Wright's Missional Hermeneutic

“It is possible, is it legitimate, is it helpful for Christians to read the whole Bible from the angle of mission? And what happens if they do?” (531). These are the driving questions of Christopher J. H. Wright’s, The Mission of God: Unlocking the Bible’s Grand Narrative. Wright insists that this is not another book attempting to encourage those already engaged in mission or guiltily motivate the unmoved. Instead of an apologetic for missions which usually amounts to “searching the Scriptures for a biblical foundation for mission,” where too often we “find what we brought with us—our own conception of mission, now comfortingly festooned with biblical luggage tags” (37), Wright wants to offer a missional hermeneutic. He argues that the canon itself is “a product of mission in action” (49) in that they witness to a God with a mission to redeem all of creation.

The book moves in four parts. In the first and briefest part, Wright suggests that his missional hermeneutic is built into the framework of the Bible itself. Part two focuses on “The God of Mission” which amounts to his theology via salvation history. He begins with a chapter on God’s revelation to Israel (chap 3) focusing on Exodus and Exile as two key components of Israel’s experience with God. Next, he moves to Jesus as the incarnation of Yahweh (chap 4). The last chapter of part two focuses on distortions of God in idolatry (chap 5). Part three moves from the God with a mission to his chosen people –“the people of mission”. This is the longest section of the book which focuses on how God works through particular people (Abraham, Israel, Jesus), paradigms (Exodus [redemption], Jubilee [restoration]) and covenants (Noah, Abraham, Sinai, David, New) to reach his universal creation. Part four is dedicated to “The Arena of God’s Mission” which is nothing less than the whole earth and all of humanity. The last two chapters (14 & 15) in the fourth part of the book would probably be better bracketed as their own section providing the key texts through which the missional hermeneutic is shaped. The book moves well with nice internal summaries and reminders of the overarching argument.

Christopher Wright has been quipped as the “OT Wright” counterpart to the wildly popular N. T. Wright. The description is a play on the fact that while Nicholas “Tom” Wright is one of the most admired NT scholars in the world, Chris Wright is his OT scholar complement. The two scholars are both British, Cambridge trained, popular among evangelical Christians, active in the church and fairly good writers. Oh, and they have the same last name. The most fruitful similarity, however, is that they are both “big picture” readers of scripture. They are looking for the overarching Story that shines through the radically diverse stories, songs, poems and letters that make up Scripture. The difficulty with this sort of approach is that it is easy to ignore the stories that don’t quite fit the bigger Story that they’ve written. Their widespread popularity and subsequent contempt among the guild of biblical scholarship is due to the fact that while they are susceptible to ignoring the small stories, their versions of the larger Story are pretty good. That and the biblical scholars can be surprisingly petty and proud.

While the book is probably too long, filled with too many and too extended quotations, unsure in its target audience and in need of interaction with historical theologians, it is a marvelous attempt at biblical theology. If you want a book you can put in the hands of someone wondering, “How do I hold this big weird book called the bible together?” (And by the way, I think a lot of people are asking that question). Then this is a great place to point them. Just hope they have the time and patience to read all 535 pages.

How Jewish is your Paul?

At initial glance many readers might find the title of Pamela Eisenbaum's recent book, Paul was not a Christian to be offensive. "What do you mean, Paul was not a Christian?! Paul is not only a Christian but he is the premier Christian." Eisenbaum's intention is not to rob believers of their beloved Apostle, but to understand him in a more historically accurate way.

Typically, Paul's story is told something like this:

Paul was originally a zealous Jew who was persecuting the church, until something utterly miraculous happened: the resurrected Jesus appeared to him. This revelation led to Paul's conversion from Judaism to Christianity, from being a zealous Pharisee to being an unstoppable preacher of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Once converted, he realized the futility of Judaism, with its endless demands of the law, and rejected it. [pg 2]

In contrast, Eisenbaum argues, "Paul lived and died a Jew" [5].

After setting the terms of her discussion [chap. 2], Eisenbaum explains how Paul has come to be read through the lens of conversion from Judaism to Christianity. The chief contributors to the misreading were Augustine and Luther who mistakenly read their own religious experiences into Paul's letters [chap. 3]. Then, she provides a brief history of Paul's relationship to Judaism in recent research that culminates with New Perspective (NP) interpreters [chap. 4]. Though she appreciates what the NP has done for reading Paul as a Jew, Eisenbaum wants to take the NP further into a "radical new perspective" [66]. Her problem with the NP is that she sees it reinforcing too sharp a distinction between Paul prior to his Damascus encounter and afterward.

In order to substantiate her radical new perspective, Eisenbaum spends a few chapters clarifying what Second Temple Jews believed and how porous their social boundaries could be. She begins by describing the common features of the various strands of Second Temple Judaism [chap 5]. She focuses on monotheism, election and Torah as key defining features. She also argues against reading personal redemption as a major feature of Second Temple Judaism. Whereas "Christians assume that personal salvation is the fundamental question of religion—all religion. . . . there is no notion of eternal life . . . in the Hebrew Bible" [89]. Jews were not concerned with life after death because they assumed that the creator God would bring them redemption in history. As a result, they were more concerned with defining Israel–God's chosen people—than salvation.

To follow her chapter on defining Judaism Eisenbaum addresses one of the chief concerns for Second Temple Jews, that is identifying who is in the people of God [chap. 6]. A corollary of this question is what will happen to those outside God's people – Gentiles. She argues that there was a wide variety of answers to these questions ranging from sectarian Jews who were militantly hostile to Gentiles (represented Jubilees and 4QMMT) to Jews who were highly integrated into Greek culture while still maintaining a keen sense of Jewish identity (represented most obviously in Philo). Moving from the general picture of Judaism, Eisenbaum narrows in on the Pharisees [chap 7]. She argues that the Pharisees sought to extended temple purity to everyone, but in more lenient ways than other groups. So, for the Pharisees "The table of every Jew in his home was seen as being like the table of the Lord in the Jerusalem Temple" [130], but their interpretation of purity laws tended to be more lenient than the priests who actually served in the temple. Here, Eisenbaum appeals mostly to the Mishnah and Josephus and then suggests that perhaps Paul's "more flexible view of Torah . . . derive[s] from his training as a Pharisee" [131].

If Paul is a Jew, what about those texts (esp. Gal 1.11-17; Phil 3.2-9) that emphasize the radical discontinuity between his life prior to and after Damascus? It is precisely this question that Eisenbaum addresses in chapter 8. Her answer is that these passages have been misread. The texts are contextually significant to Paul's argument regarding the divine source of his gospel (Gal 1.11-17) and his response to a less educated opposition in Philippi (Phil 3.2-9). So, "the apostle's mystical encounter with the risen Jesus cannot be used as the key to understanding Paul" [142]. In chapters 9-11 Eisenbaum offers her interpretation of Paul as a Jew. She focuses on Paul's Jewish presuppositions which are observable everywhere in his letters [chap 9]. She looks at Paul's monotheism as the key to his conceptual framework [chap 10]. Then, she looks at his specific calling and mission to go to Gentiles as a crucial part of understanding him [chap 11]. These chapters are well worth reading to see the continuity of Paul's thought with Second Temple Judaism.

Finally, in chapters 12-13 Eisenbaum turns to the crucial question of Paul's view of the law. How can she read the passages where Paul makes critical comments about the Torah (esp. Rom 7.5-6, 8-10; Gal 3.23-25; 5.2) in her radically new perspective? To respond to this question she makes five arguments:

1. Paul's audience is composed of Gentiles, "so everything he says about the law applies to Gentiles [only], unless specified otherwise" [216].
   
2. "Torah is for Jews but provides a standard for all" [219].
   
3. "The law is not meant to condemn humanity; it serves a positive pedagogical function" [224].
   
