Give thanks to the Lord, for He is good; for His lovingkindness is everlasting. Psalm 118:1 NASB

Everlasting – How long will YHVH show hesed toward us? How long will it be before His patience runs out and He gives up on us? David must have asked these questions, especially after his encounter with Nathan. Guilty! Deserving punishment! How could a God of holiness have anything to do with an adulterer and murderer? Certainly God would have to turn His back and walk away after such offenses.

“Though ʿôlām is used more than three hundred times to indicate indefinite continuance into the very distant future, the meaning of the word is not confined to the future. There are at least twenty instances where it clearly refers to the past. Such usages generally point to something that seems long ago, but rarely if ever refer to a limitless past.”^[1]

This commentary on the word ‘olam should stop us in our tracks. We are Western linear thinkers, yet here is a word that means both past and future. How can this be? It isn’t sufficient to simply gloss over this anomaly by pretending the ‘olam just means “long duration” without temporally explicit direction. That’s not what’s happening here. The word forces us to reconsider how we think about time. It suggests that past and future are not so disconnected, not so intractable. What if we thought about God’s interaction with us in a non-linear temporal framework? What if beginning and end aren’t really so far apart?

Isn’t that what David is saying in this verse about hesed? Isn’t he saying that God “winds back the clock” so that whatever happened before can be seen according to whatever happened after? If God were to exercise strict justice, David should die. Certainly not David’s innocent child! But something happened that undid the verdict. It wasn’t that God set aside the punishment David deserved. Something else occurred.   Could you imagine that God saw David’s past sin from the perspective of David’s future repentance? Doesn’t everlasting hesed imply that in some way the acts of a man afterward determine the outcome of the acts before? How could hesed be le’olam unless somehow hesed alters the direction of temporality?

In the past we have noticed that Hebrew has no abstract word for time. We pointed out that the Hebrew idea of temporal duration is cycloidal, neither linear nor circular. But have we really thought about what this means in terms of YHVH’s interaction with us? David is giving thanks for a lot more than just YHVH’s goodness and mercy. Perhaps he is hinting at YHVH’s ability to undo the past and redo the future—all at the same “time.”

Isn’t that what He’s done for you?

Topical Index: ‘olam, future, everlasting, time, Psalm 118:1

^[1] Macrae, A. A. (1999). 1631 עלם. In R. L. Harris, G. L. Archer, Jr. & B. K. Waltke (Eds.), Theological Wordbook of the Old Testament (R. L. Harris, G. L. Archer, Jr. & B. K. Waltke, Ed.) (electronic ed.) (672). Chicago: Moody Press.

So Naomi returned, and with her Ruth the Moabitess, her daughter-in-law, who returned from the land of Moab. And they came to Bethlehem at the beginning of barley harvest. Ruth 1:22 NASB

Who returned – What are we to make of the unusual Hebrew construction in this verse? What usually happens in translation is a “smoothing out” of the rough spots. In this case, the Hebrew reads, hashshavah (from the verb shuv—to return), literally translated, the returned, as a Qal, perfect, third person, feminine singular. With this in mind, the verse would read, “and with her Ruth the Moabitess, her daughter-in-law, the returned from the land of Moab.” As you can see, the presence of the definite article (ha) attached to the verb creates a problem; a problem that generates treating ha as if it were a pronoun, “who.” There are some rare grammatical constructions where ha acts as a relative pronoun (as noted in some lexicons) and perhaps we might read it that way here, but it just might be that something more subtle and more important is happening here. In order to see this as more than a rare occurrence of ha as a pronoun, we need to ask ourselves a much bigger question. “What is the story of Ruth really about?”

The answer to this question is startling. First, the story of Ruth is not really about Ruth. It is really about Naomi, as the end of the story makes quite clear. Ruth is just the vehicle God uses to restore Naomi’s faith and hope. Yes, Ruth is a central figure in the story and it is Ruth’s hesed that alters the lives of the other actors, but the purpose of the story of Ruth is the restoration of Naomi.

Secondly, and even more importantly, the story of Ruth is not really about the people in the story. Yes, Naomi is restored, but as a whole, the story of Ruth is not even about her. It is about YHVH’s power to redeem even when life seems hopeless. In other words, the story of Ruth is the story of a verb, not a collection of nouns. It is the story of the verb shuv and what it means to “return.” In the story of Ruth, shuv (used many times) is connected to hesed. We learn from this story that God’s hesed is always focused on shuv, even when we don’t see the result until after all the trauma and risk is over. In this sense, Ruth the Moabitess does not return. Actually, it is quite impossible that Ruth the Moabitess could return since she never left Bethlehem in the first place. It isn’t Ruth who returns. It is shuv encapsulated in the Moabitess. The verb returns to the life of Bethlehem in the person of Ruth. Ruth brings Bethlehem back to God.

Yael Ziegler suggests that Ruth is placed after the book of Judges because the story of Ruth redeems Israel from a period of civil war, moral collapse and human degradation. Ruth’s story resets the social and religious fabric of the nation so that the kings come in the name of the Lord and order is restored. Without Ruth, Israel itself loses its divine calling. This larger view of the story fits the odd construction of verse 22. It isn’t Ruth who “returns” to Bethlehem. It’s “returning” itself that comes back. Ruth is simply the carrier of the verb. How about you? Are you a carrier of one of God’s verbs?

Topical Index: ha, definite article, shuv, return, restore, Yael Ziegler, Ruth 1:22

Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. Matthew 11:29 NASB

My yoke – Western readers of the gospels tend to interpret the teachings of Yeshua as if he were a Sunday school instructor or a pulpit preacher. That’s understandable since it is the cultural heritage of the West. But it doesn’t fit any of the historical and cultural situations of Yeshua in the first century. Yeshua teaches like a rabbi because he was considered a rabbi. Therefore, in order to understand what he is saying, we need to read his remarks as rabbinic, not as if they were Christian exegesis. When we read this verse, we need to consider how the audience would have responded to “yoke,” not how we have typically understood it.

Most Westerners read this verse as if “Jesus” is talking about freedom. They consider the yoke of the Messiah to be the symbolic expression of the freedom they will have when their sins are forgiven. Thanks to Luther and others, they think of “yoke” as the “Law,” and they imagine that Yeshua is removing that horrible burden from them so that they can be set free from sin and death. Unfortunately, this is not what Yeshua’s audience heard.

Marc Turnage notes, “His ‘yoke’ refers to His oral Torah, His teachings.”[1] Perhaps this should have been obvious. I suspect it wasn’t. Yeshua is a rabbinic teacher. His commentary on the Torah of Moses is the authorized explanation for his disciples. In other words, like all rabbis of the first century, he provided explanation, elaboration and amplification of the basic Torah of Moses so that it could be executed in the daily life of the first century. His teachings are the final authority for those who followed him. He told his followers what Moses meant for them. He did not remove their obligation to the Torah of Moses. He explained it.

It’s incredibly difficult to read the text without the accumulated centuries of theological bias, but we must make the effort. Why? Why isn’t it sufficient to simply read the Bible as if the words were directed to us? The answer is, hopefully, obvious. While God may direct our thoughts according to our understanding of the text, the meaning of the author and the understanding of the original audience is what God communicated in His word. Without knowing that, we can read the text any way we want, as has clearly been the case in the history of biblical interpretation. On a less technical level, it comes down to this. If you really want to know what Yeshua wants you to know, you must know it according to the meanings of the words he used when he used them. “Yoke” means “oral teaching” to this audience. It means that we cannot set aside the idea of obligation to governing practice. Yeshua did not endorse Luther. He opposed Luther. There are always standards for behavior and Yeshua’s yoke is the summation of his standards. You and I are expected to follow them if we claim to be his disciples.

Topical Index: yoke, rabbi, teaching, freedom, Matthew 11:29

[1] Marc Turnage, Windows into the Bible, p. 266.

And He said, “To you it has been granted to know the mysteries of the kingdom of God, but to the rest it is in parables, so that seeing they may not see, and hearing they may not understand. Luke 8:10 NASB

Mysteries – Do you know God’s secrets? Have you heard that still, small voice of the Spirit whispering to you something quite amazing, some private revelation so that you know the truth? Has God chosen you to bear witness in a way no other human being can? Ah, the wonder of a mystery, that secret piece of information that sets you apart from all those others. How comforting! You are special indeed.

Of course, the problem is that the word mysterion doesn’t mean anything like the description above. In fact, in the first century this Greek word was borrowed by the rabbis to describe the oral Torah! It appears in the Dead Sea Scrolls (1QpHab 7:8; 1 OS 3:23; 1 QM 3:9; 16:14; 17:17 and CD 3:18) to describe the unique teachings of the Qumran sect. Tanhuma, Veyerah 5 uses this Greek word to specifically designate the oral Torah. When Yeshua tells his disciples that they have been granted the ability to know the “mysteries,” he is not talking about some kind of hidden knowledge. Yeshua is no gnostic. He is speaking about understanding what he said via the oral Torah.

In other words, God’s “secrets” are not secret at all. There aren’t any secrets. Everything YHVH wants us to know is revealed, either through the prophets, the writings or the rabbis (no, I didn’t say they were of equal weight). What the rabbis offer is elaboration and application of the written text. Yeshua, as rabbi, does exactly the same thing—and he points his disciples toward his oral Torah as the way to understand the meaning of his teaching. The gospels are, in essence, an addition to the oral Torah in the same genre as the oral Torah of the sages.

