finally, after centuries of conflicting exegesis, provide a context whereby the exegeses of these two religious entities can finally "converge." Yet, can an approach to the Bible which is ultimately anthropological fulfil that task? Though both Jews and Christians confess that God's Word comes in humans words, those human words are also understood to be vehicles of God's Word. This is why Scripture is "holy," it has something to do with God, and not just in phenomenologically sense that they claim this to be so, but in the ontological sense that it really is. Christians and Jews are ultimately not interested in what humans have done or do with the Psalms, they are interested in what they should do because of the Psalms.

I would summarize my issue with the Oxford conference as a question: what constitutes the coherence under-girding the broad (and ever expanding) scope of interests arrayed for our attention? If, as the conference has implied, that coherence is human existence per se, the conference's own theological agenda will be undermined. But is there another way of conceiving the unity of the approaches? Could it be that Old Testament studies' typical Sitz im Leben in the theology rather than anthropology department is not an accidental misjudgement but rather an indication of the true coherence under-girding both the text and community? And if so, what does this kind of coherence mean for Jewish and Christian dialogue? Which is another way of asking, "how do we grasp the meaning of the Psalms?"

It is here that Childs can, once again, provide a pointer for the future (providing he is divested of the distortion that constitutes much of his own reception history). Childs was not only the originator of attempts to appropriate the full breadth of Jewish and Christian exegesis, seen as being intimately connected to the diachronic and synchronic dimensions of the text, he did so for the sake of a single object of inquiry: the Biblical text itself. Which is the same thing as saying: he did it for the sake of the subject matter of the Biblical text. Already in the preface to his ground-breaking 1974 Exodus commentary (although admittedly it took a while for the ground to break) we gain hints at his grasp of the potential organic connection between the history "to" the text and the history "from" the text, a history that, despite its temporal extension in our time, turns to rotate on that central hub that is the Bible's own time, which is God's time.

Childs' own proposals for the coherency of the discipline are bound to remain contentious (even when correctly understood), and this is necessarily so because of their unapologetically confessional rootage. But the challenge he poses still remains open to those who would unknowingly walk in his footsteps without taking a glance at the interconnected coordinates he set to map the way: What is the Bible ultimately about? What is the most adequate context for its study? Wherein lies the coherence under-girding the diversity of fields of research displayed and awkwardly correlated  at the Oxford Psalms conference? In other words, and I think this is the decisive question: what constitutes their unity? Can the answer to this question - regardless of where it falls on the ideological spectrum - be anything other than confessional?

My hope is that one day Childs will indeed get the credit he deserves. I do not hope this for his sake, however, but for the sake of Biblical interpretation, which is for the sake of the interpretive community, whether Jewish, Christian, or secular.

Eine Andacht für meine Schwiegereltern (Psalm 34)

My parents-in-law are so-called "Russian Germans," descendants from German immigrants to the Volga region in the 17th Century. These immigrants set up independent rural communities where their language and religion was preserved and where they prospered economically. During the Russian Revolution they suffered a first wave of persecution. Their crimes where manifold: they were private land owners, they were wealthy, they were largely religious, and they were German (for Stalin, ethnicity was already a problem to be eradicated before the onset of WWII). Through a process of brutal intimidation, murder, rape and forced expropriation these communities were gradually decimated and sent into forced labour. My wife's father was already born in a Siberian work camp (1938). The outbreak of the Second World War gave more fuel to the fire. In addition to the aforementioned crimes: the Germans were now "the enemy," by definition "Nazis." My wife's mother-in-law was born in the Ukraine in 1939, after expropriation and expulsion but before deportation to Siberia. I won't recount their fascinating tales (though a book ought to be written at some point). Their persecution continued right up until the 1970's (they were only allowed to leave their villages after the '50s, but even then their religious faith and ethnicity hindered them from progressing in society), when, after years of struggle, brave demonstration and international pressure, my wife's parents joined the first wave of "returnees" to Germany in 1977 (Germany is the only country in the world apart from Israel to have a "law of return"). They had to leave everything behind, including savings, and start from scratch.

Last year my mother-in-law celebrated her sixtieth birthday in the midst of a large and blessed family (6 children; the 10th grandchild - courtesy of us - is on the way :)). I did the "Andacht," based on Psalm 34, and this is what I said (their names have been changed):

Psalm 34, 1-11.18-20.23

Ein Psalm Davids—als er seinen Verstand vor Abimelech verstellte, dieser ihn vertrieb und er wegging.

Ich will den herrn loben allezeit;

sein Lob soll immerdar in meinem Munde sein.

Meine Seele soll sich rühmen des Herrn,

daß es die Elenden hören und sich freuen.

Preiset mit mir den Herrn

und laßt uns miteinander seinen Namen erhöhen!

Als ich den Herrn suchte, antwortete er mir

und errettete mich aus aller meiner Furcht.

Die auf ihn sehen werden strahlen vor Freude,

und ihr Angesicht soll nicht schamrot werden.

Als einer im Elend rief, hörte der Herr

und half ihm aus allen seinen Nöten.

Der Engel des Herrn lagert sich um die her, die ihn fürchten,

und hilft ihnen heraus.

Schmecket und sehet, wie freundlich der Herr ist.

Wohl dem, der auf ihn trauet!

Fürchtet den Herrn, ihr seine Heiligen!

Denn die ih fürchten, haben keinen Mangel.

Reiche müssen darben und hungern;

aber die den Herrn suchen,

haben keinen Mangel an irgendeinem Gut.

Wenn die Gerechten schreien, so hört der Herr

und errettet sie aus all ihrer Not.

Der Herr ist nahe denen, die zerbrochenen Herzens sind,

und hilft denen, die ein zerschlagenes Gemüt haben.

Der Gerechte muß viel erleiden,

aber aus alledem hilft ihm der Herr.

Der Herr erlöst das Leben seiner Knechte,

und alle, die auf ihn trauen, werden frei von Schuld.

Liebe Lilly, lieber Peter,

David wurde von Samuel schon im 1. Sam 16 als König gesalbt, nachdem Gott Saul für seine Sünde verworfen hat. Ab diesem Zeitpunkt war David in Gottes Augen schon der wahre König von Israel. Nichtdestotrotz, hat es lange gedauert bevor diese Wirklichkeit sichtbar werden konnte. Inzwischen wurde David von Saul durch ganz Israel gejagt. David musste viel in seinem Leben leiden, und ich kann mir vorstellen, dass es ihm schwer gefallen ist zu glauben, dass er der wahre König war. Er war der König, aber für lange blieb es nur eine Verheißung. Er war schon gesalbt, aber noch nicht eingesetzt. Dieser Psalm ist in dieser Situation enstanden—diese spannungsvolle Zeit zwischen der Verklärung seiner Königschaft und das sichtbare Eintreten dessen Wirklichkeit. Die Geschichte können wir nachlesen im 1. Sam 21:10-15:

Und David machte sich auf und floh an jenem Tage vor Saul und kam zu Achis, dem König von Gat. Da sprachen Achis' Knechte zu ihm: Ist das nicht David, der König des Landes? Ist das nicht der, von welchem sie im Reigen Sangen: “Saul hat seine Tausend geschlagen, David aber seine Zehntausend!” Diese Worte nahm sich David zu Herzen und fürchtete sich sehr vor Achis, dem König zu Gat. Und er verstellte sich vor ihnen und raste unter ihren Händen und kratzte an den Türflügeln, und ließ den Speichel in seinen Bart fließen. Da sprach Achis zu seinen Knechten: Ihr seht doch, daß der Mann verrückt ist? Was bringt ihr ihn denn zu mir? Fehlt es mir etwa an Verrückten, daß ihr diesen Mann hergebracht habt, damit er gegen mich tobe? Sollte der in mien Haus kommen?

