Embracing an Alternative Orthodoxy: Eco-Spirituality

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

Process Questions for Session 2: Eco-Spirituality*

Introduction to Eco-Spirituality

1.     What do you understand to be the connection between ecology and spirituality?

2.     When have you witnessed the bond between ecological concern and spirituality being positive for creation, including humanity? Conversely, when have you witnessed it being less positive for the creation?

3.     How is your knowledge of God related to your relationship with the environment?

4.     Take a moment to write your own definition of eco-spirituality in the space provided here

The Mouth that Rohr’d

In the course of his initial presentation, we hear Richard Rohr speak boldly about many issues of both alternative orthodoxy and ecospirituality. You will remember much of what he said. Here is a selection to inspire group conversation:

Richard on individualism:

The single biggest heresy that allows us to misinterpret the scriptural tradition is individualism, revealed now in the problem we are facing with earth care, with sustainability, with animal species dying off. We became so anthropocentric that God cared not about the new heaven and the new earth, but “just us” and, as I said, not very many of us. That’s what happens when you go down the track of individualism and lose the mystical level of perception.

Richard on the Franciscan worldview:

Francis is the first recorded Western Christian who granted animals, elements and planets subjectivity, respect and mutuality by calling them brothers and sisters. It’s a participatory universe that Francis expresses with wind, with fire, with Sun and Moon; the whole universe is a participatory experience.

Richard on incarnation:

You’d think that Christianity would have got incarnation early and first because we’re the only religion that concretely believes that the Divine took on flesh. No one else claims that the Divine became a human being. But much of our history has been ex-carnation, that is, how to get out of the world. We didn’t get incarnation except in a very narrow sense. And now we’re paying the price for it: the huge dying off of species and the pollution of the earth.

Richard on cosmology:

Cosmology is the new name for theology. Like no other generations, we know the extent of the mystery of the universe. We can give a date for its beginning. Ninety-nine percent of it is emptiness, is silence, is space and is darkness—all the things we avoid, run from and deny as important. God created a universe that is mostly dark, empty, silent space! Does that have anything to teach consciousness? Until you can honor silence you don’t know how to interpret the particles inside the spaces. They have no meaning except in the relationship between them.

Richard on mysticism:

The emphasis on the individual reflects the lack of the mystical level. Mysticism is always about more and more connecting. You realize that you are participating in something bigger and you are part of a mystery. You wonder if the one thing we all share in common across all religions is that we’ve all stood on this same earth and we’ve all looked up at this same Brother Sun, Sister Moon. Could it be that the mystery is already encapsulated there?

Richard on the “first Bible”:

The early Franciscans called creation “The First Bible.” If you murdered and mangled and manipulated and did not attend to or respect the First Bible, the assumption was that you would murder, mangle and manipulate the second Bible. You could make the case that the Bible has done as much damage in human history as it has done good. 

Richard on religion and ecology:

I can’t give up on religion. Religion grants inherent sacrality, inherent holiness, goodness, value and worthiness to the material world. No religion does that better in theory than Christianity. But we individualized it—we pulled it into our private human selves, and we didn’t have the mature eyes to see that it isn’t only I that have materiality, but my dog has it too and those trees have it. They share in that same material universe that I share. It creates a truly global spirituality of which humanity is capable. We’re not just capable of it; if we don’t get it, we’re in trouble 

1.     Richard Rohr is one of the most widely read Christian theologians in North America today. He has a large and enthusiastic following. As you can see and hear, he doesn’t mince words. Many folks would say, “This is exactly the kind of bold and prophetic leadership we need in Christianity today!” What do you think?

2.     From the various things you have heard Richard say, what one thing would you take and share with friends? Try putting that into your own words and saying it to friends in this circle of learning right now.

What Are We To Do?

Jennifer asks Richard: “So what are we to do?”

Suzanne speaks of how, when it comes to ecological crises such as the oil spill in the Gulf, she is torn between “mopping up” and “changing the mindset”:

If we get into the mopping up, it’s just a vicious cycle of fixing the problems they generated as opposed to following the vision of St. Francis.

In his response Richard proposes three ways of moving forward in deepening our eco-spiritual consciousness while addressing our theological dysfunction:

     A lot of us have been saying in recent years that much of our teaching is unlearning. That’s why I resort to the teaching of contemplation so much because contemplation in practice is a daily exercise in self-emptying, in detaching, in unlearning your learned patterns.

     We have to grant a kind of humility to religion again because it hasn’t been very humble.

     We do well to emphasize an optimistic worldview. We need something to be for much more than something to be against. You need a great big positive vision to seduce the soul out. To simply operate out of pure praise, glory and love—that’s a higher level of motivation, but one that doesn’t easily come our way.

1.     How would you apply these strategies to your situation both personally and communally?

2.     What other strategies would you offer to move us beyond the dire situation that Richard earlier describes?

Developing Contemplative Seeing

Raymond recalls times when he has been surrounded by the awesomeness of nature. There he notices the sublime reality that we humans are just one of millions of species on this planet and not necessarily here forever. At such times the truth of God’s everywhere presence in creation settles into him.

In response Richard reflects on contemplative seeing, describing it as:

     An open-eyed reverencing of reality—seeing that it all has value without label, without functional purpose. Experiencing universal connection, reverence and awe, I walk into that massive canyon, the rock soaring above. I am humbled. It was here long before me and it will be here long after. I’m walking through it this day. Who am I to think that I name it; perhaps it’s naming me!

1.     When are you captivated by the awe of creation in the way Raymond and Richard describe?

2.     What are your practices for developing your contemplative seeing?

3.     What mystical insights have come to you through contemplative seeing?

Incarnation, Grace, and Evolution

When someone introduces the topic of evolution into the conversation, Richard seizes the opportunity to use it to further illuminate the potential of incarnation fully realized:

     You would have thought if we had understood incarnation, Christians should have been on the front lines of understanding evolution, because grace is inherent to creation. We’re the ones who believe God created all things, and yet grace was still extrinsic to the universe. So evolution was not in our natural understanding.

     Francis took incarnation to its logical conclusion. That’s what makes us a minority position inside the church. Even though mainline Catholicism was sacramental and supposedly saw the physical world as a doorway into the spiritual world, by and large most Catholics also saw grace as extrinsic to the universe: God who occasionally visited and gave you grace. The light didn’t shine from inside! That’s why we weren’t prepared for evolution—and even fought it.

1.     How do you see it: God’s grace intrinsic to the universe, including the whole journey of evolution, or extrinsic and occasionally granted?

2.     What does evolution tell you about God?

Transformation and Church Structures

Doug acknowledges his excitement at everything that Richard is saying, but then wonders as a parish priest:

     How do you get people to calm down enough to understand what contemplation really is, to undergo the transformation of consciousness that enables them to look at their dog and say, “This is a fellow creature”?

In his response Richard moves us into an examination of the insufficiency of current church structures:

     We need structures that encourage people at the mystical level, because that is the level that Jesus is at. If you want to understand Jesus, you’ve got to have an openness to it or you pull him down into dualistic thinking: either/or, for me or against me.

     People come to church with the expectation not to be changed; it’s to be told again what they already agree with. The structure itself doesn’t lend itself to transformation. The future isn’t in the large congregation because it doesn’t come with the expectation of transformation, grace and growth. It doesn’t come with “beginner’s mind.”

1.     In what ways is your church’s structure facilitating or inhibiting change and transformation?

2.     How badly do you want to be transformed into the Way of Jesus? What might it cost you?

3.     What kind of faith community activity and structure would support you in your desire for transformation?

Transcend and Include

In response to Doug’s weariness with the extent of anxiety at the future of the church and his observation that there is more obvious spiritual discipline in spiritually-focused groups outside the church than inside, Richard introduces Ken Wilber’s principle, Transcend and Include. He adds his own formulation when he says, “If you have transcended, you can include.”

As a way of making this principle even more concrete, Richard presents the way that Francis modeled it:

     In 13th century Italy, Catholicism was the only game in town, so Francis found a way to survive inside it but did it very differently. He moved outside the walls of Assisi and he didn’t fight the Bishop and priests inside the walls. He would still go to those churches on feast days and occasions, but he did it differently.

Richard sums up the conversation in naming one of the principles of his Center for Action and Contemplation in Albuquerque:

The best criticism of the bad is the practice of the better.

1.     What does living the principle of “Transcend and Include” look like for you and for others who share your frustrations, concerns and visions within the current structures of church?

2.     In what ways are you actually living “the practice of the better” as a positive way of moving beyond that which needs to be left behind

Personal Reflection

Following the session you will continue to think about issues raised both on the video and in your small group. This suggestion for journaling is offered to support you in continuing your reflection beyond the session time.

1.     You may not have had time in the session to address all the topics. Go back on your own to the ones you missed and reflect personally on the issues addressed there.

2.     How will you honor and advance the contemplative part of your life? There are so many opportunities: yoga, centering prayer, Buddhist mindfulness, meditation of many kinds, chanting, worship in the style of Taize, spiritual direction, Celtic walking, healing touch and so much more. Consider that there may be merit in inviting other members of the group—or of your congregation—into an intentional practice of contemplative formation.

* Adapted from Embracing an Alternative Orthodoxy: A 5-Session Study by Richard Rohr with Tim Scorer, Morehouse Education Resources, 2014)

Embracing an Alternative Orthodoxy: Atonement Theology

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

Stories of unmerited grace are hidden in plain sight in the remembered history of Jesus.  The seventh chapter of Luke’s Gospel features three stories of favor given by Jesus to unlikely candidates: a Roman officer, a widow who just lost her son to death, and an infamously immoral woman.  Before the last story in this chapter there is an interesting scene where the imprisoned John the Baptist sends his disciples to ask Jesus if he is, indeed the anticipated Messiah or if they should be looking elsewhere.  Jesus’ response was to report to John that, in short, grace was happening.  While the story of the officer and the widow show us what happened in the moment, the final story is about what happened in response. A woman showed up unexpectedly to a dinner party at which she was uninvited hosted by a holier-than-thou Pharisee who became immediately unsettled at her presence.  She made a spectacle of herself, pouring expensive perfume on Jesus’ head, and washing his feet with her tears and hair.  Recognizing the indignant attitude of the Pharisee, Jesus turned it into a teaching moment about grace and gratitude.  In short, the woman’s actions were a response to the love and grace she received from Jesus.

 

Grace given while Jesus was alive and well.  Long before he died.  Long before the cross and the forgiveness it represented.  Long before the ransom was paid.  Long before the substitutionary Lamb of God died for her sins.  She was forgiven long before all of that, which, in and of itself, calls into question our thoughts about the when and how of grace.

 

The next five weeks are going to feature insights from Richard Rohr, one of many voices who are speaking from a fresh approach to Christianity that is scholarly, biblical, experiential, aware of history and our place in it.  I have read many of his books and largely agree with him.  He’s got something to say, and we have a lot to learn from him.  So, get your nerd on and enjoy the videos, and please, please, please use the process questions below to help this stuff sink in.

 

 

Process Questions for Session 1: Atonement Theology

 

Many participants like to come to the group conversation after considering individually some of the issues that will be raised. The following five reflective activities are intended to open your mind, memories and emotions regarding some aspects of this session’s topic. 

 

1.     Traditional atonement theology can be summed up by the roadside sign that announces “Jesus died for our sins.” This theology requires that there be a transaction—a deal—so that God can love what God created. God’s acceptance is purchased through the death of Jesus. Where have you encountered this theology? What place does it have in your belief system and in your faith community?

 

2.     An alternative view of atonement (at-one-ment) tells us that God’s love has always come without conditions and still does. No deal is necessary. As you go through these days, engaged in the ordinary tasks of living, watch for signs of the overwhelming, unconditional love that God has for the creation, for you and for all that you choose to love.

 

3.     Jesus models for us a life path that is all about letting go of illusion and pretense (the small false self ) and embracing the fullness of life—including death—in a way that the true self has space to emerge and to be known ever more fully. How is your “self ” doing as you follow this Christ path from the false to the true?

 

4.     Quid Pro Quo names a way of dealing with things “tit for tat”—an eye for an eye. Retributive justice is like that, ensuring that the wrongdoer be adequately punished according to the laws of the state. Restorative justice, on the other hand, focuses on the just restoration of relationship in which the concerns of all those affected by the wrong done are addressed. Restorative justice makes space for the exercise of grace. Where have you seen grace being given space to make a difference recently?

 

 

Historical Background to Two Approaches to Atonement

      

Franciscans had an alternative understanding of the atonement from their inception 800 years ago. The Roman Church did not deem this heretical. In the broad-mindedness of the 13th Century, it was possible to have a minority position as well as a majority one without anyone being kicked out of the Church.

 

Mainline Protestantism by and large fully accepted the majority position on atonement. Because Franciscans were something of a sideshow within Catholicism, they were never as invested in it as most evangelical Christians are today.

 

1. Richard Rohr on the Majority Position on Atonement

 

Some insights that Richard offers in his introduction:

 

A.     The mainline position on atonement that anyone in any denomination has probably been influenced by is summed up in the phrase you see on highway signs: “Jesus died for our sins.”

B.     Traditional atonement theology claims that there needed to be a transaction for God to love what God created. God’s love had to be purchased in some way.

C.     This theology is based on many quotes from the New Testament where this kind of language is being used: ransom, satisfaction, paying the price and died for us.

D.    In the first 1,000 years of Christianity, the normal Christian consensus was that the debt was being paid to the devil.

E.     It was Anselm of Canterbury (1033–1109) who, in his paper Cur Deus Homo (Why Did God Become Human), made a case for the debt being paid to God, not the devil.

F.     Atonement made sense to Jewish people from their experience of Temple sacrifice, where there was some transaction necessary because the language and metaphors were already part of their tradition.

 

2. The Franciscan Minority Position on Atonement Theology

      

Having offered an introduction to traditional atonement theology, Richard then proceeds to offer a critique of it by presenting the Franciscan view of atonement beginning with a quote from Franciscan John Duns Scotus, one of the most important philosopher-theologians of the High Middle Ages:

 

Jesus did not come to change the mind of God about humanity,

but to change the mind of humanity about God.

 

Here are seven quotes from Richard’s presentation of the minority Franciscan position on atonement:

 

1.     God organically loved what God created from the first moment of the Big Bang. There was an inherent love relationship between God and creation. God wanted to show God’s Self in material creation.

2.     The Christ existed from all eternity. The Christ was the first idea in the mind of God.

3.     Jesus is the image of the invisible God from all eternity. There is simply a union to be named: at-one-ment.

4.     The first idea in the mind of God is to reveal who God is. Jesus is the revelation of God’s Plan A. Jesus is not a mop-up exercise after Adam and Eve ate that darn apple!

5.     When we say in traditional atonement theology that there needs to be a transaction for God to love what God created, we create a barrier to mystical thinking and to the understanding of the unconditional love of God.

6.     The traditional atonement theory doesn’t say much good about God. It suggests that God doesn’t have an inherent love for what God created; God is “pissed off,” so to speak.

7.     No transaction was necessary. No blood sacrifice was necessary. No atonement is necessary. There is no bill to be paid.

      

Richard states:

 

When you make these challenges to traditional atonement theology people feel like you’re taking away their faith because many people have based their understanding of Jesus on this. 

 

This may be true for you too. Perhaps this challenge to traditional atonement theology comes as a shock. It may take a while to fully absorb Richard’s challenge and to consider the implications for your own theology. 

 

1.     What impact does Richard’s critique of atonement theology have on you?

2.     Now that we have these two conflicting approaches to atonement laid out so clearly, what do you affirm for yourself about these matters:

·       God and creation

·       Christ in creation

·       Jesus as revelation

·       the death of Jesus

·       atonement vs. at-one-ment

         

3. Richard says:

When we say in atonement theology that there needs to be a transaction for God to love what God  created, we create a barrier to mystical thinking and to the understanding of the unconditional love of God.

 

In other words, there can be no conditions on God’s love. That love existed from the beginning for all creation, and it is still here for you billions of years later. It did not need to be bought, and it will never need to be bought. What convinces you of the love of God, fully present with no conditions?

 

 

The Self-Emptying Way

 

Doug asks:

 

Jesus asks that the cup be passed and then goes on to say, “nevertheless, not my will but your will.” So he willingly dies. There is implicit in that a notion that, in some measure, God required of Jesus that he die. How does that fit in to plan A?

      

Richard responds: 

 

I wouldn’t say that God required it. I would say that reality requires the letting go of what I call the “false self.” Reality requires the letting go of illusion and pretense. In my Christology I would say that Jesus died willingly, surrendering the Jesus “small self ” so the Christ “universal self ” could be born. In doing that he models for all of us the same path. I know this isn’t attractive to Western Christians, but death is part of the deal. That’s not a negative statement, a morbid, punishing or threatening statement. It’s just that animals know it, trees know it—the cycles of death and life. What we see in Jesus is a willing surrendering to that, an embracing of that.

 

Raymond adds:

 

Paul talks about Jesus emptying himself—in Greek, kenosis. The actual atonement that Jesus did was the emptying of himself to do what God wanted.

 

Richard responds:

 

You name it that way, and suddenly Buddhists take notice. We’re saying the same thing and, of course, if truth is one (as it has to be or it’s not truth), wouldn’t that make sense that the great religions are coming to very similar conclusions. So using that word “emptying” from Philippians is right on if we see it as an entire process of self-emptying instead of a dramatic three hours on the cross. For some Christian denominations the first 30 years of Jesus’ life mean nothing: his teaching can be ignored. It’s just those last three hours. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but it amounts to “get that blood” instead of a whole life of self-emptying.

 

1.     Richard encourages us to see this path that Jesus followed in letting go of the false self and giving birth to the true self (or universal self ) as something to be emulated. He acknowledges that this path isn’t attractive to Western Christians. What would it actually mean “to let go of the false self ” and to fully embrace the natural cycles of life and death? 

2.     What is it about this path that makes it unattractive to Western Christians?

3.     If it’s attractive to you and is, perhaps, the way you live, what makes it so?

 

 

Shaped by Willfulness; Yearning for Willingness

 

Doug asks:

 

Isn’t it inevitable that experience is going to have to teach us that quid pro quo doesn’t work?

 

Richard responds:

 

We’ve been shaped much more by American culture. We like will-power religion: “I can do whatever I need to do.” The language of the scriptures and the mystics and saints is not the language of willfulness but willingness—the language of surrender. Jesus surrenders to his passion. He’s not steering the whole thing, he’s surrendering to what has to happen, what’s inevitable. That’s a very different language than “pulling up by my own bootstraps”! We are so formed by that notion that we pretend it’s the gospel. Christian preachers talk that way: “You can do it! You can do anything you want!”

 

In biblical theory that’s pure heresy, yet you can get away talking that way in a pulpit. Willfulness appeals to the egocentric, low level self. It looks like winners win. What the gospel is saying is losers win. We should all be happy about that because it includes all of us. That’s why I wrote the book Falling Upward. I wanted to show that you’ve got to go through that falling experience. Your initial self-created game for superiority has to disappoint you, has to fall apart on some level or you never get to the second half of life, which is the gospel possibility.

 

1.     This is a huge condemnation by Richard of the meaning of religion within American culture. And it’s an alarming description of the consequence to individuals of that cultural reality. This conversation about surrender and falling into the second half of life has to be one of the hardest conversations for privileged North Americans! Listen with care. Speak with courage. How is this characterization of religion in America borne out in your experience and observation? 

 

2.     What has America lost as a result of the appropriation of religion that Richard is describing?

3.     How has this tension between willfulness and willingness been lived out in your life? Where do you find yourself now?

 

 

A Deep Concern for the Generations to Come

 

Suzanne and Jennifer give voice to their passion for ensuring that these insights that come under the title alternative orthodoxy will be available to and desired by their children and grandchildren.

 

Suzanne puts it this way:

 

I hope that my son and his generation will not have to fight the fight that I’m fighting now. It took me a while to get to this because I was trying to remain loyal. Finally, through years of reading and being open to other ways of thinking, I realized this is no threat at all: I can hang on to these other things. I don’t want the next generation to have to undergo that. Maybe if we do our part in introducing this to them early on, telling them, “This is important, but so is this: God is a loving God!”

 

And Jennifer adds:

 

Something I’ve seen in working with adults in education are grandparents who see that their adult children aren’t baptizing the grandchildren, so the grandparents do it. And it’s not out of love, but out of fear, fear that if this child does not have water poured on its head and a ritualistic formula said exactly this way, then if the child dies he or she will go to hell. That to me says so much about what your image of God is. It’s so important to communicate to our children, to our grandchildren a different image of God than what I had. I had the cosmic attendance-taker keeping track of my sins and of my attendance at mass instead of a God who from the get-go planned to come and meet us where we are.

      

Richard responds briefly:

 

We’ve discovered—and I’m sure you as educators know this—it’s not what parents say, it’s what they’re excited about. If you talk about this in an excited way, it’s sold. It takes.

      

1.     We are in a time in mainline Christianity when participation in the life of the congregation at all age levels, but especially at younger ages, is in dramatic decline. Many congregations have neither children nor younger adults participating in the life of their faith community, so this issue raised by Suzanne and Jennifer really matters. Theology matters. Why would people stick around to hear about a God who is keeping track of your sins and your attendance at church? Richard reminds us that genuine excitement about something that really matters makes a difference to those who are learning and seeking. What do you think about all this?

2.     Is it too late for Christianity to recover from its history of bad theology?

3.     What do you intend to do in terms of the spiritual and faith-formation of the generations to come, especially the ones in whose lives you have an influence?

 

* from Embracing an Alternative Orthodoxy: A 5-Session Study by Richard Rohr with Tim Scorer, Morehouse Education Resources, 2014

Calm

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

Graffiti. During this shelter in place mode of this COVID-19 season, I have been trying to take breaks throughout very busy, intense days.  I’ve been getting in over 10,000 steps most days, and it has really helped.  In the last few days, some indicators have popped up that express the stress some people are feeling at this time.  On the rusty steel frame of a bridge I cross regularly is written in chalk, “OPEN THE USA” referring to our shut-down economy, as well as “VIRUS HOAX”, “OPEN SCHOOLS NOW” and ISOLATE THE SICK”.  The same sentiment has shown up on patches of sidewalks here and there.  To be clear, COVID-19 is no hoax.  Try telling that to people who are struggling with it, or their families, or worse, the 50,000+ families that are grieving the loss of loved ones.  Such language is deeply offensive and tone deaf in its insensitivity.  Everyone wants to get out of this.  Everyone wants is to be sooner than later.  I really don’t think anyone wants more people to get sick or bring on a surge.  We’re just simply stressed.  The stress is real – real income lost, real businesses closed, real hunger in homes, real domestic violence increased, real sickness that lasts for months, real people now dead.  No hoax on any level – this is real.

Face Coverings.  I went to the grocery store last weekend, an errand I have worked hard to avoid given the work I do – I never know when I might be called to go into a situation with a compromised person so am staying away from everyone as much as possible.  I put my mask on and entered the store and was surprised to discover that maybe 60% of my fellow shoppers were wearing face coverings.  There were even some store staff members who weren’t wearing face coverings, or, when they talked, lowered it, making the covering moot.  In one case, a couple walked by, the woman wearing a N95 and her husband wearing nothing.  Weird.  I felt pretty uneasy about the experience.  In our neck of the woods, we know that the odds of acquiring COVID-19 are pretty remote.  Homes are spaced out.  Lots of room to get around.  We’re not stacked up on top of each other like NYC.  My unease wasn’t so much about the risk factors, which are impossible to calculate since many carriers don’t know they are carriers.  My struggle was on what was being communicated by those not wearing face coverings.  We know that face coverings are not great at preventing COVID-19 getting into your nose or mouth and on into your lungs.  We do know that the face coverings significantly limit the distance the wearer’s exhaled breath travels.  Instead of six feet of water-droplet travel, it’s half that or less.  Given what we know and don’t know about COVID-19, while these “face-naked” people may have been exercising their right to take heed or not, their freedom put the freedom of the rest of those around them on the line.  The same could be said about social distancing.  Some take liberties because they hate the isolation and long for community.  But when do our personal needs cross the line and infringe on the wellbeing of others?

Grizzly Bears. Doug Seus walked out the back of his Utah ranch and spotted a grizzly bear.  It charged immediately toward him.  There was no escaping what was about to happen.  As soon as the bear was a few feet away, the 1,200-pound giant rose on his hind legs, soaring nine feet.  The furry beast stretched out his front legs/arms and… gave Seus a literal bear hug.  Seus, 78, is an animal trainer, and had raised Little Bart since he was a cub.  He has trained a number of brown bears that have been featured in a range of movies you’ve probably seen.  What would possess a guy to take such a risk in the face of such danger?  

In a Boat in a Storm. Doug Seus’ calm in the presence of a being six times his weight reminded me of a story from Jesus’ life.  He and his disciples had wrapped up a lot of teaching and serving along the shore of the Sea of Galilee:

Late that day he said to them, "Let's go across to the other side." They took him in the boat as he was. Other boats came along. A huge storm came up. Waves poured into the boat, threatening to sink it. And Jesus was in the stern, head on a pillow, sleeping! They roused him, saying, "Teacher, is it nothing to you that we're going down?"

Awake now, he told the wind to pipe down and said to the sea, "Quiet! Settle down!" The wind ran out of breath; the sea became smooth as glass. Jesus reprimanded the disciples: "Why are you such cowards? Don't you have any faith at all?"

They were in absolute awe, staggered. "Who is this, anyway?" they asked. "Wind and sea at his beck and call!" – Mark 4:35-41 (MSG)

 

When we read an account like this, we need to wonder about it on a couple of levels.  First, thanks to how we have been conditioned by the modern Western world, we might wonder what the literal meaning of the story might be for the disciples and ourselves.  Surely part of the intent of this recorded story is to give listeners confidence that Jesus was so deeply connected to God that he could do something only God could do – command the wind and waves to calm down!  In this light, his power is the point.  Jesus was known for being a miracle worker from third-party sources in antiquity, which matters.  He wasn’t a snake oil salesman – something very powerful was at work in him.  This increases our faith.  However, the downside of limiting our perspective to this literal level alone creates problems when we face storms, cry out to God, and end up drowning.

There is another level, another lens, with which we can view this story.  If we take the story as metaphor, which is simply going beyond the literal meaning of the text, a very big world opens up.  Asking the question about what this text means beyond the black and white takes us to the very Jewish practice of Midrash practiced by Jesus, Paul, and all who were in the rabbinical tradition.  Actually, even the most literal interpreter of any text goes to metaphor eventually, because as soon as we wonder what the implications are of a particular text, we move into this broader space.  As an Eastern tradition, Judaism has always been more interested in collectively finding ourselves in and unpacking the story more than the logical analysis or formulas derived from the text – that’s a Western tradition (which is home for most of us).

Taking a more-than-literal, metaphorical approach to handling this story, we find a lot for our lives today.  The disciples were leaving the shores of certainty, safety, and success, headed toward a foreign region that may be hostile. They left calm waters and encountered a storm.  While the disciples were focused entirely on the raging storm around them, the one they had chosen to follow was sound asleep.  At peace.  Content in the middle of the storm.  Disciples, by definition, are the students of a Master Teacher.  Apparently, they skipped class at the moment until they couldn’t take it anymore and they realized they had better get Jesus’ wisdom. So, they woke him up.  Jesus was present with them while the storm raged, and then spoke calm into the situation.  The disciples learned a lesson beyond whatever literal thing took place. They learned that calm, peace, contentment is not determined by outward circumstances.  Calm can happen even while the storm rages.  I wonder who really woke who up that night on the boat.  It seems to me that Jesus was the one who was “woke” in his rest while the disciples were the ones “asleep” as they were freaking out.

The point of the story is not that we should give up or take a nap when we really need to be attending to our lives.  One point is that as we encounter storms of many kinds – and we will, one after another – we learn from Jesus, the Master Teacher, about how to stay grounded, focused, which allows for calm and rest.  Learning and practicing how to do this takes time yet yields a life that brings with it many benefits physically, emotionally, relationally, and of course, spiritually.  The question then: how do we get there?

A Grizzly Relationship.  Doug Seus didn’t just wake up one day and decide to try petting an apex predator.  He did, however, have a series of shifts in his life where his relationship changed.  He shifted from focusing on bears (and other wild animals, too) as something to be feared to something to be revered.  Fear leads us into increasing fight or flight reactions.  Reverence, however, is all about respect, appreciation, and awareness.  His relationship to the world changed from wherever it was to one where he recognized the shared existence between himself and the created world.  Because he began seeing the world through that lens, revering it, he began treating it differently and experiencing even grizzly bears with calm and peace.  How we see ourselves and the world in which we live impacts and informs how we relate to it.  Seus woke up at some point and it changed everything for him.  

Jesus was talking about a similar reality when he said a person needs to be born again to experience the Kingdom of God.  He was talking about waking up to a very different view of life which changes how we see ourselves, others, the created world, and God.  In contrast to other ancient cultures at the time, Judaism offered a very different view of God, creation, and humanity.  The first chapter of the Hebrew scriptures (Genesis) starts with a poem describing the origins of all creation.  It’s a poem written at a very primitive time – it’s not meant to be scientific.  It communicates that the Creator is benevolent, creating from love and loving what was created, calling everything “good” along the way, and human beings “very good”.  The earlier, even more primitive creation story follows in Chapters 2-3, where we find the Adam, Eve, Tempter, and Redeemer story.  There we see God giving much to Adam and Eve both out of love.  They get tripped up as humans do, lured by selfishness into destructive behavior and experience shame and guilt.  God reenters the story not with condemnation, but with restoration.  Consequences of mistakes were present (as they always are), but hope remained.  They lived.  Thrived.  All helped by a God who loved them.  How differently we would see ourselves, the world, and the people in the world if we started from this framework!  This paradigm is what Jesus was referring to when he stated that the greatest commandments (which fulfilled all commandments) are to love God and to love our neighbors as ourselves.  When we view the Creator and the created with love and as lovely, we find ourselves grounded, rooted, founded in love.  In a parable about building a house on rock instead of sand, this is what Jesus was talking about.  When we follow Jesus’ lead in this Way of life and living, we are able to withstand the storms and be at peace in rockin’ and rollin’ boats.  When we shift our eyes off of primarily ourselves and wake up to God who is everywhere and in everything, our attitude shifts, and so does our behavior.

            Ray Liotta.  In a recent interview in Men’s Journal (May/June 2020), when asked about the role that faith should have in a person’s life, he responded, “I think religion is more of a way of controlling, and consoling, people. Still, to this day the thought of what’s out there scares the shit out of me, but that’s only because I don’t have a real belief.  My mom died in my arms, and my dad died in front of me, and that shook me. The older I get, the more I want to believe something is out there.” Ray’s experience is shared by many.  At distinct moments in time, the Christian faith became really focused on orthodoxy as having the right beliefs when it should have been focused on believing in the right way.  The first really is all about controlling and consoling.  The latter is about life and living awakened, born again to a way of seeing that transforms our very lives and seeks the restoration of life everywhere for everyone and everything, all grounded in love.

Same Storm. Same Boat?  CrossWalker and extraordinary human being Terri Conwell posted a writing on Facebook this past week.  The author, while anonymous, is clearly awake.  Here’s what it read:

 

I heard it said that we are all in the same boat, but it's not like that. We are in the same storm, but not in the same boat. Your ship could be shipwrecked and mine might not be. Or vice versa. 

For some, quarantine is optimal: a moment of reflection, of re-connection, easy in flip flops, with a cocktail or coffee. For others, this is a desperate financial & family crisis. 

In some homes a sole occupant faces endless loneliness. In others, family members are getting peace, rest, and time with each other — while in still others, quarantine means an increased danger due to domestic violence.

With the $600 weekly increase in unemployment some are bringing in more money to their households than they were working. Others are working more hours for less money due to pay cuts or loss in sales. 

Some families of 4 just received $3400 from the stimulus while other families of 4 saw $0. 

Some were concerned about getting a certain candy for Easter while others were concerned if there would be enough bread, milk and eggs for the weekend.

Some want to go back to work because they don't qualify for unemployment and are running out of money. Others want to kill those who break the quarantine. 

Some are home spending 2-3 hours/day helping their child with online schooling while others are spending 2-3 hours/day to educate their children on top of a 10-12-hour workday. 

Some have experienced the near death of the virus; some have already lost someone from it, and some are not sure if their loved ones are going to make it. Others don't believe this is a big deal. 

Some have faith in God and expect miracles during this 2020. Others say the worst is yet to come. 

So, friends, we are not in the same boat. We are going through a time when our perceptions and needs are completely different.

Each of us will emerge, in our own way, from this storm. It is very important to see beyond what is seen at first glance. Not just looking, actually seeing. 

We are all on different ships during this storm experiencing a very different journey.

Just respect others when in public and be kind. Don’t judge fellow humans because you’re not in their story. We all are in different mental states than we were months ago. So, remember, be kind. – Author Unknown

 

            A Model for Staying Awake.  The disciples knew Jesus was tapped into the Spirit of God so much that the transformation was obvious. They wanted to know how to pray and asked him to teach them.  He gave them what we call The Lord’s Prayer.  While it’s a good one to memorize, it was never meant to be a quick, casual prayer we simply pull from rote memory.  Rather, it was meant to give us a structure for our meditation to continually foster our becoming more and more awake.  Instead of racing through it, take your time, spending time on each line/movement, reflecting on what is being stated and what it is inviting us to see.

 

Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed (holy) be Thy name.

Thy Kingdom come; Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

Give us this day our daily bread.

Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.

Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil.

For Thine is the Kingdom, and the Power, and the Glory forever.

Amen (may it be so).

The Great Reset: Relationships

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

Erin Findley, Psy. D. was my guest this week, offering insight from Emotionally Focused Therapy. I encourage you to check out the following resources to help you experience greater relational health:

1. Hold Me Tight Book

https://www.amazon.com/Hold-Me-Tight-Conversations-Lifetime/dp/031611300X/ref=tmm_hrd_swatch_0?_encoding=UTF8&qid=1586299131&sr=8-2

2. Hold Me Tight Online - (It's actually $147 USD, not $147 CAD as I was originally told - sorry about that!)

https://holdmetightonline.com/

3. Northern CA Community for Emotionally Focused Therapists

www.ncceft.com

4. My website

www.erinfindley.com

2020 Easter

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

As we were approaching Spring Break my freshman year of college, my roommate and I were talking about what we were going to do during our week at home.  I talked about what my family did for Easter, which piqued his curiosity.  “What is Easter about, anyway?”, he asked.  As a guy who literally grew up in church (my dad and both grandfathers were pastors), I couldn’t believe what he was asking.  I soon discovered that even though he went to church with his mom on Easter and some occasional Christmas services, and even though he identified with Christianity as his religion, he didn’t know anything about Easter, really.

            What does Easter mean to you?

            Jesus’ week in Jerusalem did not end well.  After being sold out by one of his disciples (Judas), he was arrested, tried by religious authorities who didn’t obey their own rules, then tried by the Roman authorities who had Jesus severely beaten and eventually executed by crucifixion.  He died late Friday afternoon, and a wealthy benefactor had his body placed in a cave-tomb and sealed with a stone.  Guards were even sent to make sure nobody tried to steal Jesus’ corpse.  The disciples hid in fear of being arrested and facing a similar fate.  After the Sabbath was over Saturday night, the next morning some women followers of Jesus went to properly prepare Jesus’ body for extended burial. When they arrived at the tomb, they could see that no guards were present, the several-hundred-pound stone had been rolled away, and Jesus’ body was no longer laying inside the cave-tomb.  Naturally, they wondered what had happened.  They were greeted by an angel of God who asked them a peculiar question: “Why do you look for the living among the dead?  Don’t you see, he is not here.  He is risen!”  Soon thereafter, Jesus was experienced alive by his followers, albeit in a new form.  Depending which of the four Gospels referenced, there are slight differences in what happened, but the gist is the same: Jesus was dead, then was experienced alive again.  For many Christians to this day, Easter is simply about that: there is life after the grave and believing in Jesus guarantees it because he said if we believed, we would be welcomed into heaven.  For many Christians, this is the primary – if not only – reason to have faith.

            This message for many is a bit ho-hum.  In my experience, the overwhelming number of people believe in an afterlife for themselves and everybody they care about.  I’ve presided over hundreds of funerals and memorial services in my pastoral career.  In nearly every case there was strong belief that the person being remembered was in heaven, playing golf, or fishing, or playing poker, or…. In a sense, this is evidence that the Church has done a good job with this aspect of the Easter message – most everybody seems comfortable with the idea of some form of life after the grave, and that God will welcome us home.  This assumption has not been the case for most of humanity since Jesus walked the earth, however.  This is a fairly recent development, historically.  

The disciples lived at a time when there was not a lot of confidence in anything happening post-grave, except perhaps for a very elite few – the prophet Elijah and another obscure character named Enoch from the Jewish tradition.  Good Roman citizens may have believed that some of the Caesars lived on since they were at times viewed as demigods.  Let the historical context sink in a moment to appreciate this important fact.  The disciples had little confidence in life being more than a few decades of hard living before being crushed by death.  Jesus’ resurrection completely changed all of that.  The hope was real, and it radically changed and empowered them.  Their confidence is everything he said skyrocketed after Easter morning, and the hope it communicated was extremely compelling to others who, up to that point, had no hope for more than this life.  A strong belief in heaven was a serious game changer. It still is.  Ask anyone truly facing death or their loved ones – hope that there is more can bring great peace.

            We live at a moment where we could use more peace.  A microscopic virus has wreaked havoc over the entire globe, disrupting literally everyone’s lives in one way or another.  Many have lost jobs that may or may not return.  Some have lost their business.  Many have lost sight of a hopeful future.  Over a million have contracted the virus, and worldwide the death toll is already staggering and will continue to rise in the weeks to come before leveling off.  All of a sudden all of humanity has been brought to its knees.  While most people will not die or even get sick from COVID-19, it has forced us into a season where we are faced with loss and death on many levels.  Literally in terms of physical health, and metaphorical on many fronts.  Whereas before when we had no social distancing or sheltering in place restrictions put upon us, now we cannot turn to the same coping mechanisms that once worked to help us deny this perpetual reality of the human experience.  Loss and death are very real physically, emotionally, mentally, spiritually, economically.  We may find ourselves with many deaths and losses that we are facing, that have been laid in a tomb and sealed shut.  We may find ourselves, like the disciples, locked away in despair, not knowing what to do next, trapped in hopelessness.  Yet if Easter is anything, it is a proclamation that death and despair don’t get the last word.  Easter means hope.  And hope makes all the difference between simply surviving and prevailing.

            Easter proclaims that there is a power at work that is greater than flesh and bones and market crashes and viruses combined.  This hope brought Jesus’ disciples out of their doomy-and-gloomy sheltering-in-place into a new light and a new future.  What they were sure was the end got flipped – it was a new unprecedented beginning.  They launched from that day with a level of confidence and energy unimaginable prior to Easter Sunday morning.  The power and hope of Easter lasted the length of their lives and was stronger than the pain and suffering they all would endure, even when facing martyrdom.  Don’t miss this: they still faced hardship in life – that’s inevitable – yet it did not stand a chance against the power and presence of God which provided an everlasting stream of life and direction.  That same reality is possible for all of us today.  COVID-19 may rob us of life, health, finances, and freedoms, but it need not rob us of hope.  There is a power that is deeper, that is experienced, that is real, that is lasting.

            To tap into the deep power that is Easter we need to learn some things from those first disciples.  They were the first to experience the resurrected Christ.  They all believed what they experienced together – they did not doubt it.  Yet this kind of believing in Easter ran way deeper than intellectual assent.  Surely there are a lot of people that have confidence that Jesus’ resurrection experienced by the disciples was true, yet they remain in despair.  The abiding power of the resurrection came because of something the disciples had been learning for the three years or more leading up to that first Easter.  They had learned and adopted the way of Jesus and were living in his footsteps.

            If you’re looking for the secret sauce the disciples had that helped them experience the power of Easter, given them hope and courage for the rest of their lives, it was that they adopted the way of Jesus as their own.  So much so, in fact, that the early Jesus followers were called the people of The Way referring to Jesus’ teachings.  Not to be confused with some form of legalistic adherence to a bunch of do’s and don’ts, the Way was an ethos, a way of being that transformed the way they viewed God, themselves, the world around them, the intersecting systems, and their engagement in the world.  Like the Karate Kid who waxed on and waxed off, the disciples walked in Jesus’ footsteps, listened to his teachings which he repeated in every new town, watched how he did life, how he treated others – everything – because all of that together is what kept Jesus so tightly aligned with God.  They rightly figured that if it was important to Jesus, it should be important to them, and if it worked for Jesus, it just might work for them.  They were correct.  They began to live like Jesus, and they saw the same kinds of things happen in and through them that they saw in Jesus.  Profound insights, vision to see things clearly, courage to call out injustice and call for love, and even power to facilitate healing like Jesus did.  The secret sauce for how they embraced and harnessed the power of resurrection was their devotion to the Way of Jesus, making it their own.  This still works.  In fact, I would submit to you that it still is as much The Way as it ever was!  

            In my experience, a lot of people believe in Easter intellectually and maybe even emotionally, but not with their whole being, which also includes their attitudes and behaviors. Their faith in God and Easter isn’t much more powerful than their faith in their laundry soap, and often not as powerful as their faith in the US flag.  Keep your laundry soap and your flag, yet realize that there is something much bigger offered here that transcends Tide and is stronger than our democracy (and its military).  The power of Easter is the game changer and life restorer, calling for a deeper and greater allegiance than even our patriotism, and providing much more.  Beauty where there was ugliness and destruction, strength for fear, gladness for mourning, peace for despair, and life where there was once death.

Many years ago I officiated a funeral service for a guy that in many ways wasted his life.  For whatever reason, he was pretty much all about himself, used people again and again (especially women), lost multiple jobs due to either his anger problem or drinking problem.  His health was as good as you might guess for a guy who drank a 12-pack of beer every day along with smoking two packs to go with it.  He got cancer and died.  His brother showed up for the funeral, and he gave every indication that he was not happy to be there.  Not because of grief, but disgust, anger, disappointment.  The only other person who came was a woman in my church who introduced me to the guy.  He wanted me there as he was taking his last breaths.  I tried to convince him of the unconditional love of God which loved him then and forever, a love large enough to welcome him home.  But I don’t think he really bought it, because he never really lived it.  Easter isn’t something we just sign off on.  It is something we live and discover that it lives in us and produces in us life we hadn’t thought possible.  In the Christian tradition, the Easter life begins with a yes to follow in the footsteps and teaching of Jesus, which is followed with many more invitations to say yes to, all leading us to learn and grow and see and do in ways that tie us to the heart of God which is eternally good and loving.  That’s why Easter is more than a one-off historical moment, and more of a movement – we become resurrected here and now, with a growing hope for what comes next.

            What will Easter mean for you today?  Especially during this global reset event of COVID-19, why not say yes to a new approach, the Way of Jesus that leads to life?

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Palm Sunday 2020

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

How quickly things can change.  A bit over 30 years ago, when I was in high school I was working out in my basement with a friend.  We never spotted each other on the bench press until our third set.  On the 10th rep of my second set, my arms went jelly and 225 pounds fell on my face.  A lot of blood, a lot of stitches, a new scar.  How quickly things can change.  Nearly 20 years ago I was driving my car on a windy road when a deer jumped in front of me.  I overreacted, rolling my car off an embankment that blew out my sunroof leaving my head to drag along the pavement.  A lot of blood, a lot of stitches, a new scar.  Ten years ago I was doing some pullups when my chin-up bar gave way.  I landed on the small of my back.  After eight months of incredibly painful sciatica, I got surgery.  I suppose there was a fair amount of blood involved, a bunch of stitches, and a new scar.  How quickly things can change.

I bet you have stories like this.  Physical stories of accidents.  Heartbreak stories.  Paradigm shift stories.  Good news stories, too – falling in love, getting pregnant, having a kid, getting accepted into college, getting the job, getting the house.  One moment you’re one way, and then something happens, and everything has changed.  How quickly things can change.

It’s a part of the human experience.

We’re living in one of those right now, aren’t we? The whole world, together, in this unwelcome moment, fighting together an enemy we can’t even see with the naked eye.  Something most of us knew nothing about a matter of weeks ago.  How quickly things can change.

Jesus was no stranger to the human experience.  The very last week of his life was no exception.  It began with a Sunday parade or sorts.  He was coming into the city of Jerusalem and a crowd of his fans lined the street to celebrate him with cheers, shouts of adoration, and gestures to honor him. They waived palm branches.  They laid down a make-shift red carpet type thing for him with their coats. Jesus likely knew his fans were going to do something like this, and he was very intentional about how he chose to enter the scene.  He could have walked.  Or he could have borrowed a horse used mainly for military purposes.  Instead, he chose a lowly donkey.  This ride communicated peace, not war.  Instead of a Hummer, he showed up in Herbie.

Jesus had a lot of fans, mostly from the northern part of the country around the Sea of Galilee where he lived most of his life and did most of his ministry.  There is ongoing debate about what exactly happened, but suffice it to say he had an experience that woke him up.  He saw his life, the world, the people of the world, power structures, religion, politics – everything – differently.  At the center of his awakening was his understanding of God as ever-present, the source of life itself, and characterized by an uncontrolling love.  When this happened (and kept happening), it was one of those moments that changed everything. One moment he was a dirt-poor day laborer hanging out at the Home Depot parking lot hoping to get some work to buy food for his mom and siblings.  The next moment he was commanding capacity crowds at the local amphitheater, sharing his experience and understanding of it all.  Of course, the crowds never lasted.  Jesus was really honest about the way of life he had discovered.  He knew that it ran counter to cultural norms, and even to lizard-brained self-preservation.  The big secret to the way he found was a reckless abandonment to God.  Choosing to give the reins of his life to this Greater Other, this Ground of Being, the Spirit, Higher Power.  It was a decision to simply live in the reality of the loving presence of God for the sake of being in the loving presence of God.  Not for personal gain.  Not to win heaven or avoid hell. Not to get wishes granted. Simply to be immersed in Love.  After a rousing teaching or day-long seminar, he would drop the bomb of this greatest truth about sacrificing self in order to gain our real identity.  The result?  The overwhelming majority of people walked away. How quickly things can change.

The week that began with a parade was even worse.  A few days later, one of his closest followers sold him out.  He was arrested.  Beaten.  Falsely accused and illegally tried. Beaten some more.  In an unprecedented move, the Roman Governor made room for some democracy: a decibel vote between Jesus and an insurrectionist named Barabbas.  Jesus got the loudest cheer.  The prize?  Execution by crucifixion.  Sunday morning came with cheers of acclamation.  Friday afternoon – shouts of death.  How quickly things can change.

How did Jesus choose to respond with it all?  Surrender.  That Thursday evening when he was arrested, he prayed his heart out.  He sweat blood.  He didn’t want to go through the nightmare he imagined would come.  He asked that the cup pass.  At the end of his prayer, however, he surrendered: not my will but yours be done.  Not that God was wanting Jesus to die, but that the uncontrolling love of God meant that bad things will happen in life, but God’s love remains with us.  The next day as he was severely beaten – a lot of blood, no time for stitches, would’ve been a lot of scars – he could have fought back at least with his words.  Instead, he honored who he was as a beloved child of God.  Among his last words as he was dying?  “Father, forgive them. They don’t know what they are doing.”  Followed soon after with, “Into your hands I commit my spirit.” Surrender.  One moment alive.  The next, dead.  How quickly things can change.

One thing was constant, though, according to Jesus.  God’s love.  Even as we go through inevitable highs and lows, we do so immersed in the love of God which is everywhere, all the time.  Giving us strength.  Hope.  Peace.  Perspective.  Promise. I don’t know exactly why, but it gives me some peace of mind knowing that Jesus went through life with all of its ups and downs.  Jesus.  The guy who so completely nailed it.  Still struggled.

This approach to life isn’t punting, by the way. It’s not giving up the fight.  We still do our part to do what is right and good, aligned with what we believe is loving toward God and all of creation. Sometimes, though, despite our best efforts, our life experience still sucks.  Yet we are still swimming in the presence of God just the same.

As we go through this COVID-19 trauma together, know that you are not alone.  We are all, quite literally, in this together.  Love God and love other people. Stay awake, stay woke to the fact that we are all swimming in the grace of God, and always will, no matter what comes.  Because things can change quickly, including our emotional wellbeing.  The prophet Isaiah declares that God gives beauty for ashes, strength for fear, gladness for mourning, peace for despair.  It can happen as quickly as a prayer. How quickly things can change.

 

O God, if I worship you in fear of hell, burn me in hell. If I worship you in hope of paradise, shut me out from paradise. But if I worship you for your own sake, do not withhold from me your everlasting beauty. —Rábi‘a (717–801), Islamic mystic and poet 

Self Care Under Stay at Home Orders

1.     Lower expectations of everyone right now, and practice radical self-acceptance. In your current situation, you cannot fail – there is no roadmap, no precedent, and we’re all doing the best we individually can to manage.

2.     Try to maintain a routine: sleep/wake times and a loose knit schedule but give yourself tremendous grace in the keeping of it. Dress for the day. Wear clothes that improve your mood. 

3.     Set limits for yourself regarding work, with the exception of emergencies. You, too, are experiencing the Pandemic. You may feel disoriented, or out of focus. This is normal. Slow your daily work down as you seek and find equilibrium in this crisis. 