We, of course, ignore all this. We have the Spirit who directly speaks to us. Why bother with all those centuries of exploration, debate and practical application? That’s Jewish! We are Christians. We don’t need all that Jewish stuff. We have direct access to God Himself and, after all, each one of us is a priest. No need to study history or language or those who wrestle with such questions. We’ll just pray and let the Spirit tell us what the text means.

Perhaps a bit of satire will shake loose this dominant Western prejudice. Undoubtedly, you have already recognized its grip and have begun the process of letting go. But maybe you need a reminder. Mysterion is not your word. It is a word that belongs to the rabbis of the first century and it needs to be understood as they used it. If this rings true, if you had to reassess what you thought about “mysteries,” then maybe there are some other words that need to be reassessed. Like atonement, salvation, grace, wrath, judgment, peace, righteousness, obedience, just to name a few.

Topical Index: mysteries, mysterion, oral Torah, Luke 8:10

In brief form, this document intends to articulate the concept and person of the Messiah from a thoroughly Jewish, first century perspective. Of course, this means some interpretation and extrapolation is required since we cannot interview those first century men and women who actually encountered Yeshua and concluded that he is the long-awaited Jewish Messiah. But the purpose of this study is not to exhaustively describe what the Jews expected or what actually transpired. It is rather to counter the popular Christian view, promulgated by the Gentile Church after 135 CE and solidified in dogma by 485 CE.

The reason such a study in needed is obvious. If “Jesus” as understood by Church dogma is a construction based on a priori philosophical and theological assertions (e.g. the dual nature of a God-Man), then there is little point in examining the Jewish background of the Messiah. The Messiah of the Church is, for all intents and purposes, not Jewish. He is the universal Savior, the man who is God (somehow), unlike every other human being who ever lived but (somehow) also human like us. He is unique among all Mankind, only fictitiously a product of Jewish heritage but actually the result of divine intervention and manifestation. The Messiah of the Church might be Jewish in name, but that is really as far as it goes. He is distinctively not Jewish as far as Jews are concerned, as any examination of modern Judaism will confirm. The Church also acts as if he is not Jewish, despite inconvenient historical records, insofar as he is proclaimed as God in the flesh, the Savior of the world, adaptable to any culture and time because, of course, he really is God who is outside all cultures and time. God might have chosen to arrive in a Jewish context, but God isn’t really Jewish and so the incarnation of God as a Jew is an accidental attribute of the divine plan, not an essential one. As far as the Christian Church is concerned, what matters is that “Jesus” is God, not that Yeshua is a Jewish Messiah.

Unfortunately, the texts tell us a different story. At least on the surface, the gospels recount the life of a man who is totally Jewish in heritage, birthplace, ethnicity, custom, training, pedagogy and purpose. If we “discover” a Christian Messiah in these accounts, it comes at the expense of sacrificing a Jewish prophet. The problem for Christianity is fairly straightforward: all of the accounts of this man are written from a Jewish perspective and claim Jewish significance. There is no indication at all that any of these authors thought their Messiah was abandoning the traditional faith of their forefathers or that he was in any way not essentially Jewish. In fact, they go out of their way to assert just the opposite; that Yeshua came to correctly interpret and apply the revelation of YHVH to Moses and that at no time did he overturn or abolish any of the Mosaic way of living. They assert that he lived a fully observant lifestyle, accomplished a Jewish mission for a Jewish population and enlisted Jews to act as his agents after he departed. Furthermore, according to the gospels, Yeshua specifically targeted the Jews, not the larger world, taught with rabbinic methods they understood, claimed to be the Messiah within a Jewish context and made no effort to reach outside his ethnic community. This striking fact is so obvious that both Christians and Jews often claim it was Paul, not “Jesus,” who really introduced Christianity to the world. I believe this is a tragic error; a mistaken reading of Paul’s own letters, but that is another story.

Most of us are quite familiar with the Christian Messiah called “Jesus.” We have grown up with the dogma that this “man” is really God the Son, the incarnate Word who pre-existed his physically miraculous birth and who, upon fulfillment of his mission, returned to heaven as one person of the Godhead. We have probably attributed his insights and miracles to his divine nature. We have marveled at his sacrifice claiming that it is a complete mystery how God Himself, in the person of the Son, could die on the cross to atone for our transgressions. Because salvation was the focus of the Christian Messiah, we overlooked the logical inconsistencies that haunted even the theologians who were responsible for the dual nature proclamation. And we certainly didn’t pay attention to the Messianic claims of the Jewish rabbis. Their eyes were divinely blinded to the truth. Jesus is God in the flesh. What more could we want?

But the rabbis wrote a lot about the Jewish Messiah and what they wrote reflected the common expectations of the crowds that heard Yeshua and saw his miracles. That is to say, if these thoroughly Jewish people understood him to be the Messiah, they understood this claim within their own culture and time. They were most decidedly not part of the Church, an organization that did not exist when Yeshua walked the hillsides of Israel. They believed him to be the Messiah because of their Jewish perspective. It is this perspective that is the basis of the gospel accounts. If we don’t know what this is, then we have only the “Jesus” of the Church, not the man who shows up on the pages of the apostles’ records. That means we must recapture the concept of the Messiah in ancient Judaism. Abraham Cohen provides a starting point.

Whereas other peoples of antiquity placed their Golden Age in the dim and remote past, the Jews relegated it to the future. . . . The glorious future centered around the person of a Mashiach, ‘an anointed one,’ who would be deputed by God to inaugurate this new and wonderful era.[1]

Cohen goes on to point out that there were very few detractors to this claim in spite of considerable variation in opinions about the identity of the future Messiah. Nevertheless, some general points can be made. After each point, I will try to draw parallels to the apostolic writings.

1. The Messiah was part of the Creator’s plan from the beginning. The rabbis spoke of “King Messiah” being born from the beginning, “for he entered the mind (of God) before even the world was created” (Pesikta Rab. 152b).

Certainly the prologue of John comes to mind. If we do not read “Word” (with a capital W) as the equivalent of a pre-existing being, but rather as the already-developed purpose and plan of YHVH from before the foundation of the world (Revelation 13:8), then there is no exegetical reason to conclude that the prologue of John says anything more than what was common among rabbinic thinking. With this interpretation, John 1 is not opposed to Orthodox Judaism nor would it have been strikingly unintelligible to orthodox believers.

2. The Messiah would be a human being “divinely appointed to carry out an allotted task. The Talmud nowhere indicates a belief in a superhuman Deliverer as the Messiah.”[2]

Virtually everything in the gospel accounts of Yeshua can be understood within this framework. In fact, some explicit statements of Yeshua are difficult to understand in any other way. The continuous question of the gospels is, “Are you the Messiah?” not, “Are you God?”

3. The Messiah would be a descendant of David. He is commonly referred to as “the son of David.”

The gospel accounts take the same view, referring to precisely the same language.

4. The actual name of the Messiah was disputed by many rabbis who often bent the texts of the Tanakh in order to support a particular name of distinction for one group or another.

The gospel accounts provide the name, and justify it with miraculous beginning or angelic endorsement. The name, by the way, only works as a wordplay in Hebrew, not Greek.

5. The distinction between Messiah ben David and Messiah ben Joseph is not prominent, mentioned only once in the Talmud. As a result, it seems likely that the general populace thought of the appearance of the Messiah in terms of re-establishing the kingdom. But the idea that the Messiah would appear as a suffering servant was also in the cultural mix. Cohen remarks in a footnote, “The conception of a Messiah son of Joseph only came into existence after the failure of Bar Kochba’s revolt in A. D. 135.”[3]

Cohen cites Klausner as the source, but if we consider the gospel accounts and their use of the suffering servant theme in Isaiah, we see that the Messiah ben Joseph was already in play prior to Bar Kochba in the writings of the apostles.

6. As political tensions increased in the first century, the expectation of the arrival of the Messiah grew. Josephus notes that many men claimed to be the Messiah and while some rabbis embraced various claims, other rabbis contended that the Messiah would not appear until Israel as a whole was ready.

The gospels testify to the same phenomenon, i.e., other claimants to the title “Messiah.” It is also possible that Yeshua’s remarks about the return of the Messiah can be seen in the same way the rabbis interpreted the event (e.g., “When the Son of Man returns, will he find faith on earth?”)

7. The rabbis preached “the doctrine that there will be ‘travail of the Messiah,’ i.e. his coming will be attended by pangs of suffering in the same manner that a child is born a the cost of much pain to its mother. . . . they taught that the world would show signs of utter demoralization before his arrival and the conditions of life prove well-nigh unbearable.”[4]

One has only to reflect of Yeshua’s comments in Matthew 24 to see the parallels. Jewish Messianic thought encompasses the same material that Yeshua proclaimed on that occasion.

8. The Messiah will come at a time of particular political unrest and bitter warfare, according to Genesis Rabba 42:4. This is symbolically represented by the wars between Gog and Magog.

The gospel records and the history of the era both fit this rabbinic view.

9. Other calculations concerning the arrival of the Messiah and its accompanying victory over the collapse of the world are found in the Talmud. “. . . most of them indicating a date about the end of the fifth century.”[5] However, these attempts to calculate the arrival of the Messiah were typically rejected by the rabbis who considered the efforts no more than fruitless speculation. “As against the belief that God had determined an exact date for the dawn of the Messianic era, there grew up another doctrine that the date was not fixed but would be affected by the conduct of the people. That thought was read into the words, ‘I the Lord will hasten it in its time’ (Is. lx. 22), which were explained in this sense: ‘If you are worthy I will hasten it; if you are not worthy it will be in its time’ (Sanh. 98a).”[6] Yeshua’s comment about only the Father knowing the date could easily reflect this rabbinic teaching.

