How warped the mirrors where our worlds are made.

Wright has been and continues to be criticized from reformed theological circles about his rehashing of the doctrine of justification. I sympathize with his detractors, agreeing with Kevin J Vanhoozer (KJV) and others whose problem with Wright’s redefinition has more to do with what he denies about justification than what he affirms. Often the debate between Wright and his critics has to do with the relocation of justification language as primarily ecclesiological rather than soteriological. I think KJV gets to the heart of the matter when he asks whether, in the law court metaphor, the trial is a civil suit or a criminal one. That is, is being justified about a civil dispute as though I was an adopted son going to court to fight for my stake in the inheritance with the biological child of our father? Or am I a criminal who has transgressed the law standing before the judge waiting to be sentenced? The court scenes are vastly different and I suspect that much of the confusion over Wright’s redefinition has been caused because we haven’t been clear about what kind of court we’re in. But while I don’t think Wright is trying to circumvent the dire situation in which sin places all humanity before God, I do think that his reading is susceptible to an interpretation which downplays of the seriousness of sin as transgression against God.

Following KJV’s talk, Jeremy Begbie gave a great paper on the influence of NT Wright in the emerging church movement.  He explored five ways in which Wright’s work intersects with the values of the emerging movement.  These five emphases were positive ways the movement has utilized Wright. I would add at least one more connection between Wright and the emerging movement–but it’s not a positive one. I fear that Wright’s redefinition of justification unduly leaves room for the more “liberal” wings of the movement to downplay the seriousness of sin as transgression against God. If Wright’s law court is a civil court, as KJV implies, then I think this move is congenial to a diluted view of sin, which in turn drastically effects what we believe to be the plight of humanity and God’s solution to it in Christ.

ἐπεὶ δὲ πεπλήρωτο μὲν ἡ ἡμετέρα ἀδικία, καὶ τελείως πεφανέρωτο ὅτι ὁ μισθὸς αὐτῆς κόλασις καὶ θάνατος προσεδοκᾶτο, ἦλθε δὲ ὁ καιρὸς ὃν θεὸς προέθετο λοιπὸν φανερῶσαι τὴν ἑαυτοῦ χρηστότητα καὶ δύναμιν (ὢ τῆς ὑπερβαλλούσης φιλανθρωπίας καὶ ἀγάπης  τοῦ θεοῦ), οὐκ ἐμίσησεν ἡμᾶς οὐδὲ ἀπώσατο οὐδὲ ἐμνησικάκησεν, ἀλλὰ ἐμακροθύμησεν, ἠνέσχετο, ἐλεῶν αὐτὸς τὰς ἡμετέρας ἁμαρτίας ἀνεδέξατο, αὐτὸς τὸν ἴδιον υἱὸν ἀπέδοτο λύτρον ὑπὲρ ἡμῶν, τὸν ἅγιον ὑπὲρ τῶν ἀνόμων, τὸν ἄκακον ὑπὲρ τῶν κακῶν, τὸν δίκαιον ὑπὲρ τῶν ἀδίκων, τὸν ἄφθαρτον ὑπὲρ τῶν φθαρτῶν, τὸν ἀθάνατον ὑπὲρ τῶν θνητῶν.  τί γὰρ ἄλλο τὰς ἁμαρτίας ἡμῶν ἠδυνήθη καλύψαι ἢ ἐκείνου δικαιοσύνῃ;

But when our unrighteousness was fulfilled, and it had been made perfectly clear that its wages— punishment and death— were to be expected, then the season arrived during which God had decided to reveal at last his goodness and power (oh, the surpassing kindness and love of God!). He did not hate us, or reject us, or bear a grudge against us; instead he was patient and forbearing; in his mercy he took upon himself our sins; he himself gave up his own son as a ransom for us, the holy one for the lawless, the guiltless for the guilty, “the just for the unjust,” the incorruptible for the corruptible, the immortal for the mortal. For what else but his righteousness could have covered our sins?

ὅτι δὲ ἐν νόμῳ οὐδεὶς δικαιοῦται παρὰ τῷ θεῷ δῆλον, ὅτι ὁ δίκαιος ἐκ πίστεως ζήσεται·

“But it is clear that no one is justified before God by the law, for ‘the righteous one by faith will live.’”

This quote impinges on the πίστις Χριστοῦ debate, as Richard Hays has argued that “the righteous one” is a messianic title, and so Paul is appealing to Habakkuk to support his point about the “faith[fulness]” which Christ has through his obedience to the Father. I found this interpretation very compelling. The Calvinist in me saw the subjective genitive as another grounds to look away from myself for the basis and completion of my justification and salvation.

Only a few quibbles remained to my acceptance of the subjective genitive interpretation; and they remain enough still for me to suspend judgment on the πίστις Χριστοῦ debate. And yet in spite of them–perhaps because of them–I have forever etched Paul’s quotation of Hab 2:4 on my body. Why the would I do that?