4.     Develop a self-care toolkit. This can look different for everyone… a soft blanket, photos of vacation, comforting music, scented oil, a journal, an inspiring book. For children, help them create their own first aid kit for being sad, or angry, or scared or overwhelmed. A bin, or shoebox that they can decorate. Put bubbles for blowing (breathing regulation), a stuffed animal, snacks, a coloring book, paints and paper. 

5.     Get out/get exercise 30 minutes a day.

6.     Have everyone find their own ‘retreat’ space. With children, find a space, and make it cozy for them to go when they feel stressed. (Tents or forts) You find yours too. There are times I need to say, “I think I’ll take five…”

7.     Expect behavioral issues with children. Respond gently. All of us are disrupted in routine, and routines constructed by others helps them feel safe, and know what will come next. Their anxiety will be increased by these disruptions and may manifest with fears, nightmares, testing limits and meltdowns. Do not introduce major behavioral plans or consequences at this time. Hold steady.

8.     Focus on attachment. It’s easy to get caught up in deadlines, keeping a schedule, homeschooling children, keeping the household sterile. Focus on strengthening connection. Spend time following a child’s lead/play (they can’t say how they’re feeling, but they can playact it) Don’t be surprised to see themes of illness, doctor visits, or isolation play. This is cathartic to children. It’s how they process their world and problem solve. You can help them by your play.

9.     Reach out to others. Set virtual playdates for your children.

10.  Eat well, and stay hydrated. 

11.  Stay up with news about Covid-19, but be careful how much time you spend on it. Limit social media time to avoid raising anxiety. And be very careful how you speak to your children about it. Don’t let them overhear adult conversation. I found three places for positive news stories from around the globe. I’d be happy to send them to you, if you’d like. Let us know via email.

12.  Find something you can control and control the heck out of it. Your corner of the world. Clean a closet, organize your bookshelves, organize your library. Sort out client files. It anchors us to here and now, not how bad things are out there.

13.  Chunk down your quarantine. Morning/afternoon/evening. Take it hour by hour if you need to. I remember when I was operating in 15 minute increments. 

14.  Jewel box in the mind. Find the meaning or construction that can come out of destruction. Or what we can learn big and small from the crisis. 

15.  Notice the good in the world, and point it out to your family and friends, and especially your children and grandchildren.

16.  Find lightness or humor each day. Funny pet videos, or standup comedy, or a funny movie. We need comic relief in our day – every day.

17.  Radical acceptance of all of our emotions is the cornerstone to resilience

            The more you suppress emotion, the greater control it has – it’s amplified internally

            Own your feelings, discuss them

            You can change your reaction to these emotions

18.  Try something different and new during this time of different and new routines and realities (i.e., read a book you wouldn’t ordinarily pick up, discover a blog and consider creating your own, experiment with baking, cooking, watch a whole series on Netflix, etc.)

19.  Give yourself and others the benefit of the doubt – buckets full of grace. 

Ancestors: David

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

David: Mr. Courage.  David was no wimp.  The youngest brother learned to fight his way in life, and it showed.  It takes courage to be the youngest (I know because I am one!).  At a young age, he took on (and took down) the giant Philistine warrior, Goliath, in a winner takes all match.  He was a kid that had courage to use his sling well.  He was an accomplished musician and was forced to play for the criminally insane King Saul when he would find himself in a fit of rage and throw spears at him – courage required.  A valiant warrior, his renown outshone the king’s which drove the latter mad – Saul killed his thousands, but David killed his tens of thousands.  Outlawed by Saul, David had the opportunity to kill the king in an especially humiliating way.  He chose not to, however, which shows not only great strength, but courage to be noble. He became the second king of Israel, leading them to relative security thanks to his military wisdom and strategic marriages – every battle and every “I do” required courage.  During his reign, he wrote many psalms and songs that became a part of the national cultic practices.  It takes courage to put your stuff out there on display.  Related to worship, he loved to dance.  One time, he was leading a worship processional, dancing his best barely dressed, which his wife thought ridiculous (and let him know it).  Not every man has courage enough to dance naked in front of others.  His first-born son, Absalom, attempted a coup against David, and nearly got away with it.  He was eventually killed.  David knew what courage it takes to grieve the loss of a child.  Later in his life, he agreed to not build a Temple for worshipping God, even though he could have put his name on it as a lasting legacy to himself.  Instead, he made the choice to let someone else enjoy the moment – that takes courage.

            His most infamous chapter, without doubt, was his affair with a woman named Bathsheba, which also required courage on David’s part.  It was during the season when kings went to war, and David realized that his battle days were over – it was time for the next generation to lead the charge.  That took courage to admit.  While his forces were off to battle, he noticed a woman bathing on her rooftop not far from the palace rooftop deck while he was strolling at the same time each day.  Whether or not she was doing this to get noticed by David is the subject of debate to this day.  Regardless of her intentions, he sent his people to bring her to him.  This really didn’t require a lot of courage on his part.  In fact, it was driven out of cowardly lust – he wasn’t bringing her up to play chess…. She became pregnant, which was awkward because her husband was a warrior on the front line of war.  A cover-up was attempted to no avail, and finally David orchestrated the death of Uriah, Bathsheba’s husband, at which point he took her as his wife.  These moves were bold, but not really courageous.

            Bathsheba had the baby, but then the baby got sick and died.  She thought she was cooked.  David asked what he could do to console her, and she requested that her next son become the next king of Israel (ahead of David’s other sons).  The request was granted (which eventually led to Absalom’s coup attempt).  All was well in the kingdom of Israel.

            But Nathan, a prophet of God, got clued in about what had happened and held the king accountable with great savvy.  Very courageous on his part.  David then made some of his most courageous moves.  He stopped lying to others and himself, acknowledging his wrongdoing.  This takes an enormous amount of courage.  He made a truly heartfelt public confession via a psalm/song/poem we know as Psalm 51.  Confessing your sin is one thing, owning it is another, vulnerably sharing your story is quite another.  Courage. Courage. Courage.

So far, I wonder if you are resonating with David.  When have you faced similar life experiences as he did?  Did you know that David was known as “a man after God’s own heart”?  It’s one of the reasons why he was so beloved by people, respected for his faith, and hailed as their model king.  When have you faced times in your life that really required you to act with great courage, which probably also had you on your knees, so to speak, because you sensed you needed God to get through it?

The story of David and Bathsheba has been rightly applied to the issue of personal sin, repentance, and God’s forgiveness.  That is certainly an aspect worth noting.  For some of you today, it may be the most relevant take-away: you feel like you have really blown it, and you wonder if God can truly forgive you.  God can, will, and, in fact, has already.  This grace is yours to embrace.  It has been there all along.  Take it all in.  Embrace the salvation that knowing the forgiveness of sins affords.

Part of the Bathsheba story is David’s repentance.  The word can be translated in a number of ways.  The simplest is to turn around.  Another is a bit clearer on direction – to turn back to God.  A beautiful, nuanced way to think about it is to return to the mind of God.  Turning around, turning back to God, returning to the mind of God – all of it implies that somewhere along the line a person or society shifted so as to eventually need to return.  This brings me to a couple of final thoughts regarding David’s courage.

There were a couple of seasons when David did not evidence courage when a lot was on the line.  When he began lusting and obsessing about Bathsheba, not only did he lack courage to turn away, or go play golf or something, but more importantly, he lacked the courage required to ask himself why he would entertain the thought of being with her in the first place.  It takes great courage to take an honest look in the mirror.  What was his lust saying about his current marriage?  What had he done to contribute to the health or disease of the marriage he was already in?  What was happening with him emotionally that would make him vulnerable to temptation?  I can tell you this, in my experience, people who are connected to their partner are much less vulnerable to temptation than those who are not.  There is simply no room for another when the marriage is healthy.  Imagine how things might have been different if David had shown courage at that point instead of losing his mind, turning away from what he knew was right and best, turning away from God, choosing to not be driven by the mind of God.  Two marriages would have had a chance at greater health.  A husband would not have been killed.  A woman would not have been shamed.  And then there’s the son who became an unintended consequence: Absalom.

Another moment when David lacked courage was more subtle.  Absalom was his first son and rightful heir to the throne, until Bathsheba brokered a deal to save herself and her son from certain doom.  When it was clear that Solomon was going to be king, one could say that David and Absalom’s relationship was damaged!  David caved in that moment of losing the mind of God.  Unfortunately, he never regained it concerning his first-born son.  Many years later he finally asked a question he needed to be asking every day: how is my son Absalom?  David’s lack of attentiveness to his son caught up with him over time when Absalom tried to take the throne, eventually leading to his death.  How would things have been different if David would have had the courage to take an honest look in the mirror and wonder about his role as a father in his son’s life? 

I have no idea how all of this hits you, or which aspect of these stories inspires you, or calls you on the carpet.  I do know that we all have a choice to return to the mind of God – and stay there!  We are invited by the Spirit of God to walk deeply and closely in the Spirit of God, where we discover the Way that leads to life and the courage to follow.  

Where in your life right now do you need to be courageous?  Where in your life right now do you need to return to the mind of God?  What is holding you back? We are in an uncomfortable season just like David was, when we aren’t allowed to be ourselves.  Sometimes we don’t want to feel what we’re feeling so we distract ourselves with other things.  Sometimes these things are harmless time-wasters – Netflix binging, anyone?  Yet sometimes the pain of the emotions we feel is so strong we need something more potent to ignore and alleviate our agony.  This is when we might find ourselves tempted to self-medicate in ways that fit our personality.  For David, it was giving into the temptation of lust.  For some, it’s alcohol and drugs.  For others, it is choosing to dive into something to the neglect of more important things.

What are you feeling?  What are your feelings telling you about the state of your life?  What are your feelings calling you to examine that might take you to places of healing and wholeness?  Grab a notebook and get to it – the Spirit of God will join you in this process of becoming, of insight, and of healing.  Perhaps this unwelcome pause in our daily routines will provide a moment to help us course-correct our lives, so that we might one day look back and celebrate more famous moments of personal courage, and fewer infamous ones of cowardice.

God and Coronavirus

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

CrossWalk had scheduled to have Tom Oord join us for a live talk and Q&A session, but the coronavirus pandemic altered our plans! We hope to reschedule him in the fall. Tom was kind enough to let me (Pete) interview him this week, which is great, because the theological framework he offers is quite helpful for us who are trying to navigate our way through these challenging days. Watch or listen to the recorded interview, and read his essay here.

Ancestors: Ruth

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

SERMON NOTES & REFLECTION QUESTIONS

March 8, 2020

Sermon Title: Sowing Hope, Reaping Blessings

Rev. Laurel Balyeat Morrison

 

 

Texts:  Ruth 1: 8 & 9 (Naomi); 16-17a (Ruth); 2:12 (Boaz); 2:20 (Naomi); 3:13 (Boaz); 4:14-15 (women)

 

A.    Facing Loss and difficulties 

1.      What are some of the ways you have coped with loss?

2.     Which are healthy and which are unhealthy? 

3.     How can you strengthen your faith so that it is stronger than your feelings about what you are going through?

4.     Here is the quote Laurel shared by 

Joan Chittister in her book, The Story of Ruth, pg. 11). “Loss, once reckoned, once absorbed, is a precious gift.  No, I cannot be what I was before but I can be—I must be—something new.  There is MORE OF GOD IN ME, I discover in emptiness, than I have ever known in what I once took to be fullness.”  How do you respond to this?

How can you have “more of God in you” in loss and difficulty?

 

B.    Cultivating Opportunies

Laurel stated that some of the ways God works are through the places we are in, the timing of events and circumstances, people, and our own intentions and hopes.  

5.     How is God active in your field of work, service or areas of influence?  

6.     Is there unusual timing of events in your life? 

7.     Are there people through whom God is especially working?

8.     If you seek favor, do you question God when you get it?  

 

C.    Discerning Direction from God

Laurel taught that we can discern direction from God: by trusting God, listening to godly people, and stretching ourselves beyond our comfort zone.  

9.     How are you showing God trust these days?

10.  What input or counsel are godly people giving you?  How is God speaking through them? 

11.  Are you letting your need for comfort and/or control keeping you from stepping outside of your comfort zone?

12.  What are your resistances to following where God is leading?  What are your fears?

13.  Who does God want you to become?

 

D.    Celebrating Blessings

 

14.  As you look at the story of your life, what are some of your greatest blessings?

  

15.  What role did change and loss play in your story?

 

16.  Wonders are things only God can do.  What wonders has God done? 

 

17.  What blessings are you celebrating in this season of your life?   

 

Ancestors: Samson

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

If you’re looking for action and adventure, the Bible’s book of Judges should probably be your top pick.  It remembers (and embellishes, no doubt) the history of Israel between the conquest of the Promised Land and the era of the kings, when judges led the tribes.  Most of the judges were military rulers, except for Deborah, who also served as an arbitrator.  On the whole, the story of Israel and her leaders remembered in the book is one slow decline, where the Jewish people keep blowing it one way or another, which makes them vulnerable to neighboring enemies.  Yet God hears their cry each time and responds with redemption.

            The last judge the book recalls is Samson.  He may be the most familiar of all the judges.  His story surely is entertaining, even if disturbing.  His birth came with a heavenly announcement to an unlikely couple.  They were instructed to raise him from birth keeping the Nazarite vow, which was usually kept for a season rather than a lifetime:  he could consume any grape product, eat anything unclean, and could not cut his hair.  He was supposed to be a model of good citizenship.  Instead, he was a self-absorbed, immature louse and bully.  He chose to marry foreign women (breaking a Jewish covenant), ate unclean food (honey out of the carcass of a dead animal), enjoyed copious amounts of wine (from grapes, not cherries), pleasured himself at the expense of a foreign prostitute, and had a nasty temper: if you crossed him, you could be confident that you would be repaid unjustly – the eye for an eye ethic was lost on this guy.  He was as corrupt a judge as you could get, really.  One weird part of the story is that he broke two thirds of his vows with no real consequence (except, perhaps, of losing people’s respect).  Growing his hair out was the only one that he apparently kept.  Maybe he thought it helped his chances with women…

He was best known, of course, for his apparent superhuman strength based on the maintaining his vow to God – he never cut his hair.  Most people can also recall the woman who brought him down, too – Delilah – who was relentless in bugging him to share the secret of this strength until she got it, which led to betrayal (as had the other times when he lied to her).  His strength lost, he was easily bound, his eyes gouged out, and put into service as a slave.

Especially when appreciated in context, the story of Samson serves to reflect just how far the people of Israel fell from their original covenant with God.  By this time, they were satisfied with a leader who was all about using fear and intimidation with the superpower he had at his disposal.  Samson wasn’t trying to look out for the people – he was all about himself.  He was in some ways a reflection of the people he was supposed to serve.  The people of Israel had abandoned God with great fanfare, and even turned out their own judge to their adversaries.           

            My first reaction to Samson is one of utter disdain and judgment.  His story triggers memories of every self-absorbed leader I’ve known – from teachers to coaches to directors to bosses to colleagues to pastors to business leaders to government leaders.  I think about how their ego-driven decisions made their lives a little easier, often at the expense of others (including myself).  I think we’ve all known people like this, and I bet just thinking about them can make your blood boil.  We can easily find ourselves rehearsing what we would say to them if we had the right opportunity and courage to do so.  We enlist the rage of friends who share similar views.  Before you know it, we find ourselves surrounded by a host of people frustrated by the same “enemy.”  Nothing unites people together quicker than a common enemy, after all.  Samson is a pretty good target.  He was an unscrupulous louse by every account.  And yet for the people of Israel, he was their louse, which complicated things. We don’t read much about the attitude of the Jewish people toward Samson.  In some ways, I am sure many liked him, because, even though he didn’t give a rip about basic Jewish law or innate human dignity, when he wasn’t sleeping with a Philistine (or drinking with them), he was kicking their butts and keeping them at bay.  He was a one-man national defense strategy.  Gotta love him for keeping us safe, right?  And burning our enemy’s crops?  That’s brilliant – they will need to buy from Israel which will bring an economic boom.  So, even though the Jewish people cringed a lot when their “I’m-sensitive-about-my-hair” leader failed repeatedly to act like a healthy human being, they probably felt safer, and their 401k’s were in better shape.  As James Carville coined nearly 30 years ago, for many people, the single most important reality for them is “the economy, stupid.” 

Seeing Samson in this light is exactly what the writers of the book of Judges hoped would happen.  Why? Because Samson’s story would provide a mirror for the entire nation with which to see themselves in an honest light.  Samson’s follies echoed themes throughout the book.  Samson’s utter lack of care for what it meant to be a healthy person as directed by the Law was clearly mimicked by the people he protected.  Israel was Samson.  Samson was Israel.  When Samson finally died, unlike the judges before him, his leadership offered no lasting peace for those he served.  They may have been okay as long as they had their tough guy, but as soon as he was gone, there was no structure, no relationship, no treaties, no nothing to protect the people he was supposed to serve.  Samson was too self-centered to see it.  So were the Israelites.  So are we.

Anytime we point a finger at someone, we have three pointing back at us.  The writers of Judges weren’t wanting people to simply rally around their hatred of Samson (or love for him for those that were like him).  They wanted people to take a look at themselves.  Sometimes when we do the work to really identify what we don’t like about the other person, we discover that it is something we don’t like about ourselves.  Maybe you can’t stand how the person doesn’t listen to anyone around them – do you?  Maybe you can’t stand the person’s hypocrisy – what about your own? Maybe it’s their greed – how’s that going for you? Maybe it’s the attitude they carry with them – what’s yours? Maybe it’s their quick-to-judgment-and-anger you dislike – how have you been guilty of the same?  Continuing to take shots at the object of our loathing likely won’t do much good – not even for the sake of catharsis.  In fact, it may entrench us in a binary mire that is incredibly difficult to escape.

Samson’s wake-up call, literary, was the sound of scissors. His hair represented his strength and power that he had abused his entire life.  His decisions caught up with him.  How’s your hair today?  If you were Samson, what would your hair represent, and what would cutting it represent?  The haircut represented Samson’s compromising writ large.  He couldn’t come back from this one.  Have you ever had any of these moments?  They really, really suck.  If we are experts at denial, we can avoid the pain for a long time – a lifetime, in fact.  Yet we never really escape a bad haircut.  When we come to our senses, however, which always requires humility, we find a strange peace.  That peace allows for perspective which affords the opportunity to try again and try it right.  That second chance is found within Samson’s story.

There is a very weird twist at the end of Samson’s story which speaks much about God and ourselves.  Recall that the Nazarite vow prohibited Samson from eating any grape product, from touching a dead animal, and from cutting his hair.  That last one, for whatever reason, was tied to his strength.  Once he got a shave, it was over.  Imprisoned slavery was his new life:  God’s “judgment” (consequences) of Samson’s lack of moral resolve.  But Samson’s hair grew back.  His last prayer was to pay back Israel’s enemies one last time.  This is the only instance in the Old Testament where a person asked to die and got their wish.  He had the strength to do it once again.  This time, however, he put the ball in God’s court instead of making it his decision.

Samson’s regrown hair is a symbol of hope for all of us.  God is forever faithful, forever offering a hand to help us get back on our feet, always graceful and forgiving, ready to help us move forward from a renewed foundation of love. There are times in our lives when our decisions really catch up with us.  We feel enslaved to them.  Without hope.  Yet Samson’s hair still grows.  Even if we really are in our eleventh hour, we have a chance to do something redemptive with it.  Samson wiped out a local god whose worship undoubtedly forced women and perhaps children into prostitution and cost the poor what little they had.  Samson’s last moment was spent on something “good”.

From that stance of wondering what good we might do with our regrown hair, we can then look at ourselves and our Samsonite leaders with more humility and choose to respond instead of react in order to call out the best of those around us. We become a part of the solution instead of the noisy problem.  We use the remainder of our lives pursuing what is good and best together for everyone.  Like Samson, I believe that is something God will actually grant.

            

Notes to Nerd Out On…

 

From The New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary (Dennis T. Olson)

 

SAMSON, THE LAST JUDGE

Overview

The seventeenth-century poet John Milton retold the biblical story of Samson in an epic poem entitled Samson Agonistes. Milton himself had tragically become blind, and he put this searching question into Samson’s mouth:

Why was my breeding ordered and prescribed

As of a person separate to God,

Designed for great exploits; if I must die

Betrayed, captive, and both my eyes put out …?

(Line 30)

Milton’s question captures the essential riddle of great expectations and tragic humiliation that is the story of Samson. More than any previous judge, Samson is wondrously chosen by God from birth. He is a special judge, a Nazarite called to deliver Israel from the oppressive Philistines. Tragically, all our expectations about what a judge should be fall apart in Samson. He leads no Israelites into battle. He marries a Philistine woman. He attends drinking parties with the enemy. He spends the night with a foreign prostitute. He engages only in personal vendettas with little sense of working in service to God or for the well-being of all Israel. He succumbs to Delilah’s pleas to know the secret of his strength, which leads to imprisonment, torture, and blindness. In the end, Samson prays to God to let him die and destroy the Philistines and the temple of the god Dagon in the process. Samson is no ordinary judge. He plays an important and even climactic role as the last of the judges of Israel in the book of Judges.

The importance of the Samson cycle for the book of Judges is demonstrated by the extensive number of motifs the writers or editors have borrowed from earlier judge narratives and incorporated into the Samson saga. The following is a list of sixteen important allusions to other parts of Judges, both allusive parallels and contrasts.

(1) In the first chapter of Judges, the role of the tribe of Judah was positive, bold, and courageous in leading the fight against Israel’s enemy (1:1–15). In the Samson story, the people of Judah simply acquiesce to the Philistines’ oppressive rule over them. They show no courage or ability to resist the enemy (15:9–11). Instead, they betray their own judge Samson, bind him with ropes, and hand him over to the Philistines (15:12–13).

(2) Judges 3:6 condemned the Israelites for intermarrying with other nations, since marriage with foreigners led to worshiping foreign gods. Samson loved and married a foreign woman (14:1–4). His marriage violated God’s prohibition to the Israelites in 2:2: “For your part, do not make a covenant with the inhabitants of this land” (2:2). Moreover, Samson also slept with a foreign prostitute (זנה zōnâ, 16:1–3). The same Hebrew root (זנה znh) is used to describe Israel’s “prostituting” and “lusting” after foreign gods elsewhere in Judges (2:17; 8:33).

(3) The last rogue judge, Samson, is the reverse image of the first model judge, Othniel (1:11–15; 3:7–11). Othniel’s exemplary marriage to the Israelite Achsah contrasts with Samson’s troubled marriage and relationships with foreign women. Othniel leads Israelite soldiers in a successful holy war. Samson is a loner who has no desire to lead Israel in any way. Othniel “delivered” Israel from its enemy and gave Israel “rest,” or peace, for forty years (3:9, 11). Samson will only “begin to deliver Israel” from the Philistines, and no period of rest will result from his judgeship (13:5; 16:31).

(4) In all the previous judge stories, it is always Israel who cries in distress and causes God to intervene (3:15; 4:3; 6:7; 10:10). In the Samson story, Samson replaces Israel as the one who cries out to God, once when he is dying of thirst (15:18–19) and once at the end of his life, when he desires revenge on the Philistines (16:28–30). In both cases, God responds to Samson’s cry just as God had responded to the Israelites’ cry of distress in the previous stories.

(5) The early judge Ehud approached the fat king Eglon with a sword hidden at his side, and he said, “I have a secret message for you, O king” (3:19). Similarly, secrets figure prominently throughout the Samson story: the angel’s secret identity (13:17–18), the secret that Samson’s marriage to a Philistine woman is from the Lord (14:4), the riddle and its secret solution (14:18), the secret of Samson’s strength in his uncut hair (16:4–17), the secret that the Lord had left Samson when his head was shaved (16:20), and the secret of Samson’s hair growing back, which allowed him one last opportunity to bring revenge on the Philistines (16:22–30).

(6) One of the early minor judges, Shamgar, killed six hundred Philistines with an oxgoad (3:31). Samson killed one thousand Philistines with the jawbone of an ass (15:14–17).

(7) Jael the Kenite killed the Canaanite general Sisera by putting him to sleep in her tent and then secretly “driving” a tent peg into his head (4:21). Similarly, Delilah tries to capture Samson by putting him to sleep and “driving” (תקע tāqaʿ; the same verbs as in 4:21) a tent peg or pin into the long braid of hair on his head (16:14). In the end, Jael succeeds in killing Israel’s enemy, Sisera, and Delilah succeeds in the plot to kill Israel’s judge, Samson (16:18–31).

(8) The judge Gideon began his career by pulling down the altar of the Canaanite god Baal (6:25–27). Samson ends his career by pushing down the pillars of the temple of the Philistine god Dagon (16:23–31).

(9) Gideon’s main mission to fight the Midianites was momentarily diverted by a personal vendetta against the inhabitants of the towns of Succoth and Penuel who had taunted him (8:4–9, 13–17). Similarly, Jephthah’s primary fight with the Ammonites was interrupted when as an act of personal revenge he killed thousands of Ephraimites who had taunted him (12:1–6). Samson’s career as a judge was devoted entirely to personal vendettas and individual acts of revenge against the Philistines (14:19; 15:7, 14–17; 16:28–30). What was occasional with Gideon and Jephthah became Samson’s whole mission: a self-centered desire for personal revenge with no awareness of serving God or leading all Israel.

(10) Several elements in God’s call of Gideon to be a judge in 6:11–24 reappear in the story of Samson’s birth and call to be a deliverer of Israel in 13:1–25. Shared motifs include the dramatic appearance of an angel of the Lord (6:11–12; 13:3); the request for confirmation and repetition of signs (6:17–18; 13:8); the fear of death due to seeing the Lord (6:22; 13:22); the reassurance that the people involved will not die (6:23; 13:23); the offering of a kid and a grain offering to the Lord on a rock (6:19–20; 13:19); a divine fire that springs up from the altar, accompanied by the disappearance of the angel (6:21; 13:20–21); and the divine commissioning of Gideon and Samson to deliver Israel (6:14; 13:5).

(11) Gideon employed three hundred men with torches in the attack against the Midianites (7:16, 20–23). Samson employed three hundred foxes with torches tied between their tails in the attack against the Philistines (15:1–8).

(12) It is only with Samson that the Philistine threat, first mentioned in the Jephthah story, is addressed (13:5; 16:30).

(13) A centerpiece of the Jephthah story is that he keeps his vow to sacrifice his daughter, despite the tragic consequences (11:29–40). One of the central elements of the Samson story is that he does not keep his vows. He breaks all three nazirite vows by eating unclean food, drinking alcohol, and cutting his hair (13:4–5; see Num 6:1–8). He ate unclean food in the form of honey from a lion’s corpse (14:8–9). He drank alcohol or wine at a seven-day drinking festival in honor of his wedding to the Philistine woman (14:10–12). He allowed his hair to be cut after Delilah’s incessant pleas (16:17–20).

(14) Jephthah’s victory against the Ammonites led unintentionally to the death and burning of the daughter whom he loved (11:30–31, 34–40). Samson’s victory against the Philistines led unintentionally to the death and burning of the wife whom he loved (15:1–6).

(15) In 14:3 and 7, Samson desired the woman from Timnah as a wife because “she pleased Samson.” The phrase in Hebrew literally reads, “she was right in the eyes of Samson.” The phrase is unusual when applied to humans as an object, but it appears to be an intentional echo of a key phrase that frames the last section of Judges (chaps. 17–21). The same phrase is used for all Israelites in 17:6 and 21:25: “All the people did what was right in their own eyes.” Samson’s roving eyes, illicit sexual liaisons, and vengeful murder of Philistines resemble the Israelites’ doing whatever was right in their own eyes in Judges 17–21. They worshiped idols (17:1–6). They committed sexual immorality and murder (19:22–30). And Israelites killed each other, nearly exterminating the tribe of Benjamin (20:35–48).

(16) Samson’s shaved head portends his imminent capture and death at the hands of the Philistines (16:17–21; see 13:3–5). However, a note of hope emerges when “the hair of his head began to grow again” (16:22). Similarly, the Israelites’ attack and near extinction of their own fellow tribe of Benjamin portends the end of Israel’s twelve-tribe union (19:22–20:46). However, a note of hope emerges when six hundred Benjaminite soldiers manage to escape the battle and live on to repopulate the tribe (20:47).

How are we to interpret these many allusions to other parts of the book of Judges in the Samson story? These literary echoes suggest that the present form of the story was shaped and edited at a late stage of the book’s composition, when much of the other material in Judges had already been written and set in place. Also, Samson is an embodiment of all that was wrong with the judges who preceded him. On one hand, Samson is the opposite of what the good judges were in the early part of the judges era. He is the reverse image of the first model judge, Othniel. Samson also embodies the worst of the negative characteristics that began to appear in the last two phases of the judges era with Gideon and Jephthah: personal vendettas, selfish rage, reluctance to lead, inability to rally the tribes of Israel into a united community, covenants with foreigners, and breaking of covenant vows. In short, Samson represents the implosion of the whole judge system. The judges have gradually deteriorated in effectiveness as religious and military leaders over the course of three distinct phases in the book of Judges. Samson is the end of the line in that deterioration. He is the judge who no longer leads Israel or obeys God. Moreover, he only begins to deliver Israel from the Philistines (13:5), and he does not gain any years of rest for his people.

Samson is the embodiment not only of the judges but also of the whole nation of Israel. He breaks all of his covenant vows as a Nazirite in the same way that Israel repeatedly broke its covenant obligations in worshiping idols. Samson’s entanglements with foreign women are a metaphor for Israel’s “lusting” after foreign gods. Samson spurned all the obligations of the nazirite covenant to which his parents had been faithful (13:1–24). In the same manner, the new generation of Israelites after the death of Joshua spurned the covenant of their faithful parents (2:6–23). Just as God responded repeatedly to Israel’s cry of distress in spite of its disobedience, so also God responded each time to Samson’s cry of distress (15:18–19; 16:28–30).

Just as Samson embodies the judges and Israel, so also he embodies one other important feature of the book of Judges: the kind of divine love that simply cannot let go. Samson loves even when the loved one repeatedly betrays that love and loyalty. Samson’s wife betrayed the answer to his riddle (14:17), and yet he continued to love her (15:1). One scholar has argued that the answer to the riddle in 14:18 (“What is sweeter than honey? What is stronger than a lion?”) implies an additional and unspoken answer—namely, love. Delilah betrayed Samson four different times, and yet he continued to return to her and love her (16:1–21). Samson was betrayed not only by the women he loved but even by his fellow Israelites. The tribe of Judah betrayed their own judge, Samson, to the Philistines, and yet he did not take revenge on Judah (15:9–17). The special intensity of Samson’s connection with God—the special birth involving the angelic visitor and the frequent infusion of the divine Spirit (13:25; 14:6, 19; 15:14)—suggests that Samson’s character may reveal something deeper and more direct about God’s character than did previous judges. Samson’s tenacious and often irrational love provides a metaphor for God’s unfailing love in spite of Israel’s repeated betrayals. Samson was a pushover whenever his beloved cried, begged, and pleaded with him. If we shake our heads in puzzlement over Samson’s relentless love for those who betrayed him, then we must do the same for God’s amazingly patient and relentless love for Israel throughout the book of Judges. Ironically, the most disobedient and ineffective of all Israel’s judges becomes the best window into the heart and character of Israel’s God. With Samson, we come to the core of the meaning of the book of Judges for our understanding of the judges, of Israel, and of God.

 

Judges 13:1–25, The Birth of Samson

Commentary

The Samson narrative opens with the usual introductory formula, announcing that Israel again has done evil and the Lord has allowed the Philistines to oppress them for forty years. If this were the typical judges cycle, we would expect the Israelites to cry in distress, prompting God to send a deliverer. In this case, the Israelites do not know enough even to cry out. Instead, God must take the initiative in sending an angel to announce the birth of a son “who shall begin to deliver Israel from the hand of the Philistines” (v. 5). The deliverance will be partial, suggesting that the judge paradigm is increasingly losing effectiveness. The Philistines will return as Israel’s oppressors later in 1 Samuel under the kingships of Saul and David (see 1 Sam 4:1–11).

The birth of this deliverer is announced to the barren, or childless, wife of a man named Manoah from the tribe of Dan. The angel instructs the mother-to-be not to drink wine or alcohol and not to eat unclean food. These same prohibitions presumably apply to the son about to be born, along with one additional prohibition: “no razor is to come on his head” (vv. 4–5). The reason for the prohibitions is that this son will be a “Nazirite” to God from birth. The word “nazirite” (נזיר nāzîr) means “separated one” or “consecrated one,” signifying someone specially dedicated for service to God. The law for the Nazirite is found in Num 6:1–21 and specifies three obligations: no wine, no cutting of hair, and no touching of a corpse. The laws in Numbers 6 assume that the nazirite vow is taken on voluntarily by an adult for a limited period rather than given at birth for a lifetime. However, the special dedication of a Nazirite from the womb suggests an extraordinary act of consecration by God. The special character of this son who is about to be born is underscored by the fact that the mother is barren. The motif of the barren wife to whom God gives a child is associated with several famous female ancestors of Israel’s history: Sarah and her son, Isaac (Gen 11:30; 21:1–7); Rebekah and her sons, Jacob and Esau (Gen 25:21–26); Rachel and her sons, Joseph and Benjamin (Gen 29:31; 30:22–24; 35:16–20); and Hannah and her son Samuel (1 Sam 1:1–28). The nazirite vow and the barren woman who gives birth raise enormous expectations in the reader to look for something extraordinary from this son who is about to be born.

The wife of Manoah reports the encounter to her husband. She tells him that “a man of God” whose appearance was like that of “an angel of God” came to her with the news of the imminent birth of a son. She simply accepts his words as true, not pressing to know from where he came or what his name is (vv. 6–7). Manoah’s wife explains that the boy will be a Nazirite to God from birth, as the man of God had said. Then she adds her own ominous words: His nazirite mission will extend from birth “to the day of his death” (v. 7). Her words allude in a tragic way to the final scene of the Samson story (16:23–31).

The husband, Manoah, is not satisfied with this secondhand report from his wife. He prays to God to send the man of God again to confirm the news and to teach them what they are to do with the boy who will be born. God grants Manoah’s request. The man of God comes to Manoah’s wife in the field, and she runs and brings her husband to meet him. After the man of God, who is indeed an angel of God, repeats the nazirite instructions, Manoah invites him to stay and eat. Manoah wants to prepare a kid or young goat as a meal. The hospitality is reminiscent of Abraham’s invitation to the three men of God in Gen 18:1–15. The angel of God demurs, saying he will not eat the food, but Manoah can offer the kid as a burnt offering to the Lord. Still unaware that this is an angel, Manoah asks, “What is your name?” The angel replies, “Why do you ask my name? It is too wonderful” (vv. 17–18). This exchange is a direct allusion to the famous wrestling match between the ancestor Jacob and the angel of God (Gen 32:29).

After Manoah offers up a burnt offering, the angel ascends in the flame up to heaven. Now Manoah knows this was an angel of the Lord. He is fearful that he and his wife will die because “we have seen God” (v. 22). This concern reflects a common OT notion that any human who sees God face to face will die (Exod 33:20). But Manoah’s wife assures him that they will not die. God has come, not to destroy them, but to give them life in the form of a son soon to be born (v. 23). In due time, Manoah’s wife gives birth to a son, whom she names Samson. The Lord blesses the boy as he grows, and “the spirit of the Lord began to stir him” (v. 24).

This opening episode of the Samson story is saturated with allusions to the wider biblical tradition. The famous barren mothers, the nazirite vow, the angels’ visit to Abraham and Sarah, the wrestling match with Jacob, and seeing God face to face all point to the birth of this son as an extraordinarily momentous event. These allusions all suggest that God has pulled out all the stops and is investing enormous divine power and hope in this one son about to be born. After the debacle of the Jephthah story and the brief respite of the minor judges in 12:8–15, God is now intervening in a dramatic and unprecedented way to save Israel. Even so, God realizes that even this child will only “begin to deliver Israel from the hand of the Philistines” (v. 5).

 

Reflections

1. When it comes to believing and trusting in what God promises, the Bible affirms that a variety of responses is available and legitimate. The first scene of the story presents us with two quite different approaches in the wife of Manoah and Manoah himself. The wife of Manoah simply trusts what the man of God tells her. She does not require or ask for his source of authority or his name (13:6). In spite of the obstacle of her barrenness, she is willing to trust that God will somehow find a way to make the promise come true. Her strong faith finds a New Testament counterpart in the angel’s promise to Mary that she would be the mother of Jesus. Mary accepted the angel’s words, saying, “Let it be with me according to your word” (Luke 1:38 NRSV). Likewise, the women at Jesus’ tomb on Easter morning believed without question the angels’ words that Jesus had risen from the dead (Luke 24:1–9).

However, not all of God’s people find it easy to trust God’s promises without some sort of sign or confirmation. In Judges 13, the husband, Manoah, needs some assurance that his wife’s report is truly a word from God. His request echoes the experience of Abraham and his struggle to believe God’s promise of a son and of a land in Genesis 15. On one hand, Abraham trusted God’s promise of a son (Gen 15:6). On the other hand, a part of Abraham needed an additional sign and confirmation of God’s promise of the land (Gen 15:8–19). In the New Testament retelling of the first Easter story, the women came from Jesus’ tomb and relayed to the disciples what the angel had said about Jesus’ resurrection. But the text reports that “these words seemed to them an idle tale” (Luke 24:11 NRSV). The confirmation came in Jesus’ resurrection appearances to the disciples. Examples include the scene on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13–35) and the confrontation of the risen Jesus with doubting Thomas, the disciple who wanted proof that Jesus was alive (John 20:19–29). In each of these cases, God took seriously and accepted those who expressed their doubts and struggles to believe. To those who doubt, God often offers signs and assurances that are visible to the eyes of faith.

2. The parents of Samson emerge as faithful and obedient models of faith who desire that God “teach us what we are to do concerning the boy” (13:8). We have seen this motif of a faithful generation of parents once before in the book of Judges. In chapter 2, the previous generation of Israelites under the leadership of Joshua had “worshiped the Lord all the days of Joshua” (2:7). However, after the death of that generation, “another generation grew up after them, who did not know the Lord” (2:10). The parents of Samson display a strong faith similar to that of the generation of Joshua. As readers at this early point in the Samson story, we wonder whether the son Samson and the generation of Israelites he represents will continue to be faithful. Or will Samson and his generation fail to maintain their covenant loyalty to the Lord? By the end of the Samson saga, we will see that the paradigm of an old faithful generation of parents, followed by a disobedient and rebellious generation will, indeed, be repeated in the story of Manoah and his wife and their son, Samson. The paradigm raises the ever-present challenges of an older generation’s passing on its faith tradition to a new generation.

3. The many allusions to important biblical traditions of consecration and special service in Judges 13 demonstrate that the divine investment in this son named Samson as a deliverer of Israel is enormous. At the same time, the continuing decline in the effectiveness of the whole judges system of leadership and the degradation of Israel’s social and religious life pose massive obstacles to God’s will to deliver Israel yet again. This combination of intense divine energy and a resistant people and system of leadership will result only in Israel’s partial deliverance: Samson “shall begin to deliver Israel from the hand of the Philistines” (v. 5). This observation may lead us to reflect on the role of humans and human systems and institutions both to advance and to thwart the efficiency and effectiveness of God’s will’s being done in a given situation. Ultimately, God’s final will and loving purpose for the people of God and for the whole creation will be done. As the apostle Paul affirms, nothing “in all creation will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Rom 8:39 NRSV). However, God’s specific will in particular circumstances may be helped or hindered by what humans and other forces in the world may do.

Judges 14:1–20, Samson the Riddler

Commentary

Judges 13 had prepared the reader to have great expectations for Samson as a deliverer of Israel. However, his first recorded action as an adult seems quickly to dash those expectations. He falls in love with a Philistine woman and orders his mother and father, “Get her for me as my wife” (v. 2). Samson’s parents know that their covenant with God condemns intermarriage with foreigners (3:6) and making covenants with non-Israelites (2:2). Thus they try to dissuade Samson from marrying the Philistine woman, but he will not take no for an answer. He insists that “she pleases me” (היא ישׁרה בעיני hîʾ yāšĕrâ bĕʿênāy; lit., “she is right in my eyes”). The phrase is an echo of the important refrain that characterizes all Israel in the final and most tragic section of Judges: “all the people did what was right in their own eyes” (17:6; 21:25).

14:4. Just when we are ready to condemn Samson for his roving eye, however, the narrator interrupts with a word to the reader. Samson’s parents did not know that “this was from the Lord”! The Lord wanted Samson to marry the Philistine woman in order to create “a pretext to act against the Philistines.” Remarkably, God steers Samson to disobey God’s own covenant prohibitions against intermarriage in order to help Israel and act against the Philistine oppressors. This is one of many ironies and inverted expectations that we will encounter in the chaotic and unsettled situation in which Samson lives and through which God works at the end of the judges era. The parents’ lack of knowledge about the unexpected ways in which God was working in Samson will also be a recurring theme in the narrative.

14:5–9. Samson convinces his parents to join him in “going down” to the town of Timnah to marry the Philistine woman. Their journey into Philistine territory will lead to Samson’s breaking two of his three nazirite vows: drinking wine or anything produced from the grapevine (13:4; Num 6:4) and eating anything that is unclean, especially anything associated with the corpse of an animal or a human (13:4; Num 6:6–8). They come to the “vineyards of Timnah.” The mention of a vineyard immediately raises warning flags, since the Nazirite is to avoid anything produced from grapes. Suddenly a young lion roars at Samson, the Spirit of the Lord rushes upon him, and he tears apart the lion barehanded. The nazirite instructions in chap. 13 had said nothing about a prohibition against Samson’s touching a corpse; that prohibition is mentioned only in the general nazirite law in Numbers 6. Thus the reader may wonder whether Samson’s touching the corpse of a lion (itself an unclean animal, Lev 11:27) may technically not be a violation of his nazirite covenant. Samson’s parents again do not know about the incident with the lion. In any case, Samson and his parents visit the Philistine woman and then return home. Sometime later, Samson is on his way to the wedding and travels the same road as before. He sees the carcass of the lion he had killed with a swarm of bees and their honey in the carcass. He eats the honey, which is ritually contaminated by the unclean corpse of an unclean animal. The reader now knows that Samson has broken his first nazirite vow, but again his parents are unaware (vv. 8–9).

14:10–11. Samson’s father goes down to arrange for the marriage, and Samson “made a feast” as was the custom for weddings (v. 10). The word for “feast” here (משׁתה mišteh) suggests a drinking feast, and so Samson seems to have broken now the second of his nazirite vows: “be careful not to drink wine or strong drink” (13:4; Num 6:3–4). However, the reader may wonder still whether these are serious infractions, since the angel had applied these two prohibitions to the parents but not explicitly (perhaps implicitly?) to Samson. At least Samson’s hair remains uncut, and it will be that third and last vow of his nazirite covenant that will remain fulfilled until the last episode with Delilah.

14:12–18a. As part of the seven-day feast, Samson proposes a riddle to his wedding guests and places a wager of sixty garments that the guests cannot solve it. The riddle is this: “Out of the eater came something to eat. Out of the strong came something sweet.” The answer to the riddle, on the surface, is Samson’s dead lion with its sweet honey, about which the guests know nothing. After three days of guessing, the guests demand that Samson’s new wife beg him for the answer to the riddle “or we will burn you and your father’s house with fire” (v. 15). She begs Samson for the answer until the seventh day of the feast. He finally relents and tells her the answer to the riddle, and then she passes it on to the Philistine guests: “What is sweeter than honey? What is stronger than a lion?” (v. 18). There may be more than this surface-level meaning to the riddle, however, in the context of the larger Samson story. The solution is given in the form of two questions. The interrogatives invite further searching on the reader’s part to consider another level of meaning as to what might be stronger than a lion and sweeter than honey. One scholar has argued that a more subtle answer to the two questions and an implied solution to the larger riddle of the Samson story itself is the answer “love.” Love is both incredibly strong and incredibly sweet for both Samson and his women, but more significantly for God and the people of Israel. God’s powerful and sweet love cannot let Israel go, no matter how disobedient they are.

14:18b–20. Samson gives a sexually crude and angry response to the wedding guests: “If you had not plowed with my heifer, you would not have found out my riddle” (v. 18). The Spirit of God rushes on Samson yet again. He then angrily goes to the neighboring Philistine city of Ashkelon, kills thirty men, steals their garments, and gives the stolen clothing to the wedding guests in payment for the wager they had made and Samson had lost. Hot-headed Samson heads back home, leaving his wife with the Philistines. In Samson’s absence, his wife is married off again to the best man at Samson’s wedding (vv. 19–20).

Reflections

In the topsy-turvy world of a disintegrating Israelite society, the Lord works in mysterious and seemingly contradictory ways. The Lord is behind Samson’s desire for a Philistine wife, a desire that contradicts earlier covenant prohibitions for intermarriage in Judg 2:2 and 3:6. The Spirit of the Lord rushed on Samson two times in this episode, and each time Samson disobeyed clear prohibitions of the covenant. The divine Spirit gave Samson the strength to kill the young lion (14:6). Yet that eventually led to his breaking the nazirite prohibition of touching a corpse or eating anything unclean. The Spirit of the Lord also rushed upon Samson when he murdered the thirty men of Ashkelon, stole their clothing, and then used his ill-gotten gains to pay off his wager. Samson kills and steals out of personal revenge and hot-headed anger, violations of the commandments against killing and stealing without community sanction (Deut 5:17, 19).

God seems constrained to work through such devious and sinful means in the disordered context of a splintered and rebellious Israelite nation. God is free to contravene the very laws God has given to Israel for the sake of God’s mercy and love for the people and for the sake of the punishment of the oppressive Philistines. Although laws and ordered structures are important and helpful, the priority remains on God’s will and God’s compassion, which may at times override institutional policy, governmental regulation, and even divine law.

Judges 15:1–20, Samson the Avenger

Commentary

15:1–8. Samson’s hot-headed exploits of personal revenge against the Philistines continue. Samson discovers that his Philistine wife has been given to another man and vows to “do mischief to the Philistines” in retaliation. He implies that his earlier killing and stealing (14:19) had been reckless and sinful when he says that this time his revenge “will be without blame” (v. 4). Samson’s “mischief” involves attaching torches to the tails of three hundred foxes and letting them loose to burn up the grain fields, vineyards, and olive groves of the Philistines. When the Philistines learn that Samson was behind the “mischief,” they up the ante in a spiral of retaliatory violence by burning Samson’s Philistine wife and her father (v. 6; see 14:15). Samson then vows revenge, and “he struck them down hip and thigh with great slaughter” (v. 8).

15:9–13. The spiral of revenge keeps growing as the Philistines in turn attack the tribe of Judah in the hope of capturing Samson. The tribe of Judah had been an exemplary leader among the Israelites in chap. 1. They had been the first and most successful tribe to lead an attack against the Canaanites (1:1–15). However, in this period of the disintegration of Israel under the judges, even the tribe of Judah cannot or will not resist Israel’s oppressors. Instead, they betray God’s designated deliverer, Samson, by binding him and surrendering him to the Philistines (vv. 12–13).

15:14–17. The Spirit of the Lord once again rushes upon Samson, and he breaks the ropes that bind him. He finds a jawbone of a donkey. As with the lion carcass (14:5–9), Samson again touches a part of an animal corpse, which defiles him and breaks his nazirite vow (Num 6:6). Samson uses the jawbone to kill a thousand Philistines and then utters a proud boast about the “heaps upon heaps” he has killed (v. 16). The boast is reminiscent of the primeval figure Lamech, who boasted of the revenge he took upon those who hurt him (Gen 4:23–24). Samson’s exploits also find a parallel in the earlier minor judge Shamgar, who killed six hundred Philistines with an oxgoad (3:31). The hill on which Samson threw away the donkey’s jawbone is remembered by its name, “Ramath-lehi,” “The Hill of the Jawbone” (v. 17).

15:18–20. The next scene introduces the first of two times when Samson calls upon God for help. Although God’s Spirit has repeatedly rushed upon Samson, it is not clear whether Samson is aware that God has been working through him. Samson seems, in his own mind, to be driven by the desire for personal revenge and nothing else. However, now he acknowledges that it is the Lord who has “granted this great victory by the hand of your servant” (v. 18). In spite of Samson’s disobedience and breach of his nazirite covenant, Samson stays connected to God. He prays to God, asking, “Am I now to die of thirst?” In previous judge stories, it was always Israel who cried out in distress, and not the judges. Samson, who is both judge and a metaphor for Israel itself, cries out to the Lord. And as in previous judge stories, the Lord responds to Samson’s cry. God splits open a rock, and water flows from it. The place was named “En-hakkore,” “The Spring of the One Who Called” (vv. 18–19). This scene of thirst and the provision of water recalls Israel’s experience in the wilderness as the people traveled from Egypt to the promised land and God miraculously provided water from a rock (Exod 17:1–7). The parallel with Israel’s experience further cements the identification of Samson not only as a judge but also as a metaphor for all Israel.

