How to Read Paul

I linked to Childs' latest posthumous book on Paul lately, but didn't say anything about the content. Here's the blurb:

Brevard Childs here turns his sharp scholarly gaze to the works of the apostle Paul and makes an unusual argument: the New Testament was canonically shaped, its formation a hermeneutical exercise in which its anonymous apostles and postapostolic editors collected, preserved, and theologically shaped the material in order for the evangelical traditions to serve successive generations of Christians. Childs contends that within the New Testament the Pauline corpus stands as a unit bookended by Romans and the Pastoral Epistles. He assigns an introductory role to Romans, examining how it puts the contingencies of Paul’s earlier letters into context without sacrificing their particularity. At the other end, the Pastoral Epistles serve as a concluding valorization of Paul as the church’s doctrinal model. By considering Paul’s works as a whole, Childs offers a way to gain a fuller understanding of the individual letters.

I will be focusing my doctorate on the Psalms, but I think in some ways this collection of books parallels the Pauline epistles. Unlike the interwoven traditions that make up the Pentateuch, the Psalms are quite evidently individual units. Nevertheless, the canonical shape of the Psalter coerces a particular kind of reading that brings to light each Psalm's true theological content, while not sacrificing its particularity. I look forward to reading this latest book from the blesséd master (pbuh).

Daniel Driver lists the table of contents here.

God/Jesus and God/Scripture

I'd like to draw attention to a helpful exchange on the function of Scripture in Barth's theology. Two Barth experts (Glen and WTM) kindly resonded to my question here on the meaning of Scripture's becoming the word of God in virtue of "the actuality of revelation." Particularly helpful is this summary of Barth's logic:

The relationship between Jesus' humanity and divinity is paradigmatic of but different in kind from any other relation between God and humanity. It is paradigmatic for this relation because it shows us how God relates to us; and it is different in kind because Jesus is the eternal Son incarnate.

Out of the question is anything that would make the biblical text another incarnation in any sense. So, any stability that we seek between the work of the Spirit and the biblical text must be different in kind than the relationship between God and humanity in the incarnation, which means that it is another case of that relationship paradigmatically demonstrated in the incarnation.

What is that paradigm? Conceptually speaking, Chalcedon: a unity in distinction of divine and human. Outside the incarnation, however, the fully human part is always true but the fully divine part never is. Instead, we have something like "fully human, use instrumentally by God."

Now, there can be degrees of this instrumental use. The special authority and stability of Scripture, which places it beyond the dead dog, is tied to the relation of God's activity to it.

This activity proceeds, accompanies and follows. It proceeds in that Jesus grants teaching authority to the disciples (NT at least, you need an account of prophets for the OT), teaches them, etc. It accompanies in the Spirit's inspirational and guiding work as the authors write. It follows in that the Spirit employs what the authors produced as an instrument to quicken us.

Now, it could very well be true - and in a sense it is - that the Spirit acts in analogous ways with our dead dog. But, what the dead dog lacks is Jesus' commission. Thus, it is on account of the authority granted to the apostles - ratified by the continual witness of the Spirit to the biblical text; what Calvin called Scripture's self-authentication - that it must have pride of place, and indeed sole normative status (Barth is a Protestant, after all) for church and Christians.

That is how I think Barth's logic goes.

Thanks guys!

Political narcissism

Scott Stephens has written an interesting analysis of Barack Obama's campaign approach, entitled: The dangers of Obamania: why Barack Obama is bringing out the worst in the American public. For me, as someone who isn't following current events in the U.S. as much as I should be, the following quote was both shocking and sickening ... I don't want to be overly apocalyptic, but it seems to me that with an attitude like this Obama is simply affirming a fatal blindness that caused Bush to plunge America into its current crisis. Not that I don't think America can't be a force for good in the world, but this ... ?

And notice the way Obama expresses himself in the closing paragraph of his speech on the night of the last Democratic primary (3 June 2008):

‘I am absolutely certain that generations from now, we will be able to look back and tell our children that this was the moment ... when the rise of the oceans began to slow and our planet began to heal; this was the moment when we ended a war and secured our nation and restored our image as the last, best hope on Earth. This was the moment—this was the time—when we came together to remake this great nation so that it may always reflect our very best selves, and our highest ideals.’

Doesn’t this demonstrate that, far from representing a seismic shift in the political landscape, Obama’s campaign is little more than a vulgar repetition of Reagan’s political narcissism? And to this extent, isn’t Obama’s message of change simply an appeal to latent antiestablishment sentiment among the public, and thus a craven affirmation of the status quo? No one has framed these concerns with more precision than Shelby Steele, who insists that Obama is ‘neither a revolutionary nor even a reformist’, but rather a gifted politician who is ‘simply infatuated with the possibilities of his own skin color within the world as it is’, and whose genius ‘is to know his currency within the status quo’. One can’t blame Obama for being such a politician; but neither should we confuse his campaign language with the kind of change that America so desperately needs.