4. There is no inherent opposition between grace and doing good works [233].
   
5. "Jesus saves, but he only saves Gentiles." [242]
   

So, Paul's disparaging remarks about the Law are not really disparaging the law per se, but rather refute imposing Torah on Gentiles. To impose Torah on Gentiles would be to deny the significance of Jesus' faithful activity on cross. But, Torah is still in effect for Jews.

The last chapter of the book responds to the critique that she is presenting a "two ways salvation" [251]. She argues that her view is only a "two ways salvation" from the traditional perspective. Her radically new perspective argues that Paul had no concern for personal salvation, but rather for the imminent redemption of the world. According to Eisenbaum, "Paul's question is, Now that the end of time is at hand, how will God reconcile all people, Jews and Gentiles, collectively?" She sees Paul addressing this question most directly in Romans 9-11, but she offers only a cursory interpretation of the passage [254-55].

I am convinced that Paul remained a Jew throughout his life. So, I agree with the basic thesis of Eisenbaum's book. Still, I consider many of her other specific conclusions about Paul to be incorrect. To put it simply, I radically disagree with the radical new perspective. Consider for example, her treatment of the Pharisees. Eisenbaum only presents the examples of more lenient Pharisees from late evidence and does not interact with the image of Pharisees as strict observers of Torah prevalent in the NT (privileging late sources over earlier ones). She also fails to account for the significant discontinuity in Paul's life after Damascus. Paul certainly saw himself receiving a new calling in the tradition of the Hebrew prophets, but the significance of Jesus in his thought is unprecedented (failure to explain the development of the church). She aligns with Hurtado in regard to Christology, but fails to explain how this might relate to Jews. Does Paul only care that Jews eventually recognize Jesus' significance for Gentiles or does he think that Jesus is the means of communal redemption for both Jews and Gentiles? I think Paul thought Jesus was more significant for Jews than Eisenbaum suggests. Lastly, it seems inconceivable to me that Paul only addressed Gentiles. In fact, the letters where he addresses issues regarding the law (Galatians and Romans) were probably filled with Jewish believers. How else does one explain Paul's extensive use of Jewish scripture to validate his arguments? Though I appreciated her new perspective I think it is too radical.

Is the author’s intention enough?

Merold Westphal does not think so.

Anyone who has ever sat in a small group Bible study knows how hazardous it is to ask, "What do you think this passage means?" Or, perhaps even more dangerous, "What does it mean to you?" These questions open the floodgates of interpretation into a chaos of "To me it means . . .", "I remember when . . .", and "Well, I feel like . . ." Often, the result is interpretive anarchy. Passages of scripture are contorted and manipulated into an "interpretation" that has no grounding in the text. The well-intentioned question becomes an opportunity for people to talk about themselves under the pretense of reading scripture. In the process the Bible is ignored and you wish you had just stayed home.

As someone who spends a lot time reading the Bible I find these questions both profoundly interesting and dreadfully frustrating. I genuinely care what people think about scripture, but I have very little interest in the bumper sticker platitudes that often pass for insightful reading. Many times I've watched in awe as I ask about a passage of scripture only to see people ignore it completely as they talk about what it means. How can people (lay, clergy and scholarly) read scripture together in a productive way? This question becomes infinitely more complex when you ask how people from different traditions might read scripture together in a fruitful way or, more modestly, how they might do so without killing one another.

It is to these kind of questions that Merold Westphal turns his attention to in his most recent book, Whose Community? Which Interpretation? Philosophical Hermeneutics for the Church. Westphal is a fantastically clear writer with an uncanny ability to address very complex questions with equally complex answers, but in a clear and readable way. He manages to give a rather sustained treatment of hermeneutical theory in only 150 pages. Hermeneutics, for the uninitiated, is fancy word for the science and art of interpretation. If nothing else, a reader will walk away from this book with a comprehensive introduction to the philosophy of hermeneutics. The brevity of the book is intended to make it more accessible. A goal well accomplished if you ask me. Also, the individual chapters are short, which makes one feel quite productive while reading. I have not found more clear presentation of hermeneutics in such a nuanced and succinct way. Even if you disagree with him, Westphal's book is well worthy of attention.

Despite the fact that the book is short, it is not an easy read. Talking about hermeneutics is like talking about how one thinks. Most of us rarely reflect on our presuppositions and thought patterns. So, when a book invites us to do so, it makes for difficult reading. It's kind of like putting on glasses for the first time. A pair of glasses brings the world into focus, but your eyes need time to adjust to their new lenses and it can sometimes be a painful process. A book on hermeneutics is kind of like new glasses for your brain. It requires rethinking how it is that we interpret the world. Not an easy task, but certainly important if you want to think clearly.

Westphal's book begins by rejecting the idea that anyone reads the Bible with "no interpretation needed" (18). He describes this idea as "naïve realism" (18) because it assumes that the real world can be directly apprehended without any interference or imposition. Drawing from Immanuel Kant, Westphal shows that this is naïve because we all impose categories and judgments on our perceptions of the (real) world. To illustrate this point, he uses the often cited example of the four blind men who stumble upon an elephant and each has a different perception. The man near the elephant's midsection thinks he's found a wall of some kind, the one touching the tusk thinks the elephant is a spear, the man holding the trunk thinks there is an odd snake in his hands and the fourth man, examining the leg, thinks the elephant to be a tree (25-30). Like the blind men, all of us are limited in our perspective and have only a small picture of the whole of reality (the elephant). To impose our perception on the world would be foolish. Imagine doing so with a sacred text like the Bible!

After dismissing the idea that we can "just read the Bible" and avoid the work of interpretation, Westphal gives a history of hermeneutics from the Romantics Schleiermacher and Dilthey (chap 2) to the Objectivists Wolterstorff (chap 3) and Hirsche (chap 4) to the Postmoderns Barthes, Foucault and Derrida (chap 5). Ultimately, Westphal finds Hans-Georg Gadamer's work Truth and Method to be the most fruitful hermeneutical guide (chaps. 6 – 9). Gadamer argues that everyone reads from a certain perspective, or tradition, which is both enabling and limiting. It is enabling because it makes reading possible (contact with the elephant) but limiting in that it narrows our perspective (we grope to understand what we contact). Westphal wants to rehabilitate the value to reading from within a tradition against Hirsch and Wolterstorff who suggest that the only way to understand a text is find an objective method and discover what the author meant.

Before you accuse Westphal of throwing out the author's intention for an "anything goes" method of interpretation, listen carefully to Westphal's argument. It is not that the author's intention is irrelevant to the meaning of a text (as Derrida has falsely been accused of saying), but that the meaning of a text is never entirely limited to what the author meant. Why not? To begin with, writers are not creating "out of nothing," but they are shaping words from something prior to themselves. Furthermore, the author is finite. Again, this does not mean that the author is irrelevant, but that he is only one piece of the interpretive puzzle. The author is finite and so too is the reader, but this does not mean the reader is not involved in the meaning of the text. The reader approaches the text and engages it. Thus, "Author and reader are cocreators of textual meaning" (61), because no one reads a text with just the detachment to wonder, "What did the author mean?" This question is always only relevant in answering a more immediate question, "Why does it matter to me?" Like it or not, this involves the reader in creating meaning.

Texts, according to Westphal via Gadamer, can be interpreted as events performed or conversations engaged. So a passage "is not so much a completed object or a thing to be mastered by the methods of some science but rather an event, an unfinished event that is brought toward (but not to) completion in the process of interpretation" (102). When interpretation is an event, each interpretation is a reenactment of sorts, a repetition of the original text, but in a new way that makes the same object comprehensible in a new context. Again, this does not mean that anything goes. A performance can be wrong if it goes off script or played out of tune. "If the interpretation is not to be arbitrarily subjective, it will have to submit to the constraint of the script, the score, the text" (105). As a performance, interpretation makes the text come alive in a new context, while still being faithful to the original text.