Reflections

The central theme of this section of the Samson story is best summarized by Samson himself, “As they did to me, so I have done to them” (15:11). Samson’s relationship to the Philistines dances between two poles, either legalistic vengeance as expressed in Samson’s statement or a passionate and reckless love as expressed for his Philistine wife (14:3) and later for Delilah (16:4). Samson loves his women, even though he is repeatedly betrayed by them. This dance between vengeful legalism and unrelenting and generous love first appeared in the book of Judges in the juxtaposition of the story of the Canaanite king Adoni-bezek (1:5–7) and the story of Achsah, daughter of the Israelite Othniel (1:11–15). After his capture and punishment, the Canaanite king conceded, “As I have done, so God has paid me back” (1:7). He sees the world through the lens of legalistic retribution. On the other hand, Achsah received from her father an inheritance of land as a gift. Then she boldly asked for an additional area that contains springs of water, and her father graciously and generously gave her two such areas with springs of life-giving water (1:14–15). Achsah saw the world through the lens of a parent’s unconditional and generous love. Both of these themes have been weaving in and out of the stories of the judges throughout the book. Israel has done evil, and God has sent an enemy in punishment. Israel has cried out in distress, and God has sent a deliverer to save them. As Israel’s sin and disloyalty have increased over the course of the judges era, however, God’s love and generosity have been strained to a near breaking point. God’s work in and through Samson is one more attempt by God to embody in a leader both responsible accountability and retribution and an unconditional divine love that cannot let Israel go.

God strains to reconcile these two poles in the relationship with Israel throughout Judges. On one hand, God proclaims to Israel, “I will never break my covenant with you” (2:1). On the other hand, God threatens to end the relationship and let Israel receive its just punishment: “You have abandoned me and worshiped other gods; therefore I will deliver you no more” (10:13). Samson embodies these two poles—vengeful retribution and unrelenting love—in his life and relationships. Ultimately, like the two pillars of Dagon’s temple (16:30–31), these two opposing poles of vengeance and love will crush Samson and lead to his death. The reader may wonder how God is faring under the strain of holding this rebellious Israel accountable for its actions even as God loves Israel with an unfailing love.

Judges 16:1–3, Samson and the Prostitute

Commentary

Samson’s love life continues with a brief nocturnal liaison with a Philistine prostitute in Gaza (v. 1). If Samson can point, however imperfectly, to the vastness of God’s love, Samson can also symbolize the fickle love and loyalty of Israel. His night with the “prostitute” (זנה zōnâ) recalls God’s charge against the Israelites for “prostituting” (זנה zānâ) themselves with all manner of foreign gods (2:17; 8:33).

The Philistines in Gaza discover that Samson is in town. Seeking further revenge, they decide to wait until dawn to capture Samson as he leaves the prostitute and departs through the city gate. But Samson leaves at midnight and eludes capture. With his enormous strength, Samson also picks up the city gate and its two posts and carries them for miles to the Israelite town of Hebron, where he sets them up on a hill as an act of humiliation and defiance aimed at Israel’s Philistine oppressors (vv. 2–3).

Reflections

Samson’s illicit sexual relationship with the Philistine prostitute reminds the reader in some ways of the two Israelite spies who visited Rahab, the Canaanite prostitute, in the city of Jericho (Josh 2:1–24). One key difference between the two stories is that Samson is there for his own personal gratification. The two Israelite spies were in Jericho not for their own pleasure but on a spy mission on behalf of all Israel. Samson’s liaison with the prostitute signifies Israel’s lusting after other gods for the sake of personal gratification and self-centered desires. The Jericho spies were doing the opposite. They risked their lives and well-being for the sake of the larger community.

However, there are also significant similarities between the two stories. Both stories proclaim the ultimate power and authority of Israel’s God over all other gods and powers. Jericho’s walls came tumbling down. Samson’s theft of Gaza’s city gates makes a similar statement about God’s authority even over the Philistines. The city gate is the place of political decision making and the rendering of justice. Samson’s feat of pulling up the city gate and planting it on a hill in Israel portends the eventual political and military defeat of the Philistines by the Israelites. It also prefigures Samson’s final act of defiance when he will push down another entrance and two pillars in the Philistine temple of Dagon. That final act in the Samson saga will entail not only Israel’s partial triumph over the Philistine oppressors but also the Lord’s ultimate victory over the Philistine god Dagon (16:23–31).

Samson’s act of political defiance stands in a long series of biblical people of God who have defied the powers of human authority and government when they have acted oppressively and contrary to God’s will. Moses defied Pharaoh and the Egyptian empire, saying, “Let my people go” (Exodus 5–15). Amos boldly condemned King Jeroboam for the nation’s ill treatment of the poor (Amos 7:10–17). Daniel remained faithful in the face of persecution for his faith because he knew God’s authority supersedes all worldly authorities (Daniel 1–12). When the authorities tried to prevent Peter and the other apostles from proclaiming the gospel of Jesus Christ, they replied, “We must obey God rather than any human authority” (Acts 5:29 NRSV). Samson’s placing the Gaza gates on the hill outside Hebron is one more affirmation that “thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever and ever. Amen.”

Judges 16:4–31, Delilah and the Death of Samson

Commentary

16:4–5. After the one-night liaison in Gaza, Samson “falls in love” with a woman named Delilah (v. 4). She is from the valley of Sorek, which lies within the Israelite land of Canaan, not far from Jerusalem. Scholars disagree about whether Delilah is an Israelite, a Canaanite, or a Philistine. The text remains intentionally ambivalent about her ethnicity so that the reader may wonder whether Samson has at last “come home” to Israel in obedience to his parents’ wishes to find a woman to love from among “our people” (14:3). The name “Delilah” (דלילה dĕlîlâ) means “flirtatious,” which fits her role in the story. The Philistines had earlier coaxed Samson’s wife to betray him in the matter of the riddle (14:15–20). Similarly, the Philistines coax Delilah to find out the secret to the riddle of Samson’s superhuman strength. Whereas earlier the Philistines had threatened Samson’s wife with death (14:15), this time they offer Delilah an enormous bribe of “eleven hundred pieces of silver” (v. 5).

16:6–14. Delilah then tries to coax the secret of Samson’s strength from him. On three different occasions he lies to Delilah about the secret of his power. First, Samson tells her that his strength will vanish if he is bound by seven fresh bow-strings. Then he suggests that he will lose his power if he is bound by new ropes. Finally, he tells Delilah that he will become a normal man if his hair is plaited into seven braids, which are then woven into a web and made tight with a pin. All of these are lies. It is this third false reason that begins to build suspense. Samson’s admission that his strength has something to do with his hair is getting dangerously close to the truth about the one nazirite vow he has not yet broken (13:5). Moreover, the scene with Samson sleeping and Delilah weaving the hair of his head and “making it tight with the pin” (lit., “she thrust the pin/tent peg”) reminds the reader of an earlier story in Judges 4. Jael, the Kenite woman, like Delilah, was not clearly allied with either Israel or Israel’s enemy Sisera. As he slept, she “thrust” (תקע tāqaʿ; the same verb as in 16:14) a tent peg into his temple and killed him (4:17–21). The parallel is a foreboding sign that Samson is moving closer to his own downfall and death.

16:15–22. Delilah pleads one more time with Samson to reveal his secret, appealing to his love for her. After days of nagging, Samson is “tired to death” (v. 16), a figurative image that will soon become a literal fact. Samson gives in and tells her the secret of his nazirite vow and that his hair cannot be cut: “If my head were shaved … I would become weak, and be like anyone else” (v. 17). Delilah senses that this time Samson is telling the truth. She again lets him fall asleep in her lap and then has a man cut Samson’s hair. Samson’s strength begins to leave him, but he appears unaware of his loss: “he did not know that the Lord had left him” (v. 20). Samson’s figurative blindness to his real condition of weakness and divine abandonment is made literal and physical as the Philistines capture him and “gouged out his eyes” (v. 21).

Samson is bound and forced to do what is traditionally the work of women and slaves: “he ground at the mill in the prison” (v. 21; see Exod 11:5; Job 31:10). Samson has been totally transformed and humiliated. He was once a paragon of male bravado, a man of extraordinary physical strength and the knower of deep secrets unknown to others. Now Samson takes the role of a blind female servant, a captive of war, an exile in a foreign land. Indeed, his fate is a mirror image of the later experience of Israel in exile. Lamentations 5:13 laments that in exile “young men are compelled to grind.” Samson’s shaved head is not only a violation of his nazirite vow but also the mark of a person who is taken into exile. Isaiah 7:20 predicts the exile of the northern kingdom of Israel by the Assyrians with this image: “On that day the Lord will shave with a razor hired beyond the River—with the king of Assyria—the head and the hair of the feet, and it will take off the beard as well.” Deuteronomy 21:12 speaks of the treatment of female captives of war: “suppose you see among the captives a beautiful woman whom you desire and want to marry … she shall shave her head.” Samson is a feminized captive and exile, a paradigm of Israel in exile, seemingly abandoned by God.

However, the scene does not end in total despair but with what James Crenshaw has described as “one of those pregnant sentences that is the mark of genius.” Verse 22 concludes, “But the hair of his head began to grow again after it had been shaved.” The new growth of Samson’s hair may yet provide hope for some kind of vindication and purpose in the midst of Samson’s captivity and exile among the Philistines.

16:23–27. The setting for the final scene of the Samson story is the grand temple of the Philistine god Dagon, which is filled with “the lords of the Philistines.” The Philistines are celebrating a grand festival of sacrifice and thanksgiving to their god, who “has given Samson our enemy into our hand” (v. 23). Samson had entertained the Philistines once before at the wedding feast of his Philistine wife. Then he had offered a secret riddle to which they found a solution. The Philistines again command Samson to entertain them; he performs to a full house with standing room only for an additional 3,000 Philistines who are on the roof of the temple (v. 27).

16:28–30. Once before Samson had called upon God in prayer when he was weakened by thirst (15:18). One more time he calls on God in prayer. “Strengthen me,” he prays, “so that with this one act of revenge I may pay back the Philistines for my eyes” (v. 28). Samson continues to define his actions in terms of personal vendetta and revenge. He remains blind, however, to the larger significance of his mission as an agent of God’s deliverance for the sake of the future of the whole people of Israel. Nevertheless, God will use Samson for one last defeat of the Philistines.

In a story filled with secrets and riddles, Samson accomplishes his final act of defeating the Philistines through one final secret. Samson pretends that he is so weak that he must lean on the “pillars on which the house rests” (v. 26). Then, calling on the Lord, Samson leans his full weight aganst the middle pillars of the temple. Dramatically, he prays, “Let me die with the Philistines” (v. 30). Samson strains “with all his might,” which has returned along with his growing hair. The pillars buckle, the roof collapses, and the victory party for Dagon becomes a Philistine disaster of death and destruction. Samson dies along with thousands of Philistines. Ironically, Samson has killed more Philistines in his death than all those he killed during his life (v. 30). In the midst of this final triumph, Samson remains a tragic figure, forever blind to the larger purposes for which God had used him. Samson saw only personal revenge in this event; the Lord sees deliverance for God’s people and the Lord’s victory in the cosmic battle against Dagon, the god of the Philistines.

16:31. Samson’s family takes his body and buries him in the tomb of his father, a sign of a life that has ended and come full circle. In the end, Samson “judged Israel twenty years,” as compared to the much longer forty years of Philistine oppression (13:1). God had invested enormous divine energy in this last of the judges. Even so, Samson was only able to “begin to deliver Israel” from the Philistines (13:5). The Philistines would return as a major threat to Israel, beginning with the events in 1 Samuel 4. In Samson, the line of Israel’s military deliverers called judges comes to an end within the book of Judges. The system of leadership under the judges has finally self-destructed and collapsed under its own weight along with the Philistine temple of Dagon.

Reflections

1. Samson’s many relationships with women invite critical reflection on the role and portraits of women in the Samson saga. His mother is a positive model of faithfulness and trust. However, the other women in his life are not so positively portrayed. They are objects of desire, nagging and tempting Samson into economic ruin, sexual immorality, and ultimately death. Moreover, each of these women is in some way caught in the web of the pressures, economics, and powers of a male-dominated society. Samson’s wife is threatened and forced to betray him. She is ultimately killed and burned along with her father (14:14; 15:16). Samson uses the prostitute at Gaza for a night of self-gratification (16:1–3). Delilah is pressured by an enormous bribe from the Philistines to betray her lover. Both the prostitute and Delilah are used by men in exchange for money.

It was noted in the reflections on Jephthah’s daughter in Judges 11 that the decline in the well-being of women as we move through the book of Judges parallels the gradual disintegration and decline of Israel as a society and a religious community. The women in the Samson story continue to reflect this downward trend in social and religious degradation. Their portraits will find parallels in our own time and communities.

2. One of the most dramatic points in Judges 16 is Samson’s request for God to let him “die with the Philistines” (v. 30). This expression to God of a death wish is not unique to Samson. Other great figures of the Bible reached such points of despair that they also asked God to let them die. Moses was overcome with the burdens of leading the rebellious Israelites through the wilderness and requested that God put him to death (Num 11:10–15). The prophet Elijah sat under a tree in despair because he alone had been faithful to God and yet had been no more effective than his predecessors in leading Israel to faith in God. So he asked God, “take away my life” (1 Kgs 19:4). Jeremiah was so severely persecuted for prophesying God’s word that he wished he had been killed in his mother’s womb (Jer 20:17). The prophet Jonah sulked under a bush because God had shown mercy to the Assyrian city of Nineveh. Jonah was so upset by God’s generosity to this pagan city that he asked God to “please take my life from me” (Jonah 4:3). In each of these cases, however, God always refused the request to put the person to death and instead sent the person on to continue his mission. Samson’s request for God to let him die is the only time such a request is granted in the Old Testament.

Samson’s uniqueness in this regard may stem from two reasons. One reason is that Samson represents the end of the line of the judges. He is more than just another judge. He embodies the office of the judge, which comes to an end with him. Thus, God’s allowing Samson to die is God’s allowing the office or system of judge as a means of leading and saving Israel to die. Another reason for Samson’s uniqueness is that he embodies Israel as a nation. The shaved head, the forced grinding at the mill, and the binding and captivity of Samson are all images of exile and captivity. They prefigure the exile Israel will later experience under kingship. The northern kingdom of Israel will be conquered by the Assyrians and be sent into exile (2 Kings 17:1). Later, the southern kingdom of Judah will succumb to the power of the Babylonian empires, and its population will be exiled (2 Kings 24–25). The exile will be a kind of death for Israel. The Temple in Jerusalem will be destroyed as was the Philistine temple of Dagon. The system of kingship will end, just as the era of the judges also came to an end. Israel and Judah will lose their strength as Samson had done. The prophets will castigate Israel for its blindness to its sin before the exile (Isa 6:9–13) and its blindness to the deliverance God is working out for the sake of the exiles (Isa 43:19). The prophet Ezekiel spoke of Israel’s exile as the death of a nation in his image of Israel as a valley filled with dry bones (Ezek 37:1–14). Thus Samson’s request to die and God’s acquiescence to that request reflect Samson’s larger role as a symbol of the system of judges as an institution and a metaphor for Israel as a nation and its eventual fate of exile.

3. The Samson story holds on to a thread (or hair) of hope as it notes that Samson’s hair begins to grow back after it has been shaved (16:22). If his shaved head represents exile and captivity, then the new growth of hair represents hope in the midst of exile. The Deuteronomistic History of Joshua–2 Kings ends with Israel in exile. But it also ends with a brief note of hope that parallels Samson’s growing hair. In 2 Kgs 25:27–30, the king of Judah, who is in exile, is released from prison and allowed to dine with the king of Babylon. This hint of hope and opening to some kind of possible future functions in a way similar to the growing hair of Samson. As we emerge from the tragedies and downfalls that beset us, we may yet discover such glimpses of hope, such openings to the future, such hints that God is working in hidden ways to redeem and save and heal, of which we may not be fully aware.

4. One of the overriding themes of the Samson story is Israel’s learning that its future depends entirely on God’s guidance and strength, not its own. Samson represents the prideful and boastful Israel who goes it alone, thinking for the most part that he does not need anyone else to help him. Yet there are glimpses of Samson’s recognition of his limits, once when he was dying of thirst and a final time when he was dying at the hand of the Philistines. It is only when Samson reaches the end of his rope and slams up against his dependence on God that he comes to some realization of his need for God. This was God’s experience with Israel as well. That experience is definitively summarized in the Song of Moses in Deuteronomy 32:

Indeed the Lord will vindicate his people,

have compassion on his servants,

when he sees that their power is gone. (Deut 32:36 NRSV)

Israel will then begin to come to the realization that its future and hope lie not in a particular institution of leadership (whether judges or kings) or in its own strength or virtue. The future of God’s people lies in trusting and worshiping the one God who is worthy of such trust:

See now that I, even I, am he:

there is no god besides me.

I kill and I make alive:

I wound and I heal;

and no one can deliver from my hand. (Deut 32:39 NRSV)

5. In the history of Christian biblical interpretation, one of the dominant ways in which Samson has been interpreted is as a prefigurement, or type, of Christ. In spite of his dubious moral character, Samson has functioned over the centuries in sermons, art, and interpretation as a precursor to Jesus’ life and death. The parallels are many. Samson’s special birth and the angel’s announcement to his mother in Judges 13 functioned as a model for the writer of Jesus’ birth story and announcement in Luke 1–2. The title of “Nazorean” is applied to Jesus, a possible allusion to the special status of a “Nazirite,” similar to Samson, in Matt 2:23. The Spirit of the Lord came upon Samson just as it came upon Jesus as he did battle with Satan in the wilderness (Luke 3:21–22; 4:1–13). However, the most important parallels involve Samson’s suffering and death as a type of Jesus’ suffering and death on the cross. Samson was betrayed by his own people, by Judah and by the women he loved. He was beaten and tortured. Samson’s outstretched arms on the two pillars of the Philistine temple were read by Christian interpreters as a prefigurement of Jesus’ outstretched arms on the cross. In his death, Samson destroyed the enemy and its god. Similarly, interpreters saw Jesus’ death as destroying sin and death and defeating the powers and principalities of this world who resisted God’s will for creation.

Perhaps at a deeper level, the Samson story affirms God’s willingness to enter into the full sinfulness and rebellion of humankind in order to accomplish the purposes of God in the world. At some level, the figure of Samson embodies not only the institution of judgeship or the nation of Israel, but also God’s amazing and relentless love. God keeps coming back to God’s sinful people, responding to their cries of distress and promising to stay with them in and through their failures, their captivities, their exiles, and even their deaths. Whether it is the human nation of Israel or the individual person of Jesus, God is present and at work in an incarnational way in the blood and mess and chaos of human life. In that promise is a word of hope even when we come to the end and death of the era of the judges in the man Samson.

Ancestors: Deborah

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

Today we are taking a look at Deborah, who was a prophetess and judge during the time between the Jewish people moving into the Promised Land and their first king.  She acted as an arbitrator who settled disputes, but also as a conduit through whom God addressed the barely organized tribes as they sought to become a unified people while constantly threatened by their geographical neighbors.

 

Deborah was one of two women who led strong in this story of the defeat of an enemy’s General. This is quite remarkable given the historical context.  Women were short on rights and shorter on power, and yet she was instrumental in defending her people’s land and providing justice.

 

To help us get a feel for what this life might have been like, we welcome to the stage Allison Haley, Napa’s District Attorney who will share her story and the challenges she has faced as she has risen to her role of serving toward justice right here.

 

Notes to Nerd Out On…

 

From The New Interpreters Bible Commentary (Dennis T. Olson):

 

Commentary

Judges 4 is a narrative account of a coalition of three judge-like figures who save Israel only through the combination of unique contributions that each person makes. Deborah is a prophet and a judge in the sense of arbitrator. She brings God’s word to fight the Canaanites and accompanies the Israelite warriors into battle with words of encouragement and guidance. Barak is the general of Israel’s army who leads the victory against the Canaanites but fails to kill his Canaanite counterpart, the general Sisera. Jael is not an Israelite but a Kenite who invites Sisera, the Canaanite general, into her tent and then proceeds to kill him. All three contribute to saving Israel, but none of them can lay sole claim to the title of “judge” in this period. This shifting and inconclusive identity of the major judge in this story will contribute to a sense of suspense within the narrative plot as well as the theological significance of the story.

4:1–3. The cycle of events in this chapter begins in the same way the earlier judge paradigm had established (2:11–19) and the previous model of Othniel had confirmed (3:7–11). “After Ehud died,” Israel “again” begins to do evil in God’s sight (v. 1). The death of the previous judge Ehud leaves a vacuum into which Israel slips in disobedience to God. The next step is also expected: God sells Israel into the hand of an enemy, King Jabin of Canaan. The Canaanites are the fourth set of enemies Israel has faced in this first phase of the judges period. With the judge Othniel, the enemy had come from some distance in the far north and east in Mesopotamia. With Ehud, the enemy had been a closer neighbor to the east, Moab. Shamgar fought against the Philistines, Israel’s close neighbor to the west. Now for the first time Israel faces a more internal enemy, King Jabin of Canaan, who is said to reign in the far north of Canaan at Hazor (v. 2). Many interpreters believe this King Jabin may be related in some way to the “King Jabin of Hazor” who led a coalition of Canaanite kings against Joshua and Israel as reported in Joshua 11. Joshua successfully conquered the coalition, and Josh 11:10 notes that Joshua “took Hazor, and struck its king down with the sword.” Is this the same Jabin, or is “Jabin” a common royal name among Canaanite rulers? Some scholars suggest that Judges 4–5 is a retelling of the same event as recorded in Joshua 11 with some changes. Others suggest that the name of Jabin has been imported into the present text of Judges 4, since Jabin plays no active role in the story itself and is never mentioned in the song in Judges 5. The mention of “the kings of Canaan” in 5:19 may have occasioned the link with the account in Joshua 11. In any case, King Jabin remains a shadowy figure in the background to Judges 4; general Sisera is the one Canaanite who grabs the spotlight and generates any narrative interest in the story.

As we would expect, the next step in the cycle of events is Israel’s cry to God for help (v. 3). However, a note is added that the Canaanite commander “had nine hundred chariots of iron.” The mention of iron provides a glimpse into the major cultural shift in technology occurring in the ancient Near East at this time from the earlier Bronze Age to the early phase of the Iron Age (1200–1000 bce). The Canaanites were the more established, powerful, and richer culture in comparison to the Israelites. Thus the Canaanites had access to the most recent military technology, which they used to maintain their power and “cruelly” oppress the Israelites. The Canaanite oppression lasted a total of twenty years, slightly longer than the eighteen years before Ehud and the eight years before Othniel (3:8, 14).

4:4–11. In the previous judge stories, Israel’s cry of distress had immediately caused God to raise up a judge to save Israel (3:9, 15). Thus we expect the next person named to be the judge who will lead Israel’s army against the enemy. That person is Deborah, a woman described as a prophet, the wife of Lappidoth (or alternatively “woman of torches”), and who was “judging” Israel. The Hebrew word “judge” (שׁפט šōpēṭ) can have the sense either of ruler and military commander (as in the preceding judge stories) or arbitrator of disputes (as in the story of Moses in Exod 18:13–16). Deborah fulfills the latter sense of judging as she sits “under the palm of Deborah” in the hill country of Ephraim and the Israelites come to her for judgment in disputes (v. 5).

As the reader wonders whether Deborah is, indeed, the expected judge or deliverer sent to lead Israel into battle against the Canaanites, the narrative introduces a second possible candidate. His name is Barak. Deborah delivers an oracle from the Lord to Barak, commanding him to take ten thousand warriors from the tribes of Naphtali and Zebulun to fight the Canaanites. God promises to “draw out” the Canaanite commander Sisera with his chariots and troops, “and I will give him into your hand” (v. 7). The vocabulary of God’s giving the enemy “into your hand” echoes similar words used for the preceding judges (3:10, 28). We now expect Barak to step immediately into the shoes of previous judges, bravely leading Israel against Sisera and his troops. But Barak interrupts with unexpected words of caution and hesitation. Barak seeks the reassurance of Deborah’s presence with him as he goes out into battle. If Deborah is willing to go with him, Barak will go. But if Deborah will not go with him, Barak will not go, in spite of God’s direct command to him (v. 8).

Barak’s request for Deborah’s presence has been variously interpreted. Some see Barak here as cowardly, afraid, and distrusting of God. A real judge would not need the assistance of anyone, much less a woman, to lead Israel into battle. In this understanding, the request for Deborah’s presence would be unusual and unnecessary. Other interpreters see Barak’s request as a gracious and insistent invitation to Deborah as God’s prophet to join him so that she might bless the military expedition and share in the glory of the Lord’s victory over the Canaanites. In this understanding, it would not be unusual for the woman prophet Deborah to accompany a military expedition and offer divine oracles of encouragement and strategy. The narrator does not provide an explicit evaluation of Barak’s statement, and so we are left to wonder about Barak’s inner motivation.

Deborah’s response to Barak is no less ambiguous. Her reply is emphatic: “I will surely go with you.” But what is the tone of her speech? “Of course I will go with you, Barak; that’s what I would expect to do, since I am a prophet of God and this is God’s battle.” Or is the tone more like this: “Well, all right, if you insist, I will surely go with you, but it really shows a lack of trust in God on your part”? The same ambiguity pertains to the second half of her response, and here the NRSV and the NIV translations differ significantly in the nuances they give to the Hebrew. In the NRSV, Deborah says she will surely go with Barak, but Barak should know that the road on which he is going will not lead to his glory, since the Lord will give his counterpart, the Canaanite commander Sisera, “into the hand of a woman” (v. 9). Although susceptible to either a negative or a positive reading, the NRSV translation could suggest that Deborah’s words are merely a statement of fact that does not reflect negatively on Barak’s request for her presence with him. Losing some glory to a woman may well be a trade-off Barak is quite willing to make in exchange for Deborah’s prophetic presence with his army. The NIV gives a more one-sided and negative interpretation to Deborah’s response. She agrees to go with Barak, but she adds, “because of the way you are going about this, the honor will not be yours, for the Lord will hand Sisera over to a woman” (v. 9). Here the lack of honor for Barak is interpreted as a negative punishment for the unfaithful request to have Deborah accompany him. The way Barak is going about this is all wrong and a punishable offense against God.

In my judgment, the NIV interprets Deborah’s statement too narrowly. As the NRSV rightly translates, Deborah’s response is ambiguous and should be translated in a way that maintains the uncertainty. The narrative is intentionally drawing the reader in to ponder the ambiguous possibilities in the statements of these two characters. The ambiguity is part of a larger narrative strategy that builds suspense and leads the reader on to determine who the real judge might be. In the flow of the narrative, the reader initially would think that Deborah was the judge (v. 4), but then Barak takes over as a more likely candidate (vv. 6–7). However, Barak’s ambiguous statement makes us think twice about his suitability (v. 8). Now Deborah’s declaration that Sisera (the individual or Sisera and his whole army?) will be delivered into the hand of a woman causes us to wonder whether Deborah will after all emerge as the true judge and heroine in place of Barak (v. 9). But we are not sure at this point, and so we read on. Deborah does go up with Barak to the place of battle at Kedesh, and Barak does summon his ten thousand warriors, so the stage is now set for the battle to begin (v. 10).

One peculiar note suddenly drops into the story without any preparation. It is a piece of information provided by the narrator to the reader that will become important later in the story. A man named Heber from the non-Israelite nation of the Kenites had separated himself from the other Kenites and encamped “near Kedesh,” the place where the battle is about to begin. The Kenites had a special relationship with Israel in that Moses’ father-in-law, Hobab, had been a Kenite (v. 11; see 1:16). One interesting possibility concerning Heber the Kenite is the Kenites’ traditional association with iron smithing and iron work (see Gen 4:22). Although Heber had a familial association with Israel, had Heber separated from the other Kenites in order to ply his trade as an iron smith with the 900 iron chariots of the Canaanites? Is Heber an ally of Israel or of Canaan? Later in this story, we will learn that “there was peace between King Jabin of Hazor and the clan of Heber the Kenite” (v. 17). That fact will play a role in the ongoing suspense and drama of the story. For now, the note about Heber the Kenite (v. 11) is simply inserted between Israel’s preparing for battle (vv. 6–10) and Canaan’s preparing for battle (vv. 12–13). Heber’s placement between Israel and Canaan signifies his ambiguous position on the narrative boundary between them. With all the other ambiguities of this story, the reader wonders what the role of this liminal character and his clan will be.

4:12–16. The Canaanite commander Sisera hears of Israel’s preparations for war and assembles “all his chariots, nine hundred chariots of iron, and all the troops” (vv. 12–13). As for Israel, Deborah speaks an oracle of divine encouragement to Barak: “Up! For this is the day on which the Lord has given Sisera into your hand” (v. 14). What does this oracle mean? Has the earlier oracle that Sisera would be given into the hand of a woman (v. 9) been rescinded? Or is this merely a way of saying that Barak and his forces will win a general victory against the Canaanites, even though Sisera himself will fall under the hand of a woman? Again, we as readers do not know. We do know that God is with the Israelites and fights for them as the divine warrior. Thus the Lord throws Sisera’s army and chariots into confusion and panic, just as the Lord had done against Pharaoh and his chariots in the exodus from Egypt (Exod 14:24). Barak defeats the entire army of Sisera with the Lord’s help, except for Sisera, who runs away on foot (vv. 15–16).

4:17–22. As in v. 11, the narrator interrupts the flow of the story with another note informing the reader that the fleeing Sisera has escaped to the tent of Jael, who is the wife of Heber the Kenite. Sisera had fled there, “for there was peace” between Heber’s Kenite clan and the Canaanite king Jabin, whose army Sisera commanded (v. 17). Now we surmise that Heber had separated from the other Kenites (v. 11) in order to ally himself and his family with the Canaanites.

The narrative resumes with Jael welcoming Sisera warmly into her tent, addressing him as “my lord” and insisting that he need have no fear. He enters Jael’s tent, and she covers him with a rug. He asks for “a little water to drink,” and Jael gives him sleep-inducing milk instead (vv. 18–19). Jael here acts as a mother. The mighty warrior Sisera is turned into a little child, tucked into bed for the night and hiding from any monsters who might threaten him. Sisera instructs Jael to stand watch at the entrance to the tent. If anyone comes by and asks “Is anyone here?” Sisera tells Jael to say no (v. 20). The question in Hebrew (הישׁ-פה אישׁ hăyēš-pōh ʾîš) can mean literally, “Is a man here?” Ironically, Sisera’s own words reveal that his masculinity has been reduced to that of an infant. On the surface, Sisera seems safe and secure in the womb-like tent of mother Jael, falling asleep from the weariness of battle and the heaviness of milk.

The story suddenly takes a dramatic and wholly unexpected turn. Jael takes a sharp tent peg and a hammer “in her hand” and drives the peg forcefully into the soft temple of Sisera’s sleeping head so that he dies (v. 21). Commentators have long observed the sudden shift from maternal to sexual imagery here in a scene of reverse rape, the woman Jael forcibly thrusting and violently penetrating Sisera’s body. The sexual imagery will become more explicit in the poetic version in 5:26–27. The Israelite general Barak pursues Sisera but arrives after Jael has killed Sisera in his sleep. Jael welcomes Barak into her tent and shows him the body of Sisera, “lying dead, with the tent peg in his temple” (v. 22). Is Barak happy to share the glory with Jael? Is he despondent that he did not have the singular glory of killing his Canaanite counterpart? The narrative does not tell us.

Now the perplexity over whether Deborah or Barak is the true judge or hero is in some ways made even more complicated. Jael, a non-Israelite woman, is added to the list of those who helped save Israel from its Canaanite enemy. She replaces Deborah as the one who fulfills Deborah’s oracle that Sisera would be given “into the hand of a woman” (vv. 9, 21). Neither Deborah, Barak, nor Jael emerges as the singular hero or judge in this story. Moreover, the puzzle continues with new questions. What motivated Jael to kill Sisera? Why did she defy the peace agreement between her husband and the Canaanites? Did she act out of a deep loyalty to Israel and Israel’s God? Or did she realize the Israelites had won the battle and so defect to the Israelite cause for pragmatic reasons to save her own life? Her motives remain a mystery. All we know is that God used Jael for the purpose of defeating Israel’s enemy, no matter what her motives were.

4:23–24. The artful indirection, suspense, and sharing of glory among Deborah, Barak, and Jael point ultimately to the overarching and integrating agency of God. In the final analysis, “God subdued King Jabin of Canaan” (v. 23). God and Jabin were the shadowy but ultimate power brokers in the battle between Israel and Canaan. In that ultimate struggle, it was God who prevailed. But God’s purposes were achieved through a coalition of human actors, none of whom could take ultimate credit for the victory. The final verse in the narrative suggests that Israel continued to wage war against other Canaanite forces of King Jabin for a time, bearing harder and harder upon him until he was destroyed (v. 24).

The climactic point in chap. 4 is not the battle but the scene in Jael’s tent and the assassination of Sisera. Several similarities between this central scene in chap. 4 and the stories of the preceding two judges, Ehud and Shamgar (3:12–31), stand out. Like Ehud, Jael kills the enemy alone in a private room through an act of deception. Like Ehud, who had brought tribute to King Eglon to seek his favor, Jael offers milk, refuge, and rest to Sisera. The same Hebrew verb (תקע tāqaʿ, “to drive,” “to thrust”) is used for Ehud’s assassination of Eglon (3:21) and for Jael’s assassination of Sisera (4:21). Just as Ehud’s deed was unexpectedly done by his left hand, so also Jael’s deed was unexpectedly done through a foreign woman’s hand (4:9). Like Shamgar, who fashioned an unconventional weapon out of an oxgoad (3:31), Jael used a tent peg as her unusual weapon. Thus the three judge stories—Ehud, Shamgar, and Deborah-Barak-Jael—are tied together as examples of temporary victories that God leads on behalf of an oppressed Israel through the agency of unexpected human agents. This first phase of the judge stories in 3:7–5:31 portrays faithfulness and effectiveness on the part of Israel’s leaders and judges. When the judge or judges are alive, Israel prospers. But when the judge dies, Israel reverts to its old evil ways.

Reflections

1. The most dramatic feature of this story is the image of two strong, independent, and courageous women: Deborah, the prophet and arbitrator of disputes, and Jael, the non-Israelite assassin. These are not the first strong women in Judges. Achsah, daughter of Caleb and Othniel’s wife, had been a strong and independent negotiator with her father (1:11–15). Indeed, the book of Judges contains the largest number of women characters of any book of the Bible, nineteen in all. But the portraits and fate of the women of Judges follow a trajectory similar to that of the judges period as a whole. The judge stories and the portraits of women begin as healthy, strong, and faithful. The first women we encounter all have names (Achsah, Deborah, Jael). But increasingly, as Israel and the judges begin their decline, the fate of women will decline as well. The many women characters become nameless (except for Delilah in the Samson story). Women gradually lose their independent power and become objects and victims, first inadvertently and willingly (Jephthah’s daughter and his foolish vow in chap. 11), but then more intentionally and unwillingly (Samson’s women in chaps. 14–16, the Levite’s concubine in chap. 19, the 400 young virgins of Jabesh-Gilead and the women dancers at Shiloh in chap. 21). The book of Judges offers a wide spectrum of the possible experiences of women, both positive and negative. In the ancient world as well as our own, the health and well-being of women provide an important barometer to measure the core health and values of a society or community.

2. Judges 4 depicts God’s working in and through a nexus of human activities involving shared leadership, mutual responsibility, and glory that is distributed among several of the main characters (Deborah, Jael, and Barak). Although many interpreters argue that Judges promotes a strictly centralized and royal mode of leadership (see the refrain in 17:6 and 21:25), Judges 4 also appears to recognize the ability of God to work effectively through more complex systems where power may be decentralized, duties may be distributed, and no one leader need take all the credit or responsibility. As we reflect on various models or polities within our families, congregations, denominations, or other political entities, we may be assured that God is able to work through any variety of structures or systems. The question may be what is most appropriate and helpful in a given context, time, and tradition.

3. The Bible honors the common ancient Near Eastern custom of hospitality to strangers and sojourners. Abraham and Sarah welcomed three strangers who turned out to be the Lord present among them (Genesis 18). Hebrews 13:2 uses their story to commend its readers to show hospitality to strangers, “for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it” (NRSV). Many of Israel’s laws urged hospitality to strangers and sojourners, since Israel had been a sojourner in Egypt (Exod 22:21; Lev 19:33–34; Deut 10:19). Jael breaks this hospitality code rather egregiously in first welcoming and then killing Sisera, the Canaanite general. Not only does she break the hospitality code, but she also breaks the peace pact between the Canaanites and her own Kenite clan. Yet the narrative never explicitly condemns or raises concerns about her act; indeed, her slaying of Sisera is praised in the next chapter in the song (Judg 5:24–27). But Jael’s act inevitably raises difficult moral questions, and the narrative does not let the reader off the hook by providing much insight into Jael’s motives or thoughts. On this issue, the story in Judges 4 draws the reader into moral reflection without providing an explicit evaluation. The situation is similar to the scene of Moses killing the Egyptian foreman in Exod 2:11–15; no overt moral assessment is made in the text of Moses’ act of using violence for the sake of social justice. However, the story raises the questions and issues in a way that forces the reader to wrestle with them.

4. Two narrative strategies seem to be working at cross-purposes in Judges 4. On one hand, the cyclical framework (4:1–3, 23) commonly found in the other judge stories suggests a foreordained sequence of events with God clearly in control. The predictability of the sequence of events affirms the ultimate sovereignty of God. On the other hand, the intensity of misdirection and suspense throughout Judges 4 (will the real judge please stand up?) suggests unpredictability and the need for God to adjust the divine plan to make room for human freedom and decisions. God’s oracle through Deborah promises Barak that the Lord will deliver Sisera into his hand (4:7). However, his request that Deborah accompany him seems to cause a change in God’s oracle and plan: “the Lord will sell Sisera into the hand of a woman” (4:9). But later, Deborah reiterates that God has given Sisera into Barak’s hand (4:14). In the end, God accomplishes the salvation promised, but we as human readers ponder the often untraceable combination of human and divine “hands” at work in a given situation. In the end, God’s will for the world will prevail, but God also makes adjustment to human freedom and actions along the way. As the people of God, we can be confident that God is at work in and through our lives and communities to accomplish God’s will, even when we may be unaware. Indeed, God may work through outsiders or those on the margin of our community in ways we would never expect. At the same time, we can be hopeful that the prayers, words, and actions of faithful individuals, leaders, and communities will be taken seriously and incorporated into the larger plans of God to bring about change and redemption in line with the purposes of God.

 

From Anchor Yale Bible Dictionary:

 

WOMEN. This entry consists of three articles that survey aspects of women’s lives and social status in the world of the Bible. The first focuses on women in Mesopotamia, the second on women in the OT, and the third on women in the NT.

MESOPOTAMIA

Information on the lives of Mesopotamian women is available in a rich, though uneven, assortment of sources: excavated artifacts, works of art (reliefs, sculptures, seals), literary texts (love poetry, epics, wisdom literature), and contemporary documents (administrative, legal, and epistolary texts). The last have been the focus of most Assyriological study regarding women, especially the many law codes which devote much space to marriage and divorce (Driver and Miles 1955).

Despite the views of some to the contrary (e.g. Kramer 1976), Mesopotamian civilization, consisting of Sumerian, Babylonian, and Assyrian traditions, was throughout its long history patriarchal in structure orientation. The greater prominence of female and mother goddesses in the very early period, the proliferation of female figurines, and even the possible existence of female polyandry do not constitute evidence of matriarchal rule. Socioeconomic and political changes, so characteristic of Mesopotamian history, were the significant factors that must have impinged upon and affected the status of women. But study of these in relation to women’s lives is still in its infancy. Furthermore, the accidental nature of textual and archaeological finds should not be overlooked as it so frequently skews the evidence.

The Mesopotamian woman was, with few exceptions, defined either as the daughter of her father or as the wife of her husband. Women rarely acted as individuals outside the context of their families; those who did were members of royal and elite families. The quality of the lives of ordinary women can be guessed at with some accuracy. Especially revealing for this are the administrative texts found throughout Mesopotamian history.

A.   Marriage, Divorce, Widowhood

B.   Economic Role

C.   Cultic Roles

D.   Royal Women

E.   Images of Women

A. Marriage, Divorce, Widowhood

The laws of Mesopotamia, which may or may not represent the actual legal realities, nevertheless mirror ideal rules to govern spheres of prime concern to women (and men): marriage, divorce, and inheritance. Because these have been the subject of much writing by generations of Assyriologists, they are here treated summarily.

From a Sumerian proverb it would appear that child marriages were frowned upon (“I will not marry a wife who is only three years [old] as an ass [does]”). Girls, and possibly boys too, were expected to marry not long after reaching puberty. Elopement was not regarded favorably. The permission of parents was necessary for marriage to be recognized. Betrothal arrangements were made by fathers (at times along with the mother). If the father was dead, the mother alone or the oldest brother would initiate the proceedings. It can be assumed that the girl’s consent was not unsolicited. Except in dynastic marriages arranged to cement political alliances (see D below), love may often have played a role in the match. For although there was a double standard in Mesopotamia it was assumed and expected that love and sexuality would be confined to the conjugal relationship, that the husband would not seek out slave girls and prostitutes for sexual gratification.

Marriage, with some differences depending on time and place, was formalized by the exchange of gifts between the two families. The bride was usually given a dowry (described variously as šeriktu, širku, nudunnu) by her father. This was of supreme importance to the girl for should her husband divorce her, she took this back with her. Otherwise, at her death it belonged to her heirs. The father of the bride in return received a bridal gift from the groom or the groom’s father (terḫatu, zubullu, biblu). On occasion a husband might, if he wished, provide his wife with a gift (nudunnû) to insure her support after his death. Rites of passage, such as anointing, making the transition of the bride from unmarried to married status, are attested mainly in early Sumer and late Assyria. Bathing and libations might also have such significance in Babylonia (Greengus 1966). Veiling the bride is mentioned in Assyrian laws.

By and large, except among royalty, monogamy was the rule. However, in certain cases, such as sterility or disease, a man might take a concubine as a secondary wife to bear children. The primary wife’s superordinate position might then be spelled out in a contract. Exceptional are the examples in the Old Assyrian period of traders who have a native wife in Assyria and a foreign wife abroad.

Marriage and divorce contracts, relatively common in the earlier period, become rarer in time. It is difficult to say whether this is accidental or reflects a deterioration in women’s position. Virginity, which may well have been an expectation at all times, is explicitly referred to in later marriage contracts.

Mothers, like fathers, were to be treated respectfully, the son accused of filial impiety to mother or father was to be punished. Children, daughters included, were expected to make funerary offerings to deceased parents. Childbirth and menstruation made for impurity which was removed by bathing.

Divorce was probably never a common occurrence. If a man divorced a woman without a legitimate reason once she had had children, he would have to forfeit all his property, at least in certain periods. Prior to the birth of offspring, he might have to pay her a limited sum in compensation. Only in the Old Babylonian period does it seem that a woman might have the right to divorce her husband if he ill-treated her, a situation which she would have to prove before witnesses.

Adultery was of course a most serious charge and grounds for divorcing one’s wife. It should be noted that adultery was always defined in terms of extramarital relations on the part of the wife, never of the man. In Assyria punishment of the adulteress lay with the husband. He, and not a legal body, meted out punishment to his wife and her lover, or to her lover only if he had been aware of the woman’s marital status.

The love poetry of Mesopotamia speaks only of the love between men and women and the sexual pleasure of both sexes. Women shared with men similar symptoms when they were “lovesick” (muruṣ râmi). There was no body/soul dichotomy and no formula as there was for the Greeks, that body/nature/woman ranked below soul/culture/man. Sexuality was enjoyed by both sexes. Male sexual dysfunctions of impotency and premature ejaculation were recognized, as evidenced by the ša.zi.ga incantations recited to cure these problems.

The powerlessness of solitary women was taken into consideration by the laws. A woman deserted by her husband might usually after five years legally remarry. Under certain conditions, cohabitation with a widow was considered a common-law marriage. Sons were responsible for maintaining widowed mothers, for arranging marriages for sisters when parents were dead, and for providing dowries for sisters who were not provided for in their father’s will. Women without living male family members or possessions had few avenues for survival: slavery or prostitution. However, perhaps at most times, the two great economic centers of Mesopotamia, the temple and the palace, served as welfare institutions providing food and shelter to homeless women (and children), who thereby became part of their huge work forces.

The vulnerability and plight of widows (and orphans) are proverbial in the literature of the ANE. Nevertheless, widowhood for the well-to-do might offer the only opportunity for true independence. Even in Assyria, notorious, perhaps fallaciously so, for its mistreatment of women, the widow (almattu), without a male guardian, without father-in-law or sons, was given the right to “go wherever she pleases” (Saporetti 1979). There is even the rare occurrence of a widow having the primary right of inheritance of her husband’s estate, even to the exclusion of her children.

B. Economic Role

Ordinarily the wife was expected to take care of her family and home. Most women, unless there were household slaves, spent their time at the traditional feminine tasks: grinding grain and baking bread (various millstones might be part of the dowry), spinning and weaving clothes for the family, cleaning, etc.

Women of independent means, though always few in number, are found at all times purchasing and selling real estate and slaves, hiring and renting out slaves and houses. In certain periods women owned general stores and taverns. In the Old Babylonian period the woman tavernkeeper (sabı̄tu) was an important moneylender to her clientele. Special mention should be made of the wives of the Old Assyrian traders, some of whom managed a kind of textile cottage industry, hiring transporters to deliver their goods. The remarkable instance of a Nuzi mother, apparently head of her family, who was involved in more than thirty land purchases should be noted (Grosz 1983: 203). But these are special and limited examples of women’s high economic position.

Large numbers of women of the lower social classes were employed in temple and palace workshops. Some were free, many slaves. Here too they worked in traditional feminine occupations, in the kitchen as cooks, pastry makers, and menials; in the textile industry as spinners and weavers. Usually all were under the supervision of men. Free women might have brought their children with them. Women of the poorer classes must have helped their husbands in whatever occupation they were in, for there was no sequestering of women. Women might also have worked in various agricultural jobs in palace and temple fields and with animals.

Women are well attested as midwives (šabsūtu) and wetnurses (mušēniqtu). For the well-to-do and royal households there were nurses (tārı̄tu) to feed and care for children once they were weaned (traditionally at the age of three).

Rarely do women appear who belong to professions outside those related to cultic functions (see D below). But there were women sufficiently educated to serve as scribes in the Sumerian and Old Babylonian periods and even, rarely, as physicians. Here mention should be made of the literary works of Enheduanna and of the lukur women of the Ur III period. Women trained as musicians, singers, and dancers were part of the palace staff as well as that of the temples.

C. Cultic Roles

From the very earliest periods women appear in visual and written sources as participants in the cult. The priestess of the highest rank was the nin.dingir; below her the lukur and nu.gig. The last two may have been involved with sacred prostitution (Renger 1964). Priestesses are shown in reliefs and seals participating in rituals connected with the building of temples and attending banquets associated with religious fesitivals (Asher-Greve 1985). One of the major functions of the nin.dingir priestess was to represent the goddess Inanna in the sacred marriage ceremonies.

From earliest times, women, presumably of high rank, dedicated votive offerings to the gods and left statues of themselves in prayerful stance in the temples as signs of their piety.

Especially in the Sumerian period, the wives and daughters of rulers represented the ruling families in temple ceremonies. In Lagash the queen traveled to temples and shrines in different cities of the kingdom to participate in festivals and give offerings.

A high point in the institution of nin.dingir (Akk entu) is reached under Sargon, the founder of the Semitic Old Akkadian dynasty, with his appointment of his daughter, Enheduanna, as the high priestess of the Moon God at Ur. Hallo (1976) has suggested that he did this so as not to offend Sumerian sensibilities, as would have happened had he “arrogated both the political and cultic titles of the great Southern cities.” Enheduanna, unquestionably one of the outstanding women in Mesopotamian history, authored several original works which served as models for later writings. For the next 500 years a succession of thirteen princesses was appointed to this position, holding office for an average of 35 to 40 years, a lifespan which probably points to their celibacy. These women, apart from cultic and literary functions, probably also specialized in dream interpretation.

The Old Babylonian period was characterized by a variety of special classes of women. Most prominent and richly documented is the institution of the nadı̄tus, who were unmarried virgins. The nadı̄tu of Marduk of Babylon might marry but was prohibited from bearing children, and so might provide her husband with a second wife. According to Stone (1982), the nadı̄tu of Nippur, “daughter of tribal leaders, constrained by endogamy and rank, often had difficulties finding a suitable spouse.” Harris (1964) stresses the concern of well-to-do families “to maintain the integrity of the paternal estate.”

In Sippar, the nadı̄tu of the god Samaš participated in a ceremony of the god’s festival at which time “the rope of Shamash” was placed on her arm, thus marking her change in status to daughter-in-law or bride of the god. At times a nadı̄tu might assume a religious name, signifying special devotion to the god or his consort Aja. The letters of nadı̄tus abound in pious phrases, and they and other texts allude to their participation in religious ceremonies and the efficacy of their prayers on behalf of family members. Once a year, the living nadı̄tus remembered the childless dead, thus assuming the filial obligation of living progeny. Most striking are the hundreds of legal and epistolary texts from Sippar which attest to the central importance of the nadı̄tu to the economic life of the city for a major part of this period. In Nippur their business activities were not of such significance.

Also remarkable was the full share of the inheritance, equivalent to that of a male, assigned to the nadı̄tu in the Laws of Hammurapi. The “ring money” usually given to them by their fathers was theirs to dispose of as they wished. And since many had to provide for themselves when they grew old, they adopted younger nadı̄tus, sometimes relatives, to support them.

There are far fewer references to women characterized as ugbabtukulmašı̄tu, ištarı̄tu, and qadištu. The ugbabtu apparently was also not to marry and had to be sequestered in the cloister. The others were not confined and might marry and bear children. The religious functions of these women are unclear, although they were devoted to various gods and goddesses. The qadištu is known to have functioned as a wet nurse, and from Sumerian texts seems to have played a role in childbirth. The question as to whether any of them were involved in sacred prostitution cannot be answered at this time. See PROSTITUTION. Interestingly, in the late incantation series Maqlu, these women of special status are associated with witchcraft and elsewhere with prostitution. In the patriarchal society of Mesopotamia, groups of women living outside the conventional norms were anomalies and therefore suspect.