Der wahre König Israels sucht Zuflucht vor dem Falschen. Er muss sich vor den Heiden verrückt verhalten, um überhaupt überleben zu können. Was für ein Paradox! Wieso lässt Gott das zu? Irgendwie ist Davids Erfahrung ein geheimnisvolles Muster für alle Kinder Gottes —Königskinder, die so leben müssen, als ob diese Wirklichkeit gar nicht stimmen würde. Laut der Bibel, sind alle von uns in diesem Raum Gottes Kinder. Wir werden eines Tages leuchten wie die Sterne und neben unserem Vater auf Thronen sitzen. Er wird uns eine Krone geben und reine, weiße Kleider. Diese zukünftige Wirklichkeit gilt uns jetzt. Wir sind jetzt Könige, auch wenn es nicht so aussieht. Auch wenn es leicht ist zu glauben, dass die dunklen Mächten dieser Welt die wahren Herrscher sind. Dieses können wir von David lernen: nicht aufzugeben, an unsere wahre Identität zu glauben; “am Ball” bleiben, in Gehorsam und Vertrauen, bis die Wirklichkeit eintritt.

Aber David hat uns viel mehr zu sagen! Wir können viel mehr von ihm lernen. Nicht nur hat er an der Verheißung festgehalten, trotz seiner alltäglichen Erfahrungen, er hat auch immer wieder “geschmeckt, dass der Herr gut ist” (Ps 34, 9). Auch bevor er König wurde, hat er erfahren, dass der Herr ihm antwortete und ihn errettete (V. 5). Wie David müssen wir oft durch das finstere Todestal gehen, bevor wir endlich ans Ziel kommen. Aber, wie wir in diesem Psalm sehen, gab es immer wieder Hoffnungszeichen. Der Herr handelt! Auch jetzt, vor der Vollendung aller Dinge, kann Gott uns erretten “aus aller unser Furcht” (V. 6). Auch im Jammertal des Lebens gibt es genug Gelegenheiten für unsere Gesichter zu strahlen (V. 6). Wir sind nicht allein und dürfen erfahren, dass Gott wirklich bei denen ist, “die ihn fürchten”.

David hat mal gelitten, mal gejubelt. Und was tut er, wenn er jubelt? In diesem Psalm sehen wir, dass er an diejenigen denkt, die elend sind! Wie er sagt: “Meine Seele rühme sich des Herrn; die Elenden sollen es hören und sich freuen” (V. 3). Seine Heilserfahrung wird zum Anlass, diejenigen zu ermutigen, die immer noch im Dunkeln sitzen. Er kann ihr Leid vielleicht nicht theologisch erklären; er kann keine einfache Antwort geben, wieso sie so elend sind. Aber er kann aus eigener Erfahrung sagen: “Bleib am Ball! Gebt nicht auf! Suchet den Herrn mit aller Kraft und er wird Handeln. Ich weiß es und verspreche es euch!” Und so wird David, durch sein Leid hindurch, zum Vorbild für Andere, die seinen schwierigen Weg noch nicht gegangen sind. Sie können auf ihn schauen und Hoffnung bekommen, dass Gott auch für sie eintreten wird.

Und das, liebe Lilly und Peter, seid ihr für uns. Ihr habt vielleicht nicht viel gelernt in der russischen Schule, aber ihr habt viel gelernt in der Schule des Lebens—und Gott war euer Lehrer. Deshalb danken wir euch, dass ihr, wie David, nicht aufgegeben habt, nie vergessen habt, wer ihr wirklich seid und dadurch ein Licht geworden seid für eine neue Generation. Ich hoffe und bete, dass wir das auch werden können für unsere Kinder. Die Welt braucht solche Menschen.

One thing I like about Mowinckel

I was recently asked what I thought of the work of the psalms scholar Sigmund Mowinckel (in response to this quote of his). Thus far I've only read the opening chapters of his key work, The Psalms in Israel's Worship (if you follow the link you can read these chapters, plus a helpful preface by Crenshaw, for free), but he's said enough in order for me to formulate an initial impression.

What I like most about Mowinckel is - what at least appears to be - his sensitivity and openness to the reality and impact of the divine within Israel's history. In a German language biographical sketch of his life I read that at some point he went through something of a "religious awakening."[1] Perhaps it is this is that comes to expression at various points in his work on the cult (apart from his dependence on the anthropologist Grønbech) ...

For example, he summarizes his entire work on the psalms as follows:

The present author has ... endeavoured to apply a really cult-functional intepretation, and ... to prove that the psalms of the Psalter, on the whole, are real cult psalms and an expression of that experience of God which the cult seeks to further (p. 34; emphasis, here and elsewhere, mine).

According to this perspective, the cult functions as one of a number of possible vehicles of divine revelation within Israel. There is an experience of God - to which the psalms are a response and for which the cult is a medium.

Again, Mowinckel says the following concerning the function of music in the cult:

Like rhythm and tune it is a way of expressing the sense of rapture and sublime abandonment. It is a reaction to the encounter with the holy. ... Together with cultic song goes the dance, which is a common way of expressing the encounter with the holy. ... At a higher level it develops into an expression of joy at the encounter with the Holy One" (p.9; note the move from "holy" in general to "the Holy One" in particular).

Unlike many scholars today,[2] Mowinckel doesn't reduce Israel's spiritual life to socio-psychological categories. His language here smacks of divine immanence. In other words, there is a transcendence (however vaguely and inadequately Mowinckel may conceive it) which enters into Israel's time and space, an ontological (?) reality which Israel experiences and to which it responds. In fact, this reality even impacts the shape of Israel's institutions. See, for example, Mowinckel's statement that the cult is

the visible and audible expression of the relation between the congregation and the deity" (p. 16).

These presuppositions are expressed most explicitly on pages 16-17:

It may often look as thought he initiative lies with the congregation, on the human side. But seen from the point of view of cult and religion it is rather the other way round: the initiative lies with God. True enough, it is man that 'searches for God,' 'seeks God,' but he can, and odes so, because the deity first 'revealed himself' and taught man where and when and how to seek him. This is a fundamental idea of all religion, and not least in Israel. The deity represents a reality and a power which is different from the human, a belongs to the sphere termed 'the holy', he is experienced as something 'different' and 'separate' - ... Through the cult this effective [!] and wonderful 'power' is imparted to the partakers, the congregation or the society.

"... seen from the point of view of cult and religion .. ." Is it the case that Mowinckel is just using emic categories, like a good phenomenologist of religion? Or is this in some sense his perspective too? What modern psalms scholar would talk with such confidence about the "effective ... 'power', not of the cult, but of the deity that is mediated through the cult? And what impact would giving space to this possibility have on modern interpretation of the psalms?[3]

[1] 1934 erlebte er durch die Begegnung mit der sogenannten „Gruppenbewegung“ (Oxford Group Movement) so etwas wie eine religiöse „Erweckung“, nach der er in vieler Hinsicht ein aktiveres Kirchenmitglied wurde und sich schließlich (1940) auch noch ordinieren ließ.