This rabbinic idea is parallel to Yeshua’s own remarks about the date of the return, particularly the claim that only the Father knows. Furthermore, the gospels clearly pick up the suffering servant motif as a way of understanding Yeshua’s role.

Several expectations surrounded the event of the Messiah’s arrival and the subsequent Messianic age. Because these expectations were part of the rabbinic culture of the time, it is easy to see why Yeshua’s claim to be the Messiah might have been rejected on purely Jewish grounds. These expectations included:

1. The Messiah will illumine the whole world, i.e., replace the purpose of the sun.
2. He will cause running water to pour forth from Jerusalem; water that will heal every disease and ailment.
3. He will cause the trees to produce their fruit every month.
4. All ruined cities will be rebuilt and there will be no wasteland in the world.
5. He will rebuild Jerusalem with sapphires.
6. Peace will reign throughout nature.
7. He will make a covenant between all creatures of the world and Israel.
8. Weeping and wailing will cease.
9. Death will cease in the world.
10. Everyone will be happy.[7]

Most importantly, Israel’s position of preeminence in the world will be restored. This change will be so striking that many Gentiles will attempt to join the Jewish community, but they will have to be rejected because their motives are not pure. In addition to preeminence, the Messianic age will reunite all the tribes of Israel. In spite of the statement in the Tosefta that the ten tribes will not share in the ‘olam ha’ba, the Talmud states the opposite, that is, that the ten tribes will be reassembled. This event will precede two striking displays of Messianic power: the rebuilding of the Temple and the restoration of the Holy City. Finally, the Messianic age will be extended to those righteous ones who have died. The resurrection of the dead became a central pillar of Messianic thinking, generating rabbinic claims that resurrection is taught throughout the Tanakh.

A review of these Talmudic expectations and the common cultural beliefs about the Messiah helps us understand two critical factors: 1) many Jews rejected Yeshua’s claim because he did not fulfill the common beliefs and expectations, particularly the socio-political ones, and 2) those Jews who did accept Yeshua as the Messiah did so in spite of the fact that he did not fit all of the rabbinic concepts. We can easily understand why some Jews rejected him, but the more perplexing question is why Torah-observant Jews within the rabbinic ethos accepted him. The answer seems to be that those observant Jews who accepted his Messianic claim did so on the basis of his character, teaching and resurrection. While other notable holy men might have taught very similar ideas, none were resurrected from the dead as proof of divine endorsement. In fact, with a few exceptions, it seems that most of Yeshua’s followers were in line with rabbinic expectations and, consequently, completely demoralized after his death. Only the resurrection changed their perspective. This is the paradigm-shifting event that caused them to reassess their common expectations and view the life of Yeshua as the fulfillment of prophecy. Without the resurrection, Yeshua is just one more in a long list of failed Messiahs. The shift from Messiah ben David to Messiah ben Joseph can be accounted for only if the resurrection is viewed as the ultimate divine endorsement of Yeshua’s claim to be the Messiah. This event recasts the Talmudic expectations and the cultural assumptions so that they are temporally separated. All of the rabbinic beliefs may still become reality, but they are now separated into two different temporal periods. Once we see this shift, Yeshua’s claims are validated. But it takes the miracle of life from the dead to push us to rethink our common assumptions.

If we have established that it is possible to understand Yeshua as Messiah within the Jewish cultural context of the first century, then it is necessary to explain the role and purpose of a fully Jewish Messiah. This is our next task.

First and foremost, within a Jewish context a Messiah must act as a godly guide to living. Torah, of course, forms the foundation, but Torah must be applied to life as we know it in the culture and time of our present. It must have adaptability. This is precisely what the Oral Torah and all of the subsequent commentaries intend to accomplish. Since direction signals are some of the most confusing signs on life’s highway, we need more than a few indicators. We need a guide, someone who has gone before us and knows the way. If we are to be delivered from the confusion of hundreds of possible choices before us each day, we need someone to follow. That person must also be one who knows just how difficult it is to sort out the confusion, to stay focused and to experience the distractions common to all of us. In other words, in Hebrew, we need a Messiah. A Messiah is someone whom God appoints to represent fully and completely what God is like in this world and what we have to be like to stay in alignment with Him. A Messiah is literally a rescuer of those who have lost their way among the choices. A Messiah not only points us in the right direction, he has already taken that road and knows where it goes. He is the anointed representative of God. In the past, God appointed various men as messiahs, anointing them to perform specific roles within the community of the faithful. They all pointed, in some not-clearly-defined way, toward a final version of this chosen rescuer, one who would provide the last word about directions for living. The final version of this anointed one would be the mentor of godly relationship and the rescuer to all of us who have lost our way. Furthermore, this final anointed representative would successfully complete the necessary steps for the restoration of the creation itself. In the end, death would cease and the world would be happy, as the rabbis believed. This accomplishment requires that God appoint a special person for the task, a second Moses who is so close to YHVH that he is able to complete the assignment of being fully human as God originally intended.

To accomplish these things, the Messiah would have to conqueror death itself, because unless that issue is settled once and for all, everyone will still feel the uselessness of life. The Messiah provides an anchor point, not because he explains the theology of restoration but because he has experienced it. Such a guide is the trusted interpreter of human experience. He is authorized by God and worthy to follow. But we must nevertheless choose to do so.

This brings us to reconsider the role of the final, unique Messiah, the one chosen by YHVH to act as His full representative and authorized executor of His will for humanity. Previous messiahs played limited roles, but this one is the end of the line, the last word of God in the realm of men. His life, unique from beginning to end, is the sure sign that God has empowered him to act as our guide, our final guide, to kingdom living. In fact, because of his resurrection from the dead, he is elevated to the King who will never die again, and therefore the Kingdom he establishes is without end. All of this is about the history of God’s involvement with men and the Messiah is an historical person, not just an idea of ecclesiastical construction. He has an ancestry, a culture and ethnicity, a point-of-view, a defined language and a way of living in the world. In other words, he is like us—human in a human world.

According to the gospels, Messiah Yeshua fulfills these multiple roles. He is the final word of interpretative commentary on the revelation given to Moses. In that capacity, he is the last rabbinic sage. He is the fully authorized regent of YHVH. In other words, he is Lord of life and has been elevated to the position of King over the world. He is the ultimate expression of YHVH’s will in human form. He is the Torah of YHVH manifest in our world. And he is the guarantor of God’s plan of total restoration. His resurrection from the dead is the first-fruit sign that God has not abandoned His intention that all creation will be reconciled and will glorify its Creator. There is no more important person who ever lived, or lives, in all humanity.

This Messiah fulfills a crucial role that is easily overlooked by Westerners. In our world, rationality is the hallmark of truth. Being human means being rational, logical and cognitive. This emphasis on mental affirmation and propositional logic can leave us empty of the emotional experience of God. We have all the right facts but we are left with a black hole in the heart. We don’t know God because we don’t feel Him. As Arnold Bennett observed, “There can be no knowledge without emotion. We may be aware of a truth, yet until we have felt its force, it is not ours. To the cognition of the brain must be added the experience of the soul.” Yeshua the Messiah introduces us to the feelings of the Father, and these feelings are not judgment, rejection and stern demands. They are graciousness, compassion, care and concern. Yeshua shows us the Father in his healing, forgiveness and sacrifice. Yeshua writes a theology of emotion with his life, something we have longed for since the poet David. Perhaps this is the most important of all his roles for us, Westerners who have been taught that there is something terribly wrong with who we are, Westerners who have succumbed to Plato’s view of the material world, Augustine’s view of sinful nature and Luther’s view of penal atonement. Yeshua comes to demonstrate that YHVH grieves over His lost children and seeks us with a broken heart of emotional longing and undying love. In this sense, Yeshua is the culmination of a biblical theme that begins in the Garden—the recovery of God as Father.

Daniel Boyarin (The Jewish Gospels: The Story of the Jewish Christ) points out that a divine Messiah is not a foreign concept to Jews, but this is not the same as saying that the Messiah is deity. We must be careful (extremely careful) to recognize that the language of the apostolic authors is not our language. The words they chose to use mean what they meant in the first century, not what they mean to us today. Since Jewish thought includes the idea that every person has a “divine spark” because of the animating action of the Ruach Hakodesh, it is perfectly acceptable to claim that Yeshua as Messiah exhibits in the fullest sense this divine connection. But that is not the same as the claim that he is deity. Perhaps it is helpful to note that the word “deity” is never found in Scripture and did not come into the language until Augustine coined the word in Latin. Our contemporary equivalence of “divine” and “deity” simply did not exist in the first century. History demonstrates that many human beings were considered divine during the time Yeshua walked in Israel, but that did not make them equivalent to the one true God, YHVH. The Jewish believers in the first century viewed Yeshua as The Messiah without claiming his ontological equality as YHVH. They certainly accepted him as their Lord and Master, as YHVH’s fully authorized representative, as the final interpreter of Moses and as the once and future King. They may even have seen him as divine. One must wonder what else is necessary in order to fulfill the role of Messiah.