There are many ambiguities that intrigue me to no end that are wrapped up in this debate and in Hab 2:4 and Paul’s use of it. As to the πίστις Χριστοῦ phrase itself, grammatically the genitive construction could go either way, and the context could be culled in either direction as well. This becomes strikingly evident when one looks closer at how Paul buttresses his argument primarily through the lenses of Hab 2:4 and Gen 15:6. I think these verses provided the basic paradigm through which Paul would reinterpret the OT scriptures, seeing Jesus Christ as the fulfillment of them who has now brought life to humanity through his death and resurrection. While Gen 15:6 (“And [Abram] believed the LORD; and the LORD reckoned it to him as righteousness”) is not without exegetical difficulties, it pales in comparison to Hab 2:4.

It should be common knowledge that the Old Testament (OT) or Hebrew Bible was written in Hebrew, and that the New Testament (NT) was written in Greek. In the early to mid 4th century BCE, the Hebrew bible began being translated into Greek. To oversimplify, this translation eventually coalesced into what we now call the Septuagint (abbreviated as LXX). Since the NT was written in Greek, it is natural that most of its references to the OT seem to be derived from the LXX. And Paul certainly does rely on a Greek translation in the majority of his quotations, but being a trained pharisee he knew the Hebrew text as well. All this to say that Paul’s quotation of Hab 2:4 is enigmatic because it doesn’t match any known Hebrew or Greek manuscript of Habakkuk. The table below lays out the four main extant readings of Hab 2:4b. Of these readings, the primary differences regard the person, position, or existence of the pronoun.

Although there is a whole set of problems in trying to identify the antecedent of the varying pronoun of the non-Pauline readings, the main grammatical difficulty is whether ἐκ πίστεως (“by faith”) modifies “the righteous one” or “will live.” I.e., does this someone become righteous due to faith and thus gain life or does this righteous one live a life defined by faith? Is faith the condition of entering into righteousness and life or is it the defining characteristic of the righteous person’s life? A decision is difficult because Paul arguably advances both notions throughout his letters. Perhaps then he even intends this ambiguity, which–for some reason–makes me very attracted to it.

In the LXX tradition, the obvious discrepancy between readings two and three (above) is the placement of the first person pronoun. LXX ^{A, C} (followed by Hebrews 10:38 in P⁴⁶, ‏א, A), reads δίκαιος μου “my righteous one,” whereas the majority of LXX manuscripts read ἐκ πίστεώς μου “by my faithfulness.” Today’s LXX editions prefer this reading, since it seems more likely that reading three was generated in transmission from reading two, rather than that it was initially derived from the Hebrew text. This process of discerning what the original text said is called textual criticism, and it is all the more complicated in the case of NT quotations of the OT since the LXX is a major mediating factor.

I’ve always found text criticism of the NT very exciting. The manuscripts themselves are very interesting to look at. Kim and I were fortunate enough to spend the month of October 2009 on vacation in Great Britain, where we got a chance to visit the British Library in London. It houses a collection of OT and NT manuscripts, which made me physically nervous to enter the exhibition gallery. I gawked at these ancient handwritten texts, all the while saving the crowning jewel until last. Codex Sinaiticus, as it is called, was waiting under thick glass in the far corner of the gallery. My heart pounded as I browsed the room’s treasures always taking care to avert any glances made in the direction of Codex Sinaiticus out of a sense of bashfulness as my wife rolled her eyes at me not quite understanding why I was breathing so heavily (and why she had married such a nerd). When I finally came to it, all my breath left me and my eyes welled up with tears as I leaned over the glass with the beautiful script before me. It was opened to the Gospel of John, so for some time I held my head above the glass and read.

Codex Sinaiticus is arguably the greatest manuscript of the NT extant today (alongside Codex Vatincanus). It contains the Greek version of the OT and the NT plus a few other early Christian writings. The script is not like the Greek letters you see today in modern Greek. Like English, Greek has capital and lowercase letters, called uncials and minuscules respectively. Codex Sinaiticus is an uncial manuscript–as are most early manuscripts. And these uncial manuscripts don’t have spaces between words–a convention called scriptio continua. I conceived of getting a tattoo of Gal 3:11b in an uncial font some months before going to England. The idea came to me while looking at an online photo of the Galatians text in Codex Sinaiticus. It happens to display Gal 3:11b completely in two full lines. So I decided to find a Codex Sinaiticus font to use for the tattoo. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find a good font (unless I wanted to pay a couple hundred dollars). But I did find an uncial font based on a manuscript dubbed p39 (p46 is pictured on the heading of this blog). So I typed out the two lines of text in a size which I thought appropriate for a tattoo, printed it and took it to England. My plan was to view the Codex at the British Library and then immediately go to a tattoo parlor in London. However, it didn’t happen that way. I had to wait another two weeks until providence smiled on my plans in Oxford. I couldn’t have thought of a more appropriate place to get this tattoo than in Oxford surrounded by ancient books in ancient buildings. I would never have gotten this tattoo, if I had not gone to England to see Codex Sinaiticus.

Needless to say, this tattoo was not impulsive. I’d thought it through for years and I managed to convince Kim to let me get it–whose biggest objection was “What about when our kids want to get tattoos?” To which I replied, “We’ll just tell them that they can get a tattoo when Dad got one–at age 27.” I guess that worked for her.