[2] In a seminar here in Bonn, Prof. W.H. Schmidt bemoaned the way in which contemporary Biblical exegesis has been reduced to a form of cultural analysis.

[3] It seems to me that some kind of account of divine immanence is required in order to give theological substance and methodological nuance to the justifications usually made for form criticism. See, e.g., my post Justifying form criticism of the psalms.

Justifying form criticism of the Psalms

Erhard Gerstenberger is possibly one of the most renowned of modern-day practitioners of the form-critical method in Psalms interpretation. In his article: "The Psalms: Genres, Life Situations, and Theologies - Towards A Hermeneutics of Social Stratification" (in Diachronic and Synchronic, pp. 81-92), he outlines his approach. In the process he justifies it using both a linguistic as well as a theological argument.

Here is his linguistic justification:

All those theories of literature, which take into account the social conditioning of texts, in a way corroborate this stance. But why should this be true? Because - thus my basic axiom, debatable as it is - all human discourse is communicative action. There is always a speaker (sender) 0f messages and a recipient. The words pass from one to the other, they are anchored in determined life situations, they make sense in relationships between real people who speak and listen to each other, deities included (81).

Here is his theological justification:

Why do I emphasize so strongly the social origin and conditioning of biblical texts? How can I possibly consider social stratification as a basis for different theological concepts? Am I, as some dear colleagues suggest, walking on the bad path of surrendering unconditionally to social sciences, making theology a slave to empiric research and the precarious knowledge of social structures and processes? On the contrary, I would claim that my efforts to approach the Bible consistently from its human side, to tie texts to their social (and liturgical) roots, to admit social conditionings of biblical authors and modern exegetes, of theological conceptualizations and ethical judgements, does serve a thoroughly theological purpose. The word of God is known to us and communicated to us only by way of contextual events and sayings, narrations and confessions. Thus it is able to really interact with our limited human minds. The small change of God's love and forbearing can be recognized only in detailed studies of life's reality. From the different life situations of old, then, we may make inferences as to our social and personal situations today, and God speaks to us within exactly these rather earthly configurations. The Word which turned flesh really incorporated (and still incorporates) the conditions of our existence and our personal acting therein (92).

What do you think? Does this do justice both to the nature of the Biblical texts as well as to Christian doctrine of revelation?

Jerome Creach, though in general interested in the canonical shape the Psalter, can sympathise with this stance:

This approach to the psalms is important theologically because it reminds us that the psalms were originally wed to rituals that gave concrete expression to the psalms' claims of faith, statements of thanksgiving, words of praise, and pleas for deliverance. Just as ritual without ethics and commitment makes for an empty faith, so too spiritual expression without sacrifice makes for faith within no tangible imprint. The word of God is powerful because it is incarnational. By maintaining the link between the psalms and the cult we can, in some limited way, experience more fully the Word that both became flesh and demands expressions of devotion (in "The Psalms and the Cult," 120).

Update: Heath Thomas' response to these questions in the comments represent so fully my own thoughts on this issue that I'm reposting them here for the edification of all:

I suppose we must ask whether the different forms of communication in the divers (historical) texts that have been consolidated into a whole relate to one another. Indeed one may argue these texts relate to one another beyond a simple notion of a redactor or redactors taking disparate materials from different periods of time and consolidating (or forcing?) them into a 'new' text with a different purpose (I read Gerstenberger's work on the Psalter and OT theology in this way to a degree, but maybe I'm off on that). On this view, the purpose of editorial activity could be understood as scoring a point social, political or otherwise. But I think we must press beyond these to the larger theological question of how and why these divers materials have been consolidated into the final form of, say, the PSalter. Is there a theological relationship between the intentionality of Pss 15-24 and the larger corpus of the Psalter? Books 1-3 relating to the larger Psalter as the corpus grew? Pss 1-2 relating to the whole? Are these later relationships (which have been acheived through editorial arrangement, of course) rough or are they theologically consistent with the substance of the text? Another way of asking it is, Given that the text is divers and grew over time, are later editors (of the Psalter) changing the intent and message of previous versions of the Psalter? How would we know? I think here is where Childs points to 'canonical intentionality' or 'canonical consciousness' as a concept, which it seems Barr and Barton almost equate to a kind of magic. But then again, if it is a theological process, then it cannot be equated to magic on Childs' reckoning, but part of the process of God's revelation (cf. OT Theology in a Canonical Context). So maybe Gerstenberger -- given his assumptions -- does not go far enough.

Gunkel über die Religion der Hymnen

Aus dem Vorhergehenden folgt, daß im Hymnus die objektive Seite der Religion hervortritt: Jahve selber, seine Eigenschaften und Taten; zugleich aber dies, was man, um das Einzelne zu verstehen, sich beständig vorhalten muß, daß die Grundstimmung vom Hymnus die Ehrfurcht und der Enthusiasmus ist. Und so kann man auch vom Hymnus sagen: "Ziehe deine Schuhe aus! Das Land, das du betrittst, ist ein heiliges Land!" (Gunkel, Einleitung in die Psalmen, §2.47, p. 71).

For Gunkel, form and content could never be separated (cf. Blum, "Formgeshichte - A Misleading Category?"). The hymns are theocentric, the LORD is their object (note this comment: "Nun hat das Lobsingen Gottes natürlich auch für den Singenden selber einen hohen Wert. Der religiöse Gedanke wird stark ... Aber über diese subjektive Seite der Sache denkt man wenig oder gar nicht nach; man singt den Hymnus für Gott allein," 69-70).

If this is the case, then what would an "objective" interpretation of the hymns look like?

Law and Grace in Pss 15-24?

Many scholars consider the Psalms group 15-24 to be a consciously redacted whole. The so-called "torah-entrance" Psalms 15 and 24 frame the whole, forming the outer boundaries of chiasm with 19 in the middle (see the articles by Hossfeld & Zenger and Patrick Miller for the details). Barbiero (in Das erste Psalmbuch als Einheit, 1999) claims that one of the effects of this composition is to give a depth dimension to the concept of "righteousness" before God. In my post Is Ps 15 "softened" by Ps 24? I quoted his claim that the righteousness required as prerequisite for entrance into the sanctuary in Psalm 15 is supplemented by Psalm 19's confession that such righteousness is impossible (Ps 19:12-13): "It is only when YHWH forgives, and not out of one's own strength, that the worshipper can become innocent."

Barbiero goes on to make a similar statement concerning the entire collection of Psalms 15-24 (first in German, than my translation in italics):

Die drei Psalmen 22-23-24 sind darüber hinaus durch das Wort צדק verbunden (22,23; 23, 3; 24,5). In ihnen bekommt das Wort eine andere Betonung als in den Psalmen 15-18 (vgl. 15,2; 17,1.15; 18,21.25). War dort von menschlicher Leistung die Rede (die Gerechtigkeit war die Bedingung, in s Heiligtum Einlaß zu bekommen bzw. von Gott erhört zu werden), so ist hier die Gerechtigkeit vorwiegend eine Gabe Gottes. In 22,32 wird die צדקתו, die Gerechtigkeit Gottes verkündet, die sich durch die Rettungstat als solche erwiesen hat. In 23,3 ist von einer Führung Gottes durch die "Pfade der Gerechtigkeit" die Rede. Sie ist als eine Andeutung auf die Tora zu verstehen (vgl. 19,10). In 24,5 ist nun die צדקה die Gabe, die der (gerechte) Tempelbesucher von dem "Gott seines Heils" bekommt (p. 283).