What does this mean for us, followers two millennia removed from the Jewish culture and context of the Messiah’s earliest proponents? Don’t we have the same connection with Yeshua that they had, removed only by intervening years? Yeshua is still the final interpreter of Moses, not the replacement of Moses. He is still the only one who deserves unrestrained loyalty and deference. He is, after all, my King here on earth. He is still the conqueror of death. How that happened is not nearly as important as the fact that it did happen, and because it happened you and I are released from the specter of meaningless existence. Death is not the end. He has proven that. He is still my daily guide. Yes, his words require decoding for my world, a world far removed from the political-social-ethos of the first century. But human problems are fairly constant across the ages and his instruction is valid for us just as it was valid for his disciples. In the end, I choose to live according to his life and words. He is still the one who helps me experience the reality of the Father’s love. He is my friend who talks with me about a God who cares and demonstrates what that care means in the ordinary acts of human existence.

How does any of this humanity diminish his importance? Frankly, it doesn’t. The only stumbling block here is that we have been accustomed to think of this unique, authorized representative of God’s word as deity, not in the sense of the first century use of the term “divine” but in our theologically Christian sense of the term where “divine” for us means “God.” We are frightened that we might have a Messiah who is not “God.” That doesn’t seem to have bothered any of his original followers, but it certainly bothers us. The real question is, “Why does it bother us?” Perhaps our concept of divinity is really a reflection of the Church and not the Bible. Perhaps we are Augustine’s children rather than Abraham’s.

How does this affect exegesis? What do we do with all those stories and lessons and instructions from Yeshua that we find in the biblical text? May I suggest that in order to understand what our faithful guide Yeshua the Messiah is teaching us, we must first understand the content of his teaching in its own environment. Since he is teaching about Torah in the context of first century Jewish thought, it seems reasonable to know something about the cultural background before we attempt to extract ideas from a commentator on these topics. In other words, it’s not possible to understand the apostolic writings unless we understand the Tanakh and the rabbinic ethos of the first century. That doesn’t mean we put aside the words of the Messiah until we have fully comprehended the body of literature. Such a task is impossible for us. We must begin somewhere and grow as we learn. Where we begin will be a choice. From that starting point, we will be driven to see the larger reality because of these smaller steps and we will struggle to incorporate that larger reality into our lives. Tension, progress, confusion, deliberation, decision, and revelation—all seem to be part of this journey.

But it isn’t a journey for everyone. You will have to decide.

What is the role of the Jewish Messiah? As simply as possible, it is to accomplish God’s will on earth. That means he will become the model for living, the faithful friend who reveals the Father, our King and confidant, and the one whom YHVH Himself elevates to authority over all creation. What else do we need?

[1] Abraham Cohen, Everyman’s Talmud, p. 346.

[2] Ibid., p. 347.

[3] Ibid., p. 348.

[4] Ibid., p. 349.

[5] Ibid., p. 351.

[6] Ibid.

[7] cf. Cohen, op. cit., p. 353.

“Why is light given to a man whose way is hidden, and whom God has hedged in?” Job 3:23 NASB

Light – “Even though I walk through the valley of tsalmawet.” What kind of valley is tsalmawet? One that we know, unfortunately. “It describes the darkness of eyelids tired from weeping (Job 16:16), the thick darkness present in a mine shaft (Job 28:3), the darkness of the abode of the dead (Job 10:21f.; 38:17), and the darkness prior to creation (Amos 5:8). Emotionally it describes the internal anguish of one who has rebelled against God (Ps 107:10–14; cf. 44:19f. [H 20f.]). Thus it is the strongest word in Hebrew for darkness.”^[1] If this is the reality of our lives, why even be born?

Ah, Job’s question. The NASB translates “Why is light given . . ?” The NIV offers, “Why is life given?” Most translations use one of these two alternatives. However, the Hebrew text provides nothing! It doesn’t have any phrase like this at all. It simply reads, “To a man whose way is hidden whom God has hedged in.” We have to go back to verse 20 to find the basis for the translator’s gloss. But it’s not very encouraging.

20

“Why is light given to him who suffers,

And life to the bitter of soul,

21 

Who long for death, but there is none,

And dig for it more than for hidden treasures,

22 

Who rejoice greatly,

And exult when they find the grave?

23 

Why is light given to a man whose way is hidden,

And whom God has hedged in?

24 

For my groaning comes at the sight of my food,

And my cries pour out like water.

25 

For what I fear comes upon me,

And what I dread befalls me.”[2]

Job’s lament sends us on the road to fearless purpose. It’s not an easy trip. “We must go into the scary places to find ourselves, we fools, we must encounter all that lives there, and if we never find our way out again it will still have been a risk worth taking, more than that: it’s the risk we’re born for, made for. It’s the risk we owe it to ourselves to take. We’ve called up what we can’t put down and now we’ve got to look into its eyes and talk to it.”[3]

Most of us do everything possible to avoid this kind of pain, including anesthetic addictions. We convince ourselves that we would rather fight the devil we know than open the door to another kind of hell. But in the process we wrap ourselves in a cloud of numbing behaviors that actually prevents healing and growth. To heal is to hurt. That’s why we don’t automatically take that road. Like frogs in a pot, we don’t notice the rising temperature until we boil.

The path to healing begins with an honest assessment of our emotional complaint. As long as we pretend things are okay, we can’t deal with our real anger, disappointment and hopelessness. If we have never dreaded our fears, groaned over being alive, felt intractable burdens or protested our suffering, we haven’t faced the real God of Israel, a God who in intimately intertwined in all these scary things. When we avoid the heartbreaking way, we will never encounter existential relief. We can go on pretending God cares but there is a very big difference between the theory of compassion and the experience of tears being wiped away.

Perhaps Job isn’t really the Bible’s answer to the problem of evil. Perhaps it is an introduction to authentic living.

Topical Index: Job 3:23, tsalmawet, shadow of death, darkness, purpose, healing

^[1] Hartley, J. E. (1999). 1921 צָלַל. In R. L. Harris, G. L. Archer, Jr. & B. K. Waltke (Eds.), Theological Wordbook of the Old Testament (R. L. Harris, G. L. Archer, Jr. & B. K. Waltke, Ed.) (electronic ed.) (767). Chicago: Moody Press.

[2] Job 3:20-25 NASB

[3] J. O. Steenkamp, SHIP, p. 126.

TACOMA, WASHINGTON – FEBRUARY 11 and 12  NEW DATES

Saturday afternoon and evening:   3PM to 6PM and 7PM to 9PM

Sunday mid-morning:  1PM to 3PM

Skip Moen will be teaching on:

MEDITATION – a look at the rabbinic development of the mystery of God with a discussion of meditation and personal reflection

CERTAINTY and DOUBT – How does the confusion and turmoil of life find resolution in the biblical worldview? Or does it?

SOLOMON’S SECRET – a new look at why the wisest man in the world made such colossal mistakes

PLACE:

Salvation Army Community Center,
1110 S. Puget Sound Ave
Tacoma WA 98408

(The Northeast corner of 12th & Union)

YOU MUST REGISTER FOR THIS EVENT. 

You may also pay at the door, but you need to let us know you are coming so we will have space for you.

Contact Michael Moen

moenm33@yahoo.com

407-405-6005

Purchase below

1 Session Only – $20

All 3 Sessions (Saturday & Sunday) – $30

Then Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him until daybreak. Genesis 32:24 NASB

A man – Perhaps you’ve read Crossing.[1] If you haven’t, then you should. It’s a book about Jacob’s struggle for self-identity, and, of course, it’s in Scripture because it isn’t just about Jacob. It’s about Abraham, Isaac, Jacob—and you and me. It’s about coming to the brook of separation or walking through the valley of the shadow of death or entering the temple of YHVH or seeing Yeshua after the resurrection. It’s about being undone! It’s about recognizing our own futile attempts to make something of ourselves without feeling the force of God’s hand upon us. It’s about years of denial, distraction, distance, deliberation, despair—and destiny. It’s about the man—a man—the one we encounter in the middle of our struggle who can’t be defeated but can’t win. The man who fears the coming of the light. The man who plays rough, breaks the rules, leaves us crippled. The man who never explains why he fights, where he comes from or who he is. That really doesn’t matter in this story. What matters is crossing the brook. That is all that matters. Leaving behind what we did to ourselves, what we made of ourselves, what others told us about ourselves—and crossing. Crossing to the place where we are in partnership with God, where we have a purpose that fits and where we can look at the world from God’s point-of-view.

Joe Steenkamp puts it like this:

In becoming conscious one is able to detach from subjective perceptions and see the truth or symbolic meaning in a situation. Detachment does not mean ceasing to care. It means stilling one’s fear-driven voices. One who has attained an inner posture of detachment has a sense of self so complete that external influences have no authority within his or her consciousness. Such clarity of mind and self is the essence of wisdom . . . and . . . We achieve wisdom both through life experiences and by acquiring the discriminating perceptual ability of detachment. . . . But detachment doesn’t mean you don’t let the experience penetrate you. On the contrary, you let it penetrate you fully. That’s how you are able to leave it. . . . If you hold back on emotions—if you don’t allow yourself to go all the way through them—you can never get to being detached, you’re too busy being afraid . . . of the pain . . . of the grief . . . of the vulnerability that loving entails.[2]

We think of detachment as emotionless neutrality, but that isn’t the case. Detachment is the ability to fully engage in life’s emotional path and not get stuck in the process. It is the ability to allow completed emotional experience to become the instructor of continued living. It is not stepping away. It is stepping into. As Steenkamp notes:

Empathy is the stimulant for healing; sympathy is its killer.[3]

I have argued that the story of Jabbok is about Jacob wrestling with himself in the depths of his own self-made identity. I fully believe that Jabbok is our place of struggle, the place where we must learn the difference between empathy and sympathy. We are not to feel badly for Jacob and those like him. We are to identify that we are Jacob. We are the ones fighting with “a man” who comes out of nowhere and pummels us until we collapse. We are trying to cross into God’s land, and we ourselves are the enemy that attempts to prevent the crossing. But we cannot win by defeating the man. We can only resolve this battle, not win it, by engaging the man until we emerge “complete” (Genesis 33:18 – see Today’s Word, May 1, 2016).