Die Natur der >Regula Fidei< bei Irenäus

Die "regula fidei," oder mit dem bei Irenäus gebrauchten Terminus "regula vertatis," bezieht sich immer auf das Ursprüngliche, auf das, was von Anfang an feststeht und als eine unveränderliche, unerschütterliche Wahrheit in der Kirche bewahrt wird. Nicht eine im Kampfe gegen die Häresien erfundene oder formulierte Lehrzusammenfassung wird damit gemeint, sondern der Glaube selbst, die Wahrheit selbst, die in der heiligen Schrift, in der Verkündigung des Herrn und der Apostel, geoffenbart und bekanntgemacht worden ist, und in der Taufe einem jeden Christen übergeben und anvertraut wird.

Bengt Hägglund, "Die Bedeutung der "regula fidei" als Grundlage theologischer Aussagen," 4.

The War on Terror: How should Christians respond?

Halden posed the question recently, "What is the most pressing social issue of our time"? His massive response lists a number of concerns: torture, aimlessness, abortion, mammon, individualism, capatilism, paedaphilia, declining church, poverty, celebrity culture, ecological degradation ... I reckon pornography culture should get a mention.

Anyway, this provides me with the intro to the latest book review I posted on Chrisendom. Megoran clearly thinks it is the war on terror.

Nick Solly Megoran, The War on Terror: How Should Christians Respond? (Downders Grove, Ill.: IVP Books), 2007

Conservative Evangelicals have in recent years acquired a reputation for being so individualistic and other-worldly that they have lost sight of Church's obligation to be engaged in the pressing social and moral issues of the present. Whether true or not, Nick Solly Megoran can be seen as an example of a committed Evangelical, rooted in the tradition of Martin Lloyd-Jones and John Stott, for whom this is clearly not the case. His book is a plea to Christians to analyse their gospel and turn to their scriptures in order to face the most important challenge of our age: the War on Terror. His concern is not only to equip Christians to think about war, but also to build them up in their faith in Christ and enable them to witness to the gospel by talking sensibly to non-Christians in the context of discussions about war. This book has therefore a strong devotional and practical dimension. Each chapter opens with a discussion of a particular portion of the Bible and closes with concrete examples of how these biblical principles have been put into practice.

The War on Terror is divided into four sections with a final appendix. In Part one, Megoran gives an account of various responses to the War on Terror, both secular and Christian. The phenomenon of Islamic terrorism has been variously defined as either an “irrational evil” by those on the right or as the result of “government oppression” by those on the left. Both of the main protagonists, Bush and bin Laden, describe the war as one between good and evil. There is also diversity amongst Christians, depending in large part on whether they take up a pacifist or a “just war” position on violence in general. Megoran believes the former is the more biblical, which brings us to Part 2.

The chapters inPart 2 deal with the big questions raised by the war on terror. The first concerns the realism of Jesus' command that we should love our enemies (Mt. 5:9, 38-48). While not wanting to undermining the difficulty of this command, Megoran believes it is the only way to demonstrate the true nature of God and bring about genuine transformation. Just as God has reconciled to himself us who were once his enemies, so we are called to demonstrate the same grace to our enemies. We are liberated by the experience and empowered by the Spirit to do so. In other words, the key to the solution of war is the gospel of justification by faith (44). Reconciliation with God is good news for everyone: terrorists, superpowers, ourselves and the world.

The second question raised by the War on Terror is why God allows such violence to occur in the first place. Though the Bible gives us no answers, the prophet Jeremiah (Jer 4.11-27) represented war as the undoing of God's creation and thus contrary to God's will. Jeremiah promised a new age in which the kingdom of God would be established and there would be no war. The reality of this future kingdom was initiated by Christ, who has reunited us with God. This reality is demonstrated today, in anticipation of its final consummation, wherever his kingdom of peace, justice and righteousness is proclaimed and lived out. This is the task of the church in an age of terror, as illustrated by the early church in Carthage.

Part 3 turns to the practical issue of how the church can concretely “proclaim and live out” Christ's rule. A key concept here is that of “citizenship” (Phil 3:12-21; Jer 29:1-23). Christians have to negotiate between two allegiences: to the state and to heaven. We are to seek the peace and prosperity of the state, which has the divinely instituted role of promoting virtue and preventing vice. On the other hand, the fact that God is our true king means that we are ultimately answerable to a different set of rules. It is these kinds of citizens that the world needs for true peace to reign. Examples are given of Christian responses to U.S. support of Nicaraguan terrorists in the 1980's and the French priest André Trocmé.