In addition to this, the three Psalms 22-23-24 are connected by the word צדק (Pss 22:23; 23: 3; 24:5). In these Psalms, the word receives a different emphasis to the the one in Psalms 15-18 (cf. Pss 15:2; 17:1,15; 18:21,25). Whereas there the emphasis is on human accomplishment (righteousness is the condition for either entering the sanctuary or being heard by God), here the righteousness of God is primarily a gift of God. The righteousness of God (צדקתו) is proclaimed in Ps 22:32 as something which has been proved itself by an act of salvation. In Ps 23:3 there is talk of being led by God within the "paths of righteousness." This is to be understood as an allusion to the Torah (cf. Ps 19:10). In Ps 24:5 צדקה is now a gift, which the (righteous) visitor to the temple receives from "the God of his salvation" (p. 283).

What do you think? Does this work?

Is Ps 15 "softened" by Ps 19?

Barbiero, in his book Das erste Psalmbuch als Einheit: eine synchrone Analyse von 1-41 (Peter Lang, 1999) seems to think so. After highlighting all kinds of inter-textual links between the two Psalms (such as the terms, תמים [Pss 19:8; 15;2], צדק [Pss 19:10; 15:2]; אמת [Ps 19:10; comp. 8 and 15:2], and כבוד [Pss 19:2 and 15:4]), he adds that there is an Akzentverschiebung ("shift in emphasis"):

Hier ist aber eine wichtige Akzentenverschiebung zu bemerken. Zwischen der Beobachtung der Tora (19,12) und dem Gefallen JHWHs (19,15) steht in 19,13f. das Eingeständnis der eigenen Schuld, was in Ps 15 fehlt. Der Gedanke, daß der Gottesfürchtige schulding ist, ist Ps 15 fremd. Derjenige, der sich schuldig macht, gehört zu einer anderen Gruppe, er verdient nur "Verachtung" (בזה 15,4). Ps 19,13f. ist vom Bewußtsein der eigenen Schuld und der eigenen Unfähigkeit, schuldlos zu leben, geprägt. Der Frevel ist nicht nur bei den "anderen", sondern er ist beim Beter selbst, wie es auch die Geschichte Davids zeigt. Nur wenn JHWH vergibt, nicht aus eigener Kraft kann der Beter schuldlos sein (19, 14 "dann bin ich vollkommen").

Das Gesetz wird nicht aufgehoben, es wird aber durch die Verzeihung ergänzt. Neben das Prinzip der Gerechtigkeit wird deutlich das Prinzip der Gnade gestellt. (pp. 263-264).

Syntax of Ps 20:10 according to the ta'amim

The ta'amim for Ps 20:10 seem to reflect an interesting interpretation of the verse:

יְהוָ֥ה הוֹשִׁ֑יעָה הַ֝מֶּ֗לֶךְ יַעֲנֵ֥נוּ בְיוֹם־קָרְאֵֽנוּ׃

Save, O Lord! The King will answer us when we call him.

This is contra what would seem to be the more obvious meaning, followed by many modern translations:

Save O Lord, the King; may he answer us when we call him.

BHS even suggests moving the atnach to הַ֝מֶּ֗לֶךְ.

Interestingly, the Andersen-Forbes Phrase Marker Analysis goes with the ta'amim (and KJV). I'm not sure why. As far as I can see, the people never call upon a king for help in the Bible (do they?).

So my question: Do people see a Messianic interpretation at work here? Or does the cantillation's syntax fit the flow of the Psalm as it stands? Or, even more interesting, is the LORD himself being called king? This would lead to a blurring of boundaries between the David and divine king.

I should add that the Targum sees God as being addressed as king (go here for online translation). Targum, LXX and many modern translations smooth out the switch in the second colon by translating "answer" as an imperative: "answer us when we call [you]!"

P.S. For an amazing audio resource for the ta'amim, go to www.ta'amim.org/.

Update: I've just read that Delitzsch follows the ta'amim (on euphonic grounds) and reads הַ֝מֶּ֗לֶךְ as a vocative referring to God: "O King, answer us when we call." This, however, requires that we amend the yiqtol יַעֲנֵ֥נוּ to an imperative, something Delitzsch oddly doesn't comment on.

Update 2: I've changed my mind in the comments and explained why.

The function of the root נשא in Ps 24?

According to proponents of literary interpretations of the Psalms, one should be sensitive to the repetition of keywords, keeping an eye out for the way in which their repetition may contribute to the overall meaning of the Psalm.

One such proponent is Beat Weber. I should point out before I continue that his commentary (it's more of a practical work book), Werkbuch Psalmen I, is one of my favourite Psalms commentaries of all time. It is possibly the only commentary I have which sends me away feeling like I have stuck my nose in every nook and cranny the Psalm has to offer. I really get to know the psalm in an intimate way. This is the advantage of literary approaches: they literally trawl a text for every linguistic artifact that can be dug up, interpreted, and fed into our understanding of the poem (Fokkelmann is another example, see his defence of the approach here). This is also a weakness of the approach, however. At least in the sense that we can't always take everything that is suggested too seriously. Sometimes significance is seen where in fact we only have chance. The text can be overinterpreted.

One possible example is the significance of the root נשא, which occurs in relatively high concentration in Psalm 24 (vv. 4b, 5a, 7a, b, 9a, b). Does this root constitute a keyword, a consciously placed literary device designed to broker new meaning in places we wouldn't have first expected it?

Beat Weber thinks so. In fact, he ranks it alongside he question-answer schema found in the Psalm (vv. 3, 8, 10) as primary evidence for the fact that the psalmist has “carefully conjoined” what many scholars think are two separate blocks within the Psalm: Ps 24:3-6 and 7-10 ("sections 2 and 3" in my scheme).

What follows is my critique of his theory. I should reiterate that I love Weber's commentary! Please don't think this represents an rejection of his book or his method at all. And please do point out where I am missing the point. I love being corrected.

Here goes. In short, he sees the נשא of v. 4 as signifying the ethical behaviour of the pilgrim and the נשא of v. 5 as signifying the the blessing that accrues upon such behaviour. Weber understands these two verbs as together signifying the entrance of the pilgrim into the temple. The נשא of the second stanza refer to the entrance of God himself into the sanctuary. The effect of the repetition of the root is to conjoin these two different entrances, in some manner. What this means for Weber, however, is determined by his broader interpretation of the relation between the parts of the Psalm, and not the semantics of נשא per se. In other words, the repetition of the root simply further "hooks" together what he thinks is paralleled anyway. In short, he believes that both entrances, divine and human, mirror each other in that the entrance of God and the entrance of the pilgrim fulfil the holy requirements of the sanctuary. The function of נשא, then, is to “interlock” (verzahnen) these two entrances further. To quote:

The 'ascension' and 'standing' of the pilgrim (before YHWH) (v. 3) must be in inner accordance with the (antecedent) 'coming/entrance' of YHWH (v. 7c; 9c). [*]

In my opinion, this interpretation of the significance of נשא seems forced and Weber's interpretation of the broader relation between the stanzas themselves appears untenable.

