THOU art indeed just, Lord, if I contend
With thee; but, sir, so what I plead is just.
Why do sinners’ ways prosper? and why must
Disappointment all I endeavour end?
Wert thou my enemy, O thou my friend,
How wouldst thou worse, I wonder, than thou dost
Defeat, thwart me? Oh, the sots and thralls of lust
Do in spare hours more thrive than I that spend,
Sir, life upon thy cause. See, banks and brakes
Now leavèd how thick! lacèd they are again
With fretty chervil, look, and fresh wind shakes
Them; birds build—but not I build; no, but strain,
Time’s eunuch, and not breed one work that wakes.
Mine, O thou lord of life, send my roots rain.
-Gerard Manley Hopkins
Hopefully, the text of this poem will evoke its source, part of our reading from this week: "You will be in the right, O Lord, when I lay charges against you; but let me put my case to you. Why does the way of the guilty prosper? Why do all who are treacherous thrive?", etc (Jer 12: 1). I have read and loved this poem for many years without giving much, if any, thought to its beginnings in this text from Jeremiah. Much of our work in this course, however, has brought it to mind as one example of the Christian tendency to reinterprate pieces of the Hebrew scriptures as our own story without due consideration of their original context.
Jeremiah and Lamentations, it seems, are two of the books most particularly subject to this tendency. My first association with Lamentations, for example, is the long passages from it that are sung in our Tenebrae service every Holy Week. Contemporary Christians often seem to feel that we can simply substitute our own names, or that of our church, for "Israel" and have the meaning remain the same.
I do not want to disparage this process, as I think it can actually be a powerful devotional tool in the right settings, but a stronger understanding of the original context of these scriptures does seem to be needed. This is why reading the scriptures alongside Coogan's writing is especially effective; he and the NRSV Study Bible translators continuously bring the reader back to the actual text and context of the Hebrew Bible, rather than letting us simply fill in our own interpretations. Coogan notes, for example, that the introductory chapters of Jeremiah are "a carefully constructed composite of themes and genres found repeatedly in biblical literature," not a simple devotional text, and certainly not a deliberate message to the modern Christian churches! This perspective is very much needed.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Hosea
The most well-known element of the book of Hosea is certainly Hosea’s marriage to the prostitute Gomer and the subsequent birth of their three symbolically-named children:
I have always heard this passage interpreted strictly as an allegory: Hosea is Israel, the unfaithful one, but God is prepared to show his love anyway by taking her back, changing the names of her children to more appealing ones. I was surprised, then, that Coogan’s interpretation of the passage was actually somewhat more literal, in that it indicates that Hosea actually married an adulterous woman named Gomer who bore him three children.
Whatever the case may be, this marriage and the naming of the couple’s children seem to be classic examples of the “sign-act” genre, which I have also heard described as a type of performance art or street theater. The prophets would commit strange, wild acts to draw attention to bring home their words in a highly visible and startling way, forcing people to confront their message. This bears some similarities to the work of many artists and activists today.
When the Lord first spoke through Hosea, the Lord said to Hosea, “Go, take for yourself a wife of whoredom and have children of whoredom, for the land commits great whoredom by forsaking the Lord.” 3So he went and took Gomer daughter of Diblaim, and she conceived and bore him a son. 4And the Lord said to him, “Name him Jezreel; for in a little while I will punish the house of Jehu for the blood of Jezreel, and I will put an end to the kingdom of the house of Israel. 5On that day I will break the bow of Israel in the valley of Jezreel.” 6She conceived again and bore a daughter. Then the Lord said to him, “Name her Lo-ruhamah, for I will no longer have pity on the house of Israel or forgive them. 7But I will have pity on the house of Judah, and I will save them by the Lord their God; I will not save them by bow, or by sword, or by war, or by horses, or by horsemen.” When she had weaned Lo-ruhamah, she conceived and bore a son. 9Then the Lord said, “Name him Lo-ammi, for you are not my people and I am not your God.” 10
I have always heard this passage interpreted strictly as an allegory: Hosea is Israel, the unfaithful one, but God is prepared to show his love anyway by taking her back, changing the names of her children to more appealing ones. I was surprised, then, that Coogan’s interpretation of the passage was actually somewhat more literal, in that it indicates that Hosea actually married an adulterous woman named Gomer who bore him three children.
Whatever the case may be, this marriage and the naming of the couple’s children seem to be classic examples of the “sign-act” genre, which I have also heard described as a type of performance art or street theater. The prophets would commit strange, wild acts to draw attention to bring home their words in a highly visible and startling way, forcing people to confront their message. This bears some similarities to the work of many artists and activists today.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
A couple of thoughts on Daniel
(Note to readers: we've been instructed to do some blogging for one of my classes this semester, and I figured, hey, I already have a nerdy baseball blog set up, might as well do it there. You are welcome to ignore these posts unless you too are interested in the literature of ancient Israel.)
One of the problems that readers of the book of Daniel may face is a sense of overfamiliarity. Coogan correctly notes how many everyday figures of speech come from this book: “the writing on the wall,” “feet of clay,” and so on. Then there are the familiar scenes, often (perhaps somewhat mysteriously, considering their intense violence) taught to children in Sunday school: Daniel in the lions’ den, rescued by his God, or the three young men, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, walking in the fiery furnace with a mysterious fourth figure “with the appearance of a god,” later identified in the text as an angel.
The antidote to this familiarity, it seems, may lie in taking a closer look at the text itself. Certainly the familiar events and phrases are present, but the book of Daniel is full of so many odd scenes and wild visions that it could never be called commonplace. Most people, remembering some of these visions, think of Daniel as a prophet, and the book is indeed placed among the other prophets in Christian Bibles. Coogan informs us, however, that in the Jewish tradition it is placed with the Writings, which may lead us to notice that the book does not consist entirely of prophecies. In fact, one of its most notable features is that it consists of two genres: legendary heroic tales in chapters 1 through 6, followed by apocalyptic literature in chapters 7 through 12, where the prophecies are located. In addition, chapters 1 through 6 are stories told about Daniel, while the second half of the book purports to be written by Daniel himself. Because of these and other inconsistencies, the book is difficult to classify, and despite any sense of familiarity we may feel upon first glance, its strange and arresting images continue to intrigue and confound readers today.
One of the problems that readers of the book of Daniel may face is a sense of overfamiliarity. Coogan correctly notes how many everyday figures of speech come from this book: “the writing on the wall,” “feet of clay,” and so on. Then there are the familiar scenes, often (perhaps somewhat mysteriously, considering their intense violence) taught to children in Sunday school: Daniel in the lions’ den, rescued by his God, or the three young men, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, walking in the fiery furnace with a mysterious fourth figure “with the appearance of a god,” later identified in the text as an angel.
The antidote to this familiarity, it seems, may lie in taking a closer look at the text itself. Certainly the familiar events and phrases are present, but the book of Daniel is full of so many odd scenes and wild visions that it could never be called commonplace. Most people, remembering some of these visions, think of Daniel as a prophet, and the book is indeed placed among the other prophets in Christian Bibles. Coogan informs us, however, that in the Jewish tradition it is placed with the Writings, which may lead us to notice that the book does not consist entirely of prophecies. In fact, one of its most notable features is that it consists of two genres: legendary heroic tales in chapters 1 through 6, followed by apocalyptic literature in chapters 7 through 12, where the prophecies are located. In addition, chapters 1 through 6 are stories told about Daniel, while the second half of the book purports to be written by Daniel himself. Because of these and other inconsistencies, the book is difficult to classify, and despite any sense of familiarity we may feel upon first glance, its strange and arresting images continue to intrigue and confound readers today.
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