So beyond the obvious sheer awesomeness and complex beauty of this particular text, why would I want a tattoo of it?  Perhaps I should inquire if tattoos are biblically permissible first.  I’m aware of the prohibition in Lev 19:28, but I think contextually it does not proscribe tattoos per se, but rather their function in pagan religion at that time.  But even aside from this, it is difficult to parse out OT law in order to set up prohibitions solely predicated on it without first trying to understand the progression of salvation history and how the law of Christ establishes a new covenant.

So why did I get this tattoo?  Beyond the aesthetic, I got this tattoo as a reminder that my body is not my own.

“Or do you not know that your body is the temple of the Holy Spirit who is in you, whom you have from God, and you are not your own? For you were bought at a price. Therefore glorify God with your body.”  (1Cor 6:19-20, NET)

Let’s be honest, temples are usually pretty ornate structures, which is perhaps why I think appropriate decoration is attractive in the sense that it honors him to whom I belong.  So I think God glorifying tattoos can express the love of God.  I didn’t get this tattoo for anyone to see except for my God and my own conscience.  And I’ve placed it in an area where not many people will see it, unless we go swimming together.  And I don’t think more than four people will ever read this blog post, so it’s not all over the internet.  Also, I’m a rather slender person, so I needed something to make me feel more bad ass.

Seriously though, when it comes down to it, I value the Word of God more than anything in the world. I love words, but I love God’s Word more than any other. My academic intrigue over Gal 3:11 is rooted in my own spiritual union with Christ. I want to be involved in the story of redemption. I want to be one with Jesus Christ. How do I start? By faith. How do I continue in him? By faith. Where do I look with this faith? At the life, death and resurrection of the Son of God. Why? Because his life is my righteousness; his death is my death; his resurrection is my salvation. As Paul said, “I have been crucified with Christ, and it is no longer I who live but Christ who lives in me. So the life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God who loved me and gave himself for me” (Gal 2:20). This truth is the most precious and beautiful thing in the world to me. I am compelled by the Spirit of Christ to love it more than anything.  That’s why Gal 3:11b is tattooed on my side: because I need righteousness; because faith is key; and because everlasting life is the reward.  I will always need to be reminded of these beautiful realities.

Anyway, I’ve read many scholarly monographs, and, as you know, almost all have an “Acknowledgments” section at the start, which can sometimes inject a personal touch to the otherwise cold and functional prose that lies ahead.  This textbook is no different, but I’ve never read such a lavish acknowledgment for an academic book as the following:

Finally, I would like to thank my partner and best friend, …, without whom, I could not have done this.  I thank him for his love, his support, his faith, his almost saint-like patience, and his ability to put up with me during my craziest moments (such as when I am writing).  He inspires me with his knowledge, his dedication, and his complete and total love of librarianship and bibliography.  He is the best librarian I have ever known.  I thank him for coming into my life, because when he did, that is when I really began to live.  (p. xxv-xxvi, italics original)

In this post I want to take Dr. Decker’s suggestion and apply it outside narrative prose to Gal 1:10, in which the present and imperfect are nicely juxtaposed.  Gal 1:10 reads…

Ἄρτι γὰρ ἀνθρώπους πείθω ἢ τὸν θεόν; ἢ ζητῶ ἀνθρώποις ἀρέσκειν; εἰ ἔτι ἀνθρώποις ἤρεσκον, Χριστοῦ δοῦλος οὐκ ἂν ἤμην.

For do I now appeal to people or to God?  Or do I seek to please people?  If I still pleased people, I would not be a slave of Christ.

Paul’s questions presume the use of the present, but his answer, couched in a contrary-to-fact conditional, uses the imperfect.  If a sense of remoteness is the defining aspect of the imperfect, then I think it makes sense to use it within contrary-to-fact conditionals.  The imperfect distances the reality of the situation.  Here it is not a temporal remoteness or backgrounding, but factual remoteness; i.e., Paul is actually a slave of Christ who isn’t trying to please people, and to state the opposite removes the proposition from factuality and reality.  Thus, the remoteness of the imperfect might reinforce the contrary-to-fact conditional.

I haven’t looked through many instances of the imperfect within conditionals, but in my daily reading, I’ve found it helpful to think of the imperfect as having some sense of remoteness.  I hope to post more on this after I do some searches.

Now, I think all three programs are exceptional and offer vast amounts of information with merely a few clicks. Generally Accordance is considered the most intuitive and user-friendly interface (which follows the general Mac stereotype). Logos is a very vast and exceptional program which is trying to appeal to the Mac crowd with its new Mac version.  But Logos’ marketing scheme for its Mac version attempts to appeal to the simplicity of the program as an excuse NOT to learn any Greek or Hebrew or really do any serious work at all!!!  This is virtually the claim of it’s sub-par video advertisement. If there were ever word study fallacies happening, it is with the kind of approach that Logos’ marketers laud in this video.

Martin Hengel

As Michael Jackson’s death prompted me to listen to his music again, so (in a much more profound way) Martin Hengel’s death has prompted me to look at Hengel’s work afresh.