First, the significance of נשא:

1. It is hard to imagine that נשא in v. 4b can adequately represent the ethical requirements of the pilgrim. It is only one for four stated requirements, inconspicuously hidden in the middle of a tricolon.

2. Seen from a different angle, the יִשָּׂא of v. 5a could (on the traditional reading of the syntax of these verses, cf. Waltke-O'Connor, §31.6.2) certainly refer to the future consequence of the actions and states represented in v. 4. It relates however, to the whole verse, and not just to 4b.

3. Can שְׂאוּ/וְֽהִנָּשְׂאוּ represent Yhwh's entrance to the sanctuary? It could do, perhaps, but even if it did, it does not parallel the use of נשא in vv. 4-5, as there they predicate the one entering the sanctuary, whereas here they predicate the sanctuary itself. This is particularly troublesome if the supposed function of the repetition of this root is to highlight the parallel conditions that both entrants must fulfil.

4. The verb seems to have such different meanings in each occurrence. In the first occurrence (v. 4) it is part of an idiom about either using God's name in vain (cf. Exod 20:7) or worshipping false idols; in the second (v. 5a) it refers to the reception of blessing, in the final usages (vv. 7 and 9) it refers to the lifting of the heads of gates.

In short, it would seem that any direct connections between the uses of this root in Ps 24 are non-existent. Even at the auditory level there is no connection: the different moods (subjunctive/indicative, imperative), stems (qal, Nifal), conjugations (3rd person singular; 2nd person plural), and voice (active, passive) all sound very different.

Secondly: the broader relations between the stanzas (i.e. the perceived parallel in qualities required of both pilgrim and the Lord, the former following on the heels of the latter). Apart from the (IMHO) untenable view that God enters the temple before the pilgrim, there seems to be little that connects the requirements for their entrance. On the contrary, the two are strongly contrasted with each other. Whereas the pilgrim must fulfil ritual and ethical requirements as found in the Torah, God mustn't do anything, he's the King. When pushed, he lists his military attributes, which are hardly ethical requirements found in Torah. In addition to this, these attributes are not required by anyone, they're just stated as self-evident signs of authority and power. In the end, it would seem that it is not the attributes that gets him in but his special title: the Lord of Hosts (v. 10b). Again, even the nature of the dialogue is very different: the former consists of serene (or is it yearning?) question and answer, the latter consists of self-confident demand and resistant response.

So, we are still left with the question: can we attribute significance to the repetition of נשא, one that accords with a basic semantic sense purposely placed in each instance?

[*] Mit dem (vorgängigen) “Kommen/Einziehen JHWHs (7c.9c.) muss das “Hinaufziehen” und “(vor ihm) Stehen” der Pilger (3) in innerer Übereinstimmung stehen.

Spurgeon on the Psalms

"None but the Holy Spirit can give man the key to the Treasury of David; and even he gives it rather to experience than to study. Happy he who for himself knows the secret of the Psalms. In these busy days, it would be greatly to the spiritual profit of Christians if they were more familiar with the Book of Psalms, in which they would find a complete armory for life's battles, and a perfect supply for life's needs."

Amen.

[HT: Logos website]

Questions to ask a Biblical poem

As anyone who follows this blog will have noticed by now, I am working on an interpretation of Psalm 24, trying to take into account its textual, poetic, historical, literary, and theological dimensions (have I missed a dimension? For posts to date go here). One "means of entry" to the Psalm that I have been using is a list of questions that the Dutch Hebrew scholar Jan Fokkelman believes we ought to pose any example of Biblical poetry (I've got to question 11 so far; the most fruitful for Ps 24 was question 1). I thought I'd share them here and ask if anyone thinks an important question has been left out, or whether a question posed ought to be fine tuned:

1.Who is speaking, an “I” or a “we”? Can we picture this lyrical subject? Does it change in the course of the poem?

2.Whom is the lyrical subject addressing? Is the addressee visible in the text, or can we put a face to him/her? Does the addressee change? Do we encounter apostrophe?

3.How long are the sentences? Check every time whether the syntactic unit coincides with the colon, the verse, or even a strophe. In other words: does enjambment occur?

4.Which verb tenses are used? Are the various tenses (present, past, future) distributed over the strophes?

5.a.Which modes are used besides the indicative?1 Wishes, commands, exclamations?
b. Are there actions, or descriptions of qualities?

6.How do space and time function in the lyrical world?

7.Can a diagram be drawn of the relations between the lyrical characters—for instance, a triangle such as me-God-enemy?

8.How long are cola and verses, generally?

9.a. How much parallelism (both semantic and morphological) is there between half-verses? Ask yourself regularly if the “A, what's more, B” rule applies.
b. How much parallelism exists between the verses? And between the strophes?

10.Try to find the demarcation of strophes and stanzas. What devices does the poet use to create these units? Are there any boundary markers?

11.Is the cohesion of the strophe internal or external? Try to indicate the nature of the internal cohesion.

12.a. Does the poet use simile?
b. Metaphors?
c. Metonymy? Synechdoche? Symbols?

13.How are the verses related in regard to meaning?

14.And the strophes? Are they steps in a line of argument?

15.How does the theme develop? Is a specific line of thought followed?

16.What are the keywords?

17.Be sensitive to contrasts, oppositions, and transitions.

18.Try to make the most of various forms of repetition by listening for it and testing the function of variation-in-repetition.

Powerful readings of R. Alter's Psalms translation on BCC Radio 4.

Ros of Conversational Theology has just posted a link to a most beautiful edition of BBC Radio 4's Poetry Please. The evening is entirely dedicated to the Psalms, read out of both the King James Version Bible and the recent translation by renowned Hebrew scholar Robert Alter. The readings are by experts and, for me at least, open up the Psalms in a new way. Henry Goodman's reading of Psalm 22 was just breathtaking. I highly recommend investing about 30 minutes of your time just to enjoy these recordings and discover the Psalms anew. You better hurry though, you only have another six days to listen to them.

Translating a qatal/yiqtol sequence in Ps 24:2 (drawing on Niccacci)

Ps 24:2 reads as follows:

כִּי־הוּא עַל־יַמִּים יְסָדָהּ

וְעַל־נְהָרוֹת יְכוֹנְנֶהָ

We have here a typical example of a qatal // yiqtol sequence, often found in Hebrew poetry, much to the frustration of translators. That qatal refers to the past is clear, but how do we translate the yiqtol (underlined)?

A translation found in some of the older commentators (Briggs, Kittel, Bäthgen) translates it in the present tense:

for he has founded it upon the seas
and upon the rivers he establishes it.

(Bäthgen even saw cosmological significance in the distinction:"Das Perf. יסדה geht auf die Schöpfung, das Imperf. יכוננה auf die Erhaltung.”).

But this isn't the view of most modern scholars. Gesenius opted for an even more unlikely translation: he lists יכוננה as an example of the frequentive use of yiqtol in the past rather than the present (§107.1a; giving the odd translation: "was continually being established").

All English translations, including most modern commentators, translate it in the past ("established").