How many times have you truncated the process of emotional resolution by stepping away from the painful path? Did your divergence resolve the feelings or did it merely push them into a secret closet? Are you transparent, even to yourself, as God described the couple in the Garden, or have you lost empathy for the one who calls you back to the wrong side of the brook? Maybe we can summarize it all with this:

Who are you really fighting today?

Topical Index: detachment, empathy, Jabbok, Jacob, Genesis 32:24, Genesis 33:18, Crossing

[1] Crossing: The Struggle for Identity, available on skipmoen.com/products

[2] J. O. Steenkamp, SHIP, pp. 132-135.

[3] J. O. Steenkamp, SHIP, p. 131.

Just something to enjoy today

Why is it that light and shadow, shape and frame, are so amazingly comforting? What do we see in these sculptured rocks that soothes us?

This image can be found one my photo gallery. CLICK HERE. http://skipmoenphotography.com

Now to Him who is able to keep you from stumbling, and to make you stand in the presence of His glory blameless with great joy, Jude 24 NASB

Keep you from stumbling – Sometimes it just feels like we can’t keep going. The weight of living in Babylon, the rejection of those we thought understood us, the solitary struggle to maintain righteousness overwhelms us. We know we are close to falling down—again. We need help from heaven, and Jude proclaims that we can have it. God Himself provides reinforcements. He is able to keep us on track when we are teetering. It’s a great promise, but is it true? Perhaps we need some backwards perspective in order to know.

Most of us are not very good at spiritual discernment in the present moment. We are too preoccupied with the emotional flow to see the larger reality. We are invested in ourselves now. As a result, we lose sight of the greater testimony of heaven’s help. God can keep us from falling. How do we know this? Because we have a history of rescue. We might not see His hand at this precise moment, but we have seen it before and we have a record of those who have also seen it so we have confidence that what He has done He will do again. This moment we suffer from self-inflicted obscurity, but the record of His involvement is not diminished. We just need to adjust the rear-view mirror.

The Greek text contains some pretty strong language. “Who is able” introduces the idea with the verb dynamai, a verb of power. This is about ability and capacity, attitude and action. Even in Greek thought, dynamis is a cosmic idea, the basis for life itself. Greeks viewed this as a natural force. Hebrews viewed it as the presence of a personal God. In either language, it stresses the unstoppable strength of accomplishment. It will be done!

Jude combines this verb with phylasso, “to protect, to watch.” What will be done by the unstoppable power of the cosmic God? Oversight and protection. There is no hesitancy in Jude’s declaration. The God who stands behind all creation is the same God who guards our direction. He is not slow to perform nor unwilling to assist. Just look at His record. Of course, you have to look before it becomes clear. Myopic obsession with your present distress prevents rearview assessment, but it doesn’t change the facts. God acts! He has before. He will again.

Lastly, Jude employs the adjective aptaistous. This is the negative form of ptaio. “Not stumbling.” God’s glorious power is employed in oversight and protection so that you and I will not stumble. Of course, Jude uses the phrase metaphorically. He means that God will do everything possible to keep us from sinning. If God is doing everything possible on His side of the equation, everything that the unstoppable, cosmic Creator can do, then what is left? Just you. Just me. Just our vision and agreement. Just the recognition that our small part has already been coupled with the immensity of the universe placed at our disposal to keep us going forward. So what’s the problem?

Topical Index: able, dynamis, keep, phylasso, stumble, ptaio, Jude 24

But there were some of them, men of Cyprus and Cyrene, who came to Antioch and began speaking to the Greeks also preaching the Lord Jesus and the hand of the Lord was with them, and a large number who believed turned to the Lord. Acts 11:20-21 NASB

Greeks – Perhaps we should petition the government for a new class of protected minorities, those who are historically challenged. We could then nominate nearly every Christian as a member of this class. J They have been reading texts like this one for centuries without a clue about its true import. A marginal note in the NASB mentions that the word heiselthontes could mean “Greek speaking Jews.” That’s about as close as we get to understanding the significance this word has in the development of the Way. It’s clearly not enough.

The word occurs in other verses in Acts (6:1, 9:29). It describes a particular segment of Jewish society in the first century. The importance of this segment cannot be swept under the carpet of obscurity. Martin Hengel’s seminal study of the influence of Hellenism in Judaism between 400BC and 100AD demonstrates why we cannot afford to be so historically blind. From extensive examination of ancient resources, he makes the following points:

1. Hellenism was more than an educational and political philosophy of Alexander the Great’s empire. It was the basis for the social class system, economic well-being, military success and political power. As Alexander conquered the known world, he instituted an educational system that rewarded those who adopted the Greek language and the Greek way of life (Hellenizein) and relegated the rest to the lower classes.
2. As the principle vehicle of economic commerce, Greek speakers dominated trade. Anyone doing business across political and tribal boundaries was influenced by the great machine of Greek thinking.
3. War was a Greek game. The success of Greek speakers on the battlefield only served to emphasize the necessity of becoming a Hellenist if one wanted to survive the subsequent political intrigue. By the end of the Ptolemaic empire (305BC to 30BC), a significant segment of the Jewish population in Jerusalem was thoroughly committed to the Greek way of life. This portion of the Jewish population were the men in power, the ruling kings, the Sadducees and those economic figures aligned with Rome in order to maintain their financial success.
4. Politics in the first century in Israel was based in Greek ideals. The rulers in the time of Yeshua were well acquainted with the Greek way of life, many embracing its ideals (there was actually a Greek gymnasium in Jerusalem). Because Greek thought was systematically opposed to the tribal and traditional norms of the ancient Hebrew religion, these Jews offered constant opposition to those who sought to maintain the old ways.
5. Rabbinic Judaism, born in the fourth century BC, was heavily influenced by Hellenism. Among other actions, the temple priests (no longer only the descendants of the tribe of Levi) claimed the tithe as their due. They distinguished themselves socially and theologically from the am ha’eretz, the common people of the land. They established the Temple as a separate “tax-free” state with its own currency. This created significant tension within Judaism, represented chiefly by the Pharisees who advocated a return to ancient traditions and the Sadducees who leaned toward the adopting of Hellenized Judaism.
6. The Jewish upper classes and aristocracy rose to power on the back of Hellenism and were loath to reject it. Their influence over education, trade, politics and society created enormous tensions within Israel; tensions that were only exacerbated by the appearance of proclaimed Messiahs who advocated a return to Torah obedience.
7. Hellenism was a movement toward city-states and an ethos of city life. It disparaged rural, pedestrian existence. It embraced an implicit polytheism based on economic advantage. It viewed ancient traditions and norms as impediments to progress. In opposition to this movement, religious zealots of Israel sought to eradicate the influence of Hellenism in both social and religious realms.

There is more, much more. All of this plays a part in the interface between the Greek-speaking Jews (those who had become proponents of Hellenism) and the traditional Hebrew speaking Jews. The disagreements we find in the New Testament are often not arguments between Jews and Gentiles but rather arguments between two groups within the Jewish population. All of this must be considered when we seek to understand a text as simple as Acts 11:20-21. What is certain it this: no clear picture of the cultural background of the New Testament text can emerge without this historical context. Yet, for the most part, Christians are completely clueless about this critical part of history. They act as if God’s “superintendence” of Scripture simply bypasses what actually occurred in the lives of the men who wrote it.

Isn’t it time to insist that our teachers and exegetes tell us what actually happened so that we can understand why a word like heiselthontes shows up in Acts?

Topical Index: heiselthontes, Hellenists, Greek-speaking, Ptolemaic, Acts 11:20-21

“Therefore it is my judgment that we do not trouble those who are turning to God from among the Gentiles, but that we write to them that they abstain from things contaminated by idols and from fornication and from what is strangled and from blood.” Acts 15:19-20 NASB

Contaminated – What’s in your refrigerator? That might be the appropriate modern-day question to introduce James’ pronouncement. Far too often Christian theologians have suggested that this passage eliminates all Torah requirements except the rules given to Noah. That’s probably because most interpreters in the last millennium have ignored the context of this announcement. We will not. Let’s take a longer look at what James has to say.

James is Jewish (despite the Anglicized name). He is Ya’aqob, recognized leader of the Jerusalem assembly (qehillah) of the followers of the Way. Everything about him stems from his Jewish roots and his understanding and worship of Yeshua Ha-Mashiach.   When he speaks, he speaks from the authority of the Tanakh (the Hebrew Scriptures). His concern is not about how his fellow countrymen become “Christians.” His concern is about all the Gentiles who are joining the Jewish qehillah. After listening to the discussion, he determines that only four things are really required of these Gentile converts. He agrees with Sha’ul that outward circumcision is not a requirement. A Gentile does not have to become a Jew (the ritual process of becoming a Jew included circumcision) in order to be a participant in the fellowship of the qehillah. That is settled. What a Gentile must do, however, is meet four specific requirements. These requirements begin with the idea of pagan contamination (in Greek, alisgema, a word occurring only here in the New Testament). Of course, Ya’aqob wasn’t speaking Greek. So whatever he said must be related to a Jewish-Hebrew perspective. And once we begin to look there, we find something very interesting, not found in the Genesis account of Noah.

