Random

feisty Kitchen

Kenneth Kitchen is always a fun read, and not simply because of his wealth of learning but also his unashamed feistiness. The former humbles me, and the latter speaks to me. For example: after dealing with (=dismantling) some of the core presuppositions of the New Literary Criticism, Kitchen says:

And so one could go on and on. But this tiny handful of examples of (anti)academic lunacy will suffice. If the English departments that started off all this nonsense can find nothing better to do than this drivel, then we would be much better off without them. And their resources would be freed up for people with something worthwhile to offer to their fellow humans. The only worthwhile thing one can really do with claptrap deconstruction is…to deconstruct it.

On the Reliability of the Old Testament (2003), 471-2

Such fiestiness pervades the book, especially the final chapter.

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I’m a bit behind, but he’s still quite a bit wrong

I’m still not exactly sure when it happened, but at some point during my later College years I became an avid reader. And it was around the same time that I wanted to start my own personal library. My collection at the time boasted of the handful of theology and history textbooks that I decided to keep. Things grew from there at a slow pace, and they were growing alongside my interest in reading.

Fast forward a bit: during my doctoral program (and just before, if I remember correctly), my library began also went digital. I started gathering books that were open to the public (via InternetArchive and GoogleBooks) as well as journal articles–many of which had to be obtained via Seminary/University access. The digital book collection, to date, stands at just over 2000; the digital article collection, to date, stands at just over 5500.¹ All of that to say, I’ve got some reading to do and I’m slowly working through it. And that also means I’m a little behind in my reading, but oh well.

This morning I decided to tackle some of the articles, and one them was by Mark D. Chapman called, “The Shortest Book in the Bible” (ExpT 118.11 [2007]: 546-58). While the article itself was interesting, I could not get past the title. “Why not?” Because it’s simply wrong. “Why is wrong?” Simple: the article dealt with Paul’s letter to Philemon. “Why is that wrong?” A few reasons.

First, the text that Chapman uses for his article is a letter, not a book. Sure, many of us are accustomed (unfortunately) to calling the texts of the Bible “books” regardless of their specific genres. But this custom or tradition–like all customs or traditions held without good cause–needs to be taken out back and buried. A bit harsh, sure. But there it is. So, that being the case, the title of the article should have said, “The Shortest Letter in the Bible.” But even that leads us to the next problem.

Second, Chapman’s focus text (i.e., Philemon) is not the shortest letter. Yes, it is certainly the shortest of Paul’s letters–coming in at 25 verses, 334 words. But just because its the shortest of Paul’s letters, that does not make the shortest. Because, and as much as I love Paul’s writings, there are other writers in the NT; so at best, we could say Philemon is one of the shortest letters. The honor of the shortest letter/text goes to…well, it depends. If we go by verse numbers, then the prize goes to 2 John, which weighs in at 13 verses, with 3 John coming in second place at 15 verses. Or if we go by word count, then the honor goes to 3 John, which finishes at 219 words, with 2 John coming in second at 245 words. Either way, Philemon is only the third shortest letter.

Third, someone might come back at me and say, “Well, Prof Chapman does qualify himself by saying it’s a short letter written to a person.” Okay, fine: that might rule out 2 John, which is ostensibly written to an entire congregation of believers (despite it having a specific addressee [Ὁ πρεσβύτερος ἐκλεκτῇ κυρίᾳ καὶ τοῖς τέκνοις αὐτῆς, οὓς ἐγὼ ἀγαπῶ ἐν ἀληθείᾳ]), but that does not rule out 3 John, which is addressed to an elder named, Gaius (Ὁ πρεσβύτερος Γαΐῳ τῷ ἀγαπητῷ, ὃν ἐγὼ ἀγαπῶ ἐν ἀληθείᾳ). So, no dice. Philemon is still not a contender for the title of the shortest.

Fourth and finally, the title asserts a focus on the “shortest book in the Bible”, but the article never once focuses on the specific text that might fit that precise criteria. Because when one says, “Bible” that brings to mind at the very least the usual 66 texts of the Old and New Testaments–73 if we use the Catholic edition. Chapman’s focus was ultimately a NT text. Moreover, when one says, “book” that brings to mind a (more or less) specific kind of genre. As we’ve seen, Philemon does not fit that genre. And when one says, “shortest” that, as we’ve also seen, allows for a touch of ambiguity–i.e., it could be based on number of verses or words. But even with that ambiguity, there is only one text that better fits the description of “the shortest book in the Bible”, and that is the OT text of Obadiah: one chapter, 21 verses, 440 words.