Another analogy that Westphal uses is conversation. As he puts it,

We might think of a marriage counselor who (1) asks, say, a wife to tell how she sees the situation; (2) then asks the husband to tell not how he sees the situation but how his wife sees it; and (3) then asks the wife whether her husband has heard her, has understood her discourse. [pg. 108]

Interpretation requires listening carefully, perhaps disagreeing as you listen, but listening nonetheless. It is clear in this analogy, once again, that the authorial intention is crucial to the conversation. The goal is to understand something, in the case of scripture the goal is understanding truth. Gadamer suggests four features of a conversation that are crucial. First, an interpreter in conversation with a text needs to be open to hearing another. This requires a self-awareness of personal limitation, a learned ignorance. For readers of the Bible this means that we ought to allow scripture to surprise us. If Jesus never confronts us in the gospels, then there is a good chance we're not engaging in real conversation with the Gospels. Second, a good conversation partner knows how to ask good questions. The response to good questions is not necessarily an answer, which can silence a conversation, but another question. Third, a skilled conversationalist has the humility to follow a conversation where it may go. One cannot have an agenda to accomplish with a conversation, but must allow a dialog to flow. This third mark of conversation leads to the fourth, "the goal is not win by making one's own original viewpoint prevail" (116-117) but rather, quoting Gadamer, "being transformed into a communion in which we do not remain what we were" (117). Imagine what it might look like for Bible readers to approach scripture as a conversation. How might that change a small group Bible study?

In chapter ten Westphal draws from the theories of political liberalism and communitarianism to bring interpreters together. A good MacIntyrian might object, "One cannot draw from political liberalism and communitarianism because the two are fundamentally opposed traditions." This is perhaps an accurate objection, I honestly don't know MacIntyre well enough to say, but Westphal does not think so. Instead, he finds both traditions useful for different purposes. On the one hand, he finds liberalism quite useful for drawing together people who hold incompatible worldviews without forcing them into another comprehensive worldview. In the current state of Christianity with believers of all strips and creeds, liberalism might provide a useful way to bring believers from different Christian traditions together—not to mention interfaith dialog. On the other hand, "communitarianism argues that a coherent moral life requires . . . a worldview that includes commitments on issues which political liberalism deliberately abstains" (131). Most notably, a communitarian unity requires a common conception of what is good as well as the virtues that embody the good. Westphal wants to use liberalism to bring Christians who differ together, while at the same time use communitariansim to keep Christians firmly rooted in their tradition.

Chapter eleven takes a more practical turn from heady philosophizing. Looking at the "Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification" from October of 1999, Westphal cites an example of different interpreters coming together and agreeing on some fundamentals while remaining steadfastly within their typically opposed traditions. This is an example of Catholics and Protestants coming together on the doctrine of justification, a feat indeed. Westphal cites this as a case of Christians from different traditions coming together without sacrificing their unique traditions to do so. In his last chapter, Westphal briefly describes how the whole process is even more interesting and complicated with scripture as revelation from God.

I find it difficult to imagine that most people will have the patience to listen carefully to an exposition of Gadamer's hermeneutical theory, even one as short as 150 pages. Reading about hermeneutics is like finding which lenses suit your brain. Most people would rather walk around looking at shapes and shadows instead of doing the arduous work of seeing clearly. If we care enough to see the world a bit more clearly, or in this case to read more intelligently, I think Westphal's book might provide us with some needed correctives. To those who are interested in how we interpret texts and how we can do so without killing or anathematizing one another, this might be a good place to start.

Reading Romans as Story

I readily admit that I often find Paul's letter to the Romans a more difficult book to interpret than John's Apocalypse. People are often surprised to hear me say so, but it is certainly true for me. Partly, I think this is the case because I have spent a lot more time in Revelation under wise tutelage than I have Romans. In part, I find Romans perplexing because there has been so much written on it. The wealth of material makes it practically impossible to interact with all of the books written on Romans. Another corollary of the emphasis on Romans is that we often think we have a grasp on Romans without actually reading it carefully. Most people come to Revelation confessing ignorance. When we come to Romans, a book so central in Christian tradition, we often assume it means what we've always thought. Also, Romans is Paul's master letter so there is much at stake. In many ways, Romans is the key to understanding Paul's theology and entering into the discussion of Pauline scholarship. For all these reasons, I find Romans to be a wonderfully fascinating book that often leaves me excitedly bewildered and hungry for more.

Precisely because Romans has been so widely written on, and its interpretation so intensely contested, it is easy to misunderstand the book. So, when I stumbled upon a short (150 page) book on Romans that boasts endorsements from Beverly Roberts Gaventa, Ched Myers, and Richard Hays my appetite was whet. Then, I read Richard Hays's description of the book,

Imagine a seminar on Romans with these interpreters at the table: Karl Barth, Ernst Käsemann, J. Louis Martyn, Leander Keck, N. T. Wright and Beverly Gaventa. Now imagine a skilled teacher at the table, listening perceptively. She writes her own reading, offering the church not only what she has learned but also fresh and perceptive interpretations. And imagine, too, that her reading pays particular attention to the needs of the poor and powerless in the community of faith. This is Katherine Grieb's important new book. (Quoted on the back cover)

After reading Hays's sponsorship I purchased The Story of Romans: A Narrative Defense of God's Righteousness by A. Katherine Grieb without hesitation. I also wondered why I had not read it earlier. I was not disappointed.

At one time I might have disparaged a little book on Romans for lacking all of the nuance and depth of a more weighty commentary. I have since learned, however, that a short clear presentation of such a difficult and important book can be far more grueling to write than a lengthy commentary. It requires good writing, which is often glaringly absent among scholars. A shorter work also requires a writer to be precisely clear with the strictest economy of words. Furthermore, this clear articulation forces the author to have worked out their understanding rather than leave logical gaps and interpretive question marks. One of the best lessons I've learned in Seminary is that it is very easy for scholars who study the minutia of texts to miss the big picture. Thus they miss the proverbial "forest" for the "trees" or perhaps even for the "bark on the trees." The Story of Romans gives a panoramic view of Romans as she takes the reader on a journey through Paul's most powerful letter. Katherine Grieb has provided wonderful overview of the book of Romans that fills a gap in scholarship as well as pastoral appropriation of Paul's master letter.

The subtitle of Grieb's book A Narrative Defense of God's Righteousness is quite telling. She argues that "Romans is a sustained argument for the righteousness of God that is identified with and demonstrated by the faithfulness of Jesus Christ, understood primarily as his willing obedience to suffer death on a cross" (ix). She consistently seeks to unpack this argument by reading the "stories-within-a-story" that "lie just below the surface of Paul's argument and are available to us as aids for understanding his letter" (xvii). The central story of Romans is "the gospel" and the stories "below the surface" are Paul's personal story, the stories of the Jewish scriptures, and the stories that shaped the world of the Roman Christians. Essentially, Grieb sees the stories of the Roman church, Israel, Abraham and Adam as "part of one great story: the story of what God has done in the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ, the gospel of God" (xix).

Most significantly, Grieb observes the ways in which the scriptures of Israel inform Paul's letter to the Romans. At almost every turn, Paul is citing or alluding to the Old Testament (OT). The story of Adam and Eve (Gen 1-3) is found in each of the major sections on some level or another (Rom 1.18-32; 5.12-21; 7.7-25; 9.1-11.36). The story of the golden-calf incident crops up in numerous places (Exod 32; Rom 1.18-32; 7.7-8.17). The story of Israel's disobedience and resultant exile significantly informs Paul's argument (Rom 2.17-24; 9.6-29; 10.1-17). Abraham's journey of faith is a major component of God's story for the church (Rom 4.1-25). Psalms of Lament appear to inform much of what Paul does (Rom 1.16-17; 8.31-39; 9.1-11.36). There are many other stories that shape Paul's letter, but these are just a few. With thoughtful reflection Grieb shows how these stories shape the way Paul tells his own story and seeks to incorporate the Roman church into the larger story of God's work in the world.