Note should be made of those women who at various times functioned as dream interpreters (šāiltu). They are attested throughout Mesopotamian history, but they functioned outside and below the arena of official temple religious life. Marginal too are the prophetesses, ecstatics who appear sporadically in the texts. Best known are the professional and lay prophetesses of Mari, the former attached to specific deities and temples, the latter coming from all walks of life. They are described by various terms: āpiltu, muhhūtu, qabbātu (Batto 1974). There are even occasional references to female diviners (bārı̄tu). But only in Mari may they have enjoyed equal status with their male counterparts. See also PROPHECY (ANCIENT NEAR EASTERN PROPHECY).

D. Royal Women

Queens and princesses deserve special mention, for some of them because of their high position, and others perhaps because of exceptional personal qualities, acted more independently than other women of Mesopotamia. Here again the name of Enheduanna should be noted, and the institution of entu priestesses.

The names of queens and princesses, especially from Lagash, are known, and their active participation in temple administration and festivals is specified. They are represented on reliefs and inlays. Queens sat beside husbands in banquet scenes, equal in status, it would seem. The well known tomb of Queen Pu-abi of Ur of Early Dynastic times with her luxurious personal possessions and accompanying staff of 74 people give evidence of her rank and wealth. With the growth of city states, women formed “an important link in legitimating the succession” (Hallo 1976). Princesses continued to be used as instruments to cement political alliances throughout Mesopotamian history. And as is so apparent from the Mari archives, royal women had little to say about these arrangements.

Ku-bau, the one woman who became queen of Kish in her own right in Early Dynastic times, was viewed as an anomaly. A late omen text associated her rule with a hermaphroditic birth.

The archives of Karana and Mari are exceptional in giving information not only about the activities of their queens but in providing rare glimpses into the individuality and personal lives of these women (Dalley 1984). Shibtu, queen of Mari and wife of Zimri-Lim, may have given birth to eleven daughters (some perhaps were born to concubines). She was an unusual woman, well informed about various matters of state and cult. When her husband was away she managed palace personnel and distribution of food supplies. She wrote to male officials and spoke with them directly. Shibtu’s concern for her husband’s health and welfare is revealed over and over again in her letters.

The correspondence of Iltani, queen of Karana, also shows her to have been a person of high administrative skills. She managed the palace enterprises, especially of textile and food production, and even received appeals against injustice, taking the usual role of the king. Hers was a far less pleasant and assured personality than was Shibtu’s.

Less direct, though probably no less influential, were the positions of certain queen mothers. The inscription of the Babylonian Sammuramat, wife of the Assyrian Shamshi-Adad V and mother of Adad-Nirari III, appears on a stela, a rare occurrence for a woman. She may have been responsible for the increase in the popularity of the Babylonian god Nabu in Assyrian royal circles.

Another Babylonian married to an Assyrian king, Zakutu (Aram “Naqia”), wife of Sennacherib, may have played a crucial role in the harem plot that led to her husband’s death and the ascent to the throne of her son Esarhaddon.

Finally there was the incredibly long lived (104 years) mother of Nabonidus, a devotee of the god Sin, of Harran in Syria, who was probably an important religious influence on her son, an influence that led to his exceptional devotion to Sin and to his attempt to reinstitute the long dead institution of entu priestesses of the Moon God. His special devotion to Sin resulted in the bitter hostility of the Marḋuk priesthood, who welcomed his downfall at the hands of Cyrus. See also QUEEN.

E. Images of Women

The literary texts of Mesopotamia are a still underutilized source for learning about male attitudes toward women. Here one finds evidence of the high value placed on the nuclear family and on the hoped-for reciprocity between husband and wife, as well as the expected ambivalence of male toward female (the last especially in the Wisdom Literature).

The Gilgamesh Epic, for example, displays images of women, even of such an outsider as the prostitute, as nurturing, caring, and encouraging. Women were regarded positively when they gave advice and supported men in achieving their goals. Only Ištar, who acts like a man by proposing marriage, wanting to bestow gifts, and making threats, is rejected. Her behavior was unacceptable for a female.

A popular Sumerian text, translated by the ancients into Akkadian and Hittite and purporting to be a message sent by a loving son to his mother, portrays the ideal Mesopotamian woman as “beautiful, radiant, productive, gracious, joyous, sweet-smelling” (Kramer 1976), and, it might be added, as one always concerned with husband and children.

Bibliography

Albenda, P. 1983. Western Asiatic Women in the Iron Age: Their Image Revealed. BA 46: 82–88.

Asher-Greve, J. M. 1985. Frauen in altsumerischer Zeit. BiMes 18. Malibu.

Batto, B. J. 1974. Studies on Women at Mari. Baltimore.

Bottero, J. 1965.La femme dans la mésopotamie ancienne, Pp. 158–223 in Historie mondiale de la femme, ed. P. Grimal. Paris.

Dalley, S. 1984. Mari and Karana: Two Old Babylonian Cities. London and New York.

Driver, G. R. and Miles, J. C. 1955. The Babylonian Laws. Vol. 2. Oxford.

Durand, J. M., ed. 1987. La femme dans le Proche—Orient Antique. Paris.

Gelb, I. J. 1979. Household and Family in Early Mesopotamia. Pp. 1–97 in State and Temple Economy in the Ancient Near East, vol. 1. Ed. E. Lipinski. OLA 5. Leuven.

Greengus, S. 1966. Old Babylonian Marriage Ceremonies and Rites. JCS 20: 55–72.

Grosz, K. 1983. Bridewealth and Dowry in Nuzi. Pp. 193–205 in Images of Women in Antiquity, ed. A. Cameron and A. Kuhrt. Detroit.

Hallo, W. W. 1976. Women of Sumer. Pp. 23–40 in The Legacy of Sumer, ed. D. Schmandt-Besserat. BiMes 4. Malibu.

Harris, R. 1963. The Organization and Administration of the Cloister in Ancient Babylonia. JESHO 6/2: 121–57.

———. 1964. The Nadı̄tu Women. Pp. 106–35 in Studies Presented to A. L. Oppenheim, ed. R. D. Biggs and J. A. Brinkman. Chicago.

Kramer, S. N. 1976. Poets and Psalmists. Pp. 12–21 in The Legacy of Sumer, ed. D. Schmandt-Besserat. BiMes 4. Malibu.

Postgate, J. N. 1979. On Some Assyrian Ladies. Iraq 41: 89–103.

Renger, J. 1964. Untersuchungen zum Priestertum in der altbabylonischen Zeit. ZA 58: 110–88.

Rollins, S. 1983. Women and Witchcraft in Ancient Assyria. Pp. 34–44 in Images of Women in Antiquity, ed. A. Cameron and A. Kuhrt. Detroit.

Saporetti, C. 1979. The Status of Women in the Middle Assyrian Period. MANE 2/1. Malibu.

Stone, E. 1982. The Social Role of the Nadı̄tu Women in Old Babylonian Nippur. JESHO 25: 50–70.

Rivkah Harris

 

OLD TESTAMENT

The common Hebrew term for “woman” is ʾiššâ (constr. ʾēšet), which may also be translated “wife” (the corresponding masculine term, ʾı̂š “man,” is used analogously for “husband,” along with baʿal “master,” “lord”). Women characterized by particular attributes are designated by descriptive nouns, adjectives or participles, used either alone or as a qualifier to ʾiššâ: e.g., (ʾiššâ) zônâ “prostitute,” hôrâ “pregnant woman,” ʾiššâ ḥăkāmâ “wise woman,” (ʾiššâ) zārâ “strange/foreign woman,” zĕqēnôt “old women,” mĕyallĕdôt “midwives” (lit. “birthing women”). Other nouns describing women of particular age, state or position, include bat “daughter”; kallâ “daughter-in-law,” “bride”: ʾāḥôt “sister”; ʾēm “mother”; bĕtûlâ “young woman,” “virgin”; ʿalmâ “young woman”; naʿarâ “young woman,” “girl”; ʾāmâ and šipḥâ “female servant or slave”; malkâ “queen”; gĕbı̂râ “lady,” “queen mother.” The term for the female of human as well as animal species is nĕqēbâ (typically paired with zākār “male,” as in Gen 1:27).

A.   Introduction: Methodological Considerations

B.   The Israelite Family

C.   Primary Roles and Images

1.   Wife and Mother

2.   Virgin Daughter or Bride

D.   Roles and Activities Outside the Family

E.   Religious Life

F.   Legal Status

G.  Literary and Symbolic Representation

H.  Conclusion: Hermeneutical Considerations

A. Introduction: Methodological Considerations

In the Hebrew Bible women appear for the most part as minor or subordinate figures; yet they play an essential role in the record of Israel’s faith and include some of the best remembered actors in the biblical story. The names of Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel, Miriam, Deborah, and Ruth are indispensible to the rehearsal of that story, as are Jezebel, Esther, and Eve. Behind these, however, stand thousands of unnamed, and unnoted, women who have engaged the attention of recent biblical scholarship. Through new literary and sociological analyses attempts are being made to reconstruct Israel’s history and reinterpret its literature with an aim to restoring a glimpse of the missing women and reassessing the surviving portraits.

Key to understanding the roles, images, and limited appearances of women in the OT literature is the patrilineal and patriarchal organization of Israelite society and its family-centered economy. Although the patriarchal character of the society has long been recognized, recent scholarship (summarized in Meyers 1988: 3–46) has given new insight into the economic, social and psychological dimensions of gender relations in patriarchal societies and, more specifically, into women’s lives in premodern agrarian and pastoral societies, bringing a new comparative perspective to the biblical data.

The OT is the product of a patriarchal world, and more specifically, of a literate, urban elite of male religious specialists. Whatever the ultimate origin of its traditions in family worship, clan wisdom, popular tales, or the songs of women, the present form of the Hebrew Bible is the work of male authors and editors, whose views created or reflect the dominant theological perspectives. Women in the biblical texts are presented through male eyes, for purposes determined by male authors. This does not mean that women are necessarily suppressed in the account or portrayed unsympathetically. It does mean, however, that women are not heard directly in the biblical text, in their own voices; the OT gives no unmediated access to the lives and thought of Israelite women. (For implications and strategies in interpreting androcentric texts see Russell 1985; Tolbert 1983; Collins 1985; Sakenfeld 1988; 1989; Trible 1989; and Day 1989.)

Women in the biblical text provide the primary clues to women behind the text. But interpretation of these clues requires knowledge of women’s lives in comparable societies, ancient and modern, where fuller documentation of the private and economic spheres offers a broader view of women’s roles and activities within the context of the larger society. New archaeological investigation focusing on family and village life (size and arrangement of dwellings, density of settlement, diet, mortality rates, etc. [Stager 1985; Meyers 1988: 47–71]) together with documents from surrounding cultures relating to the domestic realm (e.g., personal letters, marriage and adoption contracts, inheritance stipulations, and other economic and legal documents [Lesko 1989; Durand 1987]) enable construction of a more adequate picture of women’s roles, activities, and authority within ANE patriarchal society and, more particularly, within the family, which is the primary sphere of women’s activity.

To these data from the social world of ancient Israel comparative anthropology brings a cross-cultural perspective of gender roles and relationships that correlates patterns of gender interactions with technoeconomic and sociopolitical variables, such as differences between pastoral and agrarian societies, between intensive irrigation agriculture in lowland plains and cultivation of new or marginal upland areas, and between tribal federations and centralized monarchic states. Such differences within the broad category of patriarchal societies are reflected in differing demands for women’s productive and reproductive labor and differences in the value of women’s services, range of activity outside the home, and authority within the family (Whyte 1978; Meyers 1988: 24–46, 189–94). Anthropological study of gender reveals complex patterns of male-female relationships within patriarchal societies, involving distinctions of formal and informal power and recognition of spheres of influence and authority, which require qualification of many commonly held views of women’s lives in ancient Israel.

The OT does not yield a single portrait of women in ancient Israel. Its millennium-spanning traditions and the differing purposes and perspectives of its authors have produced a kaleidoscopic image, whose distinct components require note. A common status or life style cannot be assumed for the woman of an Early Iron Age pioneer settlement, the wife of a wealthy merchant or large landowner in Samaria or Jerusalem, the daughter of an indebted 8th-century peasant, the foreign wife of a returned exile, a priest’s daughter, queen mother, palace servant, childless widow, or prostitute. Nor can one expect a common portrait from narrative compositions, proverbial sentences, prophetic oracles, and legal stipulations.

Behind the disparate images and distinct life histories, however, lies a common set of expectations and values that govern the life of every Israelite woman of every period and circumstance. These are rooted in the need for women’s labor in the domestic sphere, and more specifically in childbearing and nurture, broadly described as “reproductive” work. To this primary work, which was the expectation of every woman, are joined the major tasks of household management and provision. The importance of this work in a society in which the family, rather than the individual, was the basic social, economic, and religious unit (at least during significant periods of Israelite history), is evidenced in the honor and authority given to women in their role as mother. Fulfillment of that socially demanded, and rewarded, role also meant self-fulfillment for most women, for whom barrenness was a bitter deprivation.

It is the woman’s primary and essential role within the family, with its multiple demands of time and skill, that accounts for her highest personal and social reward—but also for her restriction in roles and activities outside the family and her hiddenness in documents from the public sphere. It also accounts for changes in women’s status and roles over the course of Israel’s history as the size, autonomy and economic status of the family changed. And it provides clues to the interpretation of women’s roles and activities outside the family, which may be understood in large measure as extensions or adaptations of women’s primary roles within the family.

B. The Israelite Family

The Israelite family was in all periods a male headed household (called bêt ʾāb “house of the father”), in which descent and transmission of property (in particular, the patrimonial land, naḥălâ “inheritance”) were reckoned through males. In early Israel, family associations (lineages, or “clans”) and tribes based on patrilineal descent exercised primary political as well as social functions. Although the monarchy deprived the lineage system of most of its political power, the Israelite family continued to function as the basic social and economic unit and to bear a patrilineal and patriarchal stamp, exhibited in patterns of organization and authority, marriage, place of residence, and inheritance.

One consequence of patrilineal organization is that women are to some extent either aliens or transients within their family of residence. Married women are outsiders in the household of their husband and sons, while daughters are prepared from birth to leave their father’s household and transfer loyalty to a husband’s house and lineage. Preference for endogamy seems to have operated in certain periods as a means of reducing the strains associated with the “alien” wife (Gen 24:4; 28:1–2). When the woman was a foreigner, the strain might be perceived as a threat, as seen in the repeated condemnations of foreign marriages (Deut 7:3; Ezra 9:12; 10:2). Underlying this attack is the assumption that the foreign wife will maintain her alien ways, and more particularly her religion, undermining the religious ethos and solidarity of the family and the nation (Exod 34:16; Num 25:1–2; Deut 7:4; Judg 3:5–6; Neh 13:23–27; Meyers 1988: 185).

The OT attack on foreign wives is indirect testimony to the independence and power of women within the family sphere despite the formal structures and symbols of patriarchal power. It reflects the power of influence that wives may exert over husbands (Judg 14:17; 1 Kgs 1:15–21) as well as the important educational role of the mother in transmitting basic religious values and wisdom essential for life (Prov 1:8; 31:1). It also reflects fear of foreigners, and more particularly the foreign woman (ʾiššâ zārâ, nokrı̄yâ), who in Proverbs becomes a symbol for the immoral, seductive, and predatory woman, an embodiment of evil (Yee 1989: 54). Admonitions against intermarriage with foreigners may include reference to sons as well as daughters, but only the foreign daughter is described as a threat (Deut 7:3–4; cf. Ezra 9:2).

Another consequence of patrilineal family organization is that women do not normally inherit land. Exceptions treat daughters as placeholders in the absence of sons (Num 27:1–11), bridging the gap between the generations until their sons can resume the paternal line and legacy (insured, according to Num 36:6–9, by requiring the daughter to marry within her father’s tribe). Similar concern for the preservation of the patrimony appears to underlie the institution of levirate marriage, which obligated a man to marry the wife of a deceased brother (Deut 25:5–10; Gen 38:8) or close kinsman (Ruth 2:20; 4:5–6) in order to continue the brother’s “name.”

The importance of patrilineal organization in ancient Israel may be seen in the prominence of genealogies and genealogical narratives in the OT. The genealogies, which serve a variety of social, political, and literary functions, account for the majority of personal names recorded in the OT and for the great preponderance of male over female names (1212:108, approx. 12:1). As lists of those who “counted” in the society, these normally all-male lists provide dramatic testimony to the androcentrism that characterizes the formal structures of patriarchal societies. A different picture is obtained, however, by comparing the common nouns for “man” (ʾı̂š) and “woman” (ʾiššâ), whose ratio of occurrences is 2160:775 (KB), or roughly 3:1. Excluding the many generic uses of ʾı̂š (as, e.g., in Ps 1:1, “Blessed is the one [ʾı̂š] who walks …”) increases the relative weight of references to women, suggesting the importance of women as a social category, if not as named individuals.

A characteristic feature of patriarchal societies, illustrated by the disparity of ratios between named and unnamed men and women, is asymmetry of gender roles and symbols, including language. Male genealogies, male oriented legal codes and cultic stipulations, masculine forms for generic speech, and the predominance of males in historical records and recollections all reflect the male dominance of Israel’s public life and formal structures. The primary social and economic unit, however, which provided the basis for life in the public sphere, was the family, in which women exercised significant formal and informal power, at times equaling or even exceeding that of men, according to some scholars (Meyers 1988: 181, 187). Even in its reduced economic role under the monarchy, the family continued to play a dominant role in socialization.

Asymmetry between male and female-centered spheres of life may be seen in the fact that the family was represented in the public sphere by its male head or adult male members—and it is this male-dominated sphere that is the locus of the major overarching and integrating institutions of the society. Here women are to some degree always outsiders, characterized by temporary appearances (e.g., marketing, legal process, payment of vows) or marginal roles (e.g., prostitutes and cult attendants). At the same time, men are given legal authority over women, even in the sphere of women’s primary activity, the family. Moreover, since the legal and religious institutions that give expression to the society’s values and attempt to regulate behavior belong to the public sphere and are designed and governed by men, the values they articulate and seek to enforce are essentially male values, though formulated in general or universal terms. Thus asymmetry between the primary spheres of male and female activity has the character of encapsulation and penetration of the domestic sphere by the public sphere.

C. Primary Roles and Images

1. Wife and Mother. The life and work of the Israelite woman centered in the home and duties to family. The ideal portrait of the adult female depicts her as the mother of many children (or sons; Heb bānı̂m [pl. of bēn “son”] may have either meaning) and the wise and industrious manager of the household, providing for the welfare of husband and children (Prov 31:10–29). This latter image, which gives rare attention to the role of wife, is the product of Wisdom reflection designed to counsel men concerning the path of success in life, in which knowledge of women and their ways plays a critical role. Thus the book of Proverbs warns against the loose or foreign woman and especially the adulteress, who can cost a man his life (Prov 5:3–5; 6:24–35; 9:13–18), while counseling fidelity (5:15–19) and extolling the “woman of worth” (ʾēšet ḥayil) in detailed and extended commendation (Prov 31:10–29). Such a wife will “do him good, and not harm” (v 12). Emphasis in this portrait is on skill, resourcefulness, industry, wisdom, and charity, rather than fertility or beauty (the latter characterized in v 30 as “deceitful” and “vain”).

The role of wife is rarely separated from the dominant role of mother, appearing outside the Wisdom Literature primarily in tales of courtship, conflict, and conquest (Judges 14; 1 Sam 18:20–27; Genesis 34). Here sexual attraction plays a role, but also wit and will (1 Samuel 25)—and often family or ethnic ties. Behind many scenes of courtship lies a genealogical theme, which points to an ultimate role of mother. The woman as wife also describes a fundamental biosocial category, designating the one who provides the essential sexual and social complement to the man, creating the pair that represents the species (Gen 1:27; 2:18–23) and assures its continuity (thus Noah and his sons [named] enter the ark together with his wife and sons’ wives [unnamed], Gen 7:13). Here, too, the wife is usually a mother.

The role of mother dominates OT references to women. Motherhood was expected and honored, reflecting social need (Judg 21:16–17) and divine sanction (Gen 1:28). Desire for many children, and especially sons, is a prominent OT theme (1 Sam 2:7; Gen 30:1; Pss 127:3–5; 128:3–4), attributed to women as well as to men, despite the pain and dangers of childbirth. Rooted in the economic needs of subsistence agriculture and social need for perpetuation of the lineage, the demand for childbearing was rewarded with security and prestige (Deut 5:16; 27:16). As a consequence, women identified children with status (Gen 30:20; 1 Sam 1:2–8) and sometimes vied with one another in childbearing (Gen 30:1–24).

Barrenness was viewed as the ultimate disgrace, understood as a sign of divine disfavor (Gen 30:23; 2 Sam 6:20–23). (The literary theme of the barren wife—who subsequently bears—assumes this negative expectation in order to reverse it.) The barren, or childless, woman suffered not only lack of esteem, but also threat of divorce or expulsion from her husband’s household at his death. Unable to continue his line, she cannot claim his inheritance, and she has no sons to support her in old age.

The role of mother included primary care of children of both sexes at least until the time of weaning (ca. age three), the education and disciplining of older children, and provision of food and clothing for the entire household. The latter required arduous and time consuming labor: sorting, cleaning, parching, and grinding grain, as well as kneading and baking bread; drawing water and collecting fuel (a task of both sexes); cleaning and butchering small animals; milking, churning butter and making cheese and yogurt; tending vegetable gardens and fruit trees; and preserving fruits and meat for storage. Women may also have produced at least some of the common ceramic ware, as suggested by cross-cultural study of ceramic production (Meyers 1988: 148). If so, OT references to male potters (Jer 18:2–4; 1 Chr 4:23) may be seen as an example of a widely attested pattern of male professional specialization of crafts originally practiced exclusively by women. Such crafts may continue as female occupations within the domestic context while men dominate commercial production (e.g., weaving, sewing/tailoring, cooking and baking).

Clothing the family involved not only spinning, weaving, tailoring and sewing, but also preparation of raw wool or flax fibers (Prov 31:13). Spinning and weaving are identified throughout the ancient Mediterranean world as symbolic of female domestic activity and skill, so that even queens and wealthy women are depicted holding a spindle (ANEP, 43 [pl. 144]; Prov 31:13, 19; Judg 16:14; cf. English “spinster” and “distaff side”). The mother, together with other females of the household, also bore the burden of washing and cleaning.

The mother’s role in the socialization and moral instruction of small children was critical for both sexes, but her instruction seems also to have had a more formal and extended character, even in the education of sons, as attested in the Wisdom Literature (Prov 1:8; 31:1; Meyers 1988: 151–2). An extension of the mother’s role as teacher and counselor may be seen in the “wise woman,” whose skill (in negotiation and persuasion) commands public recognition (2 Sam 14:1–20; 20:16–22). The mother also had a special role in educating daughters in the traits and competencies expected of the adult woman (wife), as well as in specialized female skills.

Among the features that make up the OT’s portrait of women there appears to be a primary cluster of attributes and images that derive ultimately from association with birthing and nurture, or womb and breasts (cf. ANEP, 162, pl. 469; Luke 11:27; 23:27). The pain and danger of childbirth has stamped itself on the consciousness of the OT’s male narrators and poets, who employ images of women in labor as symbols of anguish and helplessness (Isa 13:8; 21:3; Jer 48:41; Mic 4:9–10). A different type of maternal pain is associated with the death of a child, formalized in the ritual wailing of women at funerals and in the specialized female profession of keener, performer and composer of dirges (Jer 9:16, 19—Eng 9:17, 20). The mother’s bond with the fruit of her womb is understood as deep and persisting (Isa 49:15), overriding self-interest (1 Kgs 3:16–27) and extending even beyond death, as exemplified in Rizpah’s vigil over her slain sons (2 Sam 21:8–14), protecting them in death (a female role) as she could not do in life (a male role). It is also evidenced in the customary roles of women in preparing the dead for burial and in visits to tombs (Mark 16:1; cf. Luke 23:55–24:1).

Care for the dead may be seen as an extension of the mother’s primary role in care for the living, initiated in the nursing of infants (1 Sam 1:22; cf. Num 11:12; Isa 45:15) and continued in nursing of the sick and infirm (2 Sam 13:5; 1 Kgs 1:2; 2 Kgs 4:18–30). If the feeling of tenderness toward the weak expressed as “compassion” or “pity” is attributed to fathers (e.g., Ps 103:13) as well as mothers, the Hebrew etymology of the term identifies it as “womb-feeling” (raḥămı̂m; verb rāḥam < reḥem “womb”).

As the female head of a household or family unit within an extended household, the mother supervised the work of dependent females, including daughters, daughters-in-law, and servants. Although there is no direct evidence for the way in which multiple wives shared responsibilities of household management (narrative and legal texts focus on rivalry and favoritism: Deut 21:15–17; Gen 29:30–31; 1 Sam 1:6; cf. Exod 21:10), some form of seniority system may be assumed, especially where a second wife had the status of a concubine. Each woman, however, would have control over her own children. Normally a woman gained authority with age, together with a measure of freedom and leisure, although there is no recognized role for women comparable to that of the male “elders.” It is likely that many of the specialized roles and activities of women outside the home or involving public recognition and action (prophets, mediums, wise women, keeners, midwives) were performed by older women no longer burdened by the care of small children (e.g., the wise woman of Tekoa plausibly presents herself as a widow with grown children [2 Sam 14:4–7]). Cross-cultural studies attest increased religious activity and authority, including new religious roles, on the part of post-menopausal women or women with grown children.

2. Virgin Daughter or Bride. Alongside the image of the mother is another image that represents both a prior state and an alternative or complementary ideal of the feminine, viz. the virgin daughter or bride. In this portrait female sexuality is described in erotic rather than maternal terms. The subject is the young woman who is sexually ripe and ready for love, who may be designated bĕtûlâ “virgin,” ʿalmâ “young woman,” “maiden,” kallâ “bride” or, in the conventions of ANE love poetry, ʾāḥôt “sister” (Cant 4:9). She may be a young wife or an unmarried woman. She is described as the object of male desire (Canticles 4), but also as one who seeks a man’s embrace (Cant 3:1–4). The ultimate tragedy of the death of Jephthah’s daughter is expressed in the notice that “she had never known a man” (Judg 11:39). The bride is praised for her beauty (Gen 12:11, 15; 24:16; 1 Sam 25:3; Cant 4:1–5), fragrance and adornment (Cant 4:10–11; Isa 61:10; cf. 3:16, 18–24), in which she also takes delight (Cant 2:1–2; Jer 2:32). Although little of the rich erotic metaphor of the love songs is found in the restrained language of the courtship narratives, both share the ideal of the virgin bride as ripe and unblemished fruit, or fair and chaste (Cant 4:10–13, 16; Gen 24:16). The same ideal viewed from the perspective of male control underlies the legal stipulations regarding women’s sexuality.

In the love poetry of the Song of Songs sex is free and freely given; but in Israelite society, as every society, it was not free. Patrilineal and patriarchal interests demanded exclusive right for men to their wives’ sexuality. A woman’s sexuality was consequently guarded before marriage by her father (Deut 22:13–21, 28–29; cf. Gen 34:5–7) and after marriage by her husband (Num 5:11–31). Adultery was the most serious of women’s crimes, though both partners received the same sentence—death (Lev 20:10; Deut 22:22). Proverbs identifies the adulteress with the evil/dangerous woman (Prov 5:2–4; 7:10–23; Yee 1989: 61)—while the adulterer is portrayed as a weak and foolish victim, succumbing to her advances (Prov 6:32; 7:7–13, 21–27; 9:13–18). In prophetic metaphor the promiscuous bride, likened at times to a professional prostitute, becomes a symbol of apostate Israel (Hosea 1–3; 4:10, 12, 17–18; Jer 3:1–3; Ezekiel 16; 23).

Prostitution in ancient Israel (Gen 38:13–26; 1 Kgs 3:16–27; Amos 7:17; Prov 23:27) is characterized by the same ambivalence attested in other cultures (Bird 1989: 121–2, 131–3). It exemplifies the asymmetry of sexual relations in patriarchal societies, also exhibited in the “double standard” respecting premarital sex (Deut 23:18–19) and the male prerogative of divorce (Deut 24:1). Prostitution allows men to maintain exclusive control of their wives’ sexuality while providing opportunity for sexual relations with other women without violating another man’s rights. The prostitute, who supplies this service for her livelihood, is a social outcast, who is generally forced into the profession by destitution or loss of parents or spouse (Bird 1989: 120–22, 129–33).

D. Roles and Activities Outside the Family

Women’s roles and activities outside their household-centered work were of two types, assistance in the basic tasks of production (agriculture and animal husbandry), and specialized professions and services. Women’s contribution to the primary work of production is difficult to determine; it fluctuated not only in relation to seasonal need, but also to geographic, demographic, technological, and political factors (e.g., drought, war, and disease). Meyers (1988: 50–63) argues that the peculiar ecological conditions of a frontier society demanded intensification of female labor in both productive and reproductive tasks during the early settlement period—with corresponding heightening of female status. Radically altered circumstances in later periods will have produced different patterns of participation and reward. Scanty data for all periods, however, make inferences hazardous. There is textual evidence for women’s involvement in harvesting (Ruth 2, where male and female workers form distinct groups) and in tending flocks (Gen 29:9; Exod 2:16).

Women’s work in clothing their households or in other types of domestic production may lead to limited commercial development in manufacture for sale (Prov 31:24); women’s cottage industry may be associated with urban growth. Specialized female labor was also employed by the palace, whose workforce of female slaves or impressed servants included perfumers, cooks and bakers (1 Sam 8:13). One well attested type of professional specialization is service to other women, best exemplified by the midwife (Exod 1:15–21), who in other ANE cultures was a religious specialist as well as a medical technician.

E. Religious Life

Little is known of women’s religious life in ancient Israel, except what is depicted in conjunction with men’s activities (1 Sam 1:13–18) or highlighted by explicit mention of women in collective references (Neh 8:2; cf. Deut 16:11, 13, where the wife is assumed in the masculine singular address to the male househead). Inferred participation of women in activities ascribed to the “people” or “congregation” or formulated in “generic” masculine terms expands the picture, but may not represent women’s actual participation, which may be limited or peripheral. Women’s religious activity may also take other forms hidden from the communal record (Bird 1987: 408–10). One area of women’s lives given explicit ritual attention is that related to procreation, with prescriptions for purification following menstruation and childbirth (Lev 15:25–30; 12:1–8).

Evidence of women’s magic, or devotion, is seen by many scholars in the small clay plaques or figurines of a naked female found throughout Iron Age excavations. Interpreted either as amulets to aid in conception or birth (especially those depicting a pregnant woman) or as representations of a “mother goddess,” these mass-produced images appear in both domestic and (peripheral) cultic sites. Although generally identified with women’s practice, their precise meaning and use remains uncertain, due to the variety of forms, changing styles, and lack of clear correspondence to objects mentioned in the biblical text (Pritchard 1943; Fowler 1985: 334–5; Holladay 1987: 275–80; Winter 1983: 96–134).

Within the sphere of public religious practice women specialists are attested in several roles, especially in sources for the premonarchic period. They include women who ministered at the entrance to the tent of meeting (Exod 38:8; 1 Sam 2:22); prophets, of whom three are named: Deborah (Judg 4:4–16), Huldah (2 Kgs 22:14–20), and Noadiah (Neh 6:14); and “consecrated women” (qĕdēšôt), usually described as “cultic prostitutes” and associated with Canaanite type cultic practices (Hos 4:14; Deut 23:19–20). See PROSTITUTION (CULTIC). Miriam, though identified as a prophet in Exod 15:20, appears to have exercised some form of cultic leadership (Burns 1987: 39–79).

F. Legal Status

Women’s legal status is a function of the larger system of social values and needs, and it cannot be isolated or absolutized. As it can be inferred from the OT’s disparate and partial sources, it may be characterized as generally subordinate to that of males. This is evidenced in women’s “hiddenness” as legal persons behind the male citizen or husband addressed by the law (Exod 20:3–17; Deut 16:4); in indirect (3d person) reference to women within masculine formulated direct address (Exod 20:17), or in literary subordination to a male subject (Exod 21:3; Jer 44:25); in limitation of women’s rights in conflicts of interest (Num 30:3–8), and in generally circumscribed rights and duties in the public sphere. Apart from the treatment of vows and suspected adultery (both cases involving extrafamilial interests), OT laws do not generally treat intrafamilial relationships. Parental authority over unruly children was invested in both parents (Deut 21:18–20) and also, apparently, responsibility for a daughter’s chastity (Deut 22:15)—though the father alone represents his daughter “in court.” As a general rule, women within the family were subject to male authority, either as daughters or wives. Only widows, divorced women (Num 30:9), and prostitutes (Josh 6:22) had legal status unmediated and unqualified by males. Although wives, together with children, slaves, and livestock, were counted among a man’s possessions (Exod 20:17; cf. Deut 5:21), neither wives nor children were understood as property.

G. Literary and Symbolic Representation

While legal subordination reflects the formal structures of power, it is an inadequate measure of women’s actual power or even recognized authority. Hints of the wider influence and power exercised by women in Israelite life may be seen in the OT’s literary presentation of women, which depicts them as more complex and forceful than their legal status suggests and gives them leading roles in some of the critical biblical dramas (e.g., Sarah and Hagar, Rahab, Deborah, Jezebel, Huldah, Esther). The expanded role of women in literature, however, especially in family sagas and novellas, reflects artistic need as well as lived reality. Behind this need is a more general pattern of gender symbolization, exhibited in linguistic as well as literary forms.

Woman as symbol plays an important role in the OT literature and must be distinguished, at least conceptually, from woman in history or society. Important examples of female symbolization in the OT include the female as goddess or symbol of divinity (most prominently exhibited in Asherah and the ʾašerı̂m), representation of the capital city or nation as virgin, mother, or bride (Amos 5:2; Isa 40:2; Jer 31:21; Hosea 1–2), and the hypostatization of Wisdom in Proverbs 8. The negative symbolization of woman is represented in Dame Folly (Prov 9:13–18), apostate Israel (Hosea 1–2; Jer 2:20; 3:2; 4:30; Ezekiel 16; 23), and fallen Tyre (Isa 23:15–18; cf. Rev 17:4–5), all portrayed as a harlot or adulteress.

H. Conclusion: Hermeneutical Considerations

Within the OT, viewed either as canonical text or historical testimony, the women who emerge as actors testify to the essential and active role of women in the formation and transmission of Israel’s faith. Despite its overwhelmingly androcentric and patriarchal orientation, Israelite faith was a woman’s faith—cherished, defended and exemplified by women. But the text also exhibits a tension between the statement made by the leading female figures and that made by the nameless and voiceless women “offstage.” Acknowledging their presence and incorporating their voices into the message of the OT is part of the new hermeneutical task, requiring new interpretive strategies and techniques.

Various forms of literary criticism (including rhetorical and structuralist approaches) have provided feminist interpreters with a tool for re-presenting the women of the OT in relation to contemporary concerns. As a counter or complement to historical exegesis, such interpretation focuses on the received form of the text, tracing the sexual dynamics of its narrative portraits and inviting identification with its female subjects. Depicted according to contemporary norms as victims (Jephthah’s daughter)—and challengers (the Hebrew midwives; Ruth and Naomi)—of patriarchal ideology and power, or simply as survivors in a man’s world, the women of the ancient text reflect and prefigure modern struggles and ideals. While interpreters such as Trible (1978; 1984), Bal (1987; 1988), Exum (1983), and Fuchs (1985) represent differing aims and approaches to the patriarchal text, they share a common reader orientation that invokes response to their retold tales: celebration for unsung triumphs, mourning and rage for unlamented victims and unnamed crimes. These literary-constructive readings present the mothers and daughters of ancient Israel as sisters “heard into speech” by modern feminist interpretation. See FEMINIST HERMENEUTICS.

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Durand, J.-M., ed. 1987. Les Femmes dans le Prôche Orient Antique, XXVIIIe Rencontre Assyriologique Internationale (Paris, 1986). Paris.

Emmerson, G. I. 1989. Women in Ancient Israel. Pp. 371–94 in The World of Ancient Israel: Sociological, Anthropological and Political Perspectives, ed. R. E. Clements. Cambridge.

Exum, C. 1983. You Shall Let Every Daughter Live: A Study of Ex. 1:8–2:10. Pp. 63–82 in The Bible and Feminist Hermeneutics, ed. M. A. Tolbert. Semeia 28. Chico.

Fowler, M. D. 1985. Excavated Figurines: A Case for Identifying a Site as Sacred? ZAW 97: 333–44.

Fuchs, E. 1985. The Literary Characterization of Mothers and Sexual Politics in the Hebrew Bible. Pp. 117–36 in Feminist Perspectives on Biblical Scholarship, ed. A. Y. Collins. Chico.

Hackett, J. A. 1985. In the Days of Jael: Reclaiming the History of Women in Ancient Israel. Pp. 15–38 in Immaculate and Powerful: The Female in Sacred Image and Social Reality, eds. C. W. Atkinson, C. H. Buchanan, and M. R. Miles. Boston.

———. 1987. Women’s Studies and the Hebrew Bible. Pp. 141–64 in The Future of Biblical Studies: The Hebrew Scriptures, ed. R. E. Friedman and H. G. M. Williamson. Atlanta.

Holladay, J. S., Jr. 1987. Religion in Israel and Judah Under the Monarchy: An Explicitly Archaeological Approach. Pp. 249–97 in AIR.

Lesko, B. S., ed. 1989. Women’s Earliest Records: From Ancient Egypt and Western Asia. BJS 166. Atlanta.

Locher, C. 1986. Die Ehre einer Frau in Israel. Exegetische und rechtsvergleichende Studien zu Deuteronomium 22, 13–21. OBO 70. Freiburg and Göttingen.

Meyers, C. 1988. Discovering Eve: Ancient Israelite Women in Context. New York and Oxford.

Otwell, J. H. 1977. And Sarah Laughed: The Status of Women in the Old Testament. Philadelphia.

Pritchard, J. B. 1943. Palestinian Figurines in Relation to Certain Goddesses Known Through Literature. AOS 24. New Haven.

Russell, L. M., ed. 1985. Feminist Interpretation of the Bible. Philadelphia.

Sakenfeld, K. D. 1988. Feminist Perspectives on Bible and Theology: An Introduction to Selected Issues and Literature. Int 42: 5–18.

———. 1989. Feminist Biblical Interpretation. TToday 46: 154–68.

Stager, L. A. 1985. The Archaeology of the Family in Ancient Israel. BASOR 260: 1–36.

Tolbert, M. A. 1983. Defining the Problem: The Bible and Feminist Hermeneutics. Pp. 113–26 in The Bible and Feminist Hermeneutics, ed. M. A. Tolbert. Semeia 28. Chico.

Trible, P. 1978. God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality. Philadelphia.

———. 1984. Texts of Terror: Literary and Feminist Readings of Biblical Narratives. Philadelphia.

———. 1989. Five Loaves and Two Fishes: Feminist Hermeneutics and Biblical Theology. TS 50: 279–95.

Whyte, M. K. 1978. The Status of Women in Preindustrial Societies. Princeton.

Winter, U. 1983. Frau und Göttin: Exegetische und ikonographische Studien zum weiblichen Gottesbild im Alten Israel und in dessen Umwelt. OBO 53. Freiburg and Göttingen.

Yee, G. A. 1989. “I Have Perfumed My Bed with Myrrh”: The Foreign Woman (ʾiššâ zārâ) in Proverbs 1–9. JSOT 43: 53–68.

Phyllis A. Bird

NEW TESTAMENT

In order to understand the position and roles of women in the NT era, it is necessary first to examine the historical and social context in which 1st century women lived. The primary matrix for assessing women’s roles in the Jesus movement and in early Jewish Christianity is the status and roles women had in early Judaism, especially in Israel. The position and roles of women elsewhere in the Roman Empire is also of relevance in assessing the place of women in the Pauline communities and in the communities of the gospel writers.

A.   The Historical Setting

1.   Women in Early Judaism

2.   Women in Other Mediterranean Cultures

B.   Women in the Ministry of Jesus

C.   Women in the Pauline Communities

D.   Women and the Third and Fourth Evangelists

E.   Conclusions

A. The Historical Setting

1.   Women in Early Judaism. The Palestinian Jewish culture was one of the most patriarchal in the Mediterranean crescent. The home and family were basically the only spheres where women could play significant roles in early Judaism. This was true not only because of the extensive power that a father had over both his wife and daughters in determining their activities and their relationships, but also because various levitical laws were interpreted in such a way that women were prohibited from taking significant roles in the synagogue due to their monthly period of levitical uncleanness.

Women could not make up the quorum that constituted a synagogue, could not be counted on to recite the daily Shema or make the pilgrimages to Jerusalem for the major feasts, nor are there any known examples of women reading the Torah in the synagogue in Jesus’ era (cf. m. Hag. 1.1, m. Ber. 3.3). Mishnah Qidd. 1.7 teaches: “The observance of all the positive ordinances that depend on the time of year is incumbent on men but not on women …” Women did receive and pass along some basic religious education in the home. There were, however, various teachers in early Judaism that frowned on women being given anything more than a rudimentary religious education, especially in regard to the oral halakah (Witherington 1984: 6–7). Furthermore, there is no evidence that prior to Jesus’ ministry Jewish women were ever allowed to be disciples of a great teacher, much less travel with such a teacher, or to instruct anyone other than children. In such a restrictive context, Jesus’ relationship to women must have seemed radical indeed, though on the wider scale of 1st century Mediterranean culture it seems not to have been unprecedented. In fact, seen from the broader cultural context, Jesus can be described as a reformer of patriarchal society, but not as one who outright rejected a patriarchal orientation.

In regard to the legal position of a woman in early Judaism, her testimony was considered valid by some early Jewish teachers, but suspect by others (cf. m. Ned. 11.10). In practice, women were entrusted with much responsibility and their word was normally accepted, especially in the home. The legal position of a woman even in a family, however, was seriously restricted in regard to the right of inheritance (she was basically entitled only to maintenance not inheritance) and the right of divorce (strictly speaking only the male could divorce, though a woman could precipitate a divorce). Furthermore, a woman was often passed from the control of her father to that of her husband with little or no say in the matter, not least because Jewish women in this era married at or soon after the time they came of age. The laws which were later codified in the Mishnah say that a woman, like a gentile slave, could be obtained by intercourse, money, or writ (m. Qidd.1.1), though normally marriage was transacted by the heads of the households who would make an agreement and settle on a bride price.

These facts should not cause us to overlook the positive statements made by early Jews about honoring and respecting women, nor should we ignore the extensive responsibilities placed on a Jewish husband in regard to his wife and daughters, nor forget that much of what we have discussed resulted from the attempt by an occupied people to preserve their culture and religious way of life. Nevertheless, the dominant impression left by our early Jewish sources is of a very patriarchal society that limited women’s roles and functions to the home, and severely restricted: (1) their rights of inheritance, (2) their choice of relationships, (3) their ability to pursue a religious education or fully participate in the synagogue, and (4) their freedom of movement.

2. Women in Other Mediterranean Cultures. Within the patriarchal framework that existed throughout the Roman Empire, there was a surprising degree of variety in the roles and positions women could and did assume from culture to culture. For example, in Rome women could at most be the power behind the throne, whereas in Egypt women could openly rule. Or again, in Athens married citizen-women seem to have been confined to domestic activities, whereas women in Asia Minor, Macedonia, and Egypt engaged in their own private businesses, served in public offices, and had prominent roles in various religious cults.

Note that with the rise in popularity of the Isis cult came also the rise to prominence of all sorts of women in various significant religious roles, besides the traditional ones of being a Vestal Virgin (in Rome), or an oracle (e.g., at Delphi) roles open only to a few women who led atypical lives. Since Corinth in Paul’s day was a Roman city, and Rome was generally suspicious of imported oriental religions, allowing only an indigenous religion to receive official sanction, it is difficult to assess whether the oriental cults (e.g., Isis) played any significant role in Corinthian life. More certainly, in various places in Greece and elsewhere in the Mediterranean world in the 1st century women were allowed: (1) to be the organs of revelation; (2) to have prominent roles in the Dionysian cult; (3) to take the lead in the mystery plays, and the agricultural and fertility rites (Farnell 1907, 3: 106–16).

The degree that the father/husband controlled the family varied somewhat from culture to culture in the Mediterranean world. In Asia Minor women could dispose of their own property, and their dowry remained their own. This was also true in Egypt, but in Athens women’s property rights were more restricted.

In Rome, the patria potestas had been attenuated by laws that allowed marriage without the traditional patriarchal in manu procedure. Women as well as men could also end a marriage even on very flimsy grounds in Roman society. In general, a Roman woman’s property rights and freedom in marriage were greater than that of women elsewhere in the Empire, with the exception of Egypt and perhaps Asia Minor and Macedonia.

It is notable that in Roman society, unlike some parts of Greece, the education of women was considered important and desirable. Even among poorer families both daughters and sons received at least a rudimentary education, while in wealthier families all children regularly had tutors (Balsdon 1962: 252). Yet this did not lead Romans, even during the age of the Empire, to allow women to vote or hold public office, unlike the case in Asia Minor.

In summary, in terms of personal, property, and educational rights the women of Rome, Egypt, Asia Minor, and Macedonia faired better than the women of Greece or Judea, but in terms of political rights Roman women were at a disadvantage when compared to Egyptian or Macedonian women (and those women in Asia Minor, Egypt, and elsewhere who inherited the benefits of Hellenism). In terms of roles and status in religious settings, women in Egypt, Asia Minor and Macedonia had more possibilities than Greek or Roman women in general, until the coming of various Oriental cults and Hellenistic ideals into Rome and the Roman colony cities in the Empire.

B. Women in the Ministry of Jesus

On a cursory examination of the gospels it might be possible to see Jesus as just another advocate of a patriarchal society, since he chose twelve men to be his personal followers, and since he probably exhorted his listeners to follow the OT commandment about honoring parents (Mark 7:10; 10:19 and parallels). In fact, it appears that he taught that for two people joined together by God divorce is not a legitimate option (Witherington 1984: 18–28). This is only one side of the story, however, for the gospels also portray Jesus as one who accepted women both as followers and as traveling companions (Luke 8:1–3). This same Jesus is said to have preferred for a woman to listen and learn from him as a disciple would, rather than to serve him in a woman’s traditional capacity (Luke 10:38–42). It seems that Jesus rejected many levitical laws about clean and unclean since he apparently fellowshipped with the unclean, allowed unclean women to touch him, and was willing to touch a corpse and stop a funeral procession to help a woman (Mark 5:25–34 and parallels; Luke 7:11–17, 36–50). Nowhere is it recorded that after such occasions Jesus went through the regular levitical procedures to make himself clean again.

Further light is shed on Jesus’ attitude toward women by the radical sayings which suggest that among his followers the family of faith supercedes the physical family as the primary group of identification (Mark 3:34–35 and parallels; Matt 10:34–39= Luke 14:26). One must also bear in mind a saying like Matt 19:3–12, which may have been Jesus’ vindication of his own celibate lifestyle, but which also allowed for both women and men to remain single for the sake of the Dominion of God. Such a teaching was foreign not only to the Jewish ethos where marriage and procreation were considered obligations (Gen 1:28), but also to the larger context of the Roman Empire where writers from Greek and Roman cultures were known to expound on the duty of marriage and procreation (Daube 1977). This teaching about being given the ability to be single for the sake of the Kingdom opened the door for women to assume roles in the Jesus movement other than the traditional domestic ones. It is not accidental that the gospel tradition records that women were among the witnesses of Jesus’ crucifixion, burial, empty tomb, and resurrection. Herein we see the liberating effect the teaching and life of Jesus had on women, and the loyalty with which they responded to that life.

Taking all the probably authentic material in the gospels together, it would appear that Jesus was a reformer of patriarchal society, sometimes making suggestions that would have been considered radical in a Jewish context. This applies both to what he said and to what he allowed in regard to women’s religious roles in his movement. Also his teaching about marriage, divorce, and singleness would have been seen as radical not only by Jews but also by various people outside a Jewish context in the Roman Empire (Witherington 1984: 49–52, 77–79, 123–31).

C. Women in the Pauline Communities

When one investigates the letters of Paul, one finds concepts already in evidence in the Jesus tradition. On the one hand, there is an affirmation of marriage and family (1 Cor 7; Eph 5:22–31; Col 3:18–25; 1 Cor 11), and a modified, Christianized patriarchal structure seems to be advocated. On the other hand, the family of faith is seen as the primary unit of identity and there is a clear advocacy of women assuming important roles in the Christian community including proclamation roles (1 Cor 11:5; 16:19; Rom 16:1, 3, 7; Phil 4:2–3).

The “occasional” nature of Paul’s letters must be taken into consideration when evaluating such difficult texts as 1 Cor 14:34–35, or its parallel in 1 Tim 2:8–15. In both cases, Paul and/or the Paulinist who wrote these verses is dealing with problems in the Pauline communities. The rulings given apply to specific problems of women disrupting the worship service, or usurping authority over others. In both cases, the abuses are being ruled out, but this does not foreclose the issue of whether or not women who did not abuse their privileges might speak or exercise authority if it was done in a proper and orderly manner (Witherington 1988: 90–104, 117–24). In fact, in view of the evidence that various women were Paul’s co-workers in the Gospel ministry it is unlikely that these texts were ever intended to do more than rule out certain abuses.