So again, while Prof Chapman’s article was an interesting read, the title is an unfortunate gaffe.

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¹ The real numbers are 2148 books and 5746 articles, but I’m rounding down because of the possibility of duplicates. Hey, I’ve been collecting them since c.2006 (for the books) and c.2004 (for the articles), and I’m still trying to name/label them properly, so it’s possible that I’ve forgotten which one’s I’ve already downloaded and thus have copies.

a subtle poke(?)

While reading a published PhD dissertation from 1900 (as you do), I saw this in the introduction:

It is the purpose of this book to present a study of Alexander Campbell’s theology by the historical method. He was not a voice crying in the wilderness and having no connection with his age except to receive from its degeneracy an impulse toward reformation. Try as he would, he could not sweep aside all that men had thought during the past eighteen centuries, and lead a religious movement or formulate a system of Christian doctrine as if a true word had not been spoken since the death of the Apostles.¹

I may be wrong (which is always possible), but I think he just took a shot at Joseph Smith with that last sentence. Or maybe even Dispensationalism. Either way: If so… well played, sir.

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¹ W.E. Garrison, The Sources of Alexander Campbell’s Theology (St Louis: Christian Publishing, 1900), 14-15.

the absenteeness is not the point

I was struck by James McGrath’s being struck¹ by Allan Bevere’s treatment on God as absentee landlord. Part of what struck me about the whole thing was that Bevere only mentioned the idea in passing (and really as a follow-up point to his overall case), yet McGrath snatches up that passing comment and makes a rather definitive (albeit brief) statement about it: you’re wrong, Bevere; God is an absentee landlord, and the Jesus says so. And by doing this (i.e. contradicting Bevere’s comment), McGrath, in effect, undermines the overall point that Bevere was trying to make, which was: in spite of our perceptions and experience, God is near, God is listening, and God answers. Absentee landlords don’t do those things.

But the other part of what struck me was McGrath’s support for his counterargument: “that very image of God [as an absentee landlord] appears in one of Jesus’ parables”. Seriously? We’re going to make definitive theological statements from extremely limited data? Aside from Matt 21.33-40–the parable McGrath has in view–we might be able to rope in Matt 25.14-30 and… oh, wait; that’s really all we have. And we’re going to make definitive theological statements because of an interpretative decision about a parable? Especially when the absence of the landlord is not even the primary focus?² C’mon; we have to do better than that. And are we to ignore the fact that the parable describes the landlord as essentially going on vacation and returning; he’s not skipping town and hiding out because he’s a deadbeat, a swindler, anti-social, pick-your-pejorative-description. And are we going to ignore the fact that the same emphasis appears in the only other parable that somewhat suggests an absentee landlord: the dude goes away on a trip, but he comes back. And let’s not overlook the fact that the other parables about a landlord/landowner show him as not absent.³

Sure, McGrath (rightly) points out that “Absentee landlords have been hated by ordinary people down the ages” and admits that he’s been wanting “to do a study of the negative images of God and the kingdom of God in parables attributed to Jesus in the Gospels”. But my two basic questions would be:

  1. Are the two parables in question truly presenting God as an absentee landlord–i.e. the kind that are timelessly hated–or are they focusing on something else, thus making the absentee dilemma a moo point?
  2. Similarly, are the other parables truly presenting “negative images of God and the kingdom of God” or are they merely using the dramatic to make a point–you know, like parables do–or are the parables only being perceived as negative because their contents and meaning are misunderstood?

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¹ Apologies for the ads and occasional delays in page-loading. It is a Patheos site.
² Umm, hello: the bit found vv34-39 is far more problematic than a landlord being temporarily absent. In other words, the primary issue in the parable is not the (temporary) absence of the landlord; it’s the evilness and wickedness enacted by the hired workers while the landlord is away on vacation.
³ And please, for the love of bacon, do not come back at me and say: “Ah, well, you see, this discrepancy in the portrayals of God as landlord raises serious questions and doubts about both the reliability/authenticity of the accounts and the theological message being advocated.” Crap! It’s a parable.

really struggling to see a difference

A friend posted this link, which describes–albeit in brief form–the eschatological views of “Jehovah’s” Witnesses. Apart from item #4, I am at a loss for how these view differ from those found within Classical and Revised/Modified Dispensationalism.

nothing new under the sun. including irrelevancy.