I'm trying to grasp this from the perspective of Alviero Niccacci's fascinating essay (Eisenbrauns, 2006) which, as far as I can see, is the first attempt to consistently translate the verbs in poetry along the same lines as in prose. It would appear that for Niccacci, yiqtol never refers to the present. The present tense is always referenced by either a verbless or a participle clause. This leaves us with yiqtol for either the future or the past. The future translation is well known (e.g. Ps 6:10: “The Lord has heard my supplication; the Lord will accept my prayer). When the qatal/yiqtol sequence refers to the past,

they signal a shift from main-line, punctual information (qatal) to secondary-line, repeated/habitual/explicatory/descriptive information” (yiqtol), p. 253.

So, in sum, on Niccacci's reading, יְכוֹנְנֶהָ

1. cannot be present (because yiqtol never refers to the present);
   
2. could theoretically be future, except that it is excluded due to the context (i.e. it doesn't make sense; are there formal indicators as well?)
   
3. is probably past, and given the semantics in the Psalm probably either communicates either secondary-line descriptive or explicatory information. If explicatory, it wishes to clarify the process by which God founded the earth on the seas; if descriptive, it wishes to represent the event more “graphically,” even to “celebrate” it, giving the event “depth of field” (to uses Niccacci's terms). Here, the yiqtol would have a “relief function.”

The best translation for this that I can think of is the gerundive, which expresses the "dynamicity” of an action, i.e.:

for he has founded it upon the seas
establishing it upon the rivers.

My questions:

1. Does Niccacci's theory hold water?
2. Does the gerund do justice to the form?
3. What's your favourite translation?

By the way: in a footnote, Niccacci notes that a first attempt was made in this direction in his article "Syntactic Analysis of Jonah," which, thankfully, is available online.

Bibliography for the verbal system in Biblical Hebrew poetry

I recently posted a request for tips on resources for this topic to two Internet discussion groups dedicated to Biblical studies: Jim West's Biblical Studies List and The Biblicalist. I've decided to collect their suggestions here, along with what I've discovered for myself. I'd appreciate any updates.

Adele Berlin, “Grammatical Aspects of Biblical Parallelism,” in Hebrew Union College Annual 50 (1979), 17-43.

Peter C. Craigie, "Excursus II: The Translation of Tenses in Hebrew Poetry," in vol. 19, Word Biblical Commentary (2nd ed.; Word Biblical Commentary Nashville, Tenn.: Nelson Reference & Electronic, 2004), 110-113.

Fensham, FC. "The Use of the Suffix Conjugation and the Prefix Conjugation in a Few Old Hebrew Poems," in Journal of Northwest Semitic Languages 6 (1978), 9-18.

J. C. L. Gibson, “The Anatomy of Hebrew Narrative Poetry,” in Understanding Poets and Prophets: Essays in Honor of George Wishart Anderson, edited by A. G. Auld (JSOTSup 152, Sheffield: JSOT Press, 1993), 146-47

M. Held, “The YQTL-QTL (QTL-YQTL) Sequence of Identical Verbs in Biblical Hebrew and Ugaritic,” in Studies and Essays in Honor of Abraham A. Neuman, edited by M. Ben-Horin et al. (Leiden: Brill, 1962) 285-86.

See P. D. Miller, “The Theological Significance of Biblical Poetry,” in Language, Theology, and the Bible: Essays in Honor of James Barr, edited by S. E. Balentine and J. Barton (Oxford: Claredon Press, 1994), 221-22.

Alviero Niccacci. "Syntactic Analysis of Jonah." Liber Annuus 46 (1996), 26-31.

_____. “Poetic Syntax and Interpretation of Malachi.” Liber Annuus 51 (2001): 55-107.

_____."The Biblical Hebrew Verbal System in Poetry" in Biblical Hebrew in Its Northwest Semitic Setting: Typological and Historical Perspectives (Eisenbrauns, 2006).

Diethelm Michel, Tempora und Satzstellung in den Psalmen, Bonn 1960, § 36 (p. 249).

Cristian Gheorghe Rata, The Verbal System in the Book of Job (Unpublished doctoral dissertation; University of Toronto, 2003).

Silviu Tatu. "The rhetorical interpretation of the yiqtol//qatal (qatal//yiqtol) verbal sequence in classical Hebrew poetry and its research history," in Transformation 23/1 (2006), 17-23.

_____. The Qatal//Yiqtol (Yiqtol//Qatal) Verbal Sequence in Semitic Couplets: A Case Study in Systemic Functional Grammar with Applications on the Hebrew Psalter and Ugaritic Poetry (Eisenbrauns, 2008).

What is the Psalter?

Based on positioning of the "framing" Psalms (Rahmenpsalmen) 1-2 and 146-150, here is Erich Zenger's answer, first in English (my translation) and then in the German original:

It is

a praise of the divine, universal rule of Yhwh, which he desires to assert in an act of eschatological judgement. This rule is grounded in Tora and creation, and will be asserted by means of both his (messianic) king (cf. Ps 2), who Yhwh has established in Zion, as well as his messianic people (cf. Ps 149, who exist amongst the nations (cf. especially Ps 2:10-12 and Ps 150, but also Ps 148).

Es ist ein

Lobpreis der universalen in Schöpfung und Tora grundgelegten Gottesherrschaft (vg. besonders Ps 2,10-12 und Ps 150, aber auch Ps 148) ... , die Jhwh durch seinen auf dem Zion eingesetzten (messianischen) König (vgl. Ps 2) und durch sein messianisches Volk (vg. ps 149) inmitten der Völkerwelt in einem eschtatalogischem Gericht durchsetzen will. [*]

Three questions:

1) How is my translation? This seems to be an example of the marvelous German ability to pack a lot of concepts into one sentence. I had no trouble understanding it but struggled with the translation.

2) Is it true? I certainly want to believe it.

3) How does this quote relate to the image (I don't know who it's by; I just typed eschatological judgement into google image)?

[*] Zenger, Einleitung.

Update: If this topic interests you I'd recommend peeking at the comments. John Anderson's are pariticularly informative, as I'm learning to expect! There is also an very interesting dialogue on this on Richard's blog here.

When was the Psalter closed?

John Anderson of Hesed we'emet has shared some extremely informative insights in the comments section of this post. I thought I'd share them here and add a few thoughts by Erich Zenger from his Einleitung:

Re: the closing of the Psalter, I used to have this information very much at the tip of my mind, but alas, much of it has gone away. Here, though, is how I would respond:

The issue is of course a complex one, especially with the Qumran material now in play. Wilson's The Editing of the Hebrew Psalter notes three possibilities with the Qumran evidence in mind: 1) a sequential linkage [i.e. 11QPsa-->MT150]; 2) parallel collection [i.e., 11QPsa a more inclusive collection, with MT 150 becoming official canon at the end of the first century CE]; 3) MT 150 stabilized prior to the 4th century BCE [thus making the Qumran material of a different sort]. The Qumran pss material certainly seems to point to a fixity for Books I-III early on, and a greater fluidity with Books IV-V even into the first century. This issue is compounded all the more, I think, by how one understands the Qumran community (just how 'sectarian' are they?) and, more importantly, what constitutes scripture for them? I would argue the Qumran community certainly has a much looser view of Scripture (see, for instance, the double citation and intentional alteration of 'scripture' in two lemmata in the Habakkuk pesher (1QpHab), or even the many Rewritten Scripture texts, or Genesis Apocryphon, or Jubilees), and thus it is conceivable to me--but still equivocal--that the Qumran pss material may not be decisive in solving the question . . . but it is no doubt seminal.