Many recent interpreters have seen in Gal 3:28 the Magna Carta of human equality (Stendahl 1966). However, closer attention to both the baptismal context of this saying (which suggests that it is about entrance requirements for being “in Christ”), and the specific wording of the text (which reads “no male and female” not“no male or female”), suggests a different interpretation (Witherington 1981: 593–604.). Paul says that neither one’s racial nor social nor marital status should determine whether or not one can be in Christ. In Christ such distinctions as Jew and gentile, or married and unmarried, still exist (Romans 9–11; 1 Corinthians 7), but they have no inherent salvific value, nor do they determine whether or not one can be in Christ.

It is striking how Paul, in his assessment of marriage, divorce and singleness, seems to be drawing directly on the Jesus tradition in several ways. First, Paul agrees that there is a creation order that God used to set the pattern for proper marital relationships that supercedes Mosaic legislation (1 Cor 11:3–15; Matt 19:3–12 and parallels) (Witherington 1985: 571–76.). Second, Paul prohibits divorce for marital partners who are both believers (1 Cor 7:10–11; Mark 10:11). Third, he prefers the single status and states that the ability to lead a celibate life is a gift from God not given to all (1 Cor 7:7 and Matt 19:11–12). Furthermore, Paul seems to have had a healthy respect for marriage and human sexuality, as did Jesus, for he believes marriage is not merely a remedium concupiscentiae (1 Corinthians 7). This becomes especially clear if Ephesians 5 was written by Paul as seems probable. Finally, we may note that Paul’s constant use of family language to refer to his fellow believers indicates that he, like Jesus, saw the family of faith as the central and controlling social reality. Paul certainly does not warrant the title of chauvinist, but he was also no radical feminist. Rather, as was the case with our investigation of Jesus, what we see in Paul is: (1) an affirmation of new religious roles for women, and (2) a reaffirmation—with some Christian modifications—of the traditional roles women had been assuming in the family. In some contexts, particularly among Jews and Jewish Christians, both (1) and (2) would have made Paul appear to be radical. In other contexts, among some gentiles, Paul’s moral conservatism and reaffirmation of traditional roles for women would have appeared too confining (this appears to have been the case in Corinth). 1 Corinthians 11 and 14 seem to be Paul’s reaction to those whom he perceived to be overly “liberated” women. For Paul, the family of faith was central (as it was for Jesus), and this meant that the structure and roles of the physical family would be affected, and in some ways transformed, by the transcending practices of the family of faith. Paul walked a difficult line between reaffirmation and reformation of the good that was part of the creation order on the one hand, and the affirmation of new possibilities in Christ on the other (Witherington 1988: 125–26).

D. Women and the Third and Fourth Evangelists

Apparently, various 1st century churches struggled with the teaching of Jesus, Paul, and others about the new roles women could assume in the Christian community. This can be inferred from the fact that when the Third and Fourth Evangelists set down their gospels in the last quarter of the 1st century they felt it important to stress the new roles of women and the equality of women with men as objects of God’s grace and gracious endowments.

This stress is especially apparent in Luke-Acts where we find as part of Luke’s redactional agenda a tendency to pair parables and stories about men and women to show their equal place in God’s new activities through Jesus. Thus, for instance, we may point to such parables as Luke 13:18–21, or 18:1–14, or the pairing of the story of Aeneas and Tabitha in Acts 9:32–42 (Witherington 1988: 129). One may also note how the paradigmatic sermon of Jesus in Luke 4:18–19 seems to structure how Luke presents the liberation of various women from diseases or infirmities in Luke 4:38–44 or 8:1–3. H. Flender (1967: 10) rightly concludes: “Luke expresses by this arrangement that man and woman stand together and side by side before God. They are equal in honor and grace; they are endowed with the same gifts and have the same responsibilities …” Luke is also not reluctant to portray a woman as a prophetess (Acts 21:9), a religious teacher of a notable male Christian leader (Acts 18:1–3, 24–26), a hostess for a house churches (Acts 12:12–17), the first convert in a new region (Acts 16:12–40), and as assuming the roles deaconnesses were later to have (Acts 9:32–42). It is not accidental that Luke clearly mentions church meetings in the homes of women (Acts 12:12; 16:40). Luke has carefully chosen five vignettes to show the different roles women were assuming in the early Christian communities. In fact, these five stories show how the Gospel progressed through the female population across the Empire from Jerusalem (1:14; 12:12–17), to Joppa (9:36–42), to Philippi (16:11–15), to Corinth (18:1–3), to Ephesus (18:19–26), to Thessalonica (17:4), to Beroea (17:12), and to Athens (17:34). In this way, Luke not merely chronicles the effect of the Gospel on women in the early churches, but also provides a written precedent for women to continue in such roles.

In the Fourth Gospel there are at least five episodes which feature women and their roles: (1) Mary, Jesus’ mother (John 2, 19); (2) the Samaritan woman (John 4); (3) Mary and Martha (John 11–12); (4) the mention of the women at the cross (John 19); and (5) the appearance of Jesus to Mary Magdalene. Taken together, these tales reveal women on their way to becoming Jesus’ disciples, progressing in understanding and faith in Jesus. Thus, for instance, while Jesus clearly disengages from his mother’s parental authority in John 2, nonetheless they are reunited at the cross where Mary is accepted into the family of faith. Or again, in the story of Mary and Martha we find women who believe in Jesus, but inadequately, and who learn to fully confess who Jesus is. The same can be said of the detailed account of the Samaritan woman in John 4 where the immoral woman is portrayed as one who better understands and shares Jesus’ real “food” than the disciples who are still operating on a more material level. This woman bears witness about Jesus in the community in a way the disciples are not portrayed as doing.

John 20 is very important for here we find not only that a woman received the first appearance of the risen Lord, but also that she was commissioned to be an evangelist to the Eleven, proclaiming the Good News to them. The witness list mentioned in John 19 also indicates that the testimony of women was critical in regard to another crucial element in the Christian creed—Jesus’ death. Since it is improbable that early Christians would have invented the idea of women being the key witnesses to the concluding events in Jesus’ earthly career, it is more likely that the Fourth Evangelist is basing at least some of these narratives on historical data.

One may wish to ask why the Fourth Evangelist felt a need to stress a positive portrayal of how women responded to Jesus. At the end of the 1st century a.d. the role of women in the Christian community was probably still being debated, and in order to further the teaching of Jesus and other early Christians on these matters the Fourth Evangelist has presented various women as models of the process of coming to faith, and bearing witness to that faith in various ways.

E. Conclusions

There seems to be a consistent trajectory from the life and teachings of Jesus to the life and teachings of various of the earliest Christians including Paul. The authors addressing the earliest churches argue for the new freedom and roles women can assume in Christ. However, evidence shows an attempt at reformation, not repudiation, of the patriarchal structure of family and society evident in the 1st century. This reformation must take place “in Christ.” Therefore, we find no call to social revolution or to the overthrow of a patriarchal society outside of the Body of Christ. This reformation, however, led to greater stability and equality in the marriage structure, and to greater roles in the church both for married and unmarried women. Understanding the tension between the family of faith and the physical family was key to understanding the new roles women could play in the Church. Men, too, found that greater freedom meant more responsibility, not more privilege.

This affirmation of women was not quickly or universally accepted in the fledgling Christian Church. The writers of the New Testament documents had to argue for these new ideas even as late as the end of the 1st century. In fact, a review of post-NT and pre-Nicene material suggests that the resistance to both the reformation of the roles of women, and the affirmation of women in general, intensified. The modern debate on the role of women continues, but the starting point for each discussion should continue to be the biblical material.

Bibliography

Allworthy, T. B. 1917. Women in the Apostolic Church. Cambridge.

Balsdon, J. V. P. D. 1962. Roman Women: Their History and Habits. London.

Bode, E. L. 1970. The First Easter Morning—The Gospel accounts of the Women’s Visit to the Tomb of Jesus. Rome.

Boldrey, R., and J. 1976. Chauvinist or Feminist? Paul’s View of Women. Grand Rapids.

Caird, G. B. 1972. Paul and Women’s Liberty. BJRL 54: 268–81.

Danielou, J. 1974. The Ministry of Women in the Early Church. Leighton Buzzard, England.

Daube, D. 1977. The Duty of Procreation. Edinburgh.

Farnell, L. R. 1896–1909. The Cults of the Greek States. 5 vols. Oxford.

Flender, H. 1967. St. Luke—Theologian of Redemptive History. London.

Graham, R. W. 1976. Women in the Pauline Churches: a Review Article. LTQ 11: 25–34.

Gryson, R. 1976. The Ministry of Women in the Early Church. Collegeville, MN.

Heine, S. 1988. Women and Early Christianity. Minneapolis.

Hurley, J. B. 1981. Man and Woman in Biblical Perspective. Grand Rapids.

McHugh, J. 1975. The Mother of Jesus in the New Testament. London.

Mollenkott, V. R. 1977. Women, Men, and the Bible. Nashville.

Payne, P. B. fc. Man and Woman: One in Christ. Grand Rapids.

Sampley, J. P. 1971. And the Two Shall Become One Flesh. SNTSMS 16. Cambridge.

Schüssler Fiorenza, E. 1983. In Memory of Her. New York.

Scroggs, R. 1972. Paul and the Eschatological Woman. JAAR 40: 283–303.

Stagg, E., and Stagg, F. 1978. Woman in the World of Jesus. Philadelphia.

Stendahl, K. 1966. The Bible and the Role of Women. Philadelphia.

Swidler, L. 1976. Women in Judaism: The Status of Women in Formative Judaism. Metuchen, NJ.

———. 1979. Biblical Affirmations of Woman. Philadelphia.

Tavard, G. H. 1973. Woman in Christian Tradition. Notre Dame.

Thiessen, G. 1982. The Social Setting of Pauline Christianity. Philadelphia.

Witherington, B. 1981. Rite and Rights for Women—Galatians 3.28. NTS 27 (5): 593–604.

———. 1984. Women in the Ministry of Jesus. Cambridge.

———. 1985. Matthew 5.32 and 19.9—exception or exceptional situation? NTS 31 (4): 571–76.

———. 1988. Women in the Earliest Churches. Cambridge.

Ben Witherington, III

 

Ancestors: Rahab

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

The story of Rahab (Joshua 2:1-24) is an interesting story about fear, fragility, and faith. The story of Israel’s moving into the Promised Land is part of divine-mandated conquest story about a very poor people (Israel) taking on yet another king with a more advanced military (Jericho), helped by a very poor woman (Rahab) who had heard about Israel and the God who had redeemed them and decided to aid their advance by hiding spies who snuck into the city to gain and advantage.  After she lied to official guards she asked the spies to show mercy on her and her family.  They assured her they would spare their lives – all she had to do was place a red rope outside her window to mark her home.  They spared her, she married into the Israelite family, and ended up being in the family lineage of King David (and therefore Jesus).  Not bad for a woman of ill repute!

The way I remember being taught this story, and I am sure the orientation from which I have passed it along, is as a redemption story where a woman steeped in sin recognized how good and big God was and decided to repent, which was rewarded with her safety and (unbeknownst to her) a legacy that we are still talking about.  She was a prostitute, after all – how much more willfully sinful can you get?  We know from the original, Hebrew language used that she wasn’t a cultic prostitute used in acts of worship.  Nope, she was simply a woman who men frequented for sex-for-hire.  How many men?  How many of them were married? How large the wake of sin and shame must have trailed behind her!  What an enormously generous and graceful God to excuse such defiance, for surely the law of God written on our hearts must have informed her that she was not adhering to a good moral code.  The story, interpreted as such, has surely helped many people realize repentance rooted in faith in God will be rewarded with forgiveness, and that the grace is so complete that our future need not be limited by the mistakes of our past.  That is wonderful news, indeed.  Yet there is a part of that interpretation that is too narrow in focus.  The part about God’s grace is all true, as well as the fact that our past does not forever determine our future.  But the way I was taught about the person of Rahab in the above framework is incomplete, and therefore part of the interpretation needs to be reexamined.

            Rahab was a prostitute. Every reputable scholar agrees with that. According to modern scholars, however, it would be unwise to think of her as a madame running a brothel at great personal profit.  Much more likely is that she was what we would call in our day an indentured servant who was forced into the sex slave trade at an early age to help pay off family debt.  One reference suggests that she may have been only ten years old when she was forced into her new role.

Appreciating Rahab as a victim not an immoral woman who enjoyed a wealthy lifestyle based on the freedom of her choices, as biblical scholar Robert B. Coote notes in The New Interpreters Bible Commentary:

“Probably most readers of Joshua who reside in the so-called developed world, or First World, when presented with the story of a prostitute are apt to appropriate it primarily in moral terms. Prostitution is bad, and a prostitute is a morally reprehensible individual; so Rahab must be a questionable character. Thus it is not surprising, such an interpretation might conclude, that she is a Canaanite, and in the end never really better than the rest of her fellow Canaanites. Such an interpretive approach must be abandoned, however, because it fails to take account of the pre-industrial contexts and meaning of prostitution. Furthermore, it lacks any realistic analysis of modern prostitution and its causes, lumping poor and dominated prostitutes together with wealthy and independent prostitutes, even though the former far outnumber the latter, and assuming that prostitutes may simply exercise freedom of choice to engage in “immoral” behavior.

This view of Rahab changes my interpretation radically.  I don’t view her anymore as a defiant sinner who finally decided to turn her life around.  I see her as a victim of a system that bound her and would never let her free.  I see her recognizing the hope in the stories she had heard about the people of Israel – a very poor people who God had favored.  The story of Israel was one of great hope for the dispossessed and great fear for those in power.  This view, of course, creates a new challenge for me and people like me who know little about being oppressed, and are largely blind to the power we have enjoyed and unwittingly perpetuated in our present time.  Rahab was desperate for hope and took an enormous risk on the God she had heard about through the rumors spreading through the city.  Was she a fan of Jericho?  No – the city leaders and plenty of men had abused her for many years.  The system perpetually failed her, and the people who comprised that system did nothing to challenge it.  Yet she wasn’t going to sell out for just anyone – she still had a life to live and a family to help support.  She was risking on Israel’s God, and on the two spies who claimed to represent that God. Rahab deserves her spotlight as a courageous heroine. Lucky for her, the people she protected represented Israel’s God faithfully.

            We don’t know the names of the spies.  We just know that they recognized what was before them.  They could have blown off the request, and instead appealed to God’s decree that everybody be wiped out – let God sort out the good from the bad once they are dead…. But they didn’t. They stayed true to their word perhaps because they were simply grateful, and maybe more than that – they resonated with her plight as a slave, and were deeply confident that God was on the side of the oppressed, and therefore on the side of those who chose to help the oppressed as well.  Rahab took a major risk. They did, too, as they recognized the oppression when they saw it and were willing to do something about it even though there could be significant backlash.  They reported what happened and made their “deal” known.  Lucky for them and Rahab, others recognized the same reality and chose to defend poor, abused Rahab.

            Is this story relevant to us today or simply an interesting anecdote from the distant past?  I think it was included in the narrative for a range of reasons.  Rahab was oppressed and was eventually rescued by the people who served a God who was/is on the side of the oppressed.  Rahab was a Canaanite – not Jewish! – which means early in the history of Israel, Gentile inclusion was not only present, but became a contributor to the gene pool that would eventually produce King David and Jesus of Nazareth.  Being on the side of the oppressed and making room for them in the people of God seems like two critical take-aways.  But who are the oppressed?  What is the system that oppresses?  What can be done today to help?

            I am proud of so many things about being a citizen of the United States.  One of the things I admire is that our founding documents recognized that we would always be a work in progress, that we endeavor to be a more perfect union.  We’re not there yet, we never will be, and that’s okay since we know we are fallible human beings and that changing times present new challenges.  Honestly recognizing our own history helps us move forward.  The problem of oppression has been part of our past, as Greenspoon notes:

As in the book of Joshua, debt, slavery, and extermination played an important role in the development of American identity and racial and ethnic classifications. In the colonial period of United States history, indentured servitude, a form of debt slavery, played a significant role in helping thousands of needy people, almost entirely young men, emigrate from Britain and begin a new life in America. These debt contracts provided a socially accepted and constructive way for landowners and householders to capitalize on the labor pool available for work in the colonies and for the sons of the poor to find a new dignity in the independence they soon achieved. At the same time, in using the debt contract to bootstrap themselves to prosperity, they became part of the advancing tide of deception, mayhem, and dispossession that confronted the Native American populace.

In the highlands of Central and South America, European colonists put Native Americans to work in mines and on vast latifundia as serfs and slaves. Descendants of these groups exist today in large numbers, though often they are poor and discriminated against. In the tropical lowlands, the colonists exterminated or expelled the natives and imported chattel slaves from Africa, mainly for sugar and later cotton production. This labor development led directly to the definition of “whites” versus “blacks” that still prevails in the United States. In the temperate climes, colonists drove back the native population and brought in British and northern European indentured servants, whose story eventually contributed to the myth of North American resourcefulness and self-reliance.

Debt slavery and debt prostitution still exist around the world. Debt slavery was outlawed in Pakistan in 1992, but is still common there, for example, on sugar plantations. Recently the president of Brazil was forced to admit that slavery, outlawed in Brazil in 1888, is common on the orange, coffee, and other plantations of the Amazon region. Most Brazilian slaves indenture themselves to estate owners to pay for the long journey from the northeast of Brazil. Once on location, they are forced to buy all their needs from the estate owner and soon find it impossible to repay their debt, which only continues to grow. In a similar way, prostitutes are frequently enslaved in East Asia and other parts of the world.

It may come as more of a surprise that slaves are still found in the United States. Recently state officials in Los Angeles raided a sweatshop housing seventy-four immigrant Thai workers, mostly women, being paid slave wages for seventeen hours of work a day, supposedly toward paying off their fares to America. The state figured they were owed $3.5 million in back-pay, but instead laid plans to deport them, against the desire of many locals that all seventy-four be given green cards—in other words, be treated the way Rahab was treated by Joshua. As with many such attempts to enforce the law, this incident was regarded as a sign of the much wider practice of peonage and prostitution among poor Asian immigrants in southern California.

In comparable ways, such practices could be verified in many other parts of the country. The picture is complicated by a recent case in Chicago in which a woman was charged with selling her child to pay off a drug debt. With the reformist values represented in Joshua 2, God would attack the creditor, pay the woman’s debt, and redeem the child. In Chicago, the public faulted all three parties in the case—dealer, woman, and child—but focused most attention on the mother’s wrongdoing, as though Rahab were most at fault because she is a prostitute.

When interpreting biblical texts, it is often worthwhile to identify the protagonists not with most of the people in the church, but with others whose lives are more like those in the text. The examples of forced indebtedness mentioned here represent a burden that has weighed on the poor for at least four millennia, and one that will, it seems, continue in more or less the same guise for the foreseeable future. Those who interpret Scripture in churches that are not poor need to recognize how this text (and many others) resonates with the experience of the poor.

By the same token, even within the church there are many, especially women, who, while not slaves, are oppressed by coercion of one kind or another. Thus in satisfying the needs of others they are unable to maintain their own importance and well-being.

The above is not easy to hear, let alone embrace as actually true. It is far easier to look the other way and say to ourselves that we are the best nation in all the world and we wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.  The thing is, we can still hold such sentiments and at the same time wonder about how we can make our great nation even better for everyone here.  To ask such challenging questions is actually a sign of love for our country, not disdain.  Discovering how we can best meet the ideals expressed in our founding documents is a truly holy endeavor, one that requires good, loving people to  act on what they see.  Many ministries of our church are examples of this way of thinking.  The Food Pantry gives away approximately 1,000 meals every month.  The fact that we have such a ministry is a signal that there is a problem in our community where some are not able to afford food to get them to the end of the month.  For the people we serve, many of them are forced to make a choice between paying for medication, rent, utilities, or food.  Statistically, we know there is a problem.  Just because we may be better at feeding people in our country than other countries doesn’t mean we should stop looking for the underlying system and seek to change it, right?

My friend Jennifer Palmer works with a very vulnerable population right here in Napa – the homeless.  A few years ago, she risked losing grant money and her job when she recognized that the approach she and her team originally got approved to do wasn’t the best solution.  She put herself on the line and did the wise thing anyway, and it helped an oppressed segment of our community find relief.

Where do we go from here?  One thing might be to embrace the idea that identifying areas we need to improve is not unpatriotic.  Another thing would be to embrace the idea that God is on the side of the oppressed.  Another thing would be to embrace the idea that even though we may not be consciously oppressive (we’re good people!), we live in a culture where systems have developed for a wide range of reasons that for some people are oppressive, and since we are part of that system, we are in some way complicit if we do or say nothing. Yet another thing we might be wise to do is to look around and wonder who might be experiencing oppression in our community?  Hint: look for the signs of “ouch!”, where people are crying out.  They are probably not making it up for the sake of attention.  Once identified, perhaps taking time to listen for understanding and then partnering with them to discover the causes and solution would be a very Jesus thing to do.

May you see with new eyes the beautiful, wonderful, complex world, nation, and community in which we live, and be grateful.  May you also have courage to recognize where things can and should be improved and do something about it – out of love and gratitude for your beloved community.  May we seek God’s mind and share God’s heart as we welcome God’s Spirit to lead us toward that better, more perfect union.  Amen.

 

 

            

 

 

Notes to Nerd Out On…

 

From the Yale Anchor Bible Dictionary (Leonard Greenspoon):

 

RAHAB (PERSON) [Heb rāḥāb (רָחָב)]. The story of Rahab is told in the first part of Joshua 2 and the latter part of Joshua 6. In its present context, this narrative is embedded in the account of the Israelite conquest of Jericho. Rahab is introduced as a “harlot” (Hebrew zônâ) in Josh 2:1 (so also 6:17, 25; in 2:3 and 6:23, only the name Rahab appears). Two spies, dispatched from Shittim by Joshua, enter her house. She hides them from the ruler of Jericho, thus saving their lives. She acknowledges the power of the Lord and extracts from the spies the promise that she and her family will be saved when the Israelites overwhelm her city. She is told to hang a scarlet cord from her window as a sign that her household is to be spared. Several verses in chap. 6 relate that Joshua kept this agreement. At the time of Jericho’s conquest, Rahab and her family, alone of the city’s inhabitants, are spared. They were taken outside of the camp. A final note (6:25) records that “she dwelt in Israel to this day.”

Rahab’s name comes from a root meaning “to be wide or broad.” It appears to be the shortened form of a theophoric name (cf., for example, Rehabiah, 1 Chr 23:17; 24:21). The exact nature of Rahab’s occupation has been the subject of considerable controversy. Most interpretators now see her as a “secular” prostitute without any cultic or sacred connections. Not only is this in keeping with the biblical description, but there was a Hebrew term (qĕdēšâ) available to the author had he wanted to highlight her status as a “sacred” prostitute. The use of the term “innkeeper” in certain Jewish traditions may be seen as an attempt to improve upon her professional standing, but that is not necessarily the case.

The story as it stands contains no indication of what motivated Rahab to risk her life on behalf of the Israelite spies. We are probably meant to connect this action with her affirmation of Yahweh’s power. That affirmation, found in Josh 2:8–11 and thoroughly Deuteronomistic in language and theology, is widely regarded as a late element in what otherwise seems to be fairly early material. In a pre-Deuteronomistic stage, Rahab and her family may have been identified with that segment of the Jericho population that opposed the royal establishment and could be expected to respond positively to the invading Israelites.

The survival of Rahab and her family “to this day” suggests that there is an etiological element in the origin and subsequent development of this story. Perhaps, a well-defined group of her descendants could be singled out for some time among the Israelites. That group would obviously have a large stake in preserving Rahab’s exploits.

Other elements can also be detected in the diverse traditions that have gone into this account. For example, the narrative concerning Rahab has been identified as one of several spy stories that the OT contains. Moreover, Rahab’s role must be seen in light of the type of warfare Israel was waging. It was holy war, under divine command. Rahab’s statement was as much an affirmation to Israel as to herself: with God on their side, the Israelites could not fail to be victorious. For her assistance, the absolute ban (ḥērem) on Jericho could be waived.

According to some, the essence of the Rahab story is contained in chap. 2, while the verses in chap. 6 form a not wholly consistent afterthought. It is noted, for example, that her house, although “built into the city wall” (2:15), somehow still stood after the walls fell (see 6:22). However, the entire Rahab narrative exhibits many unexpected features—not the least of which is the aid provided by the prostitute herself—and the dramatic and humorous effect of the story taken as a whole survives (and perhaps even thrives on) architectural and other incongruities.

The relatively few verses devoted to Rahab in the OT stimulated an amazingly rich exegetical tradition in both Judaism and Christianity. She was widely depicted as a proselyte or convert to the monotheistic faith of Israel. In Judaism, she could then be portrayed as one of the most pious converts—a worthy wife of Joshua and the ancestor of prophets.

A parallel, but distinctly Christian development, is found in Matt 1:5 where a Rahab is identified as the wife of Salmon and the mother of Boaz. This accords to Rahab a prominent position in the genealogy of “Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham.” Inasmuch as Matthew does not specifically link “his” Rahab with the harlot of the book of Joshua, and while the Greek text of Matthew preserves a distinctive spelling of the proper name (rachab, raabelsewhere), it is possible that this is another Rahab. However, the appearance and identity of three other women from the OT (Tamar, Ruth, and the wife of Uriah [i.e., Bath-sheba]) in the genealogy of Jesus make it virtually certain that we are dealing with only one Rahab in both Testaments. This is clearly the case in the other two NT references to “Rahab the harlot”: Heb 11:31, where Rahab’s survival is credited to her faith, and Jas 2:25, in which Rahab exemplifies the dictum that “man is justified by works and not by faith alone” (so v 24).

The role Rahab plays in Jewish and Christian exegetical traditions (many other examples could be cited) is larger than that attributed to her in the OT itself. This is not to say that she is an unimportant figure in the Bible; by her actions, she both preserved her own family and epitomized the sort of faith that the Israelites themselves would have to display to preserve the land and heritage God had promised them. For further discussion, see DBSup 5: 1065–92.

 

Bibliography

Newman, M. 1985. Rahab and the Conquest. Pp. 167–81 in Understanding the Word, ed. J. T. Butler. JSOTSup 37. Sheffield.

Tucker, G. M. 1972. The Rahab Saga (Joshua 2). Pp. 66–86 in The Use of the Old Testament in the New and Other Essays, ed. J. M. Efird. Durham, NC.

 

 

The New Interpreter’s Bible (Robert B. Coote):

 

Joshua 2:1–24, Rahab’s Help

 

Commentary

The story of Rahab is the story of her father’s house, as she repeats (2:12, 18; cf. 6:25): father, mother, brothers, sisters, and all who belong to them (2:13, 18; 6:23)—indeed, her entire extended family (6:23; the NRSV translates the phrase “father’s house” [בית אב bêt ʾāb] as “family”). The mention of Rahab’s mother next to her father reflects the subverting of patriarchal households in Josiah’s reform. Rahab’s family’s fate is tied to her own, not because as the wealthiest member of the family she provides for the rest of them, as some have suggested, but for just the opposite reason: It has fallen to her as a mere daughter to help supply her family’s dire need through the unwanted and demeaning necessity of prostitution, for it is the poverty of her extended household that has forced her into prostitution in the first place.

There are several reasons besides the deuteronomistic Passover basis of this narrative for assuming that Rahab is a prostitute because her family is in debt. Poverty was by far the most common cause of prostitution in the ancient world, as it is in our world as well. Most of the story works like many of the folkloristic narratives of the Bible, by dealing in stereotypical extremes. Rahab takes the side of the “outside agitators,” on the extreme margins of society, against the king, at the extreme pinnacle of society. She advises the spies to escape to the hills, the traditional refuge of outlaws against royal authority. Her story is basically a folk narrative about poor people against kingly power, not about a well-off, if socially marginal, sexual escort. The narrative’s characters represent stock figures rather than nuanced individuals: a typical prostitute and her family, a typical king, typical outlaw spies. Moreover, the only reason why the prostitute’s family is brought into the story is that her story is their story—her prostitution reflects their poverty, and their poverty in all likelihood means their indebtedness. The story is adopted to appeal to debtor families who, far from condemning Rahab because of her prostitution or her act of deception, would sympathize with her and her family as fellow indigents and cheer her on as she dares to make fools out of the king and his men, to whom her family would have owed their debts.

There is no indication that Rahab owns the house she resides in, as is often assumed. It is probably her father’s house, since the rest of her family are assumed to be living in Jericho. The house would have been kept in the family in part through Rahab’s prostitution. The phrase “the house of a prostitute” in v. 1 does not require that the prostitute own the house; the phrase “your house” in v. 18 does not occur in the Hebrew text, which has only “inside the house” (אליך הביתה ʾēlayik habbaytâ). There is no reason to regard Rahab as a “madame,” as some do, or an innkeeper, as later tradition sometimes attempted to suggest (see the note to 2:1 and 6:17 in the NIV). Rahab’s prostitution is the narrator’s way of addressing the issue of indebtedness, for in most instances in the ancient world prostitution alternated with debt slavery. Often, if a poor family did not submit to one alternative, it was forced to submit to the other, if not to both. Rahab represents the indebted, as we might expect in a deuteronomistic text highlighting Passover, and her deliverance and the deliverance of her father’s entire house in conjunction with the slaughter of their creditors are tantemount to the remission of their debts.

The basic story of the prostitute against the king has been co-opted by the deuteronomistic writers for its populist appeal. Most of the narrative assumes that Rahab and her family are on the side of the spies and opposed to the king and his henchmen. In this aspect, the story pits the poor against the rich, the marginal against the dominant, and Rahab belongs on the side of the poor Israelites. The deuteronomist is opposed to all local warlords and minor rulers, like those featured throughout the narrative of conquest and enumerated in 12:9–24, a list headed by the king of Jericho. These represent the likes of Josiah’s adversaries, the potent oppressors of Josiah’s poor subjects and the target of his law of debt remission. In origin, the story tells about collusion between disaffected insurgents and a disaffected prostitute who have an interest in joining forces but who need to give guarantees that can be trusted. For this reason, the bulk of the narrative details the dialogue between spies (called messengers in 6:17, 25) and a prostitute as they negotiate the risky business of agreeing to terms and taking the requisite oaths (2:9a, 12–21).

In contrast to such a theme, however, in a few lines Rahab refers to herself as one with the king (2:9b–11). These lines have been added to the basic story by the deuteronomistic historian, in line with the conceptual polarization of Israelite and Canaanite. They interrupt the thread of Rahab’s opening to her parley with the spies: “I know Yahweh has given you the land … so, since I have dealt kindly with you, swear.…” The first of the interjected phrases, “that dread of you has fallen on us” (v. 9b), and the rest of vv. 10–11 have numerous deuteronomistic parallels, especially in Deuteronomy and Joshua. Yahweh, the God of heaven and earth, promotes the interests of the “nation” of the chosen grantees against the other nations of the earth. In this aspect, the story pits the supposed Israelite nation against the Canaanite nations, and Rahab belongs on the side of the Canaanites rather than the Israelites (her “us,” “we,” and “our” include the king and his men). The flax drying on the roof of Rahab’s house is the first direct indication that events are occurring during the time of Passover. Flax was harvested and laid out to dry just before the barley harvest, and, as reckoned by the agricultural calendar, it was the barley harvest that marked the time of Passover.

Rahab refers to two causes of her people’s fear: the drying up of the sea at Passover and the slaughter of the Amorite kings, Sihon and Og. It is partly ironic that in this speech she mentions the Passover—and mentions it first—since it is in the context of Passover and the debt remission it validates that the rest of her story puts her on the side of the Israelite poor. Looked at another way, however, it is appropriate. Having completed the new trek through the Jordan on dry land, Joshua constructs the cairn of stones at Gilgal to commemorate the crossing on dry land (“dry” [יבשׁ yābēš] is repeated three times) so that all the peoples of the earth may know that Yahweh is mighty and so that they may learn, like the Israelites, to fear Yahweh (4:22–24). In the deuteronomistic view, for both Rahab and Joshua the purpose of crossing on dry land is to put fear in the hearts of the nations so that they will collapse in the face of Joshua—that is, so that they are forced to acknowledge the justice of Israel’s liberation from Egypt. This is what Joshua comments on when the spies report to him (vv. 23–24), even though they have spent three days scouting out the hill country as well.

The phrase “inhabitants of the land” can be and was construed in two ways, only one of which applied in the folk narrative. The Hebrew translated “inhabitants” (יושׁבים yôšĕbîm) means, literally, “the ones who sit.” In many passages, it can refer either to rulers who sit on thrones (e.g., Amos 1:5: “I will cut off the enthroned one [NRSV, inhabitants] from Emeq-aven, and the one who holds the scepter from Beth-eden”) or to the strong who “sit” on their estates as the wealthy landowning class (e.g., the “lords” of Philistia and Canaan in Exod 15:14–15; note the parallels, “chiefs” and “leaders”). This is the meaning of the phrase in the folk narrative, which stresses the gulf between the rich (not “inhabitants,” but “landowners”) and the poor. The second phrase in v. 9b, “all the landowners of the country melt in fear before you,” is likely original to the folk narrative, since it is not deuteronomistic but is identical to the popular poetic line in Exod 15:15 (NRSV, “all the inhabitants of Canaan melted away”). From the perspective of Rahab’s deuteronomistic avowals, however, for which the distinction between Israelite and Canaanite is primary, the phrase probably was taken to mean “inhabitants,” as though “Canaanite” were a national category embracing all people regardless of social class, including women and children. From this perspective, king and prostitute, the richest and the poorest in the town, belonged to the same category of people.

As in the rest of Joshua, the LXX often represents a different Hebrew original from the MT. In several places in Joshua 2, the LXX seems more in tune with the folk narrative, in which the spies come to the town to make contacts there, than the deuteronomistic use of it. In the LXX of v. 2, the king is told that some spies have come to search out the town, not the land. In v. 13, the LXX has “the house of my father,” again the social unit responsible for covering family debts, instead of the MT’s “my father” at the head of the list of individuals. In v. 18, the LXX has “if we come to the edge of the town” rather than “come to the land” (NIV, “enter the land”; NRSV, “invade the land”). The idea that in origin the story applied only to some town fits with 6:17, 25, where the spies are called “messengers,” as though they had had business with someone in the town. Finally, the long phrase in v. 15b, “for her house was on the outer side of the town wall and she resided within the wall itself,” does not occur in the LXX and seems to be a late explanatory addition that accords poorly with the fall of Jericho’s walls and survival of Rahab’s house (6:20, 22). It is sometimes suggested that Rahab’s house stood miraculously while the rest of the wall fell down. This is unlikely, since it finds no association or resonance elsewhere in the text.

As already indicated, the red cord hung out by Rahab to protect her family from the impending slaughter is intentionally reminiscent of the blood of the pascal lamb, which protected the Israelite debt slaves at Passover (Exod 12:7, 13). Even this quasi-liturgical motif could have played a role in the original folk narrative, if conceived in terms of the Passover feast as a family rite rather than the state rite it becomes in deuteronomistic legislation.

Thus the historian conceives a role for both Rahabs: the Rahab who represents the impoverished in social terms and the Rahab who represents the Canaanites in national terms. The one is meant to appeal to the poor debtors among Josiah’s subjects, the other to “Canaanite” clients of Josiah’s landed elite opponents who might be enticed to submit to Josiah’s sovereign command.

 

Reflections

1. Probably most readers of Joshua who reside in the so-called developed world, or First World, when presented with the story of a prostitute are apt to appropriate it primarily in moral terms. Prostitution is bad, and a prostitute is a morally reprehensible individual; so Rahab must be a questionable character. Thus it is not surprising, such an interpretation might conclude, that she is a Canaanite, and in the end never really better than the rest of her fellow Canaanites. Such an interpretive approach must be abandoned, however, because it fails to take account of the pre-industrial contexts and meaning of prostitution. Furthermore, it lacks any realistic analysis of modern prostitution and its causes, lumping poor and dominated prostitutes together with wealthy and independent prostitutes, even though the former far outnumber the latter, and assuming that prostitutes may simply exercise freedom of choice to engage in “immoral” behavior.

As in the book of Joshua, debt, slavery, and extermination played an important role in the development of American identity and racial and ethnic classifications. In the colonial period of United States history, indentured servitude, a form of debt slavery, played a significant role in helping thousands of needy people, almost entirely young men, emigrate from Britain and begin a new life in America. These debt contracts provided a socially accepted and constructive way for landowners and householders to capitalize on the labor pool available for work in the colonies and for the sons of the poor to find a new dignity in the independence they soon achieved. At the same time, in using the debt contract to bootstrap themselves to prosperity, they became part of the advancing tide of deception, mayhem, and dispossession that confronted the Native American populace.

In the highlands of Central and South America, European colonists put Native Americans to work in mines and on vast latifundia as serfs and slaves. Descendants of these groups exist today in large numbers, though often they are poor and discriminated against. In the tropical lowlands, the colonists exterminated or expelled the natives and imported chattel slaves from Africa, mainly for sugar and later cotton production. This labor development led directly to the definition of “whites” versus “blacks” that still prevails in the United States. In the temperate climes, colonists drove back the native population and brought in British and northern European indentured servants, whose story eventually contributed to the myth of North American resourcefulness and self-reliance.

Debt slavery and debt prostitution still exist around the world. Debt slavery was outlawed in Pakistan in 1992, but is still common there, for example, on sugar plantations. Recently the president of Brazil was forced to admit that slavery, outlawed in Brazil in 1888, is common on the orange, coffee, and other plantations of the Amazon region. Most Brazilian slaves indenture themselves to estate owners to pay for the long journey from the northeast of Brazil. Once on location, they are forced to buy all their needs from the estate owner and soon find it impossible to repay their debt, which only continues to grow. In a similar way, prostitutes are frequently enslaved in East Asia and other parts of the world.

It may come as more of a surprise that slaves are still found in the United States. Recently state officials in Los Angeles raided a sweatshop housing seventy-four immigrant Thai workers, mostly women, being paid slave wages for seventeen hours of work a day, supposedly toward paying off their fares to America. The state figured they were owed $3.5 million in back-pay, but instead laid plans to deport them, against the desire of many locals that all seventy-four be given green cards—in other words, be treated the way Rahab was treated by Joshua. As with many such attempts to enforce the law, this incident was regarded as a sign of the much wider practice of peonage and prostitution among poor Asian immigrants in southern California.

In comparable ways, such practices could be verified in many other parts of the country. The picture is complicated by a recent case in Chicago in which a woman was charged with selling her child to pay off a drug debt. With the reformist values represented in Joshua 2, God would attack the creditor, pay the woman’s debt, and redeem the child. In Chicago, the public faulted all three parties in the case—dealer, woman, and child—but focused most attention on the mother’s wrongdoing, as though Rahab were most at fault because she is a prostitute.

When interpreting biblical texts, it is often worthwhile to identify the protagonists not with most of the people in the church, but with others whose lives are more like those in the text. The examples of forced indebtedness mentioned here represent a burden that has weighed on the poor for at least four millennia, and one that will, it seems, continue in more or less the same guise for the foreseeable future. Those who interpret Scripture in churches that are not poor need to recognize how this text (and many others) resonates with the experience of the poor.

By the same token, even within the church there are many, especially women, who, while not slaves, are oppressed by coercion of one kind or another. Thus in satisfying the needs of others they are unable to maintain their own importance and well-being.

 

2. Rahab is mentioned twice in the New Testament. In Heb 11:31, Rahab becomes one in the train of forebears who survived or prospered by faith, and in James she is a model of those who are “justified by works and not by faith alone” (Jas 2:24). The partial contrast between these two texts (Hebrews expounds on faith, while James advocates works) points up inevitable partiality of interpretation, even for New Testament writers dealing with the Scriptures. Nevertheless, these texts also complement each other. Brief though they are, both attribute to Rahab the same faith marked by the same work: safeguarding the Israelite spies. Thus in concert they articulate the familiar biblical theme that “faith without works is dead” (Jas 2:17, 26). From this biblical perspective, the figure of Rahab reminds the interpreter that faith may be expounded in terms not only of doctrine, but also of lives lived. Moreover, the lives of the faithful include not only deeds performed, but also perseverence and patience maintained in the face of adversity. To be faithful is both to do and to endure, and the vector of a person’s faith manifests itself through both.

 

Joshua 2:1-24 (NLT)

Then Joshua secretly sent out two spies from the Israelite camp at Acacia Grove.[a] He instructed them, “Scout out the land on the other side of the Jordan River, especially around Jericho.” So the two men set out and came to the house of a prostitute named Rahab and stayed there that night.

But someone told the king of Jericho, “Some Israelites have come here tonight to spy out the land.” So the king of Jericho sent orders to Rahab: “Bring out the men who have come into your house, for they have come here to spy out the whole land.”

Rahab had hidden the two men, but she replied, “Yes, the men were here earlier, but I didn’t know where they were from. They left the town at dusk, as the gates were about to close. I don’t know where they went. If you hurry, you can probably catch up with them.” (Actually, she had taken them up to the roof and hidden them beneath bundles of flax she had laid out.) So the king’s men went looking for the spies along the road leading to the shallow crossings of the Jordan River. And as soon as the king’s men had left, the gate of Jericho was shut.

Before the spies went to sleep that night, Rahab went up on the roof to talk with them. “I know the Lord has given you this land,” she told them. “We are all afraid of you. Everyone in the land is living in terror. 10 For we have heard how the Lordmade a dry path for you through the Red Sea[b] when you left Egypt. And we know what you did to Sihon and Og, the two Amorite kings east of the Jordan River, whose people you completely destroyed.[c11 No wonder our hearts have melted in fear! No one has the courage to fight after hearing such things. For the Lord your God is the supreme God of the heavens above and the earth below.

12 “Now swear to me by the Lord that you will be kind to me and my family since I have helped you. Give me some guarantee that 13 when Jericho is conquered, you will let me live, along with my father and mother, my brothers and sisters, and all their families.”

14 “We offer our own lives as a guarantee for your safety,” the men agreed. “If you don’t betray us, we will keep our promise and be kind to you when the Lord gives us the land.”

15 Then, since Rahab’s house was built into the town wall, she let them down by a rope through the window. 16 “Escape to the hill country,” she told them. “Hide there for three days from the men searching for you. Then, when they have returned, you can go on your way.”

17 Before they left, the men told her, “We will be bound by the oath we have taken only if you follow these instructions. 18 When we come into the land, you must leave this scarlet rope hanging from the window through which you let us down. And all your family members—your father, mother, brothers, and all your relatives—must be here inside the house. 19 If they go out into the street and are killed, it will not be our fault. But if anyone lays a hand on people inside this house, we will accept the responsibility for their death. 20 If you betray us, however, we are not bound by this oath in any way.”

21 “I accept your terms,” she replied. And she sent them on their way, leaving the scarlet rope hanging from the window.

22 The spies went up into the hill country and stayed there three days. The men who were chasing them searched everywhere along the road, but they finally returned without success.

23 Then the two spies came down from the hill country, crossed the Jordan River, and reported to Joshua all that had happened to them. 24 “The Lord has given us the whole land,” they said, “for all the people in the land are terrified of us.”

 

Ancestors: Moses

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

The account of Moses and the exodus from Egypt to the Promised Land is the central, epic journey of the Jewish people that served to inform them (building on Genesis’ foundation) about who they are, who they can be (good and bad), who they are called to be, who God is, what covenant with God is, what faithfulness means, and what God’s faithfulness looks like through it all.  After 400 years in Egypt as slaves, things were terrible for the people of Israel.  They cried out to God, God heard them, and God worked to redeem them using Moses as their primary leader.  This central story would serve to remind Israel that God hears them in their time of struggle and works to free them from their oppressor. God is not bound by geographical constraints and is bigger and stronger than any other gods that may be worshipped in any other place.  They would also be reminded that the redemption they sought required something of them – obedience, faithfulness, loyalty, honor. When they honored the way God laid out and followed, things went well (even though not free from terror).  When they chose not to trust God and veered off course, things did not go well for them.  When they experienced the consequence of their disobedience, however, God would always be open to restoring the relationship, starting over, and moving forward.  Each time that happened, one of the stories of the exodus would repeat itself.  Over and over and over and over and over and…

            Moses, after being rescued from infanticide as a baby and raised in Pharaoh’s household, grew up, learned that he was Jewish, stood up for a Jewish man who was being mistreated and ended up killing an Egyptian soldier.  Realizing that he would be held accountable for the murder, he fled to a distant land where he settled, got married, raised his kids, and lived his life as a rancher.  He experienced God speaking to him in a burning bush, at which time God explained that God had heard the cries of Israel and was going to rescue them.  This massive redemption process required a leader.  God invited Moses to embrace that role.  Think major life change.  Moses, quite naturally, freaked out: 

 “What if they won’t believe me or listen to me? What if they say, ‘The Lord never appeared to you’?”

Then the Lord asked him, “What is that in your hand?”

“A shepherd’s staff,” Moses replied.

“Throw it down on the ground,” the Lord told him. So Moses threw down the staff, and it turned into a snake! Moses jumped back.

Then the Lord told him, “Reach out and grab its tail.” So Moses reached out and grabbed it, and it turned back into a shepherd’s staff in his hand.

“Perform this sign,” the Lord told him. “Then they will believe that the Lord, the God of their ancestors—the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob—really has appeared to you.” (Exodus 4:1-5 – NLT)

What would come next – the plagues, the exodus from Egypt, the wandering in the desert, all the way to the edge of the Promised Land – began with accepting an invitation.  Moses heard God call him to a new way of being, a new role, which meant he had to choose to leave a former way and role.  The former was represented by his staff.

            In the journey of faith we are all invited to new ways of being and behaving.  Repeatedly.  For our entire lives.  The invitation is similar every time, with God in some way stating that there is a better way forward if we want it.  We won’t be alone should we take the new path – God will be with us – and it will turn out to be the best route.  The only catch is that we have to accept the invitation, choose to actually go in that new direction, which is represented in Moses’ exchanged about his staff.

            Moses’ staff represented his livelihood.  His identity.  His protection.  His strength. His fears. His skills.  His limitations. His hopes.  His insecurities. His family.  His past. His future.  When he took the risk and laid it down, it became something quite different – a snake.  In antiquity, the appearance of a snake was a signal that teaching moments were around the corner.  Opportunities to gain wisdom were on the horizon.  Those who first heard the story surely picked up on this, as they would have in the story of Adam and Eve and the slithering tempter in the Garden of Eden.  It was time for Moses to move forward, out of the comfort of his self-imposed exile, and into the role he needed to play for himself and the world in need.

            The truth of the matter is that we all are extended the same invitation as Moses, even if the circumstances are quite different.  We are all invited to lay down what is familiar in order to embrace what God is offering us.  What does it mean for you to offer your “staff” to God?  What are you being asked to lay down so that you might see things differently, think differently, live differently, so that what happens in your life is a “better different” for you and those you can touch, those who need God’s redemption?  What is your staff?  What might God’s invitation mean for you and others?

 

Notes to Nerd Out On…

 

From the Anchor Yale Bible Dictionary (Dewey M. Beegle):

MOSES (PERSON) [Heb mōšeh (מֹשֶׁה)]. The man chosen by God to lead the Hebrew people out of Egyptian bondage, to preside over the Sinai ceremony constituting those people as the people of God, and to lead the Hebrew people to the promised land. As such, Moses is arguably the most prominent person in the Hebrew Bible, and he looms large in early Jewish and Christian writings. This entry consists of two articles. The first surveys primarily Moses as a figure in the OT and in early Judaism. The second concentrates specifically on the portrayal and role of Moses in the NT.

OLD TESTAMENT

A.   Historicity of Moses

1.   Critical Analysis

2.   Historical Analogy

3.   Possibilities and Probabilities

4.   More Probable Probabilities

B.   Biblical Portraits of Moses

1.   Yahwist-Elohist Traditions

2.   Deuteronomic Tradition

3.   Priestly Tradition

C.   Post-biblical Portraits of Moses

1.   Hellenistic Judaism

2.   Palestinian Judaism

3.   Rabbinic Judaism

A. Historicity of Moses

No portion of the Bible is more complex and vigorously debated than the story of Moses, and few persons have evoked such disparate views. No extant non-biblical records make reference to Moses or the Exodus, therefore the question of historicity depends solely on the evaluation of the biblical accounts.

One interpretation is the assumption of early Jewish and Christian traditions that the Pentateuch is an accurate historical record written by Moses himself. This conservative view persists in both traditions today along with a rejection of all the claims of critical scholarship. Apparently there is no inclination to ask, “How is it possible for 200 years of critical research to be completely wrong?” K. A. Kitchen declares, “Now, nowhere in the Ancient Orient is there anything which is definitely known to parallel the elaborate history of fragmentary composition and conflation of Hebrew literature (or marked by just such criteria) as the documentary hypothesis would postulate” (1966: 115). Following the suggestion of W. W. Hallo (1962: 26), J. H. Tigay traces several stages of the Gilgamesh Epic over a period of 1,500 years and concludes, “The stages and processes through which this epic demonstrably passed are similar to some of those through which the Pentateuchal narratives are presumed to have passed. What is known about the evolution of the Gilgamesh Epic shows that some of the results of biblical criticism are at least realistic” (1985: 27).

The opposite extreme is J. Van Seters’ declaration: “The quest for the historical Moses is a futile exercise. He now belongs only to legend” (EncRel 10: 116). The basis for this radical claim is his conviction that the Deuteronomistic History (Dtr) and the three histories based on it (J, P, and Chronicles) have no accurate, authentic material earlier than the last preexilic period (1983: 361–62).