From the outset Grieb observes four important assumptions that shape her book. First, she assumes that Romans 9-11 is not an afterthought, but crucial to the letter. Much of the book of Romans, according to Grieb, is concerned with "God's covenant fidelity to Israel" (xii) and so Romans 9-11 is essential to the overall point of the letter. This is becoming a more broad consensus in contemporary scholarship, but in many readings of Romans, chapters 9-11 are ignored. I confess that in my own undergraduate education chapters 9-11 were virtually ignored except as they related to individual the theology of John Calvin!


Second, Grieb is adamant to use the work of female scholars who are grossly underrepresented in biblical studies. For the most part, this "assumption" resulted in citing female scholars, but I did not see how it was determinative for her reading of any particular passage. In many ways, I found this refreshing. She notes her desire to bring neglected female voices into the discussion, but does not allow these voices to turn the dialog of scholarship into a feminine monologue. She is corrective without being over-corrective.


Third, she writes with the conviction that "Paul spent most of his career laboring for church unity" (xii). So for Grieb, it is very important that Paul's letter be readable and useful for actual ministry. She has no interest in pontificating about theology that has no use for the church. Because Paul was concerned to write for the church, Grieb sees her task similarly. 


Fourth, and this is noticeable throughout the book, Grieb reads Paul as a "pastor and evangelist" (xii) rather than a systematic theologian. She writes against Melanchthon's suggestion that Romans is "a compendium of Christian doctrine" (xvii). At numerous points she shows how the questions of systematic theology have forced misreadings of Romans. Still, she is no iconoclast. She is not writing to tear down, but to build up the church and put the book of Romans back into the hands of every day people. Her goal is not to reject systematic theology, but to listen Paul and then do theology.

The fruit of Katherine Grieb's labor is abundantly satisfying. Retelling Romans as a story about God and his interaction with creation makes the letter eminently more readable, and I think it is more faithful to what Paul was doing. Her ability to take fiercely debated texts and present the various sides while coming to a useful and understandable conclusion is unique. In many ways, Grieb's book fills the growing gap between biblical scholarship and the study of scripture in the church. I would highly recommend this book to both the seasoned scholar and the Sunday school student. The Story of Romans is an imaginative retelling of Romans that ought to provide a model for the scholar pastor.

Questions in Continuity and Discontinuity

Alfred Loisy famously quipped, "Jesus proclaimed the kingdom, and it was the Church that came" (The Gospel and the Church cited in Dunn 25). Loisy's observation cuts to the heart of the puzzling relationship between Jesus and the communities that developed out of his mission. On the one hand, it cannot be doubted that Jesus was the most important cohering feature of the early family of believers. On the other hand, however, emphasis on the Jewishness of this Nazarene sect militates against elevating any human to the kind of status Jesus is given in Christianity. Thus, there is continuity with Jesus as the center of Christian identity and discontinuity with the Jewish theology out of which Christianity developed.

Dunn articulates the difficulty of sorting out the continuity and discontinuity by raising two questions. First, how does one bridge the gap between Jesus and Paul? This question must be answered to satisfactorily explain "how it was that Jesus' message of the kingdom became Paul's gospel of the crucified Jesus as Lord" (17). Second, how did "a Jewish sect become a Gentile religion" (17)? The Way, conceived as life following Yahweh articulated by Jesus, developed in Second Temple Judaism but gradually emerged as a predominately Gentile religion. The development has often been misread back into the earliest communities in such a way that Paul becomes a convert from Judaism to something else entirely‒ namely Christianity. The conversion of Paul is anachronistic but, based on the developments of the second and third centuries, understandable.

Following E. P. Sanders (Jesus and Judaism) and Joseph Klausner's (Jesus of Nazareth) suggestion that a hypothesis about the historical Jesus must show continuity with both Second Temple Judaism and the eventual break from it, Dunn suggests the same for the early Church. So, "A good hypothesis regarding Christianity's beginning should equally be required to explain how Christianity emerged from Jesus and how the movement which thus emerged within the matrix of Second Temple Judaism so quickly broke out of that matrix" (18). Out of this question comes two more exciting and difficult questions. Did the developments of the churches remain true to the mission of Jesus? And then, did Christianity evolve into something else along the way or did it maintain a basic identity throughout its early development? The heart of the matter for Dunn is Christology. When and why did the Early believers start worshiping Jesus?

Rather than setting out to answer these questions Dunn gives attention to articulating how they have come to be asked in the first place. He starts with Reimarus and makes his way through the "third quest" in a matter of only eleven pages. Along the way he sharpens the articulation of discontinuity between Jesus and Paul (Reimarus) leaving the subsequent Jesus of History vs. Christ of Faith dichotomy (Strauss, Harnack, Kähler and Bultmann) which raises the difficult question of Christology where he finds an impasse in current discussions. Dunn also raises the crucial issue of eschatology both imminent and realized expectation. The current state of affairs leads Dunn to suggest, "the more Jewish we see Jesus to have been, the harder it is to understand how and why the Christ dogma emerged; where the latter obscured and blocked the way to the former, now the former may seem to obscure and to form a block on the way to the latter" (27).

Dunn is concerned to raise the questions in his introduction and not yet to answer them. I'm excited to see exactly how he does so and I'm appreciative to see how the questions have come to be asked. Good scholarship is always aware of how it has inherited the questions it asks.

What exactly began in Jerusalem?

The phrase "historical Jesus" is a rare example of the language of NT scholarship finding its way into common parlance. Since at least the nineteenth century many scholars have assumed that the traditions about Jesus found in the gospels reflect the communities which used and produced those traditions more than the historical person of Jesus. There is certainly some validity to this assertion. The gospels are not concerned with producing "history" in the modern sense. One of the difficulties with this suggestion, however, is that it assumes we know quite a lot about these early communities. This is simply not the case. As Dunn points out (following F. G. Downing) "the primitive church(es) were (on such a reckoning) as much an unknown as Jesus" (3). One cannot assume that Jesus tradition reflects a community rather than Jesus when less is known about the community than traditions about Jesus.

What then can be known about these early communities? Dunn specifically focuses on these communities from AD 30 to 70. He begins by defining what exactly it is that began in Jerusalem. His goal is to describe "from within" what began in Jerusalem‒ "to ask how the participants understood themselves and what was happening, when horizons were limited and outcomes unknown" (5). Dunn wants to articulate how these early communities saw themselves not how later historians describe them as the birth of a new religion.

What descriptors then are appropriate? This seemingly simple question has as many as seventeen possible answers. Rather than rehearse each of these options and the arguments for and against, I want to highlight just a few to observe overused anachronisms and underemphasized dimensions.

First, overused anachronistic titles are common. There are two in this category that are especially striking. The most overused anachronism to describe the early Jesus communities is "Christianity." To speak of "Christianity" before the 110s is incorrect. "Properly speaking, 'Christianity' did not yet exist" (5). The title first appears as a negative label given from the outside in Acts 11.26 (cf. Acts 26.28; 1 Pet 4.16; Ignatius, Eph. 11.2; Magn. 4; Trall. 6.1; Rom. 3.2; Pol. 7.3; Mart. Polycarp 3.2; 10.1; 12.1‒2; Did. 12.4; Diogn. 1.1; 2.6, 10; 4.6; 5.1; 6.1-9; Pliny, Ep. 10.96). Some have endeavored to qualify it as "primitive" Christianity or "emergent" Christianity. The chief problem with this is that it obscures a crucial question to the whole discussion: "what are the distinctives of Christianity, and when did they first emerge?" (6). "Christianity" is certainly what developed from Jerusalem, but not until decades later.