Indeed, the gospel as the creation of a community of divinely reconciled sinners creates the conditions for overcoming the idolatry of nationalism. This reconciliation between different peoples is the outworking of God's plan for history, as can be seen in Acts 10.1-23, in the work of post-war Polish and German Bishops and in the movement Reconciliation Walk.

Before we can work for unity in the world, however, we need to work for unity within the church. This is our proof to the world that we have been forgiven and have peace with God. Phil 4:2-9 provides us with five principles for conflict management within the church, which can also be applied to the international scene, as demonstrated by the work of MRA and the LWF in Guatemala.

A role model for being a “citizen of heaven” is ironically provided by Jos 5:13-6.27: the battle of Jericho. This violent story, however, has to be interpreted within the framework of God's big plan. The invasion of Canaan was the task of Israel under the old covenant, where citizenship was understood in earthly terms and so violence was necessary. When it is understood that we are now under a covenant of grace rather law, we are free to spiritualize the story and draw the correct principles. The goal of invasion was to create holiness, a land devoid of whatever is contrary to God. The means for doing so was faith. Examples of these principles in practice are provided by John Paton and Tom Skinner.

The final question concerns hope in the face of the threat of death. On the one hand, Ps 116 assures us that God actually works to save us from literal death in concrete situations, with the result that the church in general is strengthened. Megoran gives examples of deliverance from terrorists, brutal regimes and weapons of mass destruction. Nevertheless, often the saints do die (see v 15). Even then, their knowledge that death has lost its sting enables them to be witnesses to Christian hope, as the Evangelical church in Beslan has been able to do.

Part 4 brings the baisc theme together. Like Jeremiah, who bought a field despite immanent exile (Jer 32-33), we need to engage in prophetic acts, pointing people to a reality that transcends what is visible now. The work of FFRME and CPT are held up as varied examples. We need to follow Paul's example (Acts 27:17-31), who despite his hopeless situation in prison preached the kingdom and taught Jesus, held as he was by his vision of God's great plan (as Horatio Spafford and Rev. Mehdi Dibaj did). Ultimately, war is nothing new. It is the manifestation of sin, and so the only solution is the gospel, which justifies us and thus brings peace with God and with neighbour. As we wait for the consummation of Christ's kingdom, our task is to prayerfully read our scriptures, think about the issues raised by war and sin, praise God for what he has done and proclaim it to the world.

Megoran has not written an academic treatise. Though one may question at times his theological argument, that is hardly the point of the book. It is an introduction to the key issues that are a matter of life and death, and as such provides an invaluable reference point in a complex area. Most significantly, it is a call for action, and to that end I found the abundant examples of concrete Christian witness in action helpful, inspiring and at the same time shaming for my own inactivity.

Childs' latest book

Biblische Ausbildung announces a new book by Childs, published post-humously of course. Like the ancient Israelite prophets, may his words outlive him and continue to do their magic.

Jim West adds his criticism of Childs here. I often wonder what it is that drives people to only read Childs' critics. You don't have to agree with him, but surely you should read his responses.

Or am I being unfair?

I don't mean to be. I just get exasperated sometimes.

The Legacy of Xanth: an influential children's book

John Hobbins has recently started a blogathon dealing with children’s books that have influenced the way we see the world. These are the rules:

Each participant is expected to post on at least one children’s book (or series) that pointed him or her to some truth without which the world and what happens in it would be less transparent. Or perhaps the book simply taught you to ask the right questions. You get the idea.

I think the most important author for me was Piers Anthony, who wrote a science fiction series set in the magical land of Xanth. Xanth is a land of centaurs, dragons and basilisks, where every citizen has a special spell only he or she can cast. I had a vivid imagination and hunger for adventure, so this kind of multifarious reality provided me with ample food for inspiration. The way in which this land had its deepest effect on me, however, was not so much in the reading as in the enacting. I got together with a couple of other avid readers and we somehow managed to convince ourselves that this world actually existed, that one could access it if one had enough faith. Based on our star signs we were allotted an identity. As a Leo I turned out to be a griffin. I forget my particular magic capability, but we had plenty of adventures together, not so much running about reimagining the world in different terms as in closing our eyes and escaping into this alternative dimension of reality.

As time went by and we moved on (to be recently reunited 16 years later by Facebook!), “true reality” slowly got the better of me. I turned my interest to the concrete “imagined worlds” of other cultures and belief systems, which ended in a BA in cultural anthropology. Yet in hindsight I guess the feeling that I was part of something bigger, hidden from the grasp of my intellectual faculties, has never left me. I'm a Christian, so it is inevitable that I perceive reality as a place of intersection between heaven and earth. But given my doctoral studies in “canonical hermeneutics,” perhaps it is the legacy of Xanth that I should try to understand this reality in terms of Scripture's figural depiction of God, Israel and the world.