Whoever participates in table fellowship in the qehillah has fellowship with YHVH. The Tanakh makes it clear that table fellowship incorporates “clean” food and specific kosher rituals.[1] Gentiles who are entering the qehillah fellowship are required to participate in the table fellowship according to Tanakh practice. They may not participate in sacrificial meals to pagan deities because table fellowship was a symbol of worship. In other words, a person could not participate in pagan rituals and, at the same time, participate in table fellowship with YHVH. This requirement has nothing to do with “earning” salvation. Salvation is God’s gift. But it has everything to do with living a life in honor of YHVH and participating in the community called apart by YHVW. James effectively says, “You can’t keep on doing those things associated with pagan table fellowship. You have to leave all those behind.”

Now look at the four requirements. In the context of the first century, Jewish culture in Jerusalem, each of these four actions would have been considered signs of pagan worship (offerings to idols, sexual worship rituals, strangulation rather than kosher slaughter, drinking blood or using blood in ways other than those prescribed by God). So James says, “None of these can be allowed,” not because he is making a pronouncement about food but because these fellowship-related behaviors are associated with idolatry.

If you are going to participate at God’s table, you need to give up your idolatrous ways. Today, James might have a different list, a list that includes our symbols of serving other gods. Table fellowship with YHVH comes in only one flavor – His.

So, what’s in your refrigerator? And what’s in your heart? Have you put aside all those actions and elements that signal idolatry in any form? Have you determined that you will sit at God’s table according to His directions? Or are you trying to eat from your own menu?

Topical Index: table fellowship, pollution, alisgema, food, idolatry, Acts 15:19-20

[1] cf. 1 Samuel 9:13, Jeremiah 11:15, Haggai 2:12, Zechariah 14:21

Then what had been spoken through Jeremiah the prophet was fulfilled: “A voice was heard in Ramah, weeping and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children; and she refused to be comforted, because they were no more.” Matthew 2:17-18 NASB

Was fulfilled – It should be obvious. Herod’s brutal slaughtering of the infants in Bethlehem has nothing to do with Jeremiah’s prophecy! The passage in Jeremiah is about the children of Israel going into captivity. It is not about death. It is not about babies. And it is certainly not about the Messiah. But that doesn’t prevent Matthew from altering the prophecy so that it fits his agenda. Consider this:

The passage is from Jeremiah 31:15. It is part of the proclamation of the new covenant which Jesus alludes to in the last supper and which is used specifically in Hebrews 8:8-12. But there are several textual problems.

1. All ancient versions read “because they are not,” not “because he is not” (BHS).
2. The LXX translates this passage literally except it omits the first use of “for her children.”
3. Matthew uses the identical wording of the LXX for the first clause.
4. BUT he omits the first of the three terms for “crying.”
5. He puts the remaining two verbs in the nominative case (the LXX is genitive).
6. He adds the adjective polys (“great”).
7. He changes the compound middle participle for “weeping” to a simple active form.
8. He restores the MT second clause “for her children.”
9. And he uses a more literal Greek verb for “comforted.”

The result is this: Matthew’s quotation from Jeremiah is neither a quotation from the MT, the BHS or the LXX. Matthew has altered the text to suit his purposes. What does this tell us about the New Testament idea of inspiration? Even if we suggest that no Hebrew would ever consider the Tanakh uninspired, Matthew (and he is not the only one) shows us that there is a fluidity to the idea of inspiration that is not aligned with contemporary versions of plenary and inerrant manuscripts. In fact, the more we study the exact details of the New Testament authors’ use of the Old Testament, the more we come into contact with a concept of inspiration that does not match our Western standards of inviolable transmission. At the same time, the rabbinic tradition held that even the letters of the Hebrew Bible were inspired. There is a tension here that Western minds find difficult to balance.

And this isn’t the only example.

Matthew 1:23 MT “she will call him.” The LXX reads, “you will call him. ” Matthew changes it to “they will call him.” Textual variant LXX Alpha is in the third person plural, but more likely Matthew alters the text to fit the context of his own use.

Matthew 2:6 MT “And you Bethlehem Ephrathah, little among the thousands of Judah.” The LXX adds “house of Ephrathah,” changes “thousands” to “rulers of thousands,” but Matthew replaces “house of” with “land of Judah” and adds “by no means,”, changes the adjective to “least,” replaces “rulers of thousands” with “governors,” omits “of me” but then follows the LXX with “out of you will go forth.” This is midrash, not quotation.

Matthew 2:23 No text in the Tanakh declares that the Messiah will be called a Nazarene. Where did this come from? It is a play on the Hebrew root word, not a prophecy.

Matthew 4:6 Matthews use of Ps. 91:11 is a fairly literal translation of the LXX. Matthew follows the LXX except he omits “to protect you in all your ways” replacing the phrase with “and”. Luke preserves “to protect you” but omits “in all your ways.”

Matthew 5:33 The words “whoever divorces” are not in the Tanakh. The Tanakh reads “if a man . . . finds something indecent . . .” This is a summary of a quotation rather than a quotation. How does it still have authority? Yeshua employs it as a midrash.

Matthew 10:35 The LXX translates MT with “dishonors” rather than “treats as a fool,” but Matthew replaces “son” with “man,” omits the first verb, inserts “against,” omits the second verb and paraphrases the final clause.

Matthew 12:18b Matthew uses the verb “announces,” not found in the LXX or MT.

Matthew 12:20b The long citation apparently following Isaiah 42 in the LXX It could be that Matthew is translating the text to show its implicit Hebrew concepts, but it also might be that Matthew is combining this passage in Isaiah with material from Habakkuk 1:4.

Matthew 13:35 MT “utter dark sayings from of old.” The LXX turns “parable” into the plural and renders “dark sayings” as problemata. Matthew uses kelrymmena (things having been hidden) and “from the foundation of the world” for “from of old.”

Matthew 18:16 Matthew renders MT by eliminating the second “on the mouth” and “witnesses,” changing the “and” to “or” and altering the future passive “shall be established” to the aorist passive “was established.” Matthew fits the quotation to the context of his narrative.

Matthew 21:5 follows the LXX verbatim for first clause, but omits “righteous and saving.” Then he deviates from the LXX in the use of terms for donkey and “on a colt, the offspring of a donkey.”

Matthew 21:9 Matthew inserts “Son of David,” not found in the Psalm and omits “Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David” found in the LXX.

Matthew 22:24 Matthew quotes Deuteronomy 25:5 but his version is more like a paraphrase. “Brother” is changed to “someone” and “not having children” becomes “there is no seed for him.”

Matthew 22:37 translates Deuteronomy 6:5 but Matthew adds “and with all your understanding,” then changes the preposition ex in the LXX to en.

Matthew 26:31 MT reads “you (singular) strike the shepherd.” The LXX changes “you” to plural and “shepherd” to “shepherds.” Matthew changes the command to first person singular future, “I will strike,” and adds “of the flock.”

Matthew 26:64 Matthew inserts Ps 110:1 into a quotation from Daniel 7:13. He changes meta to epi (on the clouds). But here the citation is from Yeshua who alters the text from “sit at my right hand” to fit the context of his remark.

Matthew 27:46 Matthew changes the spelling of the MT for “my God” (compare Mark) and changes the Greek LXX from the nominative used for direct address to the vocative.

Here are eighteen cases where either MT or LXX have not been followed or have been altered to fit Matthew’s objective. What are we to conclude about the doctrine of inspiration here? How are we to reconcile substantial alterations in the text in both LXX and MT, yet still claim that Matthew’s words are the Word of God? And these are only examples from Matthew. Every author of the apostolic writings does the same thing, including the statements of Yeshua.

The evidence seems clear. Our contemporary idea of inerrancy and inspiration do not fit what actually happens in the text. The behavior of the authors indicates that they operated with concepts that are much looser than ours. Who do you suppose is correct?

Topical Index: inerrancy, inspiration, hermeneutics, Matthew 2:17-18

TACOMA CONFERENCE IN FEBRUARY

Several people have notified me that the web page of signing up for the Tacoma conference in February wasn’t working properly.  HERE IS THE LINK FOR REGISTRATION

Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy; six days you shall labor and do all your work; and the seventh day is a sabbath to YHVH your God; you shall not do any work, . . . Exodus 20:8-10   J. Green translation

Work – Work/worship/serve is the combination of meanings associated with the Hebrew word avad. But this isn’t the word used in the fourth commandment. The word used in this commandment is melakah, a word that means “work, occupation, business, workmanship or service.” Six days you shall take care of business, but not on the seventh day. Seems clear enough, right? Well, maybe not.

As an interesting aside, we might notice that melakah has the same assumed root as the word mal’ak and mal’ak is used not only for messenger but also for angel (all those who carry a message). Does this suggest that work is also a form of message-bearing?

TWOT[1] distinguishes melakah (work) from ‘amal and yaga’ (toil). Work emphasizes effort that involves skill and benefits, as opposed to toil which it seen as burdensome labor. Melakah describes not only the effort but the results. This commandment prohibits three things on the Sabbath: what we do that is associated with skill, what we do that provides benefits and what we do that could involve saying something about us to the watching world that would dishonor God.