The second most overused descriptor is "church." The aware reader will contest, "But ekklēsia is a common NT word occurring 23 times in Acts, 62 times in Paul and 20 times in Revelation!" This is a true and important point that makes "church" a more helpful descriptor than "Christianity" but it suffers from its own problems as well. "Church" today does not mean what ekklēsia meant. The contemporary word "implies a unified entity" that did not exist. Certainly, this was the ideal quite early (Eph 1.22; 3.10; 3.21-4.6; Col 1.18, 24; 1 Cor 12.28; Gal 1.13). The singular "church" obscures the diversity that existed in these early movements.

It is now worth considering some of the descriptors that are less obvious and perhaps even surprising. It might be shocking to some, but "synagogue" appears as a descriptor of the early Jesus movement (James 2.2; cf. Ignatius Pol. 4.2; Hermas Mand. 11.9‒14; T. Ben. 11.2; Justin Dialog. 63.5; Irenaeus Against Her. 4.31.1). This term is not widespread or distinctive enough to carry the freight of describing the early Jesus movement, but it is indicative of the fact that early believers (another possible descriptor) were Jews being Jews following a Messiah. They were not "starting a new religion." "Saints," is particularly common in Paul and Revelation. Like "synagogue" it emphasizes the Jewish character of early believers for it claims "participation in the heritage of Israel" (12). It is a Jewish term (Pss 16.3; 34.9; Dan 7.18; 8.24; Tob 8.15; Wis 18.9; 1QSb 3.2; 1QM 3.5) that denotes a specific theological status within Israel (Pss. Sol. 17.26; 1QS 5.13; 8.17, 20, 23; 9.18; 1 Enoch 38.4-5; 43.4; 48.1; 50.1; etc.). The Jewishness of "Saints" is later obscured by hostile relations and the use of the term in later Christianity to refer to a special group of believers.

The most surprising of Dunn's suggestions for appropriate descriptors is "the poor." I was caught off guard at the suggestion that "the poor" could describe the early believers, thus betraying my western capitalist perspective. It is a descriptor that is rooted in the tradition of Israel (esp. Pss 69.32; 72.2), is used by Paul (Rom 15.26) and reflects Jesus' activity. In the end, the phrase is not broad enough to describe the early believers, but the fact that it's even an option is telling.

From these and the many other options, Dunn draws four helpful conclusions. First, no one term or descriptor can bear the load of describing the early Jesus movement. A number of terms are useful including: "believers," perhaps "disciples," "saints," "the Way," or even "Nazarenes." The diversity of terms is necessary to keep from one term becoming "unduly normative" (15). Second, the needed variety of descriptors indicates the multiform character of those following "the Way." As Dunn observes, "The 'Christianity' which was beginning to emerge in the 30s was not a single 'thing' but a whole sequence of relationships, of emerging perspectives of attitude and belief, of developing patterns of interaction and worship, of conduct and mission" (16). Third, the observably coherent center is "continuity with the mission of Jesus" (16). What and exactly how Jesus was honored is a question, but he was the central defining feature of these early believers. Fourth, these disciples were distinctively Jewish.

It began from Jerusalem‒ a diversely defined group of Jews who followed, honored and at some point worshiped Jesus as God.

Beginning “Beginning from Jerusalem”

James Dunn is one of my favorite New Testament scholars. Not only am I quite taken with much in regard to his "New Perspective" readings of Paul and his seminal Romans commentary, but he's a scholar that is worth following on a number of levels. First, he is intellectually honest. He is willing to draw conclusions that he sees in the evidence. Obviously, "evidence" only speaks when put to use in a historian's argument, but there is a way to do this that is activist and a way that is honest, or at least as honest as possible. I find Dunn wrestling to be as honest as possible, both with himself and his "evidence." Second, he is diligent in working through primary sources. I often find myself buried in piles of books written about the NT and its milieu. This is certainly a worthwhile pursuit, but there is simply no way to think through the NT without constant direct engagement. Third, Dunn is creative and insightful. Say what you will about the "New Perspective" but Dunn's imaginative reading of Paul post-Sanders is nothing short of a brilliantly reexamination of Paul's work in Romans and Galatians. For these reasons and many others James Dunn is a scholar worthy of much attention.

Currently, Dunn is producing a trilogy called "Christianity in the Making." The first volume, Jesus Remembered (2003), was a comprehensive (992 pgs) look at the "historical Jesus." I have not read the first volume, so I won't pontificate ignorantly. There are a couple of reviews of the first volume here and here. Dale C. Allison Jr. a notable NT scholar in his own right (and another personal favorite) described Jesus Remembered this way,

This is not just one more book on Jesus but rather an esteemed scholar's wide-ranging presentation of conclusions arrived at over a lifetime of informed, critical reflection. It is full of good sense and much learning. As always, James Dunn's work is characterized not only by a genuine familiarity with Jesus' first-century Jewish world but also by an unsurpassed knowledge of the vast secondary literature. Especially suggestive is the consistent appeal to continuing oral tradition, which often appears justified.

So, if you're interested in something like that, go read it.


My current focus is Dunn's second volume, Beginning from Jerusalem. This volume focuses on the rise of the church from 30 to 70 AD which combined with Jesus' mission (the subject of Jesus Remembered), "are probably the most thoroughly investigated periods and subjects of all history" (xiii). This makes for an array of hypotheses and debates that baffle historians and informed laymen alike. Dunn's critical acumen and honest assessment is a welcome voice that I'm sure will bring much clarity to the period under consideration. 
The only problem with Dunn's book is that it commands about 3 ½ inches of shelf space consisting of 1347 pages! This is not really a problem if one desires a thorough account of the most thoroughly researched period in all of history. It is a problem, however, if you don't have hours to devote to one book. This morning, as I was choosing between the collection of literary options clamoring for my attention, my gaze landed on Beginning from Jerusalem. I was saddened by the fact that I knew I would not be able to read it through any time soon.

Then I thought, "Why not?"

Rather than trying to plow through all 1347 pages in large successive chunks, I will work through it slowly. It will allow me to reflect more and get through the book in at least a year. The added bonus of this approach is that I can blog through the book. It would be virtually impossible for me to write one critical review of this tome, though Michael Gorman has done just that here. Reading manageable portions will allow me to reflect and gain input from anyone else willing to comment. As always, I welcome the thoughts and challenges of anyone willing to offer them.

Today I began Beginning from Jerusalem. I hope you'll join me in the journey.

As an opening question for consideration I wonder what others like or dislike about Dunn's work? Why?

Paul and Scripture: A Welcome Introduction

Steve Moyise has produced a much needed introduction to Paul's use of the Old Testament in his recently published, Paul and Scripture: Studying the New Testament Use of the Old Testament. Moyise found his way into this specialized area of NT studies through his work on the book of Revelation‒ the most heavily allusive NT book. Since then, he has made a name for himself participating in a number of collaborative projects and publishing on the use of the OT among various NT writers. In his most recent book, he addresses Paul's use of the OT.

Rather than presenting a new argument about what Paul is doing with scripture, Moyise offers a broad overview of the relevant texts and an introduction to the current methods. The book is comprised of eight chapters preceded by an introduction to Paul and the issues surrounding how he uses the OT. The first seven chapters focus on how Paul uses different sections and genres of scripture. Throughout his analysis Moyise adopts an eclectic approach. "In our study of Paul's explicit quotations we have taken an eclectic view, using whatever methods or approaches were helpful for understanding the particular quotation" (111). His final chapter provides an overview of the three primary methods of analysis‒intertexual, narrative and rhetorical analyses. Moyise has produced a thoughtful introduction that deserves much attention.