While Van Seters is correct in claiming that some units are collections of disparate data by later editors attempting to make a complete story, his basic theory goes too far. Ancient sources have linguistic fingerprintsand in reworking the texts the editor-authors did not smudge or erase all the fingerprints. Z. Zevit affirms that Dtr’s sources “contained high-quality intelligence of a type that a later creative author would have been unable to concoct on his own.” To assume, moreover, that these fingerprints “are due to the conscious archaizing of late exilic authors who had no pre-exilic literary models … is to attribute a linguistic sophistication to the ancient historians unparalleled elsewhere” (1985: 77).

1. Critical Analysis. In between the two extreme positions is a whole spectrum of views combining historical and critical concerns.

Early scholars, using mainly source analysis (J, E, D, and P), were critical of the Moses narratives, but they believed that behind the biblical text was a historical core with Moses as Israel’s leader during the Exodus, Sinai covenant, and desert wanderings. Polarization of scholars began in the 20th century with H. Gunkel’s form-critical approach, and the gap widened with the tradition-history studies of G. von Rad and M. Noth.

This change, according to von Rad, was “the result of the investigation of the history of traditions; and this has only been brought into full play in our own time.” Thus, for him, the attempt to isolate an “actual historical course of events … has turned out to be mistaken” (ROTT 1: 3). Behind the Hexateuch, von Rad sees, “… only certain interpretations and conceptions of older traditions which originate in milieux very different from one another and which must also be judged, from the point of view of form-criticism, as completely diverse” (ROTT1: 4). Consequently, in von Rad’s opinion, “We can no longer look on it as possible to write a history of the tradition attaching to Moses, and of where it was at home” (ROTT 1: 291). If we try to date the Moses traditions “we are seldom able to advance beyond very general datings, if we are not in fact altogether in the dark” (ROTT 1: vi).

Because the cultic recitals in Deut 26:5–9; 6:20–24; and Josh 24:2–13 make no reference to the revelation of Yahweh at Mt. Sinai, von Rad concludes that the Sinai story was a very late insertion into the redemptive story of the Exodus and settlement in Canaan (PHOE, 3–8, 13). He claims that these traditions, joined first by the Yahwist (PHOE, 54), had canonical patterns and became cult-legends at separate sanctuaries: Sinai with the Feast of Booths at the Shechem covenant festival, and Exodus/settlement with the Feast of Weeks at Gilgal (PHOE, 43, 45). While the cult had some later influence on the formation of these legends, it did notproduce them (PHOE, 22).

M. Noth, expanding on von Rad’s work, determines to penetrate into the preliterary phase of the traditions in order to ascertain the origins and first stages of growth in the development leading to the Pentateuch (HPT, 1–2). He isolates five themes, fixed during oral transmission, which were essential for the faith of the separate Israelite tribes: patriarchs, exodus, wanderings, revelation at Sinai, and Conquest/occupation. Since he considers all material connecting these themes as secondary, and observes that the name “Moses” occurs “with striking infrequency” outside of the Pentateuch (HPT, 156), he comes to the radical conclusion that Moses is an editorial bracket binding all the themes together (HPT, 160–61). For Noth, the most historical reality of the person Moses is his death and burial in Transjordan (HPT, 173).

However, this pessimistic view hinges on some very subjective interpretations. In fact, Noth states explicitly that his conclusions about the Sinai tradition are “not conclusive arguments” because one could speak only “in terms of a certain probability” (HPT, 62).

A number of younger scholars, using Noth’s tradition-history approach, reject his conclusion that all the themes are independent and the binding material secondary. W. Beyerlin, on the basis of Exod 20:2, claims that “the Decalogue originated somewhere where we can count on the presence of those who experienced both the Exodus and the meeting with God on Sinai” (1965: 145).

In his Moses: Heroic Man, Man of God, G. W. Coats claims that the Moses narratives “constitute a body of tradition with valid form-critical character” (1988: 38). Working with the whole range of literary methods, Coats takes issue with Noth’s claim that Moses is a secondary redactional bracket: “Moses cannot be eliminated so readily from the various themes of tradition, and, as a consequence, the assumption of independence collapses” (1988: 37).

B. Childs is concerned to highlight the fundamental dialectic of the canonical process within Israel whereby “the literature formed the identity of the religious community which in turn shaped the literature” (IOTS, 41). He favors a sociological understanding of Moses’ role:

Especially in such passages as Ex. 20:18–20 and Deut. 19:15ff., that which is being described is not simply a historical event, but rather an etiology for the establishment of something institutional and ongoing. Moses’ role as covenantal mediator in the Sinai tradition has a decided cultic stamp which seems to point to an office within an institution (Exodus OTL, 355).

In this connection, Coats’ comments are also instructive:

The issue at stake … is whether a standing office has influenced the shape of the Moses traditions. Is the cultic office of covenant mediator the proper Sitz im Leben for this facet of the Moses tradition? Or was the tradition shaped basically by a popular literary process as a narrative convention for depicting the leader with at best only tangential contacts with the cult? (1988: 138).

The most thoroughgoing sociological approach is N. K. Gottwald’s The Tribes of Yahweh. He acknowledges his debt to Noth and observes (1979: 72) that Noth (HPT, 259) leaves unanswered “the problem of what brought about the unity ‘Israel’ and the common Israelite consciousness.” The purpose of Gottwald’s study is “to begin with the tantalizing enigmatic questions with which Noth’s provocative analysis of the Pentateuchal traditions ends” (1979: 72). Gottwald believes that biblical scholars, given to “hyperspecialization” of detailed studies with limited scope, have not adequately addressed this historical-sociological problem, and insofar as it has been treated “it has been ‘answered’ by theological fiat” (1979: 5–7, 73). Thus he contends that “the valid intention of biblical theology can only be fulfilled by ‘biblical sociology’ ” (1979: 911). In following up on this approach, Gottwald (1979: 78) declares:

The proclamation of the themes in the cult was a communal speech-act, … of a special kind, which we have called cultic-ideological … It was meaning-charged speech elucidating the identity of Israel, … speech that proclaimed the divine power in which the community was grounded, … speech that addressed the community with its most fundamental obligations and reminded it of its most fundamental resources … even speech which allowed for the direct declamation of the divine word to the community.

Then he adds the caveat, “We must necessarily view the finished product of these early historical traditions … as ‘unplanned’ by any one person or group of persons within any single context” (1979: 78).

2. Historical Analogy. In opposition to tradition-history proponents, a number of mediating scholars maintain that historical analogy should play a role in the literary-sociological study of Scripture, especially in connection with the Moses story. Human experience shows that observation and understanding of key events varies with the personality, training, and insight of the participants. This was undoubtedly true of those who followed Moses; therefore, it is highly probable that two or three variant traditions developed fairly soon after the Exodus and Sinai events. From this viewpoint, the variant biblical traditions need not be understood as originating in “completely diverse milieux.” Moreover, while culture has influence on gifted persons, it does not initiate their innovative ideas and movements. Rather, the initial impact toward change is made by creative individuals, not culture. Furthermore, all great leaders of people and movements have had to play a number of roles, consequently it is not feasible to squeeze highly talented people into any single mold.

In addition to source criticism, the use of stylistic criteria (poetic form, syntax, and spelling) for dating texts (YGC, 1–52), and data from archaeology and inscriptions for portraying the background of the biblical narratives, W. F. Albright employs historical analogy because it “plays a particularly important role” for the study of the Bible (1966: 11). He recognizes that it “does not constitute proof when taken alone” (1965: 268), but he concludes that the biblical tradition about Moses “is strongly supported by historical analogy, and is now being confirmed by a rapidly increasing mass of evidence uncovered by archaeologists and philologians” (1976: 120).

Similarly, J. Bright, a student of Albright, reacting to the reductionist views of von Rad and Noth, claims:

Over all these events there towers the figure of Moses. Though we know nothing of his career save what the Bible tells us, the details of which we have no means of testing, there can be no doubt that he was, as the Bible portrays him, the great founder of Israel’s faith. Attempts to reduce him are extremely unconvincing. The events of exodus and Sinai require a great personality behind them. And a faith as unique as Israel’s demands a founder as surely as does Christianity—or Islam, for that matter. To deny that role of Moses would force us to posit another person of the same name! (BHI, 126–27).

W. Eichrodt comes to a similar conclusion, “At the very beginning of Israelite religion we find the charisma, the special individual endowment of a person; and to such an extent is the whole structure based on it, that without it it would be inconceivable” (ETOT, 292).

3. Possibilities and Probabilities. Because of the complexities of the biblical text and the lack of certain data, conclusions about a historical Moses are narrowed to possibilities and probabilities.

For some scholars the question of historicity begins with the name “Moses.” The biblical writer apparently did not know that it was a shortened Egyptian name, but assuming that Pharaoh’s daughter knew Hebrew, he had her use popular etymology to base the name on the verb māšâ (“to draw out”): “Because I drew him out of the water” (Exod 2:10). The name actually stems from the Egyptian verb msy “to give birth” and appears as “Mose” with the name of a god: e.g., Tuthmosis “Toth is born” and Rameses “Re is born.” Since the Egyptians often shortened such names to “Mose,” it is implicit that “Moses” was longer at first, but there is no indication as to the deity involved (e.g., no “Yamses”). While the name is proper for the circumstances of the Exodus story, it alone does not prove that Moses was a historical figure.

R. de Vaux, holding more to probabilities, affirms that traditions (myth or history) “were not created by cult—cultic practices simply helped to recall traditions” (EHI 1: 185). He realizes that oral tradition can be forgetful and at times invents a great deal, yet “it is faithful in some ways” (EHI 1: 184). The tradition of Moses in Midian is early and has a historical basis (EHI 1: 330). Moreover, Moses was involved with the Exodus and Sinai: “There is … no impelling reason for eliminating Moses from any of these traditions; on the contrary, there is positive evidence for believing that they are closely interconnected” (EHI 1: 453).

The “quest for the historical Moses” presents more of a difficulty for Childs (IOTS, 178), and very little of his commentary on Exodus attempts to wrestle with historical problems and data. Yet, notwithstanding some expansion of the text in Exodus 3, due to the later prophetic office, Childs affirms that the call of Moses was authentic:

It (tradition) recognized correctly that a new element entered with Moses which set it apart from the patriarchal period … Moses’ call recounts the deep disruptive seizure of a man for whom neither previous faith nor personal endowment play a role in preparing him for his vocation (Exodus OTL, 56).

Coats does not attempt a reconstruction of an original Moses tradition because his goal “is to describe the various images used by various texts in the Old Testament for depicting the characteristics of this giant” (1988: 36). It is implicit, however, that he gives credence to Moses as lawgiver: “The earliest picture of Moses available, perhaps the only picture of Moses from the period before the monarchy, depicts Moses as lawgiver (Deut 33:4)” (1988: 199). As another indication, Coats observes, “There is no law tradition without Moses” (1988: 169). It is also implicit that the mediation of Moses in giving the law to the people has its counterpart in his heroic representation of the people before Yahweh with respects to their concerns and intercession for their sins (1988: 159, 165–66).

Gottwald recognizes some historical traces in the text, “Moses is recalled as an actual person who was of Levitical kinship, who intermarried with Midianite ‘semi-nomads,’ who led a slave revolt, who was reportedly buried in Transjordan” (1979: 35). On the contrary, he contends that “we are not in a position to calculate the part that the historical Moses played in introducing Yahweh, in explicating him as a deliverer from opposition, as one with whom to covenant, and as a law-giver” (1979: 37). Then he comments, “Possibly the later tradition is correct in believing that Moses had the decisive part to play in all these respects. But only possibly” (1979: 37).

Since Gottwald is more confident about a proto-Israelite “Moses group” than the specific person Moses, he makes some additional suggestions:

… it is highly probable that the notion of Yahweh as a god who delivers from oppression was introduced first among a group of proto-Israelites for whom Moses was one, although not necessarily the only, leader … it is at least possible, conceivably probable, that notions of covenanting between god and people and of divine law-giving were introduced in some form among that same group of proto-Israelites in which Moses was a leader (1979: 36).

Gottwald thinks that covenanting and law giving in this group “were relatively undeveloped,” and even if they did occur at Sinai, we do not know how they were understood and practiced (1979: 36–37). See also COVENANT; MOSAIC COVENANT.

4. More Probable Probabilities. It is evident from this survey that all critical theories and reconstructions involve probabilities, and so the issue of Moses’ historicity must attempt to ascertain which probabilities are more probable.

For Noth, the first historical fact about Israel is that the twelve-tribe confederation settled in Canaan after the occupation and worshipped as a community. There the various tribes told their own unique stories and in time “all Israel” came to feel that it had shared in all of these experiences (HPT, 43–45). Gottwald attempts to solve Noth’s problem of accounting for “the unity ‘Israel’ and the common Israelite consciousness” by attributing to the cultic gatherings a special kind of speech-act filled with the charisma of Israel’s identity, obligations, resources, and even a divine word. There is no doubt that such issues were discussed in the development of Israel, but can its origin be explained by ecumenical-like worship services and consultations without the primary input of a Yahwistic, covenant group inspired by the Exodus and Sinai experiences under the leadership of Moses? In spite of lapses from some members, the Song of Deborah (Judges 5, ca. 1150–1125 b.c.) indicates that fairly early the Israelite tribal league was a functioning unity motivated by the Yahwistic faith. Bright comments:

Indeed, had not the nucleus of Israel, already in covenant with Yahweh, appeared in Palestine and, banding with disaffected elements there with whom it made common cause, won notable victories, it is difficult to see why groups of such mixed origin, and geographically so scattered, would have come together in confederation under Yahweh’s rule at all (BHI, 168).

For von Rad, the fusion of the exodus-settlement and Sinai traditions occurred first by the Yahwist, thus blending “the two fundamental propositions of the whole message of the Bible: Law and Gospel” (PHOE, 54). Whether articulated or not, human existence (individual, familial, and cultural) has had to deal with the issues of justice and mercy. Is it feasible to separate this reality into monolithic strands and claim that for 200 years separate traditions consistently preserved a half of the dialectic truth without recognition of or concern for the other half? Accordingly, mediating scholars wonder why it is impossible for these two facets to be involved in the difficult experience of the Yahwistic group in the desert after deliverance from Egypt. As R. F. Johnson notes, “But it is easily possible to consider the biblical account of Mosaic leadership a more credible explanation of Israel’s early period in Palestine than any other available thesis (IDB 3: 442).

In summary, the evaluation of the evidence and counterclaims in the scholarly debate about Moses seems to favor, as the most probable conclusion, a modified form of the Moses story. In response to Yahweh’s call in Midian, Moses—the Hebrew with the Egyptian name—led his people out of Egypt, constituted them as a people of God by mediating the covenant at Mt. Sinai, interceded for them during the desert wanderings, and brought them to Moab where he died.

B. Biblical Portraits of Moses

The issue of various portraits of Moses, like the question of historicity, depends on one’s interpretation of the biblical text, and again there is great diversity.

The conservative tradition holds that the interchange of divine names is the intention of the author, not the result of separate sources. “We may assume,” U. Cassuto claims, “that in each case the Torah chose one of the two Names according to the context and intention” (1961: 31). While “Yahweh” reflects Israelite theology and traditions about God and his people, “Elohim” is appropriate for non-Israelites, universal tradition, and those who think of Deity in abstract terms (1961: 31–32). “However,” as Childs observes, “both the extreme artificiality by which meaning is assigned to the use of the names, as well as the constant need to adjust the theory in every succeeding section, does not evoke great confidence in this approach” (Exodus OTL, 53). Cassuto is nearer the truth when he comments:

The stream of this tradition may be compared to a great and wide-spreading river that traverses vast distances; although in the course of its journey the river loses part of its water, … and it is also increasingly augmented by waters of the tributaries that pour into it, yet it carries with it, … some of the waters that it held at the beginning when it first started to flow from its original source (1961: 102–3).

Thus, while Cassuto denies the sources of the critics, he affirms that numerous traditions have come together.

Years of research concerning the source and tributaries of the text resulted in the classical view of source criticism: J and P (southern), E and D (northern) as separate traditions or recensions of Israel’s history. Yet these accounts tend to be one-sided, like a portrait featuring the most attractive profile. An example is von Rad’s separate portraits of Moses in J and E. While recognizing that Moses appears throughout the Yahwist account, he claims: (1) Moses’ call “was only for the purpose of informing Israel in Egypt” about Yahweh’s intentions, and so it would be “utterly wrong if we were to understand Moses’ call as an appointment to be Israel’s leader, for in this source document the leadership of Israel is Jahweh’s alone”; (2) Yahweh effects the miracles “without any assistance from Moses;” (3) “Moses retires right into the background;” and (4) for the narrator no “particular theological stress” is made of “Moses’ function in the various conflicts and crises” (ROTT1: 291–92).

On the other hand, according to von Rad, “There is a noticeable difference in the picture of Moses given by the Elohist:” (1) the idea of Moses’ office has changed, “E has pushed Moses much more into the foreground as the instrument of God in effecting the deliverance;” (2) moreover, “Moses is now the miracle-worker, in fact almost to the point of being a magician;” (3) Moses’ importance is enhanced “by setting Aaron over against him … Moses is God for Aaron, and Aaron the mouth for Moses—Moses is the creative initiator and Aaron only the executive speaker (Ex. 4:16);” and (4) Moses is a prophet in E, but “of a special type—he is much more the prophet of action, taking an active hand in the events” (ROTT 1: 292–93).

In reaction to the atomizing of the text by radical source-critics, a number of scholars have observed wider frameworks and patterns for understanding the text. These are helpful, and, as Childs notes, “to show a larger pattern which cuts across the sources does not disprove their existence” (Exodus OTL, 150). Yet there has been increasing question about E because of its fragmentary nature and the difficulty in determining where it begins and ends. The problem involves the complex history of J and E. In some places, like Exodus 19, it is impossible to untangle them completely. Evidently the two were mixed at times in oral transmission and this condition carried over into the groundwork source behind J and E. In any case, in the growth of these traditions various literate persons, whether working as compilers, redactors, or authors, were prompted by new historical situations to make relevant theological notes about the events described. Thus, after the division of the kingdom, E became the northern counterpart of southern J and such crucial passages as Exod 3:9–15; 20:1–17; and 24:3–8 indicate its distinctive perspective. Some time after the fall of the northern kingdom, the E tradition, even with some of its divergent views, was subsumed within J, and so from the point of view of the J E redactor(s), most certainly in Judah, the E material was understood in the light of J.

Coats affirms that “the classical definition of order in the relationships of the sources holds even in the face of challenges,” thus J is the oldest, D next, and finally P. He deviates by claiming that “in those places where E appears, the source is an expansion of J, thus dependent on J” (1988: 36). Nevertheless, G. Fohrer, building on Wellhausen’s analysis, makes a definitive defense of the E source stratum (1968: 152–58).

A new approach to Exodus-Deuteronomy is the hypothesis of Coats: “The Moses narratives, structured as heroic saga, merge with the narrative tradition about Yahweh’s mighty acts, structured around confessional themes” (1988: 37). “This heroic tradition,” according to Coats, “binds the hero with his people. Either by military might, or by skillful intercession, or by familiarity with surroundings and conditions, he defends and aids his own. He brings ‘boons’ to his people” (1988: 40). Coats recognizes that the two models are narrative opposites, at times complementary, at times contradictory, but his concern is to define “the relationship between these two structural patterns. Moses is the heroic man and the man of God” (1988: 42). The series of praises to Yahweh for the mighty acts in behalf of his people came from the ritual of Israel’s sanctuaries. Yet this tradition was only half of the historical reality. The other half was preserved by common folk who transmitted orally the narratives about Moses. This heroic man was also the man of God because he was the human agent facilitating the acts of God.

Childs, like Coats, values the sources, yet finds great insight in the composite portraits, “The final literary production has an integrity of its own which must not only be recognized, but studied with the same intensity as one devotes to the earlier stages” (Exodus OTL, 224).

1. Yahwist-Elohist Traditions. In highlighting the JE portrait of Moses it will be helpful at times to note how the stories about Moses complement the confessional themes in the Exodus, desert, and Sinai episodes.

Although the folkloristic narratives of Exod 1:15–2:22 lack specific historical references, they declare that Moses, born during the oppression of a Pharaoh and reared in his court, was a Hebrew from the house of Levi who cared for his own people. After his flight to Midian he showed similar concern for the daughters of the priest Reuel (Jethro), then married one of them.

Exod 3:1–12 relates the essence of the actual call and commission of Moses. The burning bush, however understood, is the means of initiating a dialogue with Moses. In vv 7–9 Yahweh sees, hears, knows his people’s plight, and determines to free them and bring them to a good land. In v 10 Moses is commissioned to be his agent, but he demurs and is given a sign to reassure him. When Moses inquires about God’s name he is told, “Yahweh … is my name for ever” (3:15). This new name is an authentic claim of E, in contrast to J where the worship of Yahweh begins with Seth and Enosh (Gen 4:26). The crucial point of the combined JE text is that Yahweh authorizes Moses to confront Pharaoh and free the Hebrews.

According to J E in Exod 5:1–15:21, Moses requests Pharaoh, in Yahweh’s name, to let the Hebrews go into the desert to hold a feast. He refuses and when nine plagues do not change his mind, Yahweh kills the Egyptian firstborn. With a cry of anguish, Pharaoh and the Egyptians urge Moses and his people to leave. Pharaoh changes his mind, however, and pursues them. Yahweh’s miracle at the Reed Sea provides escape for the people and death for Pharaoh’s army.

Behind this composite picture some scholars find two separate accounts. R. de Vaux, for example, holds to an Exodus flight, led by Moses, and an Exodus expulsion, with the death of the firstborn (EHI 1: 373). According to Coats, when the negotiations during the nine plagues fail, Moses has the people acquire silver and gold jewelry from the Egyptians. This spoliation, the beginning of the Exodus, is possible because Yahweh gives the people favor with the Egyptians and Moses is very great in the land (Exod 11:3). Then Moses calls his people to leave in haste under his leadership without the permission or even the knowledge of Pharaoh (1988: 97–98, 108). On the other hand, Childs holds to one exodus after ten plagues, because he shifts Exod 11:4–8 to follow 10:29 so that Moses announces to Pharaoh the death of the firstborn before leaving “in hot anger” (Exodus OTL, 161).

Divine and human participation are combined again in the victory at the Reed Sea. Praises to Yahweh, both in poetry and narrative (probably from the cult), attribute “natural” causes to God: the strong east wind; the clogging of the chariot wheels; and the routing of the army. Moses, on the contrary, performs the “wondrous” events: stretching out his hand (rod) to divide the sea and cause its return. Both aspects appear in J’s summary: “Israel saw the great work which Yahweh did against the Egyptians, … and they believed in Yahweh and his servant Moses” (14:31). Since belief is rooted in trust and willingness to obey, this affirmation goes beyond a cognitive recognition of Moses: they are ready to obey him.

The dominant feature of the desert wanderings is the sojourn at Mt. Sinai. The essential narrative (Exodus 19–24; 32–34) is a very complex conflation of J and E, with only a few verses from P. A crucial fact is that vv 19:4 and 20:2 bind the Sinai event with the Exodus: the appeal for Israel’s covenant obedience is based on God’s gracious act of freeing them from Egypt.

In line with the sources, critics tend to see two different traditions in the Sinai pericope. The dominant theme is from E: when God declares the commandments to the people (20:1–17) they are fearful and urge Moses to mediate God’s word (20:18–20), which he does, functioning as a priest, in the blood ritual ratifying the covenant (24:3–8). The subordinate theme is from J: Yahweh speaks with Moses in the presence of the people so that they will believe him (19:9, 19), then instead of a covenant with the people, Yahweh makes a covenant with Moses in their behalf (34:2–7). For Childs, the two themes, fused in the preliterary stage, are rooted in different settings: E in the covenant renewal ceremony, and J in the tent of meeting (Exodus OTL, 358). Coats, on the other hand, considers the two traditions complementary, stemming from the storytelling of the people (1988: 133).

In addition to its cruciality in Israel’s history, the version of the covenant in E has important clues related to the historicity of Moses. The covenant ceremony opens with a comment that Moses “told the people all the words of Yahweh and all the ordinances” (24:3), yet in the rest of the ceremony only the “words” are involved. It is apparent that originally 24:3–8 followed the “words” (commandments) in 20:1–17. Later, an editor inserted the collection of regulations in 20:22–23:33, considering it a further revelation to Moses at the mountain. While the first part consists largely of conditional “ordinances” (If [when] … then …) related to agricultural, village life, 22:18–23:19 has a number of regulations which, like the commandments, are in the imperative form, “You shall (not).” Childs considers them as premonarchic and notes that “some of the material stems from a very early period which may reach back into the wilderness period” (Exodus OTL, 456). A still later editor, working with the expanded text, added “and all the ordinances” (24:3), to make clear that the whole collection was included in the “Book of the Covenant” (24:7) used by Moses at the ceremony.

Although there are different expansions within the commandments of Exod 20:2–17 (E) and Deut 5:6–21 (D), the two collections come from a common northern tradition. There is no indication how to separate them, nor does it state there were ten. The designation “Ten Words” (Decalogue) comes from Exod 34:28. Each commandment appears elsewhere in the Bible, but in time tradition determined that these were unique and reflected the essence of God’s will. The first three pertain to God and the rest refer to human relations. The eight negative commands set the boundary of covenant life with God. To step beyond these restrictions is rebellion leading to death. The two positive words are instruction for living within God’s will. See TEN COMMANDMENTS.

There is a timeless, transcultural quality about them, and Noth himself acknowledges that “the Decalogue is the only legal entity in the OT which indicates no certain reference to the conditions of life in an agricultural community.” Furthermore, since the writings of the prophets “appear to presuppose the commandments,” Noth comments that “for the pre-prophetic period all possibilities of dating are open,” yet because of his tradition-history presuppositions he rules out any date “before the conquest” (Exodus OTL, 167). If not all, at least some of these stipulations were involved in the desert covenant. Human experience indicates that the guidelines for any religious or political agreement require continual interpretation and additional specifications. Accordingly, it is quite probable analogically that Moses began the process of interpreting the commands, regardless of how many there were. Evidently Joshua continued the process after entering Canaan (Josh 24:25–26). It is possible that this updating, not described explicitly, appears in the collection (20:22–23:33) attributed to Moses.

In any event, after the apostasy concerning the golden calf, Yahweh determines to destroy the people and make Moses a great nation (32:1–10). Moses intercedes for them (vv 11–14), even offering to be blotted out of God’s book if Yahweh does not forgive their sin (v 32). Thus again, the complementary facets of Moses’ role as mediator are highlighted: Moses is both God’s representative to the people—man of God as lawgiver—and the people’s representative to God—heroic man as intercessor. A special feature of Moses’ role as lawgiver is that during the revelation of the law Moses, unknowingly, attains a “shining face.” Since the people draw back from him on his return, he puts on a “veil” (Heb masweh). The only occurrences of this term in the entire Bible are the three uses in this passage (34:29–35). The practice was also probably associated with the Yahweh-Moses conversations at the tent of meeting outside the camp (33:7–13). That tradition was superseded by the priestly tabernacle inside the camp, therefore the veil as a special symbol of Moses is an early feature. As Coats observes, “The heroic man transfigured by the presence of God, … is uniquely the man of God” (1988: 138).

In JE the Sinai narratives separate the desert journeys into two units: Exodus 15–18 and Numbers 10–36. While the rigors of desert life before Sinai evoke murmurings, Yahweh listens to the complaints and supplies the people’s needs. On the other hand, after Sinai the murmurings against Yahweh and Moses provoke God’s anger. Moral responsibility was fixed at the covenant with Yahweh, therefore rebellion results in censure and punishment (Numbers 11–14, 16).

When Moses’ unique authority is challenged by Miriam, an editor comments, “Moses was very meek, more than all the men that were on the face of the earth” (Num 12:3). This meekness (humility) implies that Moses was not overbearing in his role as leader. Yahweh had commissioned him, therefore Yahweh defends him, “With him I speak mouth to mouth, clearly, and not in dark speech” (Num 12:8). Although Moses intercedes for Miriam’s healing, she must spend seven days outside the camp before being restored. When the people believe the majority report of the spies and refuse to leave Kadesh to begin the conquest of Canaan, Yahweh appears at the tent of meeting and threatens again to disinherit his people. Moses makes such an eloquent, rational appeal, Yahweh pardons them, but the adults will pay a price: they will never enter the promised land (Num 13:25–14:23). Even though the designation is not used, Moses functions as the shepherd of his people. He is human, however, and because the load of the murmuring people is too heavy, he objects to Yahweh’s command to carry them “as a nurse carries a sucking child” (Num 11:10–15).

2. Deuteronomic Tradition. While the portrait of Moses in Deuteronomy (D) retains much of the composite picture in J E, there are some distinctive features and emphases. In the summary of the experiences after Horeb (1:6–3:29) Moses is the leader, yet he is no wonder-worker. The reference in 34:11 to signs and wonders is a late addition to D. At the request of the people, Moses continues to be their mediator (5:5, 27), yet a new feature appears in the preface to the book: Moses purposes to explain what Yahweh has commanded (1:5). Thus Moses is not only a lawgiver: he becomes the law’s interpreter. This claim is basic to the structure of the book. After the commandments are given, the text is largely a series of homilies by Moses. The topic in chap. 6 is the commandment, a restatement of the negative first commandment in a positive form (6:4–5), and chaps. 6–11 spell out its meaning and implications. The same is true in chaps. 12–26 for the statutes and ordinances. Thirty-six times in chaps. 4–30 Moses states “I command you,” therefore these interpretations, while rooted in the Torah of Yahweh, tend to become the Torah of Moses.

The purpose of the instructions is more than didactic, however. Moses strives to elicit obedience from his stubborn people. His persuasive pleas are laced with enticements: “that it may go well with you” or “that you may prolong your days in the land.” To ensure that future generations have his teachings, Moses commands the people to keep them foremost in their consciousness and to use every occasion to teach them to their children (6:6–9).

In J E the call of Moses and the communication of God’s words to his people indicate that he is a prophet, but in D this role is specifically stressed. To counter the anticipated temptations of pagan divination in Canaan, Moses promises that Yahweh “will raise up for you a prophet like me, … him you shall heed” (18:15). It is implicit in Moses’ promise of another prophet and his command to teach the next generation that his task is nearing completion.

As Moses reminds the people of their rebellious history, he reviews, in a paraphrase of Exod 32:11–14, his traumatic intercession with Yahweh, pleading for forty days and nights to disregard the stubbornness, wickedness, and sin of the people (9:25–29). Yahweh spares the people, but he prohibits Moses from entering the promised land: “Yahweh was angry with me also on your account, and said, ‘You shall not go in there’ ” (1:37). Thus the intercessor becomes the suffering mediator. Moses does not complain, but he intercedes for himself: “Let me go over, I pray, and see the good land beyond the Jordan” (3:25). Although D never explains why Moses has to pay the price, Yahweh rebuffs him, “Speak no more to me of this matter” (3:26).

Thus, Moses vicariously bears Yahweh’s wrath against his people. His death alone in Moab takes on a vicarious quality as well. Yahweh buries him and “no one knows the place of his burial to this day” (34:6). There can be no sacred monument where pilgrims can share in a memorial ceremony for Moses. He must live in the hearts of the people as the greatest prophet of all, the one with whom Yahweh spoke “face to face” (34:10).

3. Priestly Tradition. The last source to be incorporated into the Hebrew Bible was P. Features in common with J E and D point to a tradition shared during oral transmission and indicate that P has some early material. Its distinctive differences stem from a long history of separate development in Jerusalem. During the Babylonian exile, the priests had no temple in which to serve, so they turned their attention to preserving and authenticating the priestly traditions and way of life. The J E and D traditions were subsumed within the P framework to form a new composite story of Israel’s early history. Still later, probably after the exile, more additions were made by priestly redactors. We know nothing of the various priests involved in this process, but it is clear that they had the last word in forming the Pentateuch. Consequently, the P portrait of Moses will highlight some different features.

The first major change in the picture is Exod 6:2–7:7, originally a doublet of Exod 3:1–4:17 (J E). P is more explicit than E (Exod 3:15) that Yahweh is a new name for the God known to the patriarchs as El Shaddai(6:3). The E version of Aaron’s commissioning (Exod 4:14–16) is shortened and given a prophetic nuance: “See, I make you as God to Pharaoh; and Aaron your brother shall be your prophet” (7:1). In P, moreover, Moses is relieved of the physical aspects in confronting Pharaoh and his magicians: Moses gives the orders, but Aaron, with his rod, effects some of the plagues (7:19). Furthermore, Pharaoh is hardened so that Yahweh can multiply the signs (11:9–10).

The most radical shift in perspective occurs in the Sinai narratives. In Exod 24:16–18, P notes that Moses enters the cloud of Yahweh’s glory on Mount Sinai and stays there forty days and nights. When Yahweh finishes speaking with Moses he hands him “the two tablets of the testimony … written with the finger of God” (Exod 31:18). Between the two passages P inserts the lengthy instructions for making the tabernacle and its equipment. It is P’s method of declaring that the blueprints for the tabernacle came from Yahweh himself. When Moses, on seeing the golden calf and the dancing people, shatters the two tablets (Exod 32:19) he is doing more than symbolizing the broken covenant. For P this is a traumatic loss of the blueprints. It is imperative that they be written again. When Moses returns with the second set of tablets (Exod 34:29), the tabernacle, designed by God, can be constructed (Exod 35:1–40:33).

In the tabernacle instructions, Yahweh requests, “And let them make me a sanctuary, that I may dwell in their midst” (Exod 25:9). Therefore, when the cloud of Yahweh’s glory fills the priestly tabernacle, the new tent of meeting, it is a confirmation that Yahweh is moving from Mount Sinai to his new residence. Another clue for understanding P’s claim is Yahweh’s statement in connection with the instructions for the tabernacle furniture: “There I will meet with you, and … from between the two cherubim … I will speak with you of all that I will give you in commandment for the people of Israel” (Exod 25:22). Accordingly, Lev 1:1 and Num 1:1 claim that Yahweh reveals the priestly insights and regulations to Moses at the tent of meeting. R. Knierim notes incisively:

From now on, Yahweh would meet Moses from the sanctuary in Israel’s midst, and no longer on Sinai. The mountain belonged to the past. The presence belonged to the sanctuary. Its legitimacy and identity were secured by the continuity of the revelation of God from the mountain. And now, Yahweh could give the ultimately decisive instructions concerning the ongoing life of Israel. These instructions have two foci: the provision of the atonement institution for the continuous liberation from the destructive burden of guilt and pollution (Leviticus 1–16), and the regulations for Israel’s societal life as a “holy” community (Leviticus 17–27). The Sinai-pericope aims at the book of Leviticus. This book is the center of the Pentateuch (1985: 405).

In short, Exodus-Numbers is dominated by the P portrait of Moses as Yahweh’s unique mediator communicating all of God’s Torah (commandments, statutes, and ordinances) to the people.

Whereas J E and D recognize the humanity of Moses, P goes on to portray him and Aaron as sinners: “… you did not believe in me, to sanctify me in the eyes of the people of Israel” (Num 20:12). The fault seems to be based on the rash statement in 20:10: “Hear now, you rebels; shall we bring forth water for you out of the rock?” When Moses strikes the rock twice he seems to do so with an assurance he has the power to produce water. In this act he does not really believe in Yahweh, nor does he honor God in the people’s presence, therefore he will never enter the promised land.

Because the priests understood Israel’s history as Yahweh’s divine plan, P was more concerned than J E or D with genealogies and chronological data. Its dates are relative, however, and provide no accurate pegs for setting the dates of Moses. Archaeological surveys of the Sinai peninsula indicate that the only habitation in the Late Bronze and Iron I periods (1500–1000 b.c.) was along the Mediterranean coast and at the mining operations of Serabit el-Khadem. If accurate, the report that Moses did not take the coastal route (Exod 13:17–18) poses a problem for 14th, 13th, and 12th-century dates for the Exodus/Conquest. The scholarly consensus of a 13th-century date for Moses is eroding, but ambiguous data make any alternatives equally tenuous.

C. Post-biblical Portraits of Moses

Since the Torah has a number of intriguing, ambiguous, and even troublesome statements, it was inevitable that thoughtful persons, both common folk and scholars, would feel compelled to expand the portraits of Moses more in line with their own theological and philosophical views.

1. Hellenistic Judaism. Since some Hellenistic and Roman writers were critical of Moses and his laws, scholarly Jews in these cultures countered the false charges and tried to enlighten their opponents.

A prime example is Philo of Alexandria, Egypt (1st century a.d.). He weaves together what he has read and heard in the conviction that he has a better knowledge of Moses than any others. Since Philo believes that Greek philosophy is a development from the God-given teaching of Moses, he uses Greek reasoning and ideas to ensure that his Hellenistic audience will have an accurate understanding of Moses. As a “divine man,” Moses is superhuman. His physical, mental, psychological, and spiritual gifts are supreme, and his experiences in the royal court and in Midian prepare him to be the ideal king for leading the Hebrews. Moreover, as the perfect ruler, Moses has the faculty of legislation, to command and to forbid; the role of high priest, to care for things divine; and the function of inspired prophet, to declare what cannot be understood by reason (Vita Mos II.2.3.187).

The Jewish historian Josephus Flavius writing for a gentile audience, portrays Moses as the “divine man” of Greek culture as well as the Israelite “man of God.” As Israel’s lawgiver he becomes the legislator and founder of a “theocracy,” the ideal society (AgAp 2.16. §165). Josephus claims that Moses’ gifts were so evident to the Egyptians he was made the general of the Egyptian army during a campaign against the Ethiopians. Not only was he victorious; he married an Ethiopian princess (Ant 2.10.2). This tale is one of a cluster of stories expanding on the intriguing claim that Moses had taken a Cushite wife (Num 12:1).

Moses “surpassed in understanding all men that ever lived and put to noblest use the fruit of his reflections.” He found favor “chiefly through his thorough command of his passions, which was such that he seemed to have no place for them in his soul” (Ant 4.8.49). In concluding his eulogy Josephus declares, “As general he had few to equal him, and as prophet none, insomuch that in all his utterances one seemed to hear the speech of God Himself” (Ant 4.8.49).

2. Palestinian Judaism. Since tradition held that the time of prophecy had ceased, Moses became the mouthpiece for some Jews who felt compelled to share their insights. In the Testament of Moses, which reinterprets Deuteronomy 31–34, Moses informs Joshua that God created the world on behalf of his people Israel (T. Mos. 1:12). Moreover, from the beginning of the world God designed him to be the mediator of the covenant (1:14). In Deut 34:5, Moses apparently dies alone, but in alerting Joshua of his impending death, Moses states that he is going to sleep with his fathers “in the presence of the entire community” (1:15). Joshua is upset at the news and grieves at the loss of “that sacred spirit, worthy of the Lord, manifold and incomprehensible, master of leaders, faithful in all things, the divine prophet for the whole world, the perfect teacher in the world” (11:16). No place will be appropriate for his burial because “the whole world is his sepulcher” (11:8). The text in 12:6 is broken, but it seems that Moses is assuring Joshua that even in death he will make intercessions for their sins.

The mystery surrounding Moses’ death perplexed Judaism, and so various expansions of the text appeared. A fragment of one explanation is preserved in Jude 9: “But when the archangel Michael, contending with the devil, disputed about the body of Moses, he did not presume to pronounce a reviling judgment upon him, but said, ‘The Lord rebuke you.’ ” Origen (ca. a.d. 185–254) claimed that the passage was from the Assumption of Moses, but unfortunately the text has been lost. Since the end of the Testament of Moses has been lost as well, it is difficult to determine whether the two were separate books, or the Assumption was the concluding part of the Testament.

Jubilees, an expanded commentary on Genesis 1–Exodus 12, purports to be God’s word to Moses on Mount Sinai in addition to the Pentateuch, “the first law” (Jub. 6:22). It is a revelation from God and the angel of the presence, with the sacred time from Adam to Sinai divided into 49 Jubilees of 49 years (seven weeks of years). Moses is addressed by “you” and told his own story (chaps. 47–48). The basic message is the necessity of faithful obedience to the Torah. Moses is informed that the Patriarchs set the standard by rigorously keeping his law.

The Essenes considered themselves the “true Israel” and went into the Judean desert at Qumran as a community “to prepare the way of Yahweh” (Isa 40:3) by devoting itself to the study of the Torah. Their “Teacher of Righteousness,” convinced that end times were near, claimed to have the key for unlocking all the truths hidden in the revelations of Moses and the prophets. The solar calendar, set forth in Jubilees, became the standard for the liturgical year at Qumran because it was based on God’s creation and the authority of Moses. Moreover, the age of Moses becomes the model for the messianic age. The “prophet to come” (Deut 18:15, 18) is an eschatological figure associated with the priestly and Davidic messiahs.

While P claimed that all the laws of Exodus-Numbers were revealed to Moses, later tradition concluded that all of the Pentateuch came from Moses, including the statement of his death and burial. This conviction evoked a probing study (midrash) of the whole Torah. The results of this devotion were classified as: halakah, interpretation of a religious or civil law as a guideline for life; and haggadah, explanation of non-halakic material (genealogies, narratives, poems, parables, and proverbs) as homiletical, edifying, and entertaining narrative. While halakah was mainly under the jurisdiction of the scholars, haggadah was expanded and carried on largely by the common people. Their creativity and ingenuity resulted in some excessive embellishments with which the scholars took issue at times.

An excellent compendium of these Jewish tales is Legends of the Bible by Louis Ginzberg. The birth of Moses is an example of the free rein imagination of haggadah: “At the moment of the child’s appearance, the whole house was filled with radiance equal to the splendor of the sun and the moon. A still greater miracle followed. The infant was not yet a day old when he began to walk and speak with his parents, and as though he were an adult, he refused to drink milk from his mother’s breast” (1956: 288–89). A variant of Josephus’ story about the Cushite wife has Moses fleeing from Pharaoh and coming across Kikanos, king of Ethiopia, and his army besieging a city. He finds favor with them, and when Kikanos dies Moses is made king and given Adoniah, the Ethiopian queen, widow of Kikanos, as his wife. He reigns for forty years then goes on to Midian because he still fears Pharaoh (1956: 299–302).

Moses ascends into heaven three times: (1) from the Burning Bush as an assurance about his call and the promise that he will be given the Torah (1956: 311–12); (2) from Mt. Sinai for forty days and nights to receive and study the Torah (392–98); and (3) from Mt. Nebo to see the reward awaiting him and to visit the Messiah (492–93). By kissing Moses on the mouth, God takes his soul to heaven where he continues as a servant of the Lord. God buries his body in a place, unknown to Moses and Israel, at the end of a passage leading to the graves of the Patriarchs (502).

3. Rabbinic Judaism. It became increasingly evident within the more complex cultures of Persia, Greece, and Rome that Moses’ law needed updating. The problem was to authenticate the growing corpus of new regulations. The rabbis solved the problem by claiming that this oral tradition was revealed to Moses on Mt. Sinai along with the written law: “Moses received Torah from Sinai and passed it on to Joshua, and Joshua to the Elders, and the Elders to the Prophets, and the Prophets passed it on to the men of the Great Assembly” (m. ʾAbot 1:1).

The rabbis accepted the biblical portrayal of Moses, but their preoccupation with the Torah and its implications highlighted Moses’ role as teacher. Although they disagreed among themselves over the centuries, they considered themselves disciples of the “great teacher.”

The haggadah has some amusing tales about the revelation of the Torah. On reaching heaven, Moses finds God ornamenting some letters of the text with crown-like decorations. On inquiring about their meaning he is told: “Hereafter there shall be a man called Akiba, son of Joseph, who will base in interpretation a gigantic mountain of Halakot upon every dot of these letters.” Moses requests to see this man and is permitted to hear Akiba instruct his students. He is grieved, however, because he cannot understand the discussion. Moses is contented when, in answer to a question, Akiba states, “This is a Halakah given to Moses on Mt. Sinai” (Ginzberg 1956: 395). In general, the rabbis recognized the distinctiveness of their interpretations, but to show their loyalty to the written law, they described their conclusions as a mountain of truth suspended by a hair from the Torah.

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Cassuto, U. 1961. The Documentary Hypothesis and the Composition of the Pentateuch. Trans. I. Abrahams. Jerusalem.

Coats, G. W. 1988. Moses: Heroic Man, Man of God. JSOTSup 57. Sheffield.

Fohrer, G. 1968. Introduction to the Old Testament. Trans. D. E. Green. Nashville.

Ginzberg, L. 1956. Legends of the Bible. Philadelphia.

Gottwald, N. K. 1979. The Tribes of Yahweh. Maryknoll, NY.

Gressmann, H. 1913. Mose und seine Zeit. Göttingen.

Hallo, W. W. 1962. New Viewpoints on Cuneiform Literature. IEJ 12: 13–26.

Kitchen, K. A. 1966. Ancient Orient and Old Testament. Downers Grove, IL.

Knierim, R. P. 1985. The Composition of the Pentateuch. SBLSP 24: 393–415.

Rowley, H. H. 1950. From Joseph to Joshua. London.

Schmid, H. 1968. Mose: Überlieferung und Geschichte. Berlin.

Tigay, J. H. 1985. Empirical Models for Biblical Criticism. Philadelphia.

Van Seters, J. 1983. In Search of History. New Haven.

Zevit, Z. 1985. Clio, I Presume. BASOR 260: 71–82.

Dewey M. Beegle

 

Ancestors: Joseph

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

After recapping the story of Joseph, I talked about forgiveness, touching on these points.

Palindromes

Forgiveness Frees Prisoner to Live

Forgiveness is not Reconciliation’s Palindrome

Forgiveness is not for the Faint of Heart

Forgiveness Let’s Go of Retribution Obsession

Forgiveness is a Process

Forgiving Oneself is a Thing

Accepting Forgiveness is Hard

Notes to Nerd Out On…

 

Add these books to your reading list for reference on Genesis: Pete Enns, Genesis for Normal People by Pete Enns, which brings excellent academics with very approachable writing (he is fun to listen to and read); and In the Beginning by the great historian Karen Armstrong, which offers a Midrash approach to the texts.

 

From the Anchor Yale Bible Dictionary (George Coats)…

JOSEPH, SON OF JACOB. The 11th son of the patriarch Jacob, and the principal character in the biblical narrative of Genesis 37–50.

A.   The Name

B.   The Tribe

C.   The Story

1.   Theme: Familial Strife

2.   Plot

3.   Theological Concerns

D.   Sources

E.   Genres

1.   Sitz im Leben

2.   Dating

F.   Purpose of the Story

A. The Name

The name itself derives from the Hebrew verb ysp. It maintains its verbal form with an appropriate meaning: “He adds.” The popular etymology for the name in Gen 30:24 suggests that the divine name was the subject of the verb and that the meaning of the name is: “May the Lord add (to me another son).” Indeed, it is clear that names of this type commonly employed an additional element, the name of the deity who would underwrite the power of the name given to a human. From extrabiblical sources, for example, the name “Jacob-El” illustrates the form. That combination is implied by the explanation of the name Joseph. But this hypothetical long form is not attested in the OT traditions about Joseph.

B. The Tribe

The OT tradition about Joseph does not include him in the list of Israel’s patriarchs, instead listing these as Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (Exod 2:24; 3:6, 15; 4:5; etc.). Joseph belongs to the next generation, as one of the eponymic “fathers” of the twelve tribes of Israel (so, Josh 18:11; Judg 1:22; 2 Sam 19:21; 1 Kgs 11:28).

The tradition remembers that the tribe of Joseph was divided, perhaps at the time in the history of the tradition when Levi ceased functioning as a secular tribe: the subdivision of Joseph yielded two tribes, Ephraim and Manasseh, incidentally preserving the number twelve, a structural constant in the political organization. This division appears in the narrative concerning the Joseph tradition in Gen 48:1–12 and in the report of the patriarchal blessing in vv 13–20. The same tradition is reflected in Josh 14:4; 16:4; 17:17, and in the Blessing of Moses in Deuteronomy 33. In Deut 33:13–17 Moses blesses the tribe of Joseph. But the final line, v 17b, recognizes the split in the structure of the Joseph tribe between Ephraim and Manasseh. Moreover, the Joseph unit becomes a symbol for the N kingdom, the nation of Israel, in contrast to the S kingdom, the nation of Judah (Ezek 5:6; 37:19; Obad 18; Zech 10:6).

C. The Story

For the OT tradition it is important to note not only that Joseph is the son of Jacob, one of a group of brothers who give their names to the twelve-tribe union that comprises Israel, but also that Joseph is the son of Rachel, the favorite wife of Jacob. The birth story sets the Joseph tradition into the form of a popular tale. Rachel, the favorite wife, had been barren. Leah, the sister of Rachel and the second wife of Jacob, had given birth to Reuben and Simeon. Rachel had adopted the son of her servant, Bilhah, and named him Naphtali. But only after the competition had taken Leah through six sons did Rachel finally break free from her barren status. The text makes the event explicitly an act of intervention from God: “God remembered Rachel … and opened her womb.” Thus, just as in the Abraham saga, where Sarah had been barren and in competition with Hagar, so in the Jacob saga, Rachel, who once was barren, gives birth to a son in the midst of family competition, indeed, family strife. That son is Joseph.