With this broad definition, the next obvious question is, “What are those kinds of things?” The Bible specifically mentions nine activities. Only nine. But Judaism expanded these nine to 39 classifications and from there to hundreds of rulings on particulars in works like the Tractate Shabbat. Of course, there were good motivations behind these expansions. No one wanted to accidently violate a commandment so everyone wanted to know the details. These details are included in the oral Torah, eventually written down in rabbinic material. This process tells us something about the culture we encounter when we read the Bible, particularly the New Testament.

Martin Hengel’s study of the influence of Hellenism on Judaism contains this remarkable statement: “From about the middle of the third century BC all Judaism must really be designated as ‘Hellenistic Judaism’ in the strict sense, and a better differentiation could be made between the Greek-speaking Judaism of the Western Diaspora and the Aramaic/Hebrew-speaking Judaism of Palestine and Babylonia.”[2] Hengel continues, “The Jews were the only people of the East to enter into deliberate competition with the Greek view of the world and of history, . . . after 70AD they suddenly broke off from giving accounts of their history and concentrated entirely on developing fundamentally ahistorical halacha and haggada . . .”[3] The destruction of the second temple precipitated this break but the foundation for it was laid hundreds of years earlier in the rise of rabbinic theology. An example of Hegel’s observation can be seen in the dozens of rulings regarding the proper application of melakah. Judaism in the time of Yeshua was already on its way toward this concentration of halacha and haggadah. It is simply impossible to read the texts of the New Testament without understanding this background.

Judaism today is not the same faith that we find in the older books of the Tanakh. It has been transformed since the destruction of the Temple. That doesn’t mean we cannot learn a great deal from Jewish insights and investigation, but it does mean that we have to probe as best we can behind the cultural transformation that occurred after the fourth century BC in Israel. In other words, we have to look toward the cultures of the ancient Near-East (like Mesopotamia, Babylon and Egypt) if we are going to understand words like melakah as they were understood by the chosen ones who stood before YHVH at Sinai.

We have a lot to learn, don’t we?

Topical Index: Sabbath, work, melakah, Judaism, halacha, Exodus 20:8-10

[1] The Theological Dictionary of the Old Testament, eds. Archer, Waltke, Harris

[2] Martin Hengel, Judaism and Hellenism, p. 104.

[3] Ibid., p. 100.

It happened as they were coming, when David returned from killing the Philistine, that the women came out of all the cities of Israel, singing and dancing, to meet King Saul, with tambourines, with joy and with musical instruments. The women sang as they played, and said, “Saul has slain his thousands, and David his ten thousands.” 1 Samuel 18:6-7 NASB

It happened – David’s relationship with Saul and the subsequent years of animosity and trials begins with an innocent accolade. Saul’s jealousy becomes the hidden motive for a number of events that lead to betrayal, compromise and death. It never should have happened. After all, Saul could just have easily taken credit for finding the young warrior and adding him to the king’s army. Saul could have been proud of David’s accomplishments as a close associate, a subject of Saul’s kingdom. Saul could have overlooked the lyrics as unintended exuberance, nothing more. But he didn’t. “As it happened” appears to introduce the radical change in relationship as if it were simply an accidental occurrence. But maybe that’s not the way we are supposed to read this.

The Hebrew is vayhi, the combination of the conjunctive vav and the verb hayah (to occur, to be, to become, to come to pass). In this sentence, the verbal construction indicates an incomplete action, i.e., something that was continuing. In other words, the sentiment of the crowd wasn’t a one-time affair. The people of Israel praised David whenever they could. As the troops marched back to the king’s palace, crowds extolled David (and Saul, by the way) so that the refrain became common. It was like hearing a ranked comparison over and over. “You’re great, O king, but, my, that boy David, he’s something else!” The song of celebration bites.

Of course, we know the story. Saul turns on David. Years of struggle ensue. All because of some ditty that no one really thought much about—except Saul. Certainly the women who sang the lyrics didn’t intend to diminish their king. Obviously David didn’t take it that way. But Saul did. We must ask why? Why did a king who could have exhibited this fine young warrior with the pride of a dotting father take umbrage at this accidental event and turn toward the dark side?

Why indeed! Have you and I never felt the slap of comparison when an accidental event reminds us that we aren’t admired as much as someone in close company? Have you and I never concluded that we deserved the accolades just as much, or perhaps even more? Have you and I never felt the pang of ego deflation? It takes a man of unusual character to say, “He must increase, but I must decrease.”[1] We are more apt to follow the yetzer ha’ra into protective mode. This is Luzzatto’s outstanding contribution—to analyze the inner workings of the yetzer ha’ra by showing us that its primary objective is the protection of ego. Anything, even the innocent lyrics of an unenlightened crowd, becomes a threat to our self-identity if we are unsure of YHVH’s purposes in our lives. There are no innocent events when we believe that our identities are measured by the inspections of others. With the yetzer ha’ra in control, “accidents” do not happen. The yetzer ha’ra inhabits a calculus of arbitrary worthiness. For Saul, being king was an identity without divine commission. Therefore, it was always at risk. And David became a threat.

Nothing just happens, at least not in the determination of the yetzer ha’ra. Everything either enhances or detracts from the mountain of self-proclamation. But for those who understand their place in God’s governance, events come to pass without concern for their results whether fears or triumphs. In God’s world, divine engineering can occur without any indication of planning. The yetzer ha’tov simply enjoys the flow.

Topical Index: yetzer ha’ra, Saul, it happened, vayhi, 1 Samuel 18:6-7

[1] John 3:30 NASB

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Then Saul said to David, “Here is my older daughter Merab; I will give her to you as a wife, only be a valiant man for me and fight the Lord’s battles.” For Saul thought, “My hand shall not be against him, but let the hand of the Philistines be against him.” But David said to Saul, “Who am I, and what is my life or my father’s family in Israel, that I should be the king’s son-in-law?” So it came about at the time when Merab, Saul’s daughter, should have been given to David, that she was given to Adriel the Meholathite for a wife. 1 Samuel 18:17-19 NASB

So it came about – Ah, the lowly vayhi. “As it happened.” We encountered this odd little word when the women sang David’s praises. Now the next “accidental” event occurs, an event that will alter David’s life and set the stage for continuing tragedy. King Saul promises his oldest daughter to David, after David goes to battle with the Philistines. Saul, still projecting identity threat, doesn’t want to appear as if he desires David’s demise, so he arranges for David to be shipped off to war in hopes that the enemies of Israel will eliminate his nemesis. Here is the ultimate ploy of the yetzer ha’ra. Offer a prize of consequence (marriage into the royal family) but with a condition that proffers defeat, and thus eliminates the threat without direct embarrassment. Just get someone else to do the dirty work for you. Set it up for failure. Look regal and wait for the façade of mourning. There is a lesson here that generates a second act much later when the king, David, arranges for the elimination of an embarrassing threat in much the same way.

But, of course, God is with David and he does not fall to the Philistines. Rabbinic commentary on the next step in this history notices that no reason is given for Saul’s alteration of the deal. When the wedding day arrives, Merab, Saul’s oldest daughter, is given to Adriel. Surprise, surprise! It takes little imagination to suppose that Saul never intended David to marry the oldest. Saul expected David to die. If that is the case, we can certainly conclude that Saul always intended the marriage of his oldest to cement a royal alliance with the Meholathites. David just didn’t cooperate.

The text tells us that David did marry one of Saul’s daughters, Michal, but not because Saul arranged it. “Now Michal, Saul’s daughter, loved David. When they told Saul, the thing was agreeable to him.  Saul thought, ‘I will give her to him that she may become a snare to him, and that the hand of the Philistines may be against him’” (1 Samuel 18:20-21). The arrangement is predicated on the hope that it will lead to David’s death. Palace intrigue rules. Significantly, when David is king and a famine punishes Israel for three years, he discovers the cause is Saul’s actions toward the Gibeonites. As atonement, David offers all of the sons of Adriel and Merab to be hanged by the Gibeonites. One must wonder why David so quickly conceded to the Gibeonite request.

We are less interested in Saul’s scheme than we are in the pattern among royalty that David learns. Psychological warfare plays just as big a part as the physical results in this game of thrones. David gets a good taste of betrayal, hidden agendas and, eventually, revenge . He also learns something else. Women are more or less disposable. As we shall see, this last lesson creates enormous carnage. What begins once again with an accidental occurrence ends in the manipulations of men. Perhaps we need to take a step back and realize that “so it came about” is a constant factor in our lives. What we do with these accidents sometimes has generational consequences.

Topical Index: vayhi, accident, Merab, Michal, Gibeonites, 1 Samuel 18:17-19

Then Abigail quickly arose, and rode on a donkey, with her five maidens who attended her; and she followed the messengers of David and became his wife. David had also taken Ahinoam of Jezreel, and they both became his wives. 1 Samuel 25:42-43 NASB

Wife – Number 2 and Number 3. Of course, we all know the story of Abigail and Nabal. We know that Abigail intervenes in David’s plan of revenge and saves her husband, Nabal. We know that Nabal dies a few days later and subsequently David takes Abigail to be his second wife. And then there’s that little extra verse. “David had also taken Ahinoam.” If you have two, why not three? Or eight, as it will eventually turn out. Plus at least ten concubines. And nineteen children (or more). But it all starts here—or maybe not. Maybe it starts with Saul’s double-dealing with Merab. Maybe it starts with the treatment of these women as trophies, exchange collateral or desire-fulfillment. It is interesting that after a rather full description of Abigail’s sense of propriety and a clear demonstration of her management abilities, David praises her for doing YHVH’s work. He blesses her for preventing him from committing evil by killing Nabal. Then he decides she would make an excellent wife. She accepts his proposal with honor. What does David do? He finds another woman to add to the collection. In a single sentence we discover that Abigail isn’t quite enough (apparently) and that Ahinoam is just an after-thought supplement.