The first chapter focuses on Paul's use of creation accounts with particular reference to Adam. Along the way Moyise places Paul's exegesis in the context of second-temple Judaism by observing the various uses of Genesis 1-3 in relevant literature (i.e. Philo, Wisdom of Solomon, Jubilees, 1 Enoch, etc.). Moyise shows how Paul inherits a fundamentally Jewish cosmology and how that informs Paul's understanding of resurrection (16‒20), ethics (21) and anthropology (22‒3). Paul's understanding of the fall is somewhat unique and raises the question of whether or not Paul's soteriology was prospective (plight to solution as in Luther) or retrospective (solution to plight as in Sanders). To begin answering the question Moyise points to the fallen Adam tradition (Romans 5.12-21; 7; Phil 2.6-11; pgs 25‒27) as well the curse tradition (Rom 8; cf. 1 Tim 2.11-15; pgs 27‒29). Moyise concludes that Paul's use of the creation narratives is "primarily christological [. . .] Paul wants to assert that God is recreating humanity in Christ, and the story of Adam gives him a conceptual framework to do so" (30). Moyise, then, considers Paul's theology retrospective. 

The second chapter addresses Paul's most important OT character‒ Abraham. The father of faith is mentioned by name seventeen times in Paul's work, his story is retold in two different Pauline passages (Gal 3-4; Rom 4.1ff.) and is mentioned in reference to Paul's own identity (Rom 11.1; 2 Cor 11.22). Moyise is absolutely correct to point out the significance of other retellings of the Abraham story in second-temple Judaism, "Paul's exposition of Abraham did not take place in a vacuum. It competes with other interpretations [. . .] sometimes agreeing and sometimes disagreeing" (31). After recounting the Abraham story in Genesis and some other common retellings (Gen 12-25; Sirach 44; 2 Macc 1.50-52; James 2.1ff.; pgs 30‒4) Moyise unpacks Paul's retelling (34‒44). Moyise considers Paul's focus on Abraham's faith to be a response to the common retelling of Abraham's story retold to justify uncircumcised Gentiles as part of God's people.

Moyise's third chapter mirrors the structure of the second but focusing on the character of Moses. After describing Moses from the Pentateuch and second-temple stories, Moyise looks at how Paul uses Moses' story. He looks at Paul's use of the Moses and Pharaoh story (Rom 9.15-18; pgs 49‒50), Sinai (Gal 4.21-31; pgs 50‒2), Israel's rebellion under Moses (1 Cor 10.7-10; 52‒55), the contrast of Paul and Moses' ministries (2 Cor 3; 55-7) and the use of Deuteronomy to describe Paul's gospel (Rom 10.5‒13). In the end, "it would appear that Moses is an ambiguous figure for Paul," who has both, "a ministry of death" and a prefiguration of Paul's gospel (59).

Chapter four looks at Paul's confusing statements and use of the "law" or "Torah." Here Moyise provides a helpful introduction to the New Perspective and the issues it raises (62‒8). He also gives attention to Francis Watson's suggestion that Paul is following the antithetical statements of the Law itself, ultimately allowing Gen 15.6 and Hab 2.4 to be the most determinative voice in his theology (68‒71). With a brief nod to the suggestions that Paul's view of the Law developed considerably (Hans Hübner), or that he did not have a coherent 'view' (Heikki Räisänen), Moyise concludes with an appreciative affirmation to all sides of the debate.

Chapters five and six look at how Paul used the prophetic literature. In chapter five Moyise shows how Paul used the prophets in relation to Israel and the Gentiles. Paul saw the prophets as proclaiming his gospel (74‒6), including Gentiles (76‒80) and explaining both the current unbelief of the Jews (80‒3) and their future salvation (83‒4). Chapter six analyzes Paul's use of prophetic literature to "help him discern the pattern of life God expects of the Christian community" (86). One might expect this chapter to focus on purely ethical issues, but Moyise looks at Paul's use of the prophets to address the definition of "faith" and "resurrection" as well as purity and orderly worship. Moyise it seems follows Hays's suggestion of a teleological hermeneutic, "Paul's interpretation is driven by the belief that God's plan to redeem humanity is being realized in the Church, a community of both Jews and Gentiles" (96).

In his seventh chapter Moyise looks at how Paul uses the wisdom literature of Psalms, Proverbs and Job. The psalms, not surprisingly, receive the most attention. Paul explicitly quotes Psalms nineteen times along with two allusive references to Job (5.13; 35.7) and one proverb (25.21-22). It is interesting to observe that the psalms Paul quotes (5, 8, 10, 14, 18, 19, 24, 32, 36, 44, 51, 69, 94, 112, 116, 117, 140) are unique in that no other NT writers quote these psalms (with the exceptions of Pss 8 and 69). Moreover, the most frequently cited psalms in the NT (2, 110, 118) do not appear in Paul's writing at all. These facts suggest that Paul's use of Psalms is some of his most distinctive exegesis (97). Still, Moyise finds Paul's use of Psalms to fit the same categories as his use of the prophets. 

Chapter eight, Moyise's last, addresses the three approaches to Paul's use of the OT in vogue among contemporary interpreters. First, there is the intertextual approach which "focuses on the surrounding context from which the quote is taken" to bring the "connotations and associations from the surrounding verses" (111) represented in the work of Richard Hays (112‒14) and Timothy Berkley (115‒17). Second, there is the narrative approach which "adopts a similar principle [as intertextuality] but suggests that what a text brings with it is not so much the local context but the narrative framework to which it belongs" (111) embodied in the work of N. T. Wright (117‒18), J. Ross Wagner (118), Sylvia Keesmaat (118‒19) and Francis Watson (119‒20). Third, there is the rhetorical approach that "focuses on what Paul does with the text in order to persuade his readers to accept his interpretation" (111) seen in the work of Christopher Stanley (120‒22) and John Paul Heil (122‒23). Moyise's book utilizes all three approaches at various times even while recognizing that they are, in some places, mutually exclusive.

Anyone interested in Paul's use of the OT is sure to benefit from Paul and Scripture. It will, no doubt, raise more questions than offer solutions. Often times one wonders where Moyise lands on a particular issue, but he plays the part of the passive descriptor. He is offering a "state of affairs" on Paul's use of the OT not an argument for what Paul is doing. Nowhere does Moyise adopt a specific approach to Paul's use of scripture but uses each as it suits a particular text. This book is a welcome introduction that introduces the range of approaches and appreciates the complexity of trying to follow Paul as he reads the OT scriptures.

An Ecumenical Account of Paul's Soteriology

One of the most significant problems of the theology to come out of the reformation is the separation between soteriology (theology of salvation) and ethics. If salvation is by grace alone and there is no human participation, then how does the gospel make any claim on how believers live? Or to put it another way, if God saves us completely apart from anything we do then how does salvation change lives or does it? The result of this sort of thinking is that salvation becomes an individual assent to the belief that humans really are so bad off and subsequently that they need to trust Jesus' goodness to save them. This "trust" or "faith" is little more than believing Jesus will tell God that the believer is righteous at the final judgment, even though the believer is not actually righteous‒a legal fiction. After Luther and Melanchthon, the meaning of "justification by faith" (JF) has often been put in these terms. 


Recently, there has been a trend in NT scholarship and biblical theology to correct this sharp dichotomy between faith and works and thus reclaim the gospel as Paul preached it‒emphasizing salvation as God's work of grace empowering believers to actually become holy and righteous. Michael J. Gorman, in his most recent book Inhabiting the Cruciform God, offers an excellent contribution to Pauline theology in this vein. In four concise chapters Gorman unpacks Paul's soteriology as essentially "theosis," which he defines as "transformative participation in the kenotic, cruciform character of God through Spirit-enabled conformity to the incarnate, crucified, and resurrected/glorified Christ" (7). Yeah, it's a mouthful. Gorman's definition is based on his exegesis of Paul and described in terms of the Eastern Orthodox tradition. The concept of theosis is borrowed from Eastern Church fathers like Irenaeus and Athanasius (click here to learn more about theosis from Orthodox Christians). Through sound exegesis and incorporating a neglected theological trajectory in western NT scholarship, Gorman brings much needed correction and clarity to Paul's soteriology.