1. Theme: Familial Strife. Moreover, the birth story for Joseph has as its context other traditions surrounding strife in the family. The strife theme belongs to the complex of narrative motifs developed throughout the range of the Abraham saga and the Jacob saga. Indeed, the position of the death report for Jacob in Genesis 49 suggests that the Joseph tradition has been bound into the structure of the Jacob saga. From its larger context the Joseph story inherits a milieu of strife.

The position of the Joseph death report in Gen 50:22–26, an element which forms a counterpoint to the Joseph birth story, suggests that the patterns of a Joseph saga can still be seen in the Genesis narrative. Moreover, immediately preceding the Joseph death report, a recapitulation of motifs from earlier stages of the Joseph narrative suggests that at Joseph’s death, the family so marked by strife has still found no reconciliation. In this small segment of narrative, the brothers approach Joseph, who holds the power of life and death over them, and weave a tale about Jacob’s last wishes for reconciliation between the brothers and Joseph. Joseph responds favorably and grants his forgiveness to his brothers and, through that act, makes his contribution to reconciliation for the family. But the storyteller suggests by the particular construction of the scene that the reconciliation achieved is in fact a sham. The brothers’ story about Jacob’s last wish has no parallel in the preceding narratives. The brothers apparently intended to deceive Joseph in order to gain asylum. And with that act of deception, the story of a broken and suspicious family comes to an end.

2. Plot. A carefully constructed narrative about Joseph appears in the middle of the larger saga about Jacob with its emphasis on strife that breaks a family apart. This narrative about Joseph stands within the limits of the hypothetical Joseph saga, which is framed by a birth report and a death report. This narrative is different from the surrounding stories about Jacob and his family. It is not a collection of individual tales constructed into a family saga. It is a unit from the first scene to the last. It begins in 37:1 with a notation that “Jacob dwelt in the land of his father’s sojournings, in the land of Canaan.” And it ends in 47:27 with an exact parallel to its beginnings, the only two changes reflecting the consequence of the long, connected story: “Israel dwelt in the land of Egypt, in the land of Goshen.”

The structure of the story framed by these two parallel sentences reveals a clearly constructed plot: (1) exposition (Gen 37:1–4); (2) complication (Gen 37:5–36); (3) digression (Genesis 39–41); (4) complication (Genesis 42–44); (5) denouement (Genesis 45); and (6) conclusion (Gen 46:1–47:27). Moreover, the unifying theme for the development of this plot is the same as the one that dominates the Abraham saga and the Jacob saga: strife in the family. Some indication of a critical role for the promise theme in the patriarchal traditions appears here. For example, in Joseph’s speech, 45:4b–13, Joseph avers that “God sent me before you to preserve life … God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth and to keep alive for you many survivors. So it was not you who sent me here, but God …” The many survivors fulfill the promise for great posterity, the promise that descendants would become a great nation. But the dominant theme in the Joseph story is strife in a family, broken family structures, and eventually, reconciliation that restores the family to a position of unity. The nature of that reconciliation is a key for the Joseph traditions in the Pentateuch, indeed, for the theological structure of the Pentateuch itself.

In the middle of the rather tight structure for the Joseph story, Genesis 39–41 represents a discrete, perhaps originally independent story about Joseph. The story has been used by the author of the larger narrative about Joseph. But in the present position as digression in the movement of narrative about Joseph and his brothers, this unit reveals its character as a story within a story, a story with its own independent structure, genre, and intention. The structure of the independent story comprises three distinct scenes, each designed to depict Joseph as the ideal administrator. The first scene, chap. 39, sets Joseph in Potiphar’s house. Finding favor in Potiphar’s sight because of his skill as administrator in the house, Joseph rises to the position of overseer in the house. When Potiphar’s wife attempts to seduce him, he refuses, not only because to submit would be a “sin against God,” but also because it would violate the responsibility he carried as administrator of Potiphar’s house. His refusal brought false accusation from the woman and prison from Potiphar, but clearly that fate occurs with Joseph’s integrity intact. In prison he rises to a position of trust in the eyes of the captain of the guard, receiving responsibility for two of the pharaoh’s servants jailed when they had fallen from the pharaoh’s favor. The servants dream prophetic dreams, report them to Joseph, and despite the negative meaning of one, receive interpretations from Joseph. Forgotten by the fortunate servant restored to the pharaoh’s favor, Joseph waits in prison until the pharaoh dreams a dream. When none of the pharaoh’s professional wise men could interpret it, the servant from the prison recalls Joseph’s abilities and recommends him to the pharaoh. Called to the royal chambers, Joseph interprets the royal dream. The pharaoh heeds Joseph’s suggestion to appoint a steward for the grain collected during the years of plenty. That steward should be wise and perceptive (the virtues characteristic for an administrator of skill); and since Joseph meets those virtues, he is appointed to the post.

As a complete story, this depiction of Joseph shows a pattern of virtue for all administrators to imitate. But in the larger Joseph story, the digression serves the narrative function of transition. It transports Joseph, the brash but abused brother in Jacob’s family, from his position in Canaan to his position in Egypt, where, in his new position of power, he may in turn choose to be brash and abusive.

The second complication in the structure of the Joseph story reverses the role of the principals as they appeared in the first complication. In the first complication Joseph is brash but at the mercy of his brothers. Indeed, the brothers manufacture a story to deceive the old father and set the stage for the broken family. In the second complication Joseph is still brash. But in this case, the unsuspecting brothers are at the mercy of the strange Egyptian who controls the food reserves. Joseph toys with them before he breaks the tension of the scene. First, he accuses them of spying. In order to prove their innocence, the brothers must return to their homes in order to bring the youngest son of Jacob and Rachel to the mysterious vizier. But in the process, they must leave a brother in Egypt, in prison, to await their return with proof of their true identity.

The brothers delay their return to Egypt, however, until the food bought in their first trip had been consumed. The reason for the delay rests with the father’s reluctance to send the youngest son of Rachel to such an uncertain fate. But in addition, the narrator heightens the sense of fate hanging over the brothers: when they had arrived at a resting-place on the journey to their homes after the first trip to Egypt, they discovered their money hidden in the sacks of grain. Without their knowledge Joseph had ordered the money be hidden in their sacks, but the discovery brought no joy. It does not disclose an act of reconciliation offered by Joseph to his brothers. It brought fear. “At this their hearts failed them … ‘What is this that God has done to us?’ ” With fate so mysterious, the brothers leave a brother in prison. When necessity finally weighed more heavily than their reluctance to return, they petitioned their father for permission to take Benjamin, the youngest son of Rachel, and return for a new round of provisions. With great fear and only after the strongest possible guarantee from Judah, Jacob agreed. And the brothers set out for Egypt again. In Egypt they gain an audience with the mysterious vizier, only to learn that no charge of theft lies against them. Their anxiety had had no ground in reality. They introduce their younger brother, arrange for the grain, and set out with all of the brothers in the company. All appears to be in order.

At this point Joseph springs the final trap. A servant overtakes the brothers’ caravan and accuses them of stealing the divining cup of the Egyptian. Protesting their innocence, the brothers submit to a search with a vow that any guilty brother found with the cup would die and the others would become slaves to the mysterious vizier. The storyteller’s skill holds the audience in suspense while he depicts the Egyptian searching each bag from the oldest brother to the youngest. (A similar technique for maintaining suspense appears in Genesis 31.) And again, the storyteller (or Joseph) springs his trap. The object of the search had been hidden in Benjamin’s bag. Benjamin would have to die, and the other brothers would become slaves. In that dire crisis the brothers return to Egypt in order to appear before the Egyptian.

The tension in the scene builds to a climax as the brothers present themselves to the Egyptian. The brothers expect to hear the judgment pronounced against them in accord with the oath. But in that setting, Judah offers himself in the place of the younger brother (cf. Moses in Exod 32:32). At the highest point of tension, Joseph breaks the charade and identifies himself as Joseph to his brothers (45:1–3). The revelation might have been depicted as good news. The brothers might assume that now they would be free of the judgment against them. But the storyteller controls the scene by observing that the brothers were dismayed when they learned Joseph’s identity. Joseph, even as brother, had the power of life and death over the guilty group. He could now openly seek his revenge. But the story moves in the opposite direction. Instead of death for the guilty brothers, Joseph “fell on his brother Benjamin’s neck and wept (cf. Gen 33:4) … and he kissed all of his brothers and wept on them, and after that his brothers talked to him.” The reconciliation among the brothers contrasts with the negative image in 37:4.

The conclusion carries the dramatic turning point in the story to a smooth ending. Joseph makes arrangements with his brothers for transporting the families still at home in Canaan, including the father, Jacob, to Egypt. The point is, of course, that in Egypt Jacob and the family (the children of Israel) would be under Joseph’s protection. But against the backdrop of the larger narrative, the transportation of the family to Egypt represents the reconciliation of a family broken apart by the strife among the brothers.

3. Theological Concerns. The theological character of that reconciliation is important to note. (1) Joseph avers that his own move to Egypt was the result, not of the evil intended against him by the brothers, but of the good intended for him and for many survivors (the descendants of Jacob/Israel or perhaps all the families of the world who eat from the bounty stored by Joseph in Egypt) from the hand of God. (2) But the story is not primarily about God’s intervention to save the day; it is also about Joseph’s initiative, even in the face of hostility, to save the day for all the people of the world. It is also about Joseph’s initiative to save the day for his brothers and his father. To be sure, he sports with them; there is no reconciliation in that. But finally, he welcomes his family to Egypt and shows them how to prepare for their future. The family disregarded a tragic past and committed themselves to one another in a common future. As a result, the reconciliation that appeared elusive for the patriarchal generation came to some fruition through Joseph. (3) Joseph’s wisdom and perception influence not only the story within the story (Genesis 39–41), but also the entire structure of the narrative. Joseph’s integrity as administrator facilitates reconciliation of the family.

D. Sources

The Joseph story has served OT scholars as a showcase for evidence that can be used to support identification of the classical pentateuchal sources. The Priestly source does not appear in the narrative to any significant extent. Indeed, even the few fragments defined by source critics as a part of P can be understood more adequately as intrinsic parts of the whole. Gen 37:1–2, for example, serves as a key in the parallel that marks the beginning and ending of the story and cannot be explained as an imitation of the Priestly formula about the generations of Israel.

The more important argument about sources in the Joseph story asserts that in the middle of the predominantly J narrative fragments of the E source appear and that this can be detected by the significant presence of repetitions and duplications of material. For example, the brothers of Joseph appear as the sons of Israel (J) or the sons of Jacob (E). A compassionate brother, at first Judah (J), then Reuben (E), defends Joseph against the plan to sell him to the Ishmaelites (J) or simply to let him fall into the hands of the Midianites (E). Joseph becomes the slave of an unnamed Egyptian whose wife attempts to seduce him (J) or the slave of Potiphar, the captain of the prison (E). Joseph becomes the administrator of the land of Egypt (J), but he has responsibility for the pharaoh’s household (E). The sons of Israel (J) or of Jacob (E) come to Egypt. Joseph accuses them of seeking advantage in Egypt (J) or of being spies (E). On their return they find their money hidden in their sacks of grain at an inn on the way to their home (J) and the rest of the money when they arrive at home (E). On the second journey they are invited to settle in Egypt by Joseph (E) and by the pharaoh (J).

Yet, more recent examination of the story softens the argument for two sources by suggesting that one author can use repetition as a narrative technique for emphasis, perhaps simply for variety. Perhaps two brothers could be depicted as compassionate by a single source. Perhaps the mysterious Egyptian could accuse the sons of Jacob of general exploration seeking advantage, then of a more specific act, spying for military advantage. The strongest argument for two sources in the Joseph story is the doublet represented by the reference in 37:25 to the Ishmaelites, then the reference in 37:27 to the Midianites. The doublet is compounded in 37:36 with a note that the Midianites sold Joseph in Egypt to Potiphar, while 39:1 notes that Potiphar had bought Joseph from the Ishmaelites. This apparent doublet disappears, however, if one recognizes that the words “Midianite traders passed by” in 37:28 are a gloss. If these words were not in the text, then the brothers would be the subject of the verbs in v 28: “They drew Joseph up and lifted him out of the pit and sold him to the Ishmaelites for twenty shekels of silver and they (the Ishmaelites) took Joseph to Egypt.” The gloss could have arisen to shield the other sons of Israel against the charge of selling a brother into slavery, a crime punishable by death (Deut 24:7). Moreover, to treat the reference to the Midianites in vv 28 and 36 as glosses removes the obvious contradiction in the story. Verse 28 reports that the Midianites sold Joseph to the Ishmaelites, while verse 36 reports that they sold him to Potiphar.

These observations support more recent analysis of the Joseph story that concludes that the story is fundamentally a unit, the work of one hand. It is easy to argue that that hand belongs to the Yahwist (J). The Joseph story fits appropriately in the larger structure of the Yahwist. The Yahwist has used the Joseph story to bridge the gap between patriarchs in Canaan and Israelites in Egypt. But there is no clear evidence that the author who constructed the lengthy narrative, the Joseph story, was the Yahwist. The appropriate conclusion seems to be that the Yahwist has used a carefully constructed, distinct story about Joseph as the structural bridge for the larger narrative about Israel’s early history. While the Yahwist might have been the author, this conclusion cannot be firmly supported.

Questions about sources for the Joseph story must move the reader not only through observations about the classical sources for the Pentateuch as they might or might not appear in the Joseph story, but also through observations about other sources employed in the construction of the story. For example, the story within the story (Genesis 39–41) represents a distinct element in the structure of the Joseph story as it now appears. What can be said about the tradition preserved in that story? An Egyptian narrative, commonly called the “Tale of the Two Brothers,” describes the events in the relationship of two brothers. The younger brother lived with his older brother and his wife. It was his duty to work in the older brother’s fields; and in return the older brother provided food, shelter, and clothes for the younger brother. The younger brother was highly successful in his work, producing a good return from the cattle in his care. On one trip from the field to the older brother’s house in order to obtain seed for planting, the younger brother encountered the seductive invitation of the elder brother’s wife. The younger brother refused the invitation. But the woman manufactured false evidence and accused him of an attack. Her husband then created a plan to kill his younger brother. Saved by a message from a cow in his care, the younger brother fled. The story continues beyond its parallel with Joseph. But the pattern at the beginning of the tale suggests a plot in common with the account of Joseph in the house of Potiphar.

A second Egyptian story relevant for understanding the Joseph traditions is the “Tale of Sinuhe.” This story enlarges the picture of relationships between Palestine and Egypt. Sinuhe, an Egyptian official who left his homeland in voluntary exile, met hospitality in the various stages of his journey. Indeed, the ideal relationships developed by the young man in foreign courts suggest that, like Joseph, Sinuhe served as a model for a courtier in a period of relative prosperity. And he carries that model back to his home and his own people.

It is possible that these Egyptian stories undergird the Joseph story, particularly the story within the story. This observation does not suggest that the author of the Joseph story has used the Egyptian parallels in the same way that he used the story within the story to build his narrative; rather it suggests only that the narrative motifs were part of the culture that gave rise to the Joseph story.

The pattern of the Joseph story puts greater weight on the creativity of the author. To be sure, the author used traditions of storytelling such as the “Tale of the Two Brothers” in the construction of the Joseph story. And the traditions of the promise to the fathers or the strife within the family represent building blocks for the narrative. The Joseph story does reveal its position in the history of Israel’s tradition and, indeed, in the tradition of storytelling in the ANE world. Yet, the significance of the Joseph story lies in its own unique construction with its own unique functions and intention.

E. Genres

The genre of the Joseph story supports this description of the constructional uniqueness in the structure of its narration. A consensus is that the Joseph story is a novella, a genre category that facilitates the original conceptions of an artist rather than the patterns of a traditional folk story handed down from one generation to the next. It may be the case that a tale lies behind this extended story of Joseph, a brief story that would have concentrated on the event that broke the unity of Jacob’s family and then the event that would have brought them together again. A novella is a creative construction by the author, designed to meet the author’s distinctive goals. The author presents not simply what happened long ago and far away, but rather what happened and continues to happen so that the traditions carried by the plot structure capture each new audience. Historical figures and events are caught up into an imaginative fabric produced by the creative activity of the author. Its concern is not to report historical events; it is to build a plot that will hold the audience through its development to a point of climax. And in its development, it reflects the process of life that can give identity to its audience. Indeed, the genre facilitates construction of the plot so that particular facets in the process of life can have an impact on the audience as forceful influences in that quest for identity.

The story within the story (chaps. 39–41) can be isolated from the longer novella and analyzed for itself. The patterns of three scenes in this story depict the ideal shape of the administrator in a household, in a prison, and finally in the royal court. As ideal administrator, the hero emerges as a figure whose virtues can be imitated by all subsequent administrators. Joseph sets the pace for all who exercise responsibility in the organization of a superior. As the ideal whose virtues can be imitated by future generations, this figure functions as the hero of a legend. The story about Joseph, who rises from rags to riches, is a legend designed to show courtiers what responsibility in their profession looks like. It should be clear that classification of this story, so similar to narratives from Egypt, does not define historicity in the Joseph story. The rise from rags to riches may be accurate history describing how one of Israel’s ancestors in fact rose to power in Egypt. It may be a story of magnificent imagination, influenced by similar tales and legends from Egypt. To define the story as legend does not establish or deny historicity for the tradition that Joseph was an Egyptian vizier. It shows simply that the story depicts Joseph as the administrator whose virtues should be imitated by all subsequent administrators.

1. Sitz im Leben. The question about setting for these levels of tradition in the Joseph story is more difficult. The legend shows evidence of setting in the circles of ANE wisdom. The hero at the center of the legend depicts the virtues of wisdom and perception, virtues that enable any person to function as administrator in a royal court, a prison, a complex household (cf. 1 Kgs 3:3–15). That wisdom legend influences the larger novella. Yet, it does not necessitate the conclusion that the novella is also a wisdom story. The setting for the novella is a literary one, the productivity of the author who imposes his own mark onto the shape of the story. That the author knows the cultural constructions of Egypt reveals a cosmopolitan milieu. It might be reasonable to imagine that the author was at home in the enlightenment supported by the royal court, perhaps even the cultural activity of the Solomonic court. That the author had access to a wisdom legend suggests familiarity with wisdom resources. But with the same manner of caution that guards against identification of the author of the story as the Yahwist, so caution guards against ready identification of the setting for the story as a whole as wisdom. At most it can be said that it is a carefully constructed artwork from the hand of an author.

2. Dating. The question of the historical situation for the Joseph novella hides two questions: (1) when did the author of the novella compose the story? and (2) what is the period in which the Joseph story is set? If the Sitz im Leben defined above (the enlightenment of the royal court) has any merit, then the time for the construction of the novella might be set in the Solomonic court or some period shortly after that time when the patronage of the king could have supported such artistic composition. That time, roughly the 10th century b.c., would correspond to the period traditionally identified as the time for the origin of the Yahwist’s production of the whole narrative tradition.

At least two important pieces of extrabiblical evidence have been appealed to in order to date the era in which the Joseph novella is set. A number of documents (most notably, the Amarna Letters) attest to the LB period. These were rootless people living on the fringe of society. It is possible that the OT term Hebrew is related to this widespread term. See HABIRU, HAPIRU. When Potiphar’s wife accuses Joseph of an attack to her husband, she calls him a Hebrew, as if the term were derogatory. One might inquire whether the habirumight have been involved among the people noted by an Egyptian frontier official in a report about passage of people in and out of Egypt during periods of famine. Other documents attest to the invasions of the Hyksos, a Semitic people who usurped political control in Egypt during a period from 1700 to 1550 b.c. See HYKSOS. It is possible that these people were more favorable to people like Joseph and his family, and it is also possible that the reference to a pharaoh “who did not know Joseph” (Exod 1:8) recalls a period when the Hyksos leadership in Egypt was rejected in favor of a new dynasty of native Egyptian kings.

Yet, it is important to note that none of the documents from the 2d millennium mention Joseph and his brothers by name. The documents serve only to establish that the Joseph story builds its plot with careful attention to cultural detail from a particular period. The story employs historical verisimilitude effectively. But the effective description of a culture that did in fact exist does not establish the historicity of the events and personalities set out in the Joseph novella, nor does it deny it. The story has value as a story, not as an object that leads its audience behind the story to some other reality such as the factual, historical events involving Joseph, his brothers, and his father. The same point can be made about the definition of the genre for the story. To define the story as novella does not mean that the description of the events in the plot is simply fiction. Nothing in the designation of the genre denies the possibility that the plot structure reflects historical events. But the designation of the genre does not enable the critic to move behind the story to reconstruct the process of history.

F. Purpose of the Story

The Joseph novella has at least two significant intentions. (1) It intends to depict the ideal power figure. Joseph, the vizier of Egypt, uses his power not only to facilitate the reconciliation of his family and their security during devastating years of famine, but also to preserve people from all the neighboring world who come to him for food. He administers the grain reserves in Egypt without prejudice for one group of people or another. The twin virtues of wisdom and perception become the virtues that all persons in positions of power should have (1 Kgs 3:12; cf. also Ps 105:16–22). (2) The novella also bridges the OT traditions about the patriarchal fathers in Canaan (Genesis 11–38) and those about the Israelites in Egypt (Exodus). One should not conclude from this observation that the Joseph novella has no value in and of itself. Its value within its own construct comes to light particularly in the second stage of its account of movement from Canaan to Egypt. Reconciliation comes to a family torn apart by strife by moving beyond contention to consider prospects for the future. The death report about Joseph, with its bond concerning Joseph’s bones as part of the move back to Canaan (cf. Exod 13:19; Josh 24:32), expands the Joseph tradition into the future stages of Israel’s life on the land. At this point of transition, the Joseph story plays an essential role in the shape of Israel’s traditions. The structure of the Pentateuch/Hexateuch shows a problem not only in the position of the Sinai traditions within the framework of the whole, but also in the relationship between the patriarchal theme and the Exodus theme. What kind of relationship did the patriarchal traditions, with their focus on strife/promise have with the Exodus tradition, with its focus on redemption from oppression? The Joseph novella answers the question. But the answer lies not simply in having Jacob in Canaan become Israel in Egypt. The promise theme from Gen 12:1–3 finds no explicit point of contact here; implicitly it appears in the act of God through Joseph to save a remnant of Jacob’s people. But promise language does not appear.

In place of the promise language, the content of the entire Joseph story revolves around the issue of strife that breaks a family apart. And as a story about strife, the Joseph novella fits the context in the patriarchal theme generally; and the Joseph novella in particular is focused upon that strife. How can a family torn apart by strife be reconciled? Or, more to the point of the theology reflected in Gen 12:1–3, how can a family broken apart by strife serve as a vehicle for God’s blessing? The answer to the question posed for the entire patriarchal theme is that given by Joseph’s leadership: the family turns from the strife in the past to a commitment to each other for a common future. That intimacy is secured in the symbol of the Joseph tradition with the oath to bury Joseph’s bones with the family in Canaan. The familial intimacy lost in the Garden and in the struggles among people during the periods of the Flood and the Tower of Babel could be restored among the descendants of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob through their mutual commitment to a common future. Moreover, the power exercised by Joseph over the Egyptians but also over the family facilitates reconciliation. The Joseph story ends on a note of common hope, indeed, a note of union for the future.

Yet, the Joseph tradition does not end uniformly on a note of reconciliation. The death report for Jacob illustrates the continued break in the family and suggests that the final reconciliation in the people of God is projected beyond the patriarchal people to the next generation. The question posed (by the Yahwist?) in the Joseph narrative is thus: Will a reconciliation restore the intimacy of God’s people in the next generation? That facet of manipulation, that ploy of deception, in contrast to the Joseph novella recalls the negative element in the patriarchal sagas and anticipates the negative element in the Moses saga. God acts for the sake of the people. But the people show tragically a negative, rebellious side. In what manner can reconciliation for these people ever occur? For further discussion, see commentaries on Genesis in AB, OTL, BKAT, IBC, and FOTL

Bibliography

Coats, G. W. 1975. From Canaan to Egypt: Structural and Theological Context for the Joseph Story. CBQMS 4. Washington.

Humphreys, W. L. 1970. The Motif of the Wise Courtier in the OT. Diss., Union Theological Seminary.

Rad, G. von. 1971. The Joseph Narrative and Ancient Wisdom. Pp. 292–300 in PHOE.

Seybold, D. A. 1974. Paradox and Symmetry in the Joseph Narrative. Pp. 59–73 in Literary Interpretations of Biblical Narratives, ed. K. R. R. Gros-Louis, J. S. Ackerman and T. S. Warshaw. Nashville.

George W. Coats

 

Ancestors: Jacob/Israel

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

Don Corleone.  Superman. Jimmy Garoppolo. James Bond. Bono.  If these guys were on posters, which would you use to adorn your bedroom walls?  Which would you want as a business partner, or best friend, or a sibling, or to marry your daughter, or vote for president?  Which would you choose as a role model?

As part of our Ancestors series, today we turn our attention to Jacob, one of the grandsons of Abraham. Jacob wasn’t like Abraham.  Everybody seems to like Abraham, for the most part, due to his unwavering faithfulness.  I’m not sure how many people would choose Jacob for their business partner, best friend, sibling, daughter’s husband, or president, let alone role model.  Do you remember his story?  If not, take some time to read it in Genesis 25-35.  Here’s a recap of some of the major stories recorded for us…

 

·       When Jacob was in utero, he wrestled with his fraternal twin, grabbing his heel as his brother, Esau, entered the world first, becoming the older brother.

·       When the brothers were older, Jacob took advantage of his brother’s hunger and swindled the birthright for a bowl of stew.  Of course, that meant Esau went along with it – both choices less than ideal.  The younger brother acquired the oldest brother’s birthright.  Remember that – it will happen again.

·       When their father, Isaac, was getting older and weaker, he told Esau to hunt some wild game and make a stew for him, at which point the father would sign over his portfolio to his oldest son.  Esau neglected to tell his dad about forfeiting his birthright (and apparently Jacob never mentioned it, either), so off he went to hunt down a deer.  Rebekah, Jacob’s mother, overheard the conversation and helped Jacob trick his dad into thinking he was Esau in order to receive the blessing.  Needless to say, Isaac felt duped and Esau was enraged, likely ready to hunt down a shifty brother for his next kill.  The younger brother acquired the oldest brother’s right to the estate and the blessing of the patriarch.  Remember that – it will show up again.

·       Jacob fled for his life by running to his Uncle Laban’s ranch.  While there, he fell in love with Laban’s younger daughter, Rachel (his cousin!), and worked a deal to acquire her as his wife in exchange for seven years of labor.  On the wedding night, however, Laban sent his older, less becoming daughter, Leah, into the bed to welcome an unsuspecting, likely drunk groom.  Upon waking the next morning, he discovered that he’d been bamboozled.  Now irrevocably married to Leah, he agreed to work another seven years for Rachel (again).  I guess we know which side of the family the deceptive genes came from…

·       After nearly twenty years of service to Laban, making him a wealthy man, Jacob asked for his due wages.  Laban, who ripped him off many-a-time, proposed a settlement: Jacob could have all but the pure white goats.  All the speckled, striped, and black goats and sheep would be Jacob’s. Realizing that Jacob was his golden-egg-laying goose, Laban took all of the current non-white animals for himself, so that any non-white ones would have to be bread from white ones. In other words, Laban ripped him off again.  Yet the 4-H competition was on!  Jacob, true to form, used a folklore trick to insure he walked away with way more animals than Laban. He was now pretty rich, and ready to return to his homeland.

·       Esau was still in the homeland, however, and heard of Jacob’s homecoming.  He gathered up 400 of his men (he was rich) for a welcoming party (?!).  News of this show of force made its way to Jacob.  Knowing he needed to cut a deal, and perhaps save his own skin, he had his entire household sleep on one side of the river while he slept on the other (so he could escape more easily, perhaps?).  The next day he paraded his holdings as if to announce to his older brother that he came with a peace offering.  It turned into a peaceful reconciliation where Esau welcomed Jacob back, and only took the gifts after much insistence from his younger brother.

·       Jacob’s character traits continued to bleed through his life story.  As his father Isaac did to him, he showed favoritism to one of his sons over the others (the second-to-youngest), causing great enmity between the siblings.

Jacob was no Superman who was incapable of being swayed toward dishonesty. In contrast, Jacob was a complex character, a very human being who was a strong mixture of all that is beautiful and wonderful and also all that is self-serving and destructive.  Jacob, not Abraham, is the person God wanted the Jewish people to see themselves in.  For this reason, after that mysterious wrestling match the night before reuniting with his brother, that WWE-messenger-representative of God gave him a new name: Israel, which translates wrestles with God.  Hmmm.

He didn’t rename Abraham to a name that translates “faithful to God” for the national identity.  Nope.  The name of the nation would be forever tied to “wrestling with God.”  Why do you suppose this is the way things played out?  What do you suppose it meant for the Israelites in Babylonian captivity?  What might it mean now for all people of faith who are trying to follow the God we see in Genesis?

Renaming Jacob to Israel was just brilliant.  The name would forever encourage those who “own” it to keep perspective, realizing that, like Jacob, they are not innocent, but are capable of all of the less flattering attitudes and behaviors displayed in their namesake.  The cycle of Israel’s history was one of choosing to be faithful followed by fading faithfulness followed by painful consequences that come from drawing from a source that is not God, not Love.  In time, Israel as a whole would struggle their way to repentance – turning toward – God, who was always faithful to re-engage their covenant relationship.

Personally, we would do well to remember our faith’s poster child as well.  While we look to Jesus as the model of our faith, we may be wise to keep a picture of Jacob/Israel nearby.  We need the same perspective this provided for the Jewish people.  Such perspective hopefully engenders a humility that will keep us honest with the tension between our self-centered tendencies that can so often lead to destructive ends and the Way of the Spirit of God which is the source of life, love, restoration, creation – all the fruits that are beautiful and good.  What can we do to be consistently aware of the wrestling match about which we seem to be oblivious much of the time, and therefore inclined toward less than ideal choices?

Recently, I was listening to a well-respected meditation teacher who shared a tip she incorporated into her personal practice many years ago.  Anybody who meditates knows that one of the problems is that our minds can go a little crazy.  We can be flooded with an endless assault of thoughts and ideas, or even as we sit and try to be still, something may distract us and our mind is off to the races.  Focusing on breathing is the foundation for a lot of meditative practice.  Simply calming ourselves with such focus does amazing things for us mentally, emotionally, and physically.  All by focusing attention on the breath. The instructor employs a simple technique to stay focused on her breath.  When she inhales and exhales, focusing on her breath, she simply says (in her mind), “breath.”  When her mind wanders (and she recognizes it) she simply says, “not breath.”  So simple, yet so effective at staying on track with something that generates so many positive benefits.

The Hebrew and Greek words that give us the word Spirit are the same that give us the word for breath.  I wonder if we would be well-served by the meditation teacher’s little trick, paying attention to our lives as we live day to day, hour by hour and moment by moment, identifying whether or not we are focusing on Breath (as in the Spirit of God) or something much less life-giving.  Such a simple practice that I think has the capacity to create a deep mindfulness that may just help us stay connected to God and all that God touches.  I believe this is what Jesus learned to do, which then shaped him into the man he became.

But how do we know if what is guiding us is Breath or Not-Breath?  Asking the question is likely the most important first step.  Self-awareness is really important if we hope for the kind of holistic well-being that is central to the salvation proclaimed by Jesus and offered by God from the very beginning.  Having Jacob as a negative example to use for reference helps.  How are we driven by our own selfish interests which so often translate into behavior that is truly unloving toward others and ultimately unloving toward ourselves?  How do we deceive ourselves even as we deceive others? Are we aware of our resident potential for unhealth?  Jacob’s selfish desire led him to manipulate his brother and lie to his father.  He was sneaky and self-serving.  I wonder how this played out in every aspect of his life?  I bet it did in myriad ways.

Jesus assured us that we are not made to become legalistic robots.  Later, Paul declared that such an approach would actually lead to death, not life.  Jesus said that the whole of the Jewish law (which was given to guide toward life) could be fulfilled in focusing on just two commands: love God and love our neighbors as ourselves.  So simple, and yet so profound.  Neither Esau nor Jacob operated out of either focus of love in the dinner transactions for birthright or blessing.  Who knows how things might have turned out if they did?  When we love God – which really means that we root ourselves in the Breath, aligning ourselves with the Spirit of God, being motivated by what motivates God, being animated with God’s Person, we are changed.  We see ourselves and others differently.  Loving our neighbor becomes natural, effortless, and generous.  Augustine thought that if we simply focused on loving God, everything else will take care of itself: “Love God and do what you please.”

Are you aware of what you are breathing?  Are you conscious of when it is Breath or Not-Breath?  Where is there a lack of wholeness in your life?  Perhaps that’s one indicator of an area that needs some new breathing…

There are tools that help with this.  The Enneagram Institute offers an assessment that helps you identify your personality according to nine different types (which expand to 27 variations).  You can invest $12 for their comprehensive assessment (the best), or get an app on your phone/tablet – the EnneaApp is one of the best as it links you to the Enneagram Institute.  One of the great gifts offered by the Enneagram is a fairly accurate picture of what we look like when we are healthy, average, and unhealthy.  Knowing what these zones look like provide references for our particular lives.  Knowing what unhealthy looks like, and being aware of it, I am more likely to catch it when I pull a “Jacob maneuver”.  On the upside, knowing the traits of health for my type serve to guide me like the North Star toward freedom, especially since health in this regard is deeply tied to maturity, wellbeing, shalom.

Incorporating the Prayer of Examen with this turbo-charges our capacity for self-reflection, awareness, and growth.  This daily practice of simply checking in with ourselves is so helpful, especially when combined with regular meditation that helps us quiet ourselves enough to be able to really pay attention.

So, Israel, your life is behind you and before you. Who have you been?  Who do you want to be?

 

Notes to Nerd Out On…

 

Add these books to your reading list for reference on Genesis: Genesis for Normal People by Pete Enns,  brings excellent academics with very approachable writing (he is fun to listen to and read); and In the Beginning by the great historian Karen Armstrong, which offers a Midrash approach to the texts.

 

From the Yale Anchor Bible Dictionary (Stanley D. Walters):

 

JACOB NARRATIVE. Jacob was the younger son of Isaac and Rebekah, twin brother of Esau, and father of the 12 sons after whom were named the 12 tribes of Israel. He is the central figure in the cycle of stories in Gen 25:19–35:29 and reappears as a lesser figure in the Joseph stories (Genesis 37–50). In separate popular etymologies, the Heb name yaʿăqōb is connected with Heb ʿāqēb, “heel,” because Jacob was born clutching the heel of his brother Esau (Gen 25:26), and with the verb ʿāqab, “cheat,” because Esau said that Jacob had cheated him twice (27:36). The name may be a shortened form of Heb yʿqb-ʾl, “God protects,” a name known from extrabiblical sources (Noth 1953). Jacob later received the name “Israel” as a mark of his struggle (32:29) and piety (35:10), and his descendants were later identified by this name (“children of Israel”).

Biblical Jacob is unknown outside the Bible, although the general congruence of the patriarchal narratives with customs and artifacts known from archaeology to belong to the 2d millennium (especially the material from Nuzi and Mari) has sometimes been used to support his historicity. Later scrutiny called much of that argument into question (Van Seters 1975; Thompson 1974) on the grounds that the alleged parallels were inexact or unrepresentative, or had been misunderstood. For example, the claim that possession of household idols (Gen 31:19) helped constitute the family of Jacob as a legitimate clan has been given up (Selman 1980: 110). Some writers have refused even to attempt historical reconstructions (HAIJ, 79). Where historical questions remain open, Jacob has been dated to the 1900s b.c.e. (Bimson 1980: 84), and a number of extrabiblical customs are seen to retain their pertinence (Selman 1980: 125–229; see also Morrison 1983).

Until recently, critical scholarship assumed that the documentary hypothesis was a key to understanding the Jacob material, namely, strands of J and E with later additions or redaction by P (Van Seters 1975 dates J to the Exile rather than to the time of Solomon; CMHE, 293–325, and Hendel 1987 hold to the early oral-epic origin of J E, enlarged and ordered by P late in the Exile). Noth had postulated an East-Jordan Jacob and a West-Jordan Jacob, the latter stories being secondary and less interesting (HPT, 89ff.). Farmer (1978) approaches the story as folklore, focusing on how trickster figures such as Jacob and Samson, operating from a position of weakness, trick others or are themselves tricked. Oden (1983) employs data from the field of anthropology.

Meanwhile a plethora of holistic literary treatments have appeared, based on a reassessment of the form and style of “narrative” (Frei 1974; Alter 1981) and reflecting a fundamental hermeneutic shift. In general, this approach does not deny the composite character of the Jacob material, but downplays the cycle’s prehistory in favor of questions of meaning, and it sets aside historical questions as inappropriate to the material (Fokkelman 1975; Clines 1978; Buss 1979; Thompson 1987). Such is the general perspective of the present article, which is more about the Jacob cycle than about Jacob and is literary rather than biographical in method.

A.   Structure of the Jacob Cycle

B.   The Cycle’s Stories

C.   Meaning

A. Structure of the Jacob Cycle

The stories of the Jacob cycle have been artfully arranged to gather around Jacob’s return to the land of his birth, Canaan, after a hasty flight and long residence abroad to avoid his brother’s revenge. They are thus informed by a dual tension: (1) How can the duplicitous Jacob become the father of God’s people? and (2) How can he inherit the promise made to Abraham and Isaac if he leaves the land which God has given to them? The fundamental theme of the cycle has to do with the life and character of “Israel,” that is, the people of God. The Jacob stories are about the essence and meaning of a people (Thompson 1987: 39–40). The biblical text presents the Jacob stories in a concentric pattern which has been independently observed by several scholars (Fishbane 1975; see also Fokkelman 1975: 240; Gammie 1979; otherwise Hendel 1987: 144, n. 20) and which is signalled both by cross-references in vocabulary and by thematic similarities. The cycle breaks into 2 equal halves at Gen 30:24–25, each having 7 matching segments, presented thematically in exact reverse order. The entire cycle is bracketed at beginning and end by genealogies of the 2 sons who stand outside the line of promise, Ishmael (25:12–18) and Esau (chap. 36), so that Jacob’s role as the bearer of the promise is unmistakable.

The Unchosen Son (Ishmael) (25:12–18)

A.   Beginings. Birth, prediction, early conflict between Jacob and Esau (25:19–34)

      B.   Relations with indigenous population (26:1–22)

            C.   Blessing obtained [“He took away (lāqaḥ) my bĕrākâ” (27:35–36)] (27:1–40)

                  D.   Jacob’s flight from Esau (27:41–28:5)

                     E.   Encounter with God’s agents (28:10–22)

                        F.   Arival in Haran: Rachel, Laban (29:1–30)

                           G.      Children: Jacob acquires a family (30:1–24)

Jacob’s return to Canaan begins as soon as Joseph is born

                                 Flocks: Jacob aquires wealth (30:25–43)

                           Departure from Haran: Rachel, Laban (31:1–32:1—Eng 31:1–55)

                        Encounter with God’s agent (32:2–3—Eng 32:1–2)

                     Jacob’s approach to Esau (32:4–33—Eng 32:3–32)

               Blessing returned [“Accept (lāqaḥ) my bĕrākâ” (33:11)] (33:1–20)

         Telations with indigenous population (chap. 34)

   Endings. Death, fulfillment, Jacob and Esau together (chap. 35)

The Unchosen Son (Esau) (chap. 36)

The 2 segments on Esau’s wives which frame segment C (26:34–35; 28:6–9) seem to stand outside the above topical descriptions.

Some of the thematic correspondences are especially clear. For example, segments B/B´ both deal with relations between the people of the promise and the indigenous residents of Canaan, in sharply contrasting modes. In terms of narrative sequence, however, B is out of order (since the twins have not yet been born, 26:11), and belongs to the 20-year period of Rebekah’s barrenness (25:20, 26); its chronological dislocation was necessary for it to function topically in the cycle. Placement and juxtaposition are among the writer’s major techniques.

This topical match between the segments in each of the halves is confirmed by several striking cross-references in writing. The numinous experiences in E/E´ each feature God’s “agents” (or “angels”), an expression recurring nowhere else in the Bible. The same 2 sections also use the Hebrew verb pāqaʿ, “encounter,” which occurs nowhere else in the sense of “reach a place,” suggesting that the writer chose the unusual verb at 28:10 in order to effect the linkage with E´. Again, the occurrence of bĕrākâ “blessing” in the antonymic expressions “he took away your/my blessing” and “accept my blessing,” both with the verb lāqaḥ, “take,” is the thread connecting segments C/C´.

Thus the cycle is not only a narrative sequence with its own inner movement, but an artful arrangement which invites the reader to compare each segment with its complement later (or earlier) in the sequence.

To illustrate: segments A/A´ clearly open and close the cycle. Certain information is repeated from earlier in Genesis in order to give the cycle a proper beginning: Isaac’s birth (21:1–5), marriage (24:67), and Rebekah’s family (24:15, 29), adding the characterization “Aramean.” An oracle predicts that Rebekah’s children will become two “nations,” one submissive to the other. The twins are born, and both their prenatal struggle (v 22) and Jacob’s manipulation of Esau (vv 27–34) prefigure Jacob’s character as a loner who lives by his wits at the expense of other people, as well as the bad blood between the twins (chap. 27) and the later hostility between Israel and Edom (36:1, 8–9, 19; cf. Ps 137:7; Ezekiel 35).

A´ echoes the theme of A in conclusion: the deaths of Isaac, Jacob’s wife Rachel, and Rebekah’s nurse Deborah; Jacob’s 12 sons are listed by name and mother, a “nation”; the twins, having come together (chap. 33), stand at their father’s grave; and Jacob appears as a religious reformer (vv 1–7) and recipient of the full divine promise (vv 9–25).

B. The Cycle’s Stories

Segment A (25:19–34). Jacob and Esau were born as a result of Isaac’s intercession with God, because Rebekah (like Sarah before her and Rachel after her) was barren; offspring are the gift of God. Among the Bible’s several husbands of barren wives, only Isaac prayed for a change (contrast Jacob in Gen 30:2), marking him as a man of piety and intimating a synergism which runs throughout the whole cycle.

Rebekah’s only words in this section arise out of the prenatal jostling of the twins, but the Hebrew sentence is incomplete: “If so, why am I …?” The text leaves Rebekah musing uncertainly about the events which her pregnancy portends; hers is an unfinished question, a verbless and ambiguous reflection which prefigures her incomplete and partial role in the cycle as a whole, just as the jostling forecasts enmity between the twins.

The oracle which she sought disclosed that her children would become separate peoples of unequal power, and that the nation springing from the older would be submissive to the younger. By identifying the sons with the peoples who sprang from them, the oracle at once implies a collective as well as an individual reading of the stories that follow: They recount the outward and inner movements of Jacob, the son of Isaac and Rebekah; but they refer also to the movements, the calling, and the character of the people named “Israel” after him. A collective reference is also suggested by the allusions associated with the naming of Esau: His hirsute appearance at birth (Heb śēʿār, 25:25; 27:11) alludes to his country Seir (33:16), while his ruddy color (Heb ʾadmônı̂, v 25) and preference for red stew (Heb hāʾādōm, v 30) refer to his region Edom. By contrast, the name Jacob is explained with reference to personal behavior, since the collective reference belongs especially to his second name, Israel.

The narrative moves from the birth of the twins directly to an event showing that their relationships as adults realized the conflict portended by prenatal and birth events. Jacob took advantage of Esau’s fatigue and hunger by requiring him to trade his birthright for some food. The cycle has thus barely opened when Esau has ceded to Jacob the bĕkōrâ, his inheritance rights as firstborn. In a rare show of appraisal, the text says that Esau “spurned” his birthright. Yet, Jacob’s behavior was hardly exemplary: His hand was clearly on Esau’s heel, and the pairing of this episode with the birth story types Jacob’s character as the grasping and manipulative.

This falls short of expectations, as compared with Abraham and Isaac and in view of Jacob’s subsequent role as the father of the Israelite people. The dissonance is even in the text, for in the parallel description of the twins’ way of life (25:27), opposite the assessment “Esau was a skillful hunter,” we read, “Jacob was a blameless man” (Heb ʾı̂š tām, exactly as Job 1:8; 2:3). Translations use attenuated words (“plain” KJV, “quiet” RSV, “mild” JPS), but tām clearly implies moral excellence. This, then—moral excellence—is to be Israel’s vocation; and the same story which asserts it so boldly goes on to show Jacob as something other than blameless. The disparity introduces a tension at the beginning of the cycle which is not fully relaxed until the end.

Segment B (26:1–33). This story belongs chronologically to the time before the twins were born, but its placement within the cycle gives it pertinence to him. It opens with a direct reference to Abraham’s behavior in an earlier famine (v 1: the reference is thematic, not chronological, since a minimum of 64 years in narrative time separates the 2 [10 years 16:3; 14 years 16:16 and 21:5; 40 years 26:20]). As Abraham had done, Isaac started out for Egypt, but in the “Philistine” city of Gerar, God appeared to warn against leaving the land and to reiterate to Isaac the Abrahamic promise of land and progeny (vv 2–5).

Isaac’s anxiety over their safety in Gerar proved to be unfounded (vv 6–11), and the juxtaposition of this episode to v 5’s prolix “my charge, my commandments, my laws, my teachings,” suggests that residence in the land also required obedience to the divine pattern for life. To “remain in the land” is synonymous with obedience to Torah (Ps 37:3).

The use of “Philistine” suggests the story’s rise at a time when relations with the Philistines were a problem to Israel. In the cycle, however, they typify the land’s indigenous residents, because Isaac visits them as a stranger and is subject to pressure from them.

Isaac’s prosperity under divine blessing led to envy and to contention over water rights; he had to move several times, thereby surrendering valuable excavated wells in the process, before finding “space” (vv 12–22; “Rehoboth” is symbolic). Following this sacrificial determination to occupy the land amicably, another divine appearance (at the pilgrim site of Beer-sheba) reiterated the promise of progeny, and added the promise of God’s presence (v 24, unique to the Jacob cycle, see also 28:15, 20; 35:3).

A final threatening approach of the Philistines resulted in a treaty (Heb bĕrı̂t “covenant”) between the 2 groups, sealed with a feast and the exchange of oaths (vv 23–33). The treaty episode interrupts the account of digging one more well (vv 25b, 32), so that the servant’s report, “We have found water,” takes on symbolic importance: Water is life, especially in the arid Negeb where Beer-sheba is located, and so also is the treaty life. Isaac has shown that it is possible to occupy the land of promise, to observe Torah, to prosper, and to maintain good relations with the other residents. He has found life. The other treaty, between God and Abraham, is also in the background: Although the word bĕrı̂t is not used in the promise reports of chap. 26, it has been used in the earlier promises which are now being extended to Isaac (15:8; chap. 17); it, too, is life.

This segment on indigenous relations stands between 2 sections (A and C) on relations between Jacob and Esau, which are marked as a pair by common themes (e.g., Jacob outwits Esau to his own advantage) and by similar key words, such as bĕkōrâ and bĕrākâ (“birthright” and “blessing”). These words not only sound alike but are visually similar on the written page—bkrh and brkh—being distinguished only by the transposition of the middle 2 consonants.

This placement both links Isaac’s example with the subsequent B´, a different mode of engagement with the people of the land, and unmistakably juxtaposes Isaac’s style of relationship to Jacob’s. The juxtaposition announces, “Jacob may be living by strife and deceit, but if you want to see life under the promise, in the middle of all the ambiguity of threatening sociopolitical relationships, take a look at Isaac.” The story also stresses the need for the recipients of the promise to maintain residence in the land, something which will add additional tension in segment C.

Segment C (27:1–40). In the second of the paired stories of dealings between Jacob and Esau, Rebekah led Jacob to deceive his father into bestowing the patriarchal blessing—bĕrākâ—on him instead of on Esau the firstborn. Jacob disguised himself as Esau, and, although the blind Isaac was never free from suspicion, the ruse worked: The father ate his favorite dish and conferred on Jacob a promise of agricultural prosperity and hegemony over other people, including his brother (vv 28–29). Only when Esau actually showed up to receive the blessing did Isaac discover the trick; the blessing was already Jacob’s, but Isaac gave Esau a similar promise of bounty along with the promise that he should eventually free himself from Jacob’s yoke (vv 39–40).

This detailed and extended story—7 times as long as the bĕkōrâ—shows Jacob firmly in the legal and financial position of the firstborn. Both stories involve manipulation, and both involve meals, to which Isaac’s amicable covenant meal with Abimelech is a pointed contrast. They offer complementary explanations of Jacob’s priority, the shorter being more favorable to Jacob (there is no outright deception, and Esau “spurns” his birthright), the latter being marked by a deliberate and callous duplicity involving Rebekah as prime mover (the verbs in vv 14–17 have Rebekah, not Jacob, as their subject). Jacob’s impersonation of Esau symbolizes his priority: He dresses in Esau’s clothes and simulates Esau’s tomentose appearance (vv 15–16); he smells of the outdoors (v 27); he twice says, “I am your firstborn” (vv 19, 24). He has taken Esau’s place.

The Masoretic editors of the Hebrew text have signalled this in another way in Isaac’s reply to Jacob’s address in v 18. Isaac says “Yes?” (Heb hinnennı̂), a common locution normally spelled hinnēnı̂, but with 2 doubled “n”s only here and in Gen 22:7 where Isaac’s address to Abraham and the father’s reply are in the identical words. In both stories the father replies to the younger but favored son.