Oh, yes, then there’s the next verse where Saul gives Michal to Palti, the son of Laish. Saul gives David’s wife to another man! What? The soap opera of the kingdom is just getting started and already we see David with three women, one who is forced into adultery by her father. Is it any wonder that, years later, a famous son of the king after Saul thinks very little of collecting a few hundred women? Family precedence prevails. Just do what your father did. Or what the king before him did.

We might chalk this up to twisted royal ethics except for the explicit command of YHVH about the obligation of a king. Don’t multiply horses or women. It seems that men are missing a particular “remembrance” gene when it comes to these two categories. Or maybe they just like the results so much that they assume more is better. What is most interesting about this progression is that the secondary players (the women) are barely mentioned by name. They are for all intents and purposes, chattel. Yes, David is involved enough with each one that he fathers a son, but until we get to the next step on the downward spiral (Bathsheba), it seems as though David’s serial monogamy doesn’t raise even an eyebrow. At the moment, both Abigail and Ahinoam become David’s wives. The construction is vattehilo leishshah. It’s interesting that the “accident” that opens these sagas (remember vayhi) is connected to vattehi-lo (literally, “and it came to pass toward him [David]”). We might translate this with an eye toward vayhi. “And it just happened that the two women became his wives” as if this is also an “accident” of history.

But it isn’t an accident, is it? David chooses—and he chooses to take a bit more, and more, and more. He chooses to flaunt Saul’s insult by multiplying his own female possessions. If Saul is going to treat his own daughter as a piece of property to be handed off to another man as a demonstration of power, then David will double the ante.

Ah, the games we play in the name of the Lord. If God gives one, we take two. After all, we are called by His name, right? And He wants us to be satisfied, right? And we should exhibit His power, right? What better way than to outdo the competition. Or is it really fool’s gold; this pursuit of proving how important I really am?

Perhaps we should note that this Hebrew story, like so many Hebrew stories, should really be read from back to front. In other words, we don’t see what is really happening, nor are we shown the consequences, until we reach the end of the line. All along the way it appears as if things are “just happening.” But once we know the end of the story, we can go back and read it properly. The choices of men and the hand of God are often opposed to each other in spite of God’s hidden sovereignty. For us the lesson is crucial. We don’t know the end of our stories yet. Perhaps we never will. But someone, some day will see what just happened and read it backwards to discover where God offered alternatives but we went the other way. Life isn’t accidental after its over, but it surely might appear to be accidental all along the way. Unless, of course, you realize that what looks like an accident is really an opportunity to choose.

Topical Index: Abigail, Ahinoam, wife, Michal, ishshah, 1 Samuel 25:42-43

TACOMA CONFERENCE IN FEBRUARY

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I was mute—in silence. I kept still, deprived of good, and my pain was grievous. Psalm 39:2 (Robert Alter translation)

Mute – You’re pummeled by the world. Your friends insult you. You are misunderstood. What do you do? Keep quiet, of course! No one likes a complainer! Don’t you know that it’s not nice to criticize someone else even if they deserve it? No, much better to just hold it all in, pretend that it doesn’t matter and make the best of things.

WRONG! “When we value being cool and in control over granting ourselves the freedom to unleash the passionate, goofy, heartfelt, and soulful expressions of who we are, we betray ourselves. When we consistently betray ourselves, we can expect to do the same to the people we love.”[1] Unless we give ourselves permission to express our true feelings, we cannot find the way to empathize with the true feelings of another. We will operate in the plastic world of controlled personality and discover that our relationships are as malleable as putty. There is nothing we can count on because we could not count on ourselves. “Being ‘in control’ isn’t always about the desire to manipulate situations, but often it’s about the need to manage perception.”[2]

Addicts know this truth even if they are incapable of acting on it. The last thing we can do is actually tell others how we really feel. That would expose how “out of control” we really are, and, of course, being out of control is a sure sign that there is something wrong with us. No one wants to be around a person who is essentially flawed. Therefore, no addict can risk speaking. Silence is the protective barrier that keeps an addict alive—and kills him. Betraying himself, he opts for counterfeit acceptance rather than projected rejection.

Perhaps that’s why the Psalms are the center of biblical healing. David expresses all the symptoms of a man who battles intense inner conflict. Yet he is willing to tell the world about his pain. It isn’t pretty. It isn’t genteel. But it’s real—to the point that we either stop reading and weep or we skip over the poetry that comes too close to home. Perhaps we secretly wish that we had the courage to talk about our imperfections, our anger, our sins, our failures—and triumphs, joys and celebrations. Perhaps we have discovered that it’s impossible to sing praises when we can’t shout curses.

“I was mute” is the Hebrew verb ‘alam. It is not primarily about lack of speech. It is about binding. To keep silent is to bind my soul to seclusion: the prison of personality paralysis. Silence is not my savior. It is my executioner. But at least I die quietly.

Topical Index: mute, ‘alam, bind, silence, Psalm 39:2

[1] Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection, p. 123.

[2] Ibid., p. 121.

When there are many words, transgression is unavoidable, but he who restrains his lips is wise. Proverbs 10:19 NASB

Restrains – Did you enjoy sitting in silence (see TW for December 21)? Did it make you feel alive? One of the central themes of the Hebraic worldview is the necessity of community and community requires interaction. If you want to be involved with others, you have to talk. The question is “What kind of talking delights God?”

Midrash Yalkut Shimoni, Bamidbar 12 translates this verse, “In the multitude of words, sin is not lacking; but he who restrains his lips is wise.” Notice the subtle change in the first part of the verse translation. The midrash concludes that YHVH does not want us to live in silence (no vows here please) but “only to refrain from evil talk.”[1] Monk makes several important observations about the letter Pey, the Hebrew consonant associated with the mouth.

“The mouth is given to man to serve the ethical goal of using speech in the service of God (Tefillah Zakkah). If the mouth does not carry out its mission, it should be closed.”[2]

“The utterance of the mouth must be in consonance with the feelings of the heart.”[3]

Finally, there is a fascinating opinion from Kabbalah. “The blank space within the [Pey] as written in the Torah has the shape of a [Bet] (Beis Yosef, Orach Chaim 36), hinting that HASHEM miraculously folds His unlimited Presence into a defined place . . .”[4] We can imagine this as white fire in black fire, a development of later rabbinic thought, that suggests the divine Presence is the crucial background for all divine instruction but is written in an alphabet that cannot be spoken because it is the white space of the text. Perhaps this is also the purpose of the mouth: to say what can be said and to not say what cannot be said but can only be felt. The limit of speech is not simply the ethical demand of words pleasing to God’s purpose. It is also knowing what cannot be uttered and refraining from the penchant to speculate. That does not mean what cannot be uttered cannot be voiced. It just can’t be voiced in words. But Hebrew allows groaning, growling, muttering and cooing as forms of prayer and worship. Voicing the Presence without an alphabet.

The ethics of silence is two-fold. First, it is reflection of the purpose of speaking: to reveal what pleases God through the instrument He created to sound out His glory. And second, to voice the Spirit when the emotion of Presence goes beyond words.

Topical Index: silence, mouth, Pey, white fire, Proverbs 10:19

[1] Rabbi Michael L. Munk, The Wisdom in the Hebrew Alphabet, p. 183.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Ibid., p. 187.

Will Your wonders be made known in the darkness? And Your righteousness in the land of forgetfulness? Psalm 88:12 NASB

The darkness – “Little doubt surrounds the meaning of this denominative verb coming from the noun ḥōšek (darkness). It occurs eighteen times, seventeen times in poetical books. Exodus 10:15 is the only occurrence of ḥāšak in a prose passage. There it refers to the plague of darkness over Egypt. Elsewhere the word is used to indicate judgment or curse.”^[1] The place of ḥōšek is she’ol. The place of weakness, disorientation and silence.

Want to know what it will be like when you die? Want a little taste of the afterlife? Go into your closet. Shut the door. Turn off the light and sit there, not saying a word, not hearing anything from the outside world for, say, three hours! Oh, yes, and stop having an inner conversation with yourself. That’s why you need a few hours. You have to run out of things to say, even in your mind. Then you know ḥōšek. It’s the place where God isn’t!

No wonder that the psalmist cries out, “No one can offer praises to You in this place, Lord! No one can speak of Your wonders, Your mercies, Your faithfulness. You get no credit in ḥōšek. So, don’t send me there, Father. I want to praise You. I want to shout Your wonders. I want to proclaim Your righteousness. But if you send me to ḥōšek, all that will be lost. Please, for Your own sake, reconsider!”

Brené Brown offers an alternative. I doubt she meant is as an alternative to ḥōšek, but it fits. “Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”[2]

Here’s me—alive!

Topical Index: ḥōšek , darkness, alive, Psalm 88:12, she’ol, Namibia

^[1] Alden, R. (1999). 769 חָשַׁך. In R. L. Harris, G. L. Archer, Jr. & B. K. Waltke (Eds.), Theological Wordbook of the Old (331). Chicago: Moody Press.

[2] Brené Brown, The Gifts of Imperfection, p. 115.