In his first chapter Gorman analyzes the theological significance of one of Paul's most famous passages (Phil 2.6-11). He argues that Philippians 2.6-11, "Paul's master story, is (in part) about the counterintuitive, essentially kenotic ‒ or cruciform ‒ character of God" (10). He finds a narrative pattern of "Although [x] not [y] but [z]" which is played out in Phil 2.6-8 as "Although God [x] Jesus did not exploit his status [y] but rather emptied [z¹] and humbled [z²] himself" (16‒7). Not only does Gorman see this narrative pattern in Philippians 2, but he also finds it at work other Christological texts (2 Cor 8.9; Rom 15.1-3), autobiographical apostolic texts (1 Thess 2.6-8; 1 Cor 9.1-23; 2 Cor 12.15) and ethical hortatory (Gorman does not cite any examples here but I would include Rom 12.1-2; 14.13-19; 1 Cor 8.1-13; 2 Cor 5.16-21; among others). Gorman finds in this short passage the narrative pattern that Jesus exhibited, Paul followed and is now normative for Christians to follow as well. According to Gorman Phil 2.6-11 is a text that redefines the vision of God as essentially self-emptying or kenotic. This vision of God dramatically reshapes what it means to follow him. The new shape of God's identity is that of a cross, thus Pauline theosis is "cruciformity"‒ conformity to the cross.

Gorman's second chapter is by far the most ambitious and unsurprisingly his longest (pgs 40‒104). He attempts to show that "for Paul justification is an experience of participating in Christ's resurrection life that is effected by co-crucifixion with him" (40). Gorman recognizes "it may appear presumptuous to attempt, in one chapter, to address two (or perhaps even three) of the most controverted topics in current discussion of Pauline (and indeed Christian) theology ‒ Paul's understanding and experience of justification" (45‒6). Still, he attempts to provide an overview of justification as participation or "co-crucifixion" that unites forensic and participationist soteriological models (cf. 42‒5). His attempt is quite impressive.

To find a satisfactory reading of these usually separate models Gorman first identifies the demands of the covenant and the problem of sin (48‒51). Basically, he argues that there is both a vertical (human to God) and a horizontal (human to human) aspect to the covenant and sin is a distortion of each. Sin is both a power from which people need liberation (Rom 3.9, 24; 6.7; Gal 3.22) and culpable action for which people need forgiveness (Rom 1.18-32; 3.10-18, 25). Paul's cruciform soteriology addresses both needs (Rom 3.21-26). So Gorman defines justification as "the establishment or restoration of right covenantal relations ‒ fidelity to God and love for neighbor ‒ with the certain hope of acquittal/vindication on the day of judgment" (53). The covenant requires faithfulness to God (vertically) and love for others (horizontally). Justification restores both elements in the work of Christ unto the end of eschatological salvation. In this reading, and I think Gorman is right on here, Jesus' death is the "quintessential covenant act" (57) which "simultaneously manifests both vertical and horizontal covenant-keeping" (58) demonstrating faithfulness to God and love toward humanity. Forensically, the covenant is keep in Christ's act on the cross and in a participatory sense Christians are justified by Christ's action at work in them.

Appropriating justification comes by faith. Here Gorman draws significantly from participationist soteriology. He defines faith as "co-crucifixion with Christ; faith is a death experience" (63; cf. 67). It is "through participation in Christ's quintessential act of covenant-keeping" that justification occurs (63). This participationist reading of justification is exemplified in two passages specifically (Gal 2.15-21; Rom 6.1-7.6). In these two texts justification is explicitly linked with co-crucifixion (systauroō) "as connected aspects of the same reality" (64). Summarily, Paul modifies "justification" with "by faith" and Gorman argues that this "faith," according to Paul, "is an intimate identification with Christ's unified act of fidelity and love" (80). This leaves no room for a legal fiction that says sinners are "justified" apart from participation in the death of Christ. Faith, as Paul describes it, requires participation in Jesus' death. In his next chapter, Gorman attempts to show how "holiness," as Paul defines it, gives content to what participation in the death of Jesus looks like.

Having established that Pauline justification is both forensic and participatory Gorman goes on to suggest that "holiness" must also be defined by Paul's gospel. For Gorman this has two meanings. First, Jesus as the crucified/resurrected Messiah is the fullest and final revelation of the Father's holiness. Second, those who are justified by Jesus are enabled to be holy by the power of the Holy Spirit. Gorman shows that holiness is defined chiefly as becoming like Christ and is a major theme in Paul's letters (107‒23). This holiness is, like justification, about participation in the death of Jesus. "Paul's notion of holiness challenges privatistic, self-centered, therapeutic, and sectarian notions of holiness" for "cruciform holiness is inherently other-centered and communal" (126). It challenges selfish sexuality and imperial politics (127‒28) two exemplary instances of unholiness. According to Gorman, justification and holiness are two sides of the same soteriological coin.

Gorman's fourth chapter shows that nonviolence is a central feature of Paul's gospel not an ethical aside. Gorman writes against the work of John G. Gager who suggests that Paul was a violent person and his writings continue to inspire violence among his readers. Gorman agrees that Paul was quite violent before his conversion to Christ (131‒37). He parts from Gager's reading of Paul by observing Paul's radical transformation to an ethic of nonviolence after Damascus. This, Gorman suggests, clearly demonstrates that Paul saw violence as fundamentally anti-gospel. The crucial change in Paul's thought occurred as he took seriously the resurrection. "The resurrection means that the mode of Jesus' salvation [that is cruciformity] has been vindicated by God as the way of true salvation, and the violent modes of ethnic cleansing, imperial domination, and the like are pseudo-soteriologies" (139). The cross which was once an affront which Paul thought needed eradication becomes in the resurrection the means of justification and thus salvation both now and in the future.

The strengths of Gorman's book are numerous. His work is a fine example of how to blend exegesis and theology. Gorman is not satisfied to ask just what a text might have meant, but neither will he do his theology without spending lots of time tracing Paul's arguments. The exegetical approach of the book is broad. Gorman appreciates the nuances of socio-political allusions in Paul's writing as well as his theology as an existential reality not a systematic thought-construct. Gorman's appeal to Theosis and the Eastern Church tradition is a welcome ecumenical approach that might be a helpful guide in brining unity to the Church. It is almost laughable that Gorman is a Methodist teaching at a Catholic institution and drawing heavily from the Orthodox tradition. It might be laughable if the result were not so compelling. Gorman consistently shows how Paul's gospel, rightly understood, speaks as much to the contemporary world as it did to the ancient. These strengths make Gorman's book a must read for those wrestling with how to explain Paul's account of salvation. It will prove especially helpful for those who have been dissatisfied with an anemic gospel that promises the hope of future salvation without the power of present transformation.

Unlike this review, Gorman's book is short. Brevity is both a strength and a weakness. Gorman's small book packs a punch. He does more in a mere 173 pages than most do with 300. Yet, the weakness of this shorter work is that it leaves more to be desired in addressing some specifics. Likely one of the critiques of Gorman's thesis is that he collapses separate theological concepts into his one idea of theosis. One could accuse him of overloading "faith" to mean more than Paul does (an accusation Gorman is keenly aware of, but I think fails to fully address 84‒5). Gorman will no doubt face criticism from a growing movement of scholars who suggest that Paul's Christology was not as "high" as he suggests it is in Philippians 2 (i.e. Dunn and McGrath). On the other side of the spectrum, he will face accusations of a "works-based" soteriology for suggesting that Paul thought that justification actually required human participation (reformed folks like Carson and Seifrid). Despite these criticisms, some more valid than others, Gorman's book deserves careful attention in pointing the way forward in Pauline theology.