Peter Flint, in his The Dead Sea Psalms Scrolls and The Book of Psalms argues that the corrections in 4Qpse suggestion an earlier edition (11QPsa) that was corrected toward a text similar to the MT. He thus sees three editions of the Psalter at Qumran: 1) early edition [Pss 1/2-89] used before the founding of the community ca. 150 BCE; 2) Edition IIA [11QPsa], which has scriptural status; Pss 90ff joined with Edition I before the Qumran period by those advocating the solar calendar; 3) Edition IIB [the MT 150], completed prior to the Qumran period. Flint also points out that the fact the MT arrangement is attested in a LXX trans in the second half of the 2nd century BCE corroborates this view).

Two other views deserve brief mention. Patrick Skehan sees 11QPsa as dependent upon MT 150. George Brooke argues that Books I-III are stable in the early Second Temple period, but Books IV-V compiled at a later date (cf. Wilson).

Now that I've done my history of scholarship (wink) . . . it seems to me the Qumran evidence provides a terminus ad quem of around the first century CE. But the LXX attests to a period a few centuries earlier. This point, however, cannot be an unequivocal terminus ante quem . . . one would have to go back further and have other mss. evidence to corroborate. There are, though, compelling arguments for reading the Psalter in a post exilic (Persian?) context. That said, I would conclude with two provisional points.

1) The Psalter achieved its final canonical form sometime between, roughly, the 4th century BCE-1st century CE. A huge span of time, but right now, without doing further reading to refresh my memory, I don't feel safe getting any more specific.

2) 11QPsa--and other Qumran pss material--likely knew and derived from at the very least a well established Books I-III, or perhaps even the entire MT 150.

Here are some additional thoughts from Erich Zenger, who tries to narrow the time frame down to 200-150 BCE. History of thought issus seem to play a significant role:

1) The editorially placed Psalter framework (Pss 1-2 and 146-150) reflect the language and theology found in Jesus Sirach (175 BCE).

2) The same goes for Qumran's wisdom text musar lammebin and the "Book of Mysteries" (Tora wisdom, eschatology, ethnic-cosmological dualism, praise of God).

3) The Qumran Pesher 4QMidr.Eschat(a ) (71-63 BCE) combines the sequence of Ps 1:1 and Ps 2:1f. with other Biblical quotes and applies them eschatologically to the Qumran community. For the order of the Psalter to have had such authority, A. Lange reckons it must have accepted with the grounding of the community in 152 BCE.

4) The LXX translation (Jerusalem, 100 BCE?) affirms the MT ordering and the number of Psalms.

5) The paleographic manuscript Masada Psalms b (2 half of 1st cent. BCE) confirms the order.

6) The differing order in 11QPs [a], could, as you say, be due to liturgical usage. It may even have been made to compete with the MT, which would just confirm the dating.

My first 'sermon' (Psalm 34)

My mother-in-law recently celebrated her 70th birthday. The entire "tribe" got together and spent a weekend at the North Sea to celebrate. One part of the celebrations consisted in a Andacht we held in the evening, which consisted of worship and a kind of retrospective of her difficult life. My parents-in-law are Russian-Germans, which means that they are Germans who grew up in Russia under Stalin. A major part of their lives has consisted in persecution, segregation, and deprivation. Throughout this, they have maintained their faith in God and passed this faith on to a new generation. My contribution to the evening was the short "sermon" I held on Psalm 34: 1-11,18-20,23 (plus superscription!). Here it is:

Liebe Alice, lieber Waldemar,

David wurde von Samuel schon im 1. Sam 16 als König gesalbt, nachdem Gott Saul für seine Sünde verworfen hat. Ab diesem Zeitpunkt war David in Gottes Augen schon der wahre König von Israel. Nichtdestotrotz, hat es lange gedauert bevor diese Wirklichkeit sichtbar werden konnte. Inzwischen wurde David von Saul durch ganz Israel gejagt. David musste viel in seinem Leben leiden, und ich kann mir vorstellen, dass es ihm schwer gefallen ist zu glauben, dass er der wahre König war. Er war der König, aber für lange blieb es nur eine Verheißung. Er war schon gesalbt, aber noch nicht eingesetzt. Dieser Psalm ist in dieser Situation enstanden—diese spannungsvolle Zeit zwischen der Verklärung seiner Königschaft und das sichtbare Eintreten dessen Wirklichkeit. Die Geschichte können wir nachlesen im 1. Sam 21:10-15:

Und David machte sich auf und floh an jenem Tage vor Saul und kam zu Achis, dem König von Gat. Da sprachen Achis' Knechte zu ihm: Ist das nicht David, der König des Landes? Ist das nicht der, von welchem sie im Reigen Sangen: “Saul hat seine Tausend geschlagen, David aber seine Zehntausend!” Diese Worte nahm sich David zu Herzen und fürchtete sich sehr vor Achis, dem König zu Gat. Und er verstellte sich vor ihnen und raste unter ihren Händen und kratzte an den Türflügeln, und ließ den Speichel in seinen Bart fließen. Da sprach Achis zu seinen Knechten: Ihr seht doch, daß der Mann verrückt ist? Was bringt ihr ihn denn zu mir? Fehlt es mir etwa an Verrückten, daß ihr diesen Mann hergebracht habt, damit er gegen mich tobe? Sollte der in mien Haus kommen?

Der wahre König Israels sucht Zuflucht vor dem Falschen. Er muss sich vor den Heiden verrückt verhalten, um überhaupt überleben zu können. Was für ein Paradox! Wieso lässt Gott das zu? Irgendwie ist Davids Erfahrung ein geheimnisvolles Muster für alle Kinder Gottes —Königskinder, die so leben müssen, als ob diese Wirklichkeit gar nicht stimmen würde. Laut der Bibel, sind alle von uns in diesem Raum Gottes Kinder. Wir werden eines Tages leuchten wie die Sterne und neben unserem Vater auf Thronen sitzen. Er wird uns eine Krone geben und reine, weiße Kleider. Diese zukünftige Wirklichkeit gilt uns jetzt. Wir sind jetzt Könige, auch wenn es nicht so aussieht. Auch wenn es leicht ist zu glauben, dass die dunklen Mächten dieser Welt die wahren Herrscher sind. Dieses können wir von David lernen: nicht aufzugeben, an unsere wahre Identität zu glauben; “am Ball” bleiben, in Gehorsam und Vertrauen, bis die Wirklichkeit eintritt.
Aber David hat uns viel mehr zu sagen! Wir können viel mehr von ihm lernen. Nicht nur hat er an der Verheißung festgehalten, trotz seiner alltäglichen Erfahrungen, er hat auch immer wieder “geschmeckt, dass der Herr gut ist” (Ps 34, 9). Auch bevor er König wurde, hat er erfahren, dass der Herr ihm antwortete und ihn errettete (V. 5). Wie David müssen wir oft durch das finstere Todestal gehen, bevor wir endlich ans Ziel kommen. Aber, wie wir in diesem Psalm sehen, gab es immer wieder Hoffnungszeichen. Der Herr handelt! Auch jetzt, vor der Vollendung aller Dinge, kann Gott uns erretten “aus aller unser Furcht” (V. 6). Auch im Jammertal des Lebens gibt es genug Gelegenheiten für unsere Gesichter zu strahlen (V. 6). Wir sind nicht allein und dürfen erfahren, dass Gott wirklich bei denen ist, “die ihn fürchten”.