I’m sure the dude is a nice guy, and I’m sure he means well, and I’m sure he’s wanting to connect with people and present old ideas in an updated form. But frankly, this book‘s title borders on the ridiculous and its content is merely an echo and not a new song:

Screen Shot 2015-02-21 at 11.58.40

Two things, with an underlying third, bother me about this book. First, there is an inordinate amount of endorsements for the book. There are 42! As I’ve noted before, including such a multiplicity of accolades suggests either a pathological need for praise or an attempt to get wide-spread recognition to help push an otherwise crappy idea. Or it’s just a sad marketing strategy. Probably one of the the most absurd is from Tony Nolan:

Read Static Jedi and you’ll experience Eric Samuel Timm dropping some Jesus power on you, Obi-Won Kenobi style! But the force you’ll get isn’t fictional; it’s authentic Holy Spirit power helping you master the noisy gauntlet of life choices. Read this book!

I’ll let the absurdity and poor theology of this endorsement speak for itself. And probably one of the silliest is from Dr Ed Newton:

Static Jedi is more than a resource on spiritual intimacy; it’s a paradigm changer that will hydrate your soul into spiritual renewal.”

“Paradigm changer”? Seriously? Have you not read any of the other spirituality-self-help-styled books on the market? How is Static Jedi, other than the ridiculous title, any different? Moreover, how is this book a break from the mold of the classics–i.e. Brother Lawrences’ (far better) treatment of the subject? Saying this book is a “paradigm changer” is like saying Neil Cole’s book, Church 3.0 is revolutionary for how to do church. I’ve read Cole’s book. It’s not. The same is true for Mr Timm’s book. It’s not new, and it’s certainly not breaking out of an existing mold and creating new ones. It’s essentially nothing more than old principles in new language.

Second, there’s decision to associate (if not conflate) “Jedi” with Christian spirituality (let alone Christianity)–even if only in passing. I say “only in passing” because, Mr Timm never really defines what a “Static Jedi” is (which is problematic for his first chapter, since he’s asking people if they are one or want to become one) or even why he chose that phrase. The closest he comes is: “Static Jedi: One who masters the noise. Noise, existing in many shapes, consumes our time, real life, and ability to hear God. A Static Jedi is a form of master, teacher, and sensei” (Kindle loc. 286). Wow. That’s helpful. Okay, if that’s the definition, why use “Jedi”? Why not one of the other (more benign) terms?¹

That aside, one problem with the association is that Jedi are fictional characters. Why not rely on and use real people? Moreover, Jedi from the Star Wars narrative, and the 20th century religion, Jediism that developed out of that narrative are “nontheistic”² in their “theology”. More problematic, the “force” Jedi tap into, harness, and use is simply that: an impersonal thing built into the fabric of the universe. So far, I’m not seeing any parallels or any sound reason to associate it with Christianity. This problem could have been avoided if Mr Timm chose a better descriptive term. But there seems to be an underlying reason for choosing such a designation: an unspoken need to be relevant.

And that brings me to the third problem. The need for being relevant, or at least desiring to make the gospel–and its associated ideas–relevant always runs the risk of (and usually ends up in) irrelevancy. This fact was ably presented and defended in Os Guinness’ book, Prophetic Untimeliness: A Challenge to the Idol of Relevance (2003). Some insight from Guiness includes:

After two hundred years of earnest dedication to reinventing the faith and the church and to being more relevant in the world, we are confronted by an embarrassing fact: Never have Christians pursued relevance more strenuously; never have Christians been more irrelevant.

Our timeliness lies in the untimeliness of rejecting modern timeliness. Our moment and our hour depend upon our turning from the spurious models of the modern world to the real moment and the real hour seen only under God.

…many Christian leaders have become trendy. Obsessed with the new, they have produced only novelty. Staggering from one high of excitement to another, they have become jaded.

–Guinness, Prophetic Untimeliness (2003), 12, 23, 77

With all due respect, Mr Timm would have done well to consult Guinness’ advice before pitching ideas about Christian Jedi.

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¹ Incidentally, and for whatever reason, Mr Timm switches terminology at various times in the book–e.g. “Static Master”.
² Cf. George D. Chryssides, Historical Dictionary of New Religious Movements (2011), 186.