Arguing With Scripture

How might a first-century Christian have heard or understood Paul's argument as he cited the Jewish Scriptures (OT)? This is a particularly relevant question in light of the fact that all of Paul's churches were outside of the land of Israel, often heavily populated by gentiles with very little familiarity with the OT and that Paul quotes the Jewish Scriptures with marked frequency. Most treatments of Paul's use of the OT focus almost exclusively on Paul and his theology. Rarely does one ask what rhetorical affects these quotations were intended to evoke or what unintended affects they may have had. Christopher Stanley seeks to address precisely these issues in his most recent publication, Arguing with Scripture: The Rhetoric of Quotations in the Letters of Paul.

The central question of Stanley's book is, "Why did Paul [. . .] quote so often from the Jewish Scriptures when writing to predominantly illiterate Gentile audiences who would have been unable to read the Biblical text for themselves?" (x). He betrays some obvious assumptions in the question‒ most glaringly that gentiles would have been unable to read the Biblical texts. There are two assumptions, or insights, from which Stanley developed the book. First, a "configurational" model of rhetoric ought to be able to measure the effectiveness of Paul's citations. Second, the historical reality of widespread illiteracy in the ancient world ought to caution against assuming that Paul's audiences had much, if any, access to the scriptures. Stanley's conclusion is that Paul mainly used scripture to legitimize his authority among churches that questioned him and that he did so with varying degrees of success.

Stanley reaches his conclusion in a two part argument. In part one he lays out his rhetorical approach to evaluating Paul's use of the OT in four chapters. This first part is concerned exclusively with methodolog. The second part is composed of four case studies of his methodology and conclusions derived. Part two evaluates some of Paul's OT citations in 1 & 2 Corinthians, Galatians and Romans. The goal of these case studies is to understand Paul's use of the OT from the perspective of his audience and answer whether or not he was effective in using OT quotations. It is time to unpack Stanley's methodology outlined in part one.

Chapter one develops a "configurational" model of rhetoric based on the work of Eugene E. White. White argues that rhetoric ought to be measurable and that since all rhetoric is situational the criteria of evaluation must be "configurational" ‒ that is the criteria of evaluation are configured "in relation to other events and their developments" (The Context of Human Discourse, 12). It sounds complicated but it isn't. Basically, since all rhetoric is prompted by a situation it ought to be measured accordingly. So a politician speaks at a fundraising event differently than at a campaign event or a preacher speaks differently on a Sunday morning than at a funeral. How these rhetorical acts are measured in effectiveness cannot be dependent on some arbitrary standard. Instead, the standard must be "configured" by the rhetorical situation that that prompts the rhetorical act. So a preacher must be measured by the standards of a funeral at a funeral and a Sunday morning sermon on a Sunday morning. It is clear that rhetoric, according to White, is chiefly measurable by the audience's response. "The effective communicator is one who takes full account of the capabilities and likely responses of the audience within a given rhetorical context" (19). Measuring Paul's effectiveness in using quotation depends on how his audience heard them.

Having established a rhetorical model Stanley moves to literary theory since Paul's letters are both oral rhetoric and literary rhetoric. Drawing from the "Speech-Act Theory" Stanley ends up endorsing most strongly the work of Gillian Lane-Mercier. She is a postmodern literary theorist who describes the act of quotation as essentially "a covert attempt by the quoting author to assert power over both the source text and the audience" (34). Quotation is thus a form of domination and manipulation (35) which allows us to "look beyond the apparent innocence of Paul's appeals to Scripture in order to ask about his underlying motives" (36‒37). Stanely sees Paul using the OT primarily to exercise his authority over people ignorant of the Biblical text but willing to submit to it.

Chapter three is the most polemical toward other treatments of Paul's quotations. Stanley is critical of scholarship that has worked under nine assumptions that he suggests are mostly or completely false. All of these assumptions revolve around access to the Scriptures. Based on literacy rates Stanley argues that most of the people in Paul's churches did not have access to the scriptures at all and the ones that could read did not have access to the biblical texts due to expense and the lack of physical evidence indicating otherwise. According to Stanley, these false assumptions must be thrown out in order to evaluate Paul's use of the OT. Despite the fact that Stanley is fairly convinced almost no one had access to the scriptures he cedes to the possibility that Paul's recipients were composed of an eclectic audience (60‒61).

Assuming varying levels of competence in the Scriptures, chapter four sets out to describe a methodology for analyzing Paul's quotations. This amounts to reading Paul's letters from three different perspectives. First, the "informed audience" represents "a person who knows the original context of every one of Paul's quotations and is willing to engage in critical dialog with Paul about his handling of the biblical text" (68). Second, the "competent audience" is composed of people who know "just enough of the Jewish Scriptures to grasp the point of Paul's quotations in their current rhetorical context" (68). Third, the "minimal audience," which Stanley thinks makes up the majority of Paul's churches, consists of those "with little specific knowledge about the content of the Jewish scriptures" usually "illiterate Gentiles" (69). From this method Stanley approaches examples of citation in the case studies of part two (chapters five through nine).

Rather than critique each of Stanley's case studies it is better to evaluate his methodology. It must be observed, first of all, that Stanley has done much to bring methodological clarity to analysis of Paul's use of the OT. Also, he has brought much needed perspective to the complexity of quotation and what it does to an audience, not just how it is used by an author. Still, Stanley's questions will probably outlive his answers which have numerous problems.

The very first assumption of scholarly approach to Paul's citation of the OT that Stanley critiques is the belief that "Paul's audiences acknowledged the authority of the Jewish Scriptures as a source of truth and a guide for Christian conduct" (40 emphasis original). Stanley points out that Jewish scripture was hardly revered in the wider world of the first century. This is a major issue that Stanley never really addresses. In fact, it could undermine his whole project and essentially shows that he hasn't come close to answering the very question he suggests frames his whole argument. Why would Gentiles listen to the Jewish Scriptures as authoritative words from God? If they did not respect the Jewish Scriptures why would Paul appeal to them so frequently and with so much importance? Stanley never adequately addresses these important questions.

Stanley assumes a stance of suspicion towards Paul's use of the OT. This suspicion is based on the assumption that Paul uses the OT as a grasp for power. He describes quotations in Foucaultian language in multiple places suggesting, "even quotations that look like innocent ornamental devices can be heavily 'power coded' when taken from an authoritative source" (14, cf. 34‒37), or more pointedly, "Paul assumed a stance of social and ideological dominance/power over his intended audience, a dominance for which he claimed divine support" (171). So, Scripture in Paul's hands is little more than a "weapon," one that "he did not hesitate to deploy [. . .] when he felt that it would advance his cause" (181). This pomo reading of Paul's citation of the OT is an ideologically charged argument that sounds like a poor description of the author of 1 Corinthians. Scripture citation does have rhetorical effects but assuming the intentions behind the rhetoric are always about domination is unwarranted.

Stanley's book is an important step forward in moving rhetorical analysis beyond structural analysis. Unfortunately, it is almost entirely conjectural to read Paul's writing from the perspective of the audiences about whom we know very little. The mere fact that Stanley is forced to create categories of readers and then assume their responses to Paul's arguments based on no evidence at all is indicative of the fact that this approach can easily become little more than a reader-response guessing game. Arguing with Scripture ought to be a book that forces interpreters to wrestle with the historical realities of widespread illiteracy and the "power" of books and citation. It does not, however, manage to answer the very important question it raises.