David hat mal gelitten, mal gejubelt. Und was tut er, wenn er jubelt? In diesem Psalm sehen wir, dass er an diejenigen denkt, die elend sind! Wie er sagt: “Meine Seele rühme sich des Herrn; die Elenden sollen es hören und sich freuen” (V. 3). Seine Heilserfahrung wird zum Anlass, diejenigen zu ermutigen, die immer noch im Dunkeln sitzen. Er kann ihr Leid vielleicht nicht theologisch erklären; er kann keine einfache Antwort geben, wieso sie so elend sind. Aber er kann aus eigener Erfahrung sagen: “Bleib am Ball! Gebt nicht auf! Suchet den Herrn mit aller Kraft und er wird Handeln. Ich weiß es und verspreche es euch!” Und so wird David, durch sein Leid hindurch, zum Vorbild für Andere, die seinen schwierigen Weg noch nicht gegangen sind. Sie können auf ihn schauen und Hoffnung bekommen, dass Gott auch für sie eintreten wird.

Und das, liebe Alice und Waldemar, seid ihr für uns (oder mich zumindest). Ihr habt vielleicht nicht viel gelernt in der russischen Schule, aber ihr habt viel gelernt in der Schule des Lebens—und Gott war euer Lehrer. Deshalb danken wir euch, dass ihr, wie David, nicht aufgegeben habt, nie vergessen habt, wer ihr wirklich seid und dadurch ein Licht geworden seid für eine neue Generation. Ich hoffe und bete, dass wir das auch werden können für unsere Kinder. Die Welt braucht solche Menschen.

Delitzsch on "narrative and ontology" in the Psalms

... if "narrative and ontology" is the right term. Perhaps the distinction between the immanent and economic Trinity would be more appropriate. Here's the quote:

Die Kirche, indem sie die Ps[almen] betet, feiert die Einheit der zwei Testamente, und die Wissenschaft, indem sie die Ps[almen] auslegt, gibt der Unterschiedenheit des alten und des neuen Testaments die Ehre. Sie sind beide in ihrem Rechte, jene indem sie die Ps[almen] im Lichte des Einen wesentlichen Heils betrachtet, diese indem sie die heilsgeschichtlichen Zeiten und Erkenntnisstufen auseinanderhält (Biblischer Kommentar über die Psalmen, Leipzig 1883, p. 64).

In the final analysis, the institutions of Church and Academy should not be completely separated from each other, and infact should not even be defined solely in terms of their focus on either the sensus literalis or spiritualis. Both institutions should be interested in both dimensions of the text. How can anyone be interested in particularity to the exclusion of unity, or vice versa?

Jüngel on Psalm 24

This post represents my summary of the logical content of an early Advent sermon on Psalm 24:7-10, preached by Eberhard Jüngel (in Predigten, 1965). I have my critiques. I think his overly existentialist inerpretation of the substance of Scripture biases his appropriation of the Psalm for his congregation. But feel free to give me your thoughts:

The text allocated to Jüngel to preach on is not the whole Psalm, rather it is only its third and final strophe. He thus takes its content as the starting point for the sermon. He is aware, however, of the Psalm as a literary unity and so brings in the first two strophes as they bear on the message of the third.

His logic seems to go through four stages, each dealing with the concept of “gates” and “God” alternately, moving in the following order: gate, God, gate, God.

Gate 1: He opens with thoughts on the nature of gates in general: they serve both to guarantee and to deny access to a place beyond them. In particular, when the world beyond the gate and the world in front of it clash, then the gate remains closed. It functions as a barrier and not an entrance.

In our text we also have two “worlds” that are about to meet each other, separated for now by a gate. Their identity is supplied by two types of “inter-textual” connections. No doubt drawing on key words in strophe 2 (hill of the Lord/holy place), as well as critical scholarship,1 Jüngel concludes that, in one sense, the world beyond the gate is the interior of the temple. He does, however, think that this designates the true referent of the text. Drawing on the logic of Biblical theology, he believes that the interior of the temple represents the created order. This is a nuance it gains when it is seen elsewhere in the Bible as the centre of the cosmos, a resonance that seems to be affirmed by the creation theology of strophe 1. In conclusion, the gate provides access to the world of humanity.

God 1: The identity of the person in front of the gate is provided by the immediate context of the strophe: it is “the Lord of hosts.” This immediate identification, however, does not immediately speak to Jüngel's “the clash of two worlds” scheme, so he turns to strophe 1, which identifies Yhwh as creator of the cosmos. As such, the one desiring entrance into the world is its own creator.

This creates an odd, “spectral,” scenario: the Lord wishes to enter a temple devoid of his presence, a Godless world. If he stays outside, the world will remain like a “spectre,” devoid of its true life. What ever metaphysical questions this dichotomy may raise, however, are ignored by the Psalm, whose focus is thoroughly theocentric. What matters is what is going on in front of the temple.

Strophe 3 depicts quite a fanfare, as a mighty warrior demands entrance. Jüngel relativises this, however, by reading it in the light of strophe 2. God isn't the only one desiring access, humanity desires this too. Their means of access is a moral lifestyle. Jüngel believes that the direct juxtaposition of the two strophes leads to the conclusion that the Lord's means of access parallels that of humanity (“Auf dem Weg der Menschen zum Heiligtum kommt Gott daher”). He too must wait outside, before the doors are opened from the inside. Jüngel even goes as far as to say that he submits himself to the rules of humanity, standing to justify himself at the door. In short, the fighter comes, but he doesn't fight.

Gate 2: Jüngel then attempts to “get to the heart of the matter.” He returns to his pontifications about the function of gates. Working on the assumption that it is the function of the gate that is the key to its true significance, Jüngel seeks out similar barriers or entrances that function as metaphorical gates. He concludes with the gate of the human heart, which is, in some sense, the “ultimate” gate (“Auch an diese Tür und an sie vor allem klopft der Adventspsalm”). In terms of relationships, we can open ourselves up and be transformed by someone else, or bar them from access. This is our decision. The gates of the temple, then, which are the gates to the created order, become the gates of our hearts. Jüngel even draws allegorical significance from the command that the gates be “lifted up”: “Wer sich Gott öffnet … der muß sich ihm ganz aufschließen.”

God 2: Having identified the true temple, Jüngel returns to the person desiring access. He is not only the Creator of the Universe who has come along the path of his own creation, he is a mighty warrior, the Lord of Hosts. Jüngel draws two conclusions from this, one for each appellation. Interpreted in the light of an anthropomorphised temple, Jüngel considers the paradox that this warrior does not fight his way into our lives. He waits for us to accept him. If this is done, he can be a warrior for us rather than against us. Finally, this warrior leads not an earthly army, but a heavenly host. Granting access into our lives of this heavenly leader permits us to participate in his divine life.

Given that Jüngel's theological hermeneutic requires the exegete/preacher to so interpret the text that he is "left alone with it," what do you think? Is this a faithful exposition?