This linkage also highlights the tension which the second episode of cheating introduces into the cycle. In Gen 22:7 Isaac was the obedient and compliant son, enquiring about sacrificial procedures; but in Gen 27:18 Jacob—equally born by divine intervention—says, “I am Esau, your firstborn.” How can such mendacity inherit and bear the promise? And indeed, the fathers’ replies in each case signal this, for Abraham said to Isaac, “Yes, my son,” but Isaac said to Jacob, “Yes, who are you, my son?” Thus, one of the central themes of the whole cycle of stories comes to expression—the unclear identity of Jacob.

The story expresses this ambiguity in other ways. In talking to Rebekah about the deception, Jacob offered descriptions of both himself and Esau (v 11), in which there are wordplays pointing beyond the immediate situation. Esau, said Jacob, is a hairy man (Heb ʾı̂š śāʿir). The adjective is a homophone of śāʿı̂r “he-goat, buck,” and thus alludes playfully to Esau’s outdoor life and to the skins of kids with which Jacob disguised himself (v 16). I, said Jacob, am a smooth man (Heb ʾı̂š ḥālāq). The same adjective occurs elsewhere of deceptive speech (Prov 5:3; 26:28). Who are you, Jacob? By his own mouth, he is not a “blameless man” (25:27), but a “slippery man.”

Although Isaac could give the patriarchal blessing to only one of his sons, he also gave Esau a promise very similar in that it predicted the same agricultural boons—the fat of the land and the dew of heaven (in reverse order, vv 28 and 39). Translations usually obscure this similarity, since the preposition min can mean both “have a share in” and “be far from,” but the reader of the story in Hebrew may wonder if there is still a chance for Esau to recoup his position, especially since Isaac told him he would throw off Jacob’s yoke.

Segment D (27:41–28:5). Esau’s anger at a second supplanting (v 36) made it necessary for Jacob to flee, and his mother arranged his departure for her own country where he could stay with her brother Laban (vv 41–45), representing the trip to Isaac as required so that Jacob should not marry a local woman (27:46–28:5). Classical literary criticism has seen these two sets of arrangements as duplicate accounts from different sources: The former, which calls Rebekah’s homeland “Haran,” from JE, and the latter, using “Paddan-aram” from P. But each paragraph plays its own role in the movement of the narrative.

This sly provision for Jacob’s sudden need to leave home is the cycle’s final glimpse of Rebekah. Her last words follow the “if … then …” pattern of her first (25:22), but here the sentence is complete: lāmmâ lı̂ ḥayyı̂m “What good will life be to me?” (v 46). These 2 sentences—freighted with import by their position—show Rebekah preoccupied with her own feelings and well-being. Her single significant action has been to engineer the deception by which her second-born son Jacob, instead of Esau her firstborn, received Isaac’s blessing. Her way of life has affinities with that of her brother Laban (29:15–30; 31:6–7, 14–15, 41–42), and Jacob’s own slippery character displays a family resemblance.

This way of life is new in the Genesis narratives. Apart from their lies about their wives (chaps. 12, 20, 26), both Abraham and Isaac are exemplary persons, and in chap. 26 Isaac is conscientious and sacrificial in his relations with the herdsmen of Gerar. The term “Aramean,” found first in Rebekah’s genealogy (25:20; 28:5) and elsewhere applied to Laban alone (31:20, 24), while obviously denoting the N Syrian region of their origin as “Aram,” seems also to connote this behavioral pattern in the Haran side of the family; “Aramean” is new in the Jacob cycle, even though all the other genealogical information of 25:20 is already found in 24:15, 28.

It is thus a central tension within the cycle whether Jacob will actually become the chosen leader which later Israelites knew him to be. His departure from Canaan raises the possibility that he has abandoned the land promised to Abraham and which Isaac has resolutely occupied at great cost (chap. 26), and has adopted another way of life altogether. Deut 26:5 describes him as “an Aramean given up for lost.”

Before Jacob left, Isaac gave another blessing, this one clearly linked to earlier traditions in Genesis by the words “fertile and numerous” (28:3), alluding to Gen 1:28 and 9:1: Like Adam and Noah, Jacob is to be the start of something new and big, becoming “an assembly of peoples.” Isaac went on (28:4) to link Jacob with the Abrahamic promise and possession of the land, something new in the narrative and especially incongruous in view of his imminent departure. Unlikely as it seems, Jacob has been marked as the bearer of the promise.

At this point, Esau does not look as bad as later tradition painted him (especially Heb 12:16, which called him “irreligious”), since he has been victimized in both stories of rivalry with Jacob. His rehabilitation is further suggested by the 2 snippets of information about his wives which frame the deception story (26:34–35 and 28:6–9). The first reports that his Hittite wives “were a source of bitterness” to his parents; the second notes that he married Mahalath, the daughter of Ishmael, Isaac’s half-brother. Moreover, Esau remains in Canaan, and the promise concerns the land (28:4).

This, then, is the situation: Jacob has spurned the Abrahamic promise and has decamped the land which the promise conveyed to Abraham’s offspring; Esau has received a patriarchal promise only slightly less complete than Jacob’s, and has married within the Abrahamic family in order to please his parents; he is on the land. The narrative retains Esau more as a peer than as a subordinate, and everything points toward his regaining his lost privileged position. Naturally, the informed reader knows that this did not happen, but the story’s willingness to let this prospect arise heightens the tension which Jacob’s moral deficiencies and his flight have already raised.

Segment E (28:10–22). In a brief but pivotal episode—the only event from his journey to the north—Jacob dreamed of a stairway between earth and heaven, with God’s agents going up and down on it. The Lord stood beside him and promised him the land, innumerable offspring, and the divine presence to protect and return him to the land (vv 13–15). Jacob awoke, recognizing the numinous character of both the place and his experience, and responded by setting up a stone pillar and naming the site Bethel, “God’s House” (vv 16–19). He reciprocated the promise by a conditional vow, “the Lord shall be my God” (v 21).

The stairway (traditionally “ladder”; the word does not occur elsewhere in the Bible) is a symbol of the accessibility of God’s help and presence, a theme distinctive to the Jacob stories. It is not a means for human ascent; God’s agents go up and come down. The stairway is like a fireman’s pole: when people are in need, helpers come down to render it. Their place is not in heaven, but on earth, where the divine presence is required.

In Jacob’s life, this event is epochal because (a) it is the first time that the divine promise which had come to both Abraham and Isaac now comes to Jacob, directly from God (earlier only from Isaac in Gen 28:3–4), and because (b) it is the first time that Jacob shows any interest whatsoever in the religious side of his family tradition (previously only focusing on priority over Esau). The divine initiative arrested him as he was in flight from his land and his people, and Jacob was sufficiently moved to acknowledge God’s presence and to perform religious acts.

The sections 28:6–9 and 10–22 interrupt what would otherwise be a summary account of Jacob’s trip to Haran (28:5 plus 29:1; 28:10 duplicates 28:5), suggesting that each element had an earlier and different context. The genealogical interests of vv 6–9 have led many scholars to associate it with P, and the use of “Elohim” in segment E´ connects it with E. The Bethel story certainly functions as an etiology of a sacred place and location of a sanctuary where the faithful later came to worship and pay tithes (v 22). But its incorporation into the Jacob cycle has enlarged its function and meaning. Particularly the use of “YHWH” (vv 13, 16, 21) shows the story’s links with Israel’s distinctive religion, and gives to Jacob’s words in v 21 a confessional character which marks the event as a kind of conversion, occurring just as he seems firmly to have closed the door on becoming what later generations knew he became: the ancestor of Israel, God’s people.

At the same time, Jacob’s vow falls short of hearty embrace of the promise. Its conditionality (“If …” v 20) is confirmed by its content. In reiterating it (vv 20–21a), Jacob omits all references to the land, progeny, expansion, and the families of the earth—essential to the patriarchal promise (vv 12–14); he is preoccupied with personal well-being (he adds food and clothes), and he alters (v 21) the promise of v 15 in subtle ways (e.g., “I [the Lord] will bring you back” becomes “if I [Jacob] return,” and “this land” becomes “my father’s house”), all of which shows that Jacob wishes to retain the initiative and is more interested in the family estate than the land. In short, although the Bethel event marks Jacob’s awakening to God and to the promise, he is still a “smooth man,” and his vows appear to be as much a bargain as a commitment.

Segment F (29:1–30). Jacob’s 20-year residence in Haran (31:38, 41) is recounted in the stories of Segments F–G and G´–F´. He married, serving his mother’s brother 14 years as a bride price; 11 sons and a daughter were born to him by 4 women; and he eventually became wealthy in livestock and servants. His relationships with Laban (in whom Jacob almost met his match in craftiness) dominate these sections. The initial encounter was apparently cordial (vv 13–14), and the final scene is of a covenant meal between them (31:51–54), but in between the 2 men circle warily, each looking to his own advantage.

Jacob’s first contact with his mother’s people was at a well where shepherds were gathered with their flocks. As they spoke, Laban’s daughter Rachel arrived with his flock. The well (v 2) introduces a double entendre (Prov 5:15; Cant 4:15): The large stone on the mouth of the well intimates that Rachel will be hard to get; when Jacob, singlehanded, rolls the stone from the mouth, we have not only a show of masculine strength, but also an intimation that Jacob will marry her. There is no other example in the Bible of a man kissing a woman (v 11).

Jacob stayed with Laban, and after a month proposed to work 7 years in order to marry Rachel. Laban agreed, but when the time was up he substituted his older and less-attractive daughter Leah, a deception Jacob did not discover until the next morning. When Jacob protested, Laban pled local custom, and offered to give him Rachel at the same time, in exchange for another 7 years of work. Thus Jacob came to have 2 wives, each of whom had a maid.

There is an ironic fitness in Laban’s deception. Jacob’s reach for the rights of the firstborn son (Esau, Heb bĕkōr27:32) got him the firstborn daughter (Heb bĕkı̂râ 29:26), as well. He, eschewing the place of the younger son (sāʿı̂r25:23) was at first denied the younger daughter (śeʿı̂râ 29:26). The man who imposed this sentence was the brother of the woman who led Jacob to deceive Isaac. Jacob’s befuddlement is so complete that he did not discover the substitution even in intercourse.

Jacob and Rachel initially have a romantic and tender relationship. She was shapely and beautiful (v 17), and Jacob’s first 7 years’ work seemed like only a few days because of his love for her (v 20). To fall in love is to become vulnerable, and in this relationship the loner began to emerge from his private world of wit and manipulation. As the stairway dream signalled a new direction in Jacob’s relation to God and the promise, so does his love for Rachel in his relationships with other people.

His relationship with Laban was more complex. The uncle embraced and kissed the nephew (v 13), as Jacob and Esau were to do later (33:4), and regarded Jacob as an insider who might suitably marry his daughter (v 19). But Laban’s exclamation, “You are truly my bone and my flesh” (v 14) has as much to do with Jacob’s duplicity as it does with blood, since Laban said this after Jacob had told him all that had happened (v 13), presumably including the reason for his flight from home. The young Laban had been remarked for his cupidity (Gen 24:22, 30–31); the fact that Jacob brought no rich gifts with him did not save him from the mature Laban’s canny eye. Fourteen years’ work would buy many gold bracelets.

Segment G (29:31–30:24). The narrative next turns to the building up of Jacob’s family through the birth of 12 children (including his daughter Dinah). The names of the 11 sons have popular etymologies attached to them which, for the most part, have to do with the wives’ standing with one another or with Jacob. The sense of rivalry and even hostility is very strong (Levi 29:34, Naphtali 30:8, Joseph 30:23), reflecting the reality of a polygamous household and perhaps also of tribal rivalries in later years. None of the names is distinctly theophoric, but God/the Lord is mentioned in most of the explanations.

The Lord favored Leah because she was unloved, and consequently she bore 4 sons. Rachel became envious and burst out at Jacob, “Give me children, or I shall die,” a peremptory demand which recalls Rebekah’s brusque rhetoric (25:22; 27:46). Jacob’s response (v 2) was in kind, and Rachel then offered him her maid Bilhah, using identical words to Sarai’s (Gen 16:2), “that I also may acquire a family through her” (v 3). The story thus compares her not only with Leah but tacitly with her husband’s grandmother, Israel’s primal progenitress, as well. Two sons were born to Jacob through Bilhah, and 2 more through Leah’s maid Zilpah. Rachel sought fecundity with an aphrodisiac (v 14), the only result of which was that Jacob returned to Leah, who bore him 2 more sons (vv 15–20).

Rachel thus remained childless, although Jacob had 10 sons by the other 3 women of the household. The birth of her son Joseph marks the midpoint of the Jacob cycle, and came about because “God remembered Rachel” (v 22). The expression is rich in associations (Noah, at the height of the flood [Gen 8:1], or the subsequent birth of the prophet Samuel in answer to Hannah’s prayer [1 Sam 1:19]), and implies God’s redemptive attention to people’s needs, especially in connection with the covenant (Exod 2:24). With 12 children, Jacob has grown into a complete family. (Dinah is the 12th; the 12th son, Benjamin, was born later on Canaanite soil [35:16–19] although the concluding summary of the cycle lists him as one of the 12 sons born in Paddan-Aram [35:22b–26]). Jacob can now return home.

Segment G´ (30:25–43). But before Jacob was actually to go back, his growth as a family must be matched by his wealth. This and the preceding section—the 2 innermost sections of the cycle—match each other well: The competitiveness and trickery (30:15) of the wives is matched by Laban’s new tricks; the growth of both groups does not come without difficulty, but in the end is ample. Since the Israelite people were later often known as a “flock” under God’s care (e.g., Ezekiel 34; Pss 77:21; 78:20–22; 79:13; 96:6–7; 100:3), the collocation is especially apt; figurally the 2 groups are the same.

Jacob asked Laban’s permission to go back to his homeland: The required time had been more than served (v 26). But when Laban urged him to stay in his service and to name his wages, Jacob proposed to take all the irregularly colored animals out of Laban’s flocks as a nuclear flock of his own. The wily uncle agreed, but at once culled and moved those animals, so that Jacob still had nothing. Jacob responded with certain obscure procedures by which Laban’s good flocks bred miscolored offspring; these then became Jacob’s, in accordance with the agreement. In the end, his large family was equalled by his enormous holdings of servants and livestock (v 43).

Segment F´ (31:1–32:1—Eng 31:1–55). Jacob once more decided to return home. Although his mother had told him that she would send for him, the story is silent about her. There were 3 reasons for his decision: hostility from Laban’s sons (v 1), a change in Laban’s attitude toward him (v 2), and instructions from the Lord to do so (v 3). The synergism of human motives and divine direction is striking. He discussed it secretly (v 4) with Rachel and Leah, referring to Laban’s guile, crediting God with his wealth, and reporting a dream in which “God’s agent” had directed him to return home (vv 7–13). The wives supported Jacob’s decision, describing themselves as “outsiders” in their own clan, since Laban had “sold us and used up our purchase price” (v 15).

It was not only Jacob who credited God with his wealth; the angel said the same thing (v 12), and the wives also, adding that the wealth was justly theirs (v 16). The story thus responds to the brothers’ charge that Jacob had grown rich at Laban’s expense.

Both here and in his earlier wish to return, Jacob spoke of his “land” (30:25; 31:3, 13), as does the summary of his departure (v 18). This language goes beyond that of his previous vow, which spoke only of returning to his “father’s house” (28:21); Jacob will now do more than possess the estate; he will occupy the land. (Laban speaks only of “your father’s house” [v 30], since he knows nothing of the promise.) Moreover, although Jacob was Rebekah’s favorite, he left “to go to his father Isaac” (v 18). Where is Rebekah?

This time Jacob did not ask permission, but left while Laban was away shearing sheep. Unknown to Jacob, Rachel stole the household idols (v 19), perhaps for their religious and financial value. When Laban learned what had happened, he pursued, overtaking them near Canaan. Warned by God not to mistreat them, Laban nevertheless berated Jacob and accused him of stealing the household idols. Swearing death to anyone having the idols, Jacob invited Laban to find them. He searched all the tents, finally coming to Rachel’s. She had hidden them, and, by a ruse, prevented Laban from finding them.

It was Jacob’s turn to berate Laban, and he did so, more harshly than Laban deserved under the immediate circumstances, but not more so, considering the past 20 years. In a speech (vv 38–42) summarizing their relations during that time, Jacob accused his shifty uncle and cited his own conscientious service and God’s protection. In exile, the “slippery man” of Canaan was learning to be a “blameless man.”

Laban proposed a treaty (Heb bĕrı̂t, “covenant”), marking the boundary between them by a heap of stones; each swore by his own deity (v 53), and sealed the agreement with a sacrifice and a meal. Within the story, it is the first meal that Jacob has ever eaten with anyone, and a distinct contrast to the 2 meals which he had arranged and used to get the better of Esau. The narrative thus does not allow Jacob to leave Haran without a reconciliation with Laban—unsought by Jacob—which put an end to 2 decades of mistrust.

Segment E´ (32:2–3—Eng 32:1–2). Parting amicably from Laban, Jacob continued his journey to face a similar encounter with Esau in which he has no blamelessness to plead. In a matching spiritual event to the stairway dream, God’s agents encountered him. Jacob said, “This is God’s camp,” and named that site Mahanaim, “Doublecamp.” The name is or resembles a Hebrew noun (dual number), a form used for objects which occur naturally in pairs, such as hands and ears. His own entourage is one camp (cf. 32:8—Eng 32:7), and God’s agents form the other—a natural pair. He can go on to meet Esau in tandem with the same divine company that he met at Bethel and that have been with him ever since (see 31:11).

Segment D´ (32:4–33—Eng 32:3–32). The cycle returns to Esau, who has not appeared since the end of segment D, and who is now mentioned together with the two geographical names to which the cycle early made allusion (segment A). Expecting Esau to attack, Jacob broke his retinue into 2 camps so that at least half might escape. (He is now a “people” [v 7], a term never applied to Abraham or Isaac.)

He then prayed for help, another first (vv 9–12). First, his address to God reaches back in time by speaking of the “God of Abraham and Isaac,” and forward by using “Yahweh,” the distinctive name of Israel’s deity. Second, as grounds he quotes the divine directive (from 31:3) pursuing which he had come to the present hazardous moment, substituting “deal bountifully with” for “be with.” His return to the promise at the end of the prayer uses words (“offspring as the sands of the sea”) which have not appeared in the cycle applied to Jacob (28:14 spoke of the “dust of the earth”); the narrative telescopes the promises here, drawing this line from Gen 22:17—the promise to Abraham—and identifying Jacob with the promise in its historical depth. Third, he acknowledges God’s gifts. He had left Canaan in naked flight, and was now two camps. His words “I am unworthy” (v 10), literally, “I am too small” (Heb qāṭōntı̂), express more than unworthiness; they also allude to Jacob’s being the younger (qāṭōn29:15, 24) and to the reversal of primogeniture (Brueggemann 1982). Fourth, the petition beseeches rescue from Esau, specifically mentioning the mothers and children; the language is that of the biblical psalms (e.g., 31:16; 59:2–3; 142:7; 143:9). The absence of any acknowledgement of wrongdoing is noteworthy.

“A man wrestled with him until dawn” (v 24). This best-known of the Jacob stories remains mysterious. In their southward march they had reached the river Jabbok and were camped on its N bank. During the night after Jacob had dispatched the gifts to Esau, he got up and took his family over to the S bank; he did the same with his possessions—no motive for this is given. Jacob remained alone in the camp. There is no “angel” in this story (an interpretation found in Hos 12:4), and the introduction of an adversary is abrupt and unexpected. Is it Esau, taking revenge in kind by a sneak attack in the dark? The match was even, but the adversary managed to wrench Jacob’s hip at its socket before asking for release as the dawn broke. Jacob refused, “unless you bless me.” The adversary required him to say his name—“Jacob”—and then changed it to “Israel,” giving a popular etymology by which it means “he strives with God.” When Jacob asked his adversary’s name, he was told, “You must not ask my name,” and they parted (see Gen 35:9–15). Jacob named the place “God’s Face,” and went his way, limping, as the sun rose. A dietary etiology concludes the story.

In its present form and position, the story concerns struggle with people and with God (see also Kodell 1980). The unnamed “man” symbolizes every person with whom Jacob struggled—Esau, Isaac, Laban—and yet, the “man” at the beginning of the story is certainly God at the end, for who else is it whose name cannot be spoken? When else did Jacob strive with God? The story, therefore, in an overt polyvalence, blends Jacob’s conflict with people and with God into one event. The larger narrative also suggests this identification. First, Jacob prayed, “Rescue me (Heb haṣṣı̂lēnı̂) from my brother” (v 11), then he named the wrestling-site “God’s Face,” saying, “My life has been rescued” (Heb wattinnāṣēl, v 30). Second, after wrestling, he said, “I have seen God face to face” (v 30), and when he met Esau, he said, “To see your face is like seeing God’s face” (33:10).

To utter his name was to speak his character—“cheat”—making good the lack of any confession in the prayer, and acknowledging that his alienation from Esau was not an episode but a way of life. The story is thus made psychologically and theologically profound by superimposing on one another Jacob’s need to face his own character, his relations with people, and his relation with God.

The limp suggests the costliness of the lonely struggle. It also shows Jacob advancing to meet Esau in a painful vulnerability; whatever he might have thought previously of victory in struggle or of escape (v 8) is now quite impossible. He limps. But the sun is rising, and he is on his way to becoming a new man, a process begun as the sun was setting (28:11).

Segment C´ (33:1–20). The story moves immediately to the encounter between the 2 brothers. Jacob now leads his entourage, having previously followed it from behind. His elaborate obeisance before Esau (v 3) is without parallel in the Bible. But Esau does not want a fight: they embrace, kiss, and weep.

In the next segment (B´) the text plays on two Hebrew words similar in appearance and sound: maḥăneh“company” (32:3, 8–9, 11, 22 [—Eng 32:2, 7–8, 10, 21]), and minḥâ “gift” (32:14, 19, 21–22 [—Eng 13, 18, 20–21]; cf. bĕrākâ and bĕkōrâ in segments A and C). Now in 33:8, 10, the maḥăneh has become the minḥâ; Jacob urges Esau to accept the company/gift as a sign of the acceptance of his person. Then comes the jolt (Fishbane 1975), “Please take,” Jacob urged, “my blessing (bĕrākâ)” (v 11). Dropping minḥâ, he utilizes the same noun and verb used by Esau and Isaac when Jacob took the blessing which was not his (27:35–36). The pairing of minḥâ with maḥăneh throughout these 2 sections makes the use of bĕrākâ particularly obtrusive, and the reference to segment C is very clear.

Yet, this is as far as the narrative can go in describing the reconciliation, for Jacob did not actually return the right of primogeniture, and historically Israel never conceded Edom’s priority. Dramatically and symbolically, Jacob’s acceptance by Esau could have been marked by a meal; its absence suggests that the reconciliation fell short of the solidity which Israel felt with the Syrian homeland of Rebekah and Rachel, and the narrative expresses this overtly by Jacob’s wariness of Esau’s two offers of company and assistance (vv 12–16).

They went their separate ways, Esau to Seir and Jacob to Canaan. His first act there was to buy land and set up an altar; by naming it “El, the God of Israel,” he identified himself with the land and with the God who wrestled with him and gave him the name which became that of the people of God. Apart from the etiology of 32:33 it is the cycle’s first use of the name “Israel” since it was given.

Segment B´ (34:1–31). Jacob’s family settled on land that Jacob bought near Shechem. Dinah, his daughter by Leah, was raped by Shechem (his name is the same as the city’s), son of the city’s chief, Hamor. Jacob’s involvement in the episode which followed is minimal, being restricted to the notice that he was silent about the rape until his sons came in from the field (v 5), and to his protest against his sons’ subsequent actions (v 30).

Shechem wished to marry Dinah. His father’s negotiations were entirely with Jacob’s sons; Hamor even referred to their sister as “your [plural] daughter” (v 8). He proposed intermarriage between the family of Jacob and the Shechemites, to include full and free rights in the land. The brothers agreed, provided the Shechemite men accepted circumcision (already a mark of the Abrahamic tradition, Genesis 17). Then the newcomers would mingle and become “one people” with them (vv 16, 22). The Shechemites agreed. But on the third day, Dinah’s uterine brothers Simeon and Levi attacked the city by surprise, killing all its men, including Hamor and Shechem, and taking Dinah away. The other brothers followed and pillaged the town, taking the women and children and all its wealth. The story closes with Jacob’s effete protest that Simeon and Levi have made him “odious” in the land; he fears an attack which his small forces could not resist. The sons say only, “Should he treat our sister like a whore?”

The violence and duplicity of this story surpass anything ever done by Jacob, Rebekah, or Laban. Jacob’s protest—feeble and motivated by fear of revenge rather than by moral outrage—and his silence at the outset raise the question whether we have here the new or the old Jacob; indeed, the new name is not used at all in the story (except in the anachronistic national sense in v 7).

To be sure, the threat was great and the accommodation proposed by Hamor (“one people,” vv 16, 22) went far beyond the treaty designed by Abimelech (Gen 26:29 [segment B]); to “intermarry” (hitḥattēn) was forbidden (Deut 7:2–3; Josh 23:12; Ezra 9:14); and the Shechemites were clearly seeking their own advantage at Jacob’s expense: “Their cattle and substance and all their beasts will be ours.” The story is a justly sharp warning against sexual irregularity and against assimilation. But the circumcision proposal was a ruse from the beginning; the brokers spoke “with guile” (Heb bĕmirmâ, v 13) and never intended intermarriage.

The cycle, therefore, presents 2 paradigms for relationships with the residents of the land: First, a sacrificial self-giving which leads to “space” and to mutual acceptance and respect; second, a murderous and vindictive exclusivism. In segment B (Gen 26:1–33), Isaac’s way resulted in God’s blessing and agricultural prosperity: He found water. There is but one word of evaluation in B´: “guile” (mirmâ). But, given the larger Israelite religious context, that is quite enough. It is the same word already used of Jacob’s deceit of Isaac (27:35), and otherwise occurs 37 times, always negatively, exclusively in the Prophets and Wisdom literature (except 2 Kgs 9:23). Jer 9:5 (—Eng 9:6) uses mirmâtwice, and also alludes to Jacob by using the verb ʿāqab (also twice, in 9:3—Eng 9:4). The word mirmâ is almost a code word for social evil, and particular condemnation falls on guileful speech (Ps 52:6; Dan 8:25; 11:23). Note its use in Hos 12:1, 8, enclosing a passage which refers to Jacob.

Thus Jacob found that it was not easy to shed a whole way of life; more was yet needed before the promise (segment A) can be realized.

This chapter has long been a textbook example for source critics, who see in some of its internal confusions evidence that 2 versions have been combined—one from J (Hamor speaks) and one from P (Shechem speaks).

Segment A´ (35:1–29). The last chapter of a cycle of stories should be highly important, especially in an “anatomy,” where the ideas are as important as the stories. Chap. 35 has generally puzzled scholars because it comprises discrete and diverse fragments, a feature which may find a parallel in early Arabic biographies (Delitzsch), and because parts of it duplicate earlier material (Jacob becomes Israel, he names Bethel). But everything here plays a role, either in bringing some of the cycle’s themes to a conclusion or in echoing something in segment A. There are 7 fragments to consider.

1. Vv 1–7. Responding to God’s direction, Jacob led a pilgrimage to Bethel, preceded by religious reforms involving his own household and (in the context of chap. 34) the Shechemite captives. The language of Jacob’s appeal to the people, especially “Rid yourselves of the alien gods in your midst” (v 2), makes him the prototype of later reformers who called on God’s people to repent: Joshua (Josh 24:23) and Samuel (1 Sam 7:3). Who are you, Jacob? The sly loner of segment A has become the zealous religious leader of a people (vv 2, 6).

2. Vv 9–15. God appeared, not only to bless Jacob, but also to change his name to “Israel,” and to reiterate the twofold promise of progeny and land previously given to Abraham and Isaac. The cycle knows 2 traditions of Jacob’s name-change, one associated with the wrestling in Transjordan (segment D´) and one here with Bethel in Canaan. The former is a personal episode in which Jacob struggled to lay aside his fractious and estranging way of life; the latter follows his engagement in the religious life of his people, showing that the story of Jacob as person was also read and told of Jacob as national progenitor. Accordingly, the Heb wayĕbārek ʾōtô (v 9) should be translated “he blessed him” but at 32:30 “he took leave of him” (so JPSV), since the blessing and promise come only after Jacob shows this collective concern. The story can now call him “Israel” (v 21), which it has not done previously.

The promise uses the words “be fertile and increase,” which Isaac had also used (28:3, see segment D). The hint there of Jacob as the first man—who, like Adam and Noah, initiates something new and big and who can justly inherit the promise of the land—can now be seen enfleshed in the chastened and returned Jacob. Now the new beginning can occur, because Jacob cares about his people.

The cycle also knows two traditions of the naming of Bethel, one on Jacob’s flight (segment E), and one here upon his return. The pair of duplicate name-givings in A´, therefore, link it specifically with the 2 previous epochal religious experiences of Jacob’s life: when God arrested his attention and obtained a preliminary if wary response (28:10–22), and when God brought Jacob to face himself and his wider relationships with both people and the divine (32:22–32). It forms itself a third, in which Jacob’s development comes to the necessary stage of religious leadership in a distinctly Israelite context. The placement of vv 9–15 at the close of the cycle is necessary in view of the process through which Jacob passed, but it also nicely balances segment A’s giving of the name “Jacob” with the giving of the new name “Israel.”

3. V 8. Verses 1–15 form a unity enclosed by references to Bethel at beginning and end. Verse 8 is geographically appropriate, but intrusive in every other way. It may be understood in connection with segment A’s hint that Rebekah’s role in the cycle will be incomplete. When A´ reports 3 deaths—two of them expected through the passage of time—the absence of any word about Rebekah becomes noticeable. What has happened to her?

Rebekah’s unfinished question (25:22) finds its complement here in 35:8, which is not so much the notice of Deborah’s death as a non-notice of Rebekah’s. As far as the cycle goes, Rebekah’s life is an unfinished story. After her complaint, “What good will life be to me?” (27:46) we never hear of her again. She had told Jacob, “When your brother’s anger subsides, I will bring you back from Haran” (27:44–45), but Jacob’s return has its own motives (31:1–3). Rebekah disappears from the story without a trace. The necrology of v 8 is positioned anomalously between 2 paragraphs showing the new Jacob at his best: He leads a religious reform, and he receives a new name and the divine promise. Its obtrusive position is hermeneutic: The Aramean way of life is gone; Israel—both person and people—will put away alien gods and will occupy the land of promise.

4. Vv 16–21. As they travelled from Bethel, Rachel died giving birth to Benjamin. Jacob’s sons now number 12, and the death of the beloved wife signals that the cycle is drawing to a close. But it closes on a note of hope: Rachel’s name for the infant—Ben-oni “Son of my suffering”—looks backward, to her untimely death and to the rivalries and disappointments of the years in Haran; but Jacob’s alternate name “Son of the right hand,” looks forward by suggesting his own favor and by evoking the right hand of God which saves (Isa 41:10; Pss 20:7; 118:15–16).

5. V 22a. The brusque notice that Reuben slept with Bilhah, who is called Israel’s concubine rather than Rachel’s maid, also suggests the passing of the old order. Reuben was Jacob’s firstborn; to sleep with a man’s women is to lay claim to his position.

6. Vv 22b–26. Segment A had said that 2 peoples would issue from Rebekah. The list of the 12 sons, grouped by mother, matches this prediction, in that one of these peoples (the 12 tribes of Israel) sprang from one of Rebekah’s sons.

7. Vv 27–29. Finally Jacob reaches his father Isaac, at the ancestral residence of Abraham and Isaac (Gen 13:18; 23:2; 25:9). There Isaac died, and the story which began with prenatal jostling closes with the brothers Jacob and Esau joined in burying the father who prayed for their birth.

The divine plan for Jacob has been achieved, against human custom (primogeniture) and against human suitability (Jacob is the one who seeks his own advantage at others’ expense, in flight from intimacy). Yet it has come about without any divine overriding of Jacob’s “free will”; all human actions have adequate human motivation, including the pivotal decision to return to Canaan. In and through these actions, the sovereign will guides human thought and choice in a gracious interplay both reasonable and mysterious.

C. Meaning

The cycle’s internal indications that “Jacob” is a collective reference for Israel find their parallel in the Bible’s frequent use of “Jacob,” either alone or in parallelism with “Israel,” to denote the nation and/or the religious community (e.g., Deut 32:9; Jer 10:25; 30:7; Isa 10:21; 17:4; Ps 44:5; see BDB, 785). Note Isa 29:22–23, which expressly equates “Jacob” with “his children”: “For when he [Jacob]—that is, his children—behold what my hands have wrought in their midst, they will hallow My name.” The same equivalence is frequent in Second Isaiah where the Lord (a) addresses “Jacob/Israel” directly (40:27; 41:8, 14; 43:1, 22; 44:1, 2, 21, 23; 44:4; 48:12, 21; 49:5), (b) speaks of having given “Jacob” over to disaster (42:4; 43:28), and (c) speaks hopefully of “Jacob’s” return to the Lord (49:5–6; 59:20). Some of these refer to the “servant,” a figure whose identity is ambiguous, but others refer unmistakably to the prophet’s audience and readers. The presumed exilic setting of Second Isaiah suggests a particular linking of the narrative’s out-and-back axis with the experience of exile and (hope for) return; the exilic or early postexilic period would be a time in which this particular figural reading of the Jacob stories might have developed (Cross has noted similarities between P and Second Isaiah, CMHE, 322–23). One could also compare Second Isaiah’s assertion of the Lord’s presence with the people (Isa 41:10; 43:2, 5) with God’s promise to be with Jacob and not leave him, a motif that is distinctive to the Jacob stories and is especially enshrined in the two theophanic passages about the Lord’s agents (explicitly in Gen 28:10–22; implicitly in 32:2–3—Eng 32:1–2).

The tradents and users understood themselves as “Israel,” automatically giving the stories a referred meaning in which they are also about the people of the covenant, whose existence and survival were often against both convention and suitability. The narratives are “typical and representational rather than realistic” (Blenkinsopp 1981: 41). When prominence is given to political relationships, especially under the influence of the documentary hypothesis, the cycle has to do with Israel’s hegemony over her enemies and her occupation of the land (de Pury 1975; CMHE, 263–64), both in the time of Solomon (the Yahwist) and later after the Exile (P, see McKenzie 1980: 230–31). But in the present biblical context, religious interests come to the fore. Jacob’s vocation is to be an ʾı̂š tām, a “moral person” (Gen 25:27). Note how many of the Isaiah passages stress repentence, redemption, and obedience to Torah (14:1; 27:9; 29:22–24; 41:14; 43:1, 22–28; 44:21–22; 48:21; 49:5–6; 59:20). The question of Israel’s origins is a question of “the essence and meaning of a people. It is ideological rather than historiographical”; the existence of Israel as a people does not depend on a physical or political context but on their observance of the Lord’s commands and statutes (Thompson 1987: 40, 194). Jacob’s return to the land means not just Israel’s return to the land from exile (McKay 1987) but also Israel’s return to God. The cycle was paradigmatic for their own character and vocation, and in turn for the people of God in every time and place.

There are other inner-biblical indicators of the Jacob cycle’s religious use. In Hosea 12, “Jacob” denotes what was left of the N kingdom and is the object of the prophet’s preaching; note especially the “Jacob”/“us” equivalence (“[Jacob] would find Him at Bethel, and there He speaks with us,” Hos 12:5—Eng 12:4) and the return (Heb šûb) motif in Hos 12:7—Eng 12:6. In Isa 49:5–6, the statement that the Lord “will bring back (Heb šôbēb) Jacob to Himself” suggests a figural reading of Jacob’s return; furthermore, Israel as a “light to the nations” expresses the idea of service and mission intimated in Gen 30:30 (one of Jacob’s 4 anomalous uses of YHWH). Brodie (1981) argues that the Jabbok story has been constructed to reflect the oracle in Jer 30:1–13; the cycle has been shaped by a sermon. Jer 9:3 warns against trusting even a brother, “for every brother takes advantage” (Heb ʿāqôb yaʿqōb [the form differs from the name “Jacob” only by a single šĕwa]), and v 5 adds, “You dwell in the midst of deceit (mirmâ), in their deceit they refuse to heed me, declares the Lord” (v 5); in v 3’s resonance with “Jacob” and v 5’s use of mirmâ we see a figural application of the Jacob material to Israel’s moral life.

The cycle, therefore, is not historical; it is homiletic, and bears the marks of shaping to that end. The individual “Jacob” and the collective “Israel” overlap—even coalesce—at the artistically most significant points in the cycle: the beginning, the ending, and the middle. At the beginning, this overlap is accomplished by identifying the twins with nations (Gen 25:23) and by allusions associated with Esau’s name; at the ending, by Jacob’s receiving the name “Israel” (35:10) and by his engagement in the religious life of his people (vv 1–7); and at the middle by the collocation of the sections on children and flocks (Gen 29:31–30:43). It is a cycle about the people of God.

Bibliography

Alter, R. 1981. The Art of Biblical Narrative. New York.

Bimson, J. J. 1980. Archaeological Data and the Dating of the Patriarchs. Pp. 59–92 in Essays on the Patriarchal Narrative, ed. A. Millard and D. Wiseman. Leicester.

Blenkinsopp, J. 1981. Biographical Patterns in Biblical Narrative. JSOT 20: 27–46.

Brodie, L. T. 1981. Jacob’s Travail (Jer 30:1–13) and Jacob’s Struggle (Gen 32:22–32). JSOT 19: 31–60.

Brueggemann, W. 1982. Genesis. Atlanta.

Buss, M. J. 1979. Understanding Communication. Pp. 3–44 in Encounter With the Text, ed. M. J. Buss. Philadelphia.

Clines, D. 1978. The Theme of the Pentateuch. JSOTSup 10. Sheffield.

Coats, G. W. 1980. Strife Without Reconciliation. Pp. 82–106 in Werden und Wirken des Alten Testaments, ed. R. Albertz et al. Göttingen and Neukirchen-Vluyn.

Farmer, A. K. 1978. The Trickster Genre in the OT. Diss. Southern Methodist University.

Fishbane, M. 1975. Composition and Structure in the Jacob Cycle. JJS 27: 15–38. Repr. 1979, pp. 40–62 in Text and Texture: Close Reading of Selected Biblical Texts. New York.

Fokkelman, J. P. 1975. Narrative Art in Genesis. SN 17. Assen.

Frei, H. W. 1974. The Eclipse of Biblical Narrative. New Haven.

Friedman, R. E. 1986. Deception for Deception. BibRev 2: 22–31.

Gammie, J. G. 1979. Theological Interpretation by Way of Literary and Tradition Analysis: Genesis 25–36. Pp. 117–34 in Encounter With the Text, ed. M. J. Buss. Philadelphia.

Hendel, R. S. 1987. The Epic of the Patriarch. HSM 42. Atlanta.

Kodell, J. 1980. Jacob Wrestles with Esau. BibTB 10: 65–70.

McKay, H. A. 1987. Jacob Makes it Across the Jabbok. JSOT 38: 3–13.

McKenzie, S. 1980. “You Have Prevailed”: The Function of Jacob’s Encounter at Peniel in the Jacob Cycle. ResQ 23: 225–32.

Morrison, M. A. 1983. The Jacob and Laban Narrative in Light of Near Eastern Sources. BA 46: 155–64.

Noth, M. 1953. Mari und Israel: Eine Personnennamestudie. In Geschichte und Altes Testament, ed. G. Ebeling. Tübingen. Repr. Vol. 2, pp. 213–33 in Gesammelte Aufsätze (1971).

Oden, R. A., Jr. 1983. Jacob as Father, Husband, and Nephew. JBL 102: 189–205.

Pury, A. de. 1975. Promesse divine et legende cultuelle dans le cycle de Jacob. Paris.

Selman, M. J. 1980. Comparative Customs and the Patriarchal Age. Pp. 93–138 in Essays on the Patriarchal Narratives, ed. A. R. Millard and D. J. Wiseman. Leicester, England.

Thompson, T. L. 1974. The Historicity of the Patriarchal Narratives. BZAW 133. Berlin.

———. 1979. Conflict Themes in the Jacob Narratives. Semeia 15: 5–26.

———. 1987. The Origin Tradition of Ancient Israel. JSOTSup 55. Sheffield.

Van Seters, J. 1975. Abraham in History and Tradition. New Haven.

Westermann, C. 1985. Genesis 12–26. Minneapolis.

Ancestors: Abraham

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

Did you play that classic board game, “Life”?  It’s the one where you start in your little car and make your way around the board based on the number that landed on the spinner.  Some of the spaces on the board give you good news, sometimes you might draw a card that could be good or bad news.  The goal was to make it to the end as a millionaire. 

The Bible’s character, Abraham, lived the roller coaster we call life, but his story meant something special for three major religions which claim him as their foundation (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam).  When we read his story, however, we have to keep in mind that it was written for a much larger purpose than simply chronicling the story of one person for a lasting biography. The stories remembered were to give the Jewish people a sense of their identity, and more information about the God they were following.  This was Israel’s story – the kinds of things that Abraham experienced would be experienced by the whole nation.  The kind of God that interacted with Abraham would be consistent in their ongoing journey as their people went through their respective ups and downs.  All of it, to varying degrees, stood in contrast to the prevailing theologies that other surrounding cultures shared.

Have you ever heard the term quid pro qo? If you live in the United States, you are likely painfully aware of this term as it has been used frequently in President Trump’s impeachment.  It means that one person agrees to do something for another person if they will do something for them.  Most people think that God is all about quid pro quo – we do our part, and God will do God’s.  But that’s not how it went down with Abraham.  God simply invited Abraham to  see what life could be like: “Leave your country, your family, and your father’s home for a land that I will show you. I’ll make you into a great nation and bless you. I’ll make you famous; you’ll be a blessing. I’ll bless those who bless you; those who curse you I’ll curse. All the families of the Earth will be blessed through you” (Genesis 12:1-3 MSG).  This would be repeated later in Abraham’s life, and it did not change.  God was a giver of life.  

Questions: How do you think about God?  Is God simply always wanting to make a deal?  Or is God’s kindness simply always present and available regardless of our behavior – no pre-qualifications?  When you think about the dominant Christian message in our country, what kind of God is presented?

 

Abraham followed, which needs to be fully appreciated.  This was a leap of faith.  He was trusting that everything would work out.  And it did.  Until it didn’t.  Famine struck the land and Abraham packed up his belongings and he and his wife, Sara, fled to Egypt where there was food.  If you are hearing this story from Israel’s distant future, your ears would perk up.  Israel and Egypt – a familiar ring.  What we see in Abraham would be seen in Israel.  That’s a significant, comforting thing, too.  Sometimes we feel so strongly about a decision or a dream, and fully believe that God is behind it, only to go through a season when things fall apart. We wonder if God left us behind or something?  Reading this story, however, we take comfort in the fact that God had not abandoned Abraham.  God was still with him all the way down in Egypt, looking after him (even though he lied about his relationship to Sara, who he pawned off as his sister!).  This is life on the individual level, and it is also life writ large.  There will be ups and downs, yet God remains faithful through it all.

Questions: Has life’s journey taken you where you never thought you’d go?  Did it feel like you had been abandoned by God?  How does this story change your understanding of God’s presence in your life?  Could it be that your circumstances, as hard as they may be, do not indicate God’s withdrawal?  What makes this hard to believe?  What does that say about your theology?

After returning from Egypt, Abraham and Sara realized that their biological clocks were ticking and they had no heir.  They wondered if they should take matters into their own hands.  Sara gave her maidservant, Hagar, to Abraham for a wife, in the hopes that she would become pregnant (recall that this was somewhere close to 4,000 years ago when women were seen as property).  This union produced a son, Ishmael, and with it, the jealousy of Sara.  Over time, the hatred grew, making life unbearable at times for Hagar.  We would later learn that their decision to take matters into their own hands was a mistake that would impact their family tree forever.  Would God blow them off since they failed to trust?  No.  In fact, God chose to work with all involved, including looking after Hagar and Ishmael, and also through Sara who treated her so awfully.  God is good all the time.  God is loving all the time.

Questions: Have you ever made a mistake that you were pretty sure would cost you God’s friendship?  How does this story impact how you think about that?  Have you ever distanced yourself from God because you were sure God wouldn’t want anything to do with you?  Perhaps it’s time to rethink that…

One day, Abraham heard God call him with a weird idea.  God wanted Abraham and his lineage to adopt a sign that would identify them as God’s people going forward.  Not a badge.  Not a tattoo.  But circumcision.  Noah got a beautiful rainbow; Abraham got his foreskin sliced off.  Seems fair.  Scholars have discussed this ever since, wondering if this was a God-driven hygiene thing to save them from potential disease.  Most likely, however, it would memorably represent being cut off from the way of the world around them – they were to trust in God’s voice and leadership more than other voices.

Questions: When has choosing to follow God cost you something?  How did having skin in the game change the dynamics of your relationship with God?  How would this have been the case for an entire nation of people? Are there any related rituals we do in our country?

On another day, Abraham was visited by three travelers.  Something about them moved Abraham to treat them like royalty.  They turned out to be messengers of God.  The cries from the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah made it all the way to heaven, and they were going to see it for themselves.  If what they heard about the violent nature of the towns was true, they were going to go nuclear on the towns and wipe everyone out.  Abraham challenged the justice of such a move, and bartered them down to agreeing that if ten good people could be found among the hundreds or thousands, the towns would be spared.  It turns out they couldn’t.  Only Abraham’s nephew, Lot, and family passed muster.  The violence and rape that was attempted on the messengers themselves confirmed their worst fears, and the next day the towns were incinerated.  But what about the bartering that took place?  What does is say about God that God could be reasoned with – at least for the sake of Abraham – and that a better justice could prevail?

Questions: Do you think God is fixed or flexible?  What does this story say about God’s desire for true justice, and Abraham’s acknowledgement of it?  How do you pray for those you hate?

Part of the three visitors scene is a statement about Sara’s barrenness.  The messengers announced that she and Abe would indeed bear a son.  Each of them gave a solid LOL when they heard the news because Abe was nearly 100 years old, and Sara almost 90. Such things don’t happen.  Yet they did.  Isaac was born to a 100 year-old man and his 90 year-old wife.  Isaac translates as “laughter” – who wouldn’t giggle upon hearing this story?  He was the one through whom the nation would be born.

Questions: What do you make of this?  How do we limit God?  How does our certainty handcuff God?  Are there things that God has promised us that seem impossible?  What if our obstinance gets in God’s way?  What if Abe never had sex with Sara after the announcement?  In what ways are we abstinent because we believe God can’t do this or that?  

Isaac’s birth eventually meant that Ishmael and Hagar had to leave because Sara couldn’t manage her jealousy.  Frankly, she seriously mistreated Hagar and Ishmael.  What she did was wrong, and Abraham was a party to it.  How would God respond to such treachery?  With grace.  God met Hagar and Ishmael and saved their lives and promised to be with them in their future, blessing them, too.  God would also keep God’s promise to Abraham, Sara, and Isaac even though they blew it.  The truth was that Abraham loved both of his sons, and I think they both knew it.  A lot more things happened, including Sara’s death, and eventually Abraham died, too.  Guess who buried him?  The two oldest brothers, Ishmael and Isaac together.  An act of love and respect at the close of the patriarch’s life.  Abraham was allowed to rest in peace.

Questions: What do we learn about ourselves in these final scenes regarding our capacity for cruelty and terrible mistakes that carry long term consequences?  What do we learn about God’s response to our cruelty? What do we learn about our capacity to rise above past hurts when faced with the opportunity to love?

The questions I’ve raised for us to think about need to be considered as individuals, communities, and on a national and global level.  The God of Abraham still extends the offer of life.  Will we choose to leave behind that which restricts life from developing?

Notes to Nerd Out On…

 

Add these books to your reading list for reference on Genesis: Pete Enns, Genesis for Normal People by Pete Enns, which brings excellent academics with very approachable writing (he is fun to listen to and read); and In the Beginning by the great historian Karen Armstrong, which offers a Midrash approach to the texts.

 

Enns

 

Perceptive readers of the Bible have noticed the miniature exodus in the Abraham story for a very long time. The Israelites who shaped this story were writing for their present time. God has a long track record of delivering his people—even Abraham, the first Israelite—from a foreign land. For these storytellers, Babylonian captivity is not a punishment that threatens Israel’s existence as God’s people. Rather, it is only one example of a pattern of how God has dealt with the Israelites all along: “Yes, exile was punishment, but it was not the end. Our ancient story says so.” 67

 

From the Yale Anchor Bible Dictionary (A. R. Millard):

 

ABRAHAM (PERSON) [Heb ʾabrāhām (אַבְרָהָם)]. Var. ABRAM. The biblical patriarch whose story is told in Genesis 12–25.

A.         The Biblical Information

1.         Outline of Abraham’s Career

2.         Abraham’s Faith

3.         Abraham’s Life-style

4.         Abraham, Ancestor of the Chosen People

B.         Abraham in Old Testament Study

1.         Abraham as a Figure of Tradition

2.         Abraham as a Figure of History

C.         Abraham—A Contextual Approach

1.         Abraham the Ancestor

2.         Abraham’s Career and Life-style

3.         Abraham’s Names

4.         Abraham’s Faith

5.         Objections to a 2d Millennium Context

D.         Duplicate Narratives

E.         Conclusion

A. The Biblical Information

1. Outline of Abraham’s Career. Abraham is portrayed as a member of a family associated with city life in Southern Babylonia, moving to Haran in Upper Mesopotamia en route to Canaan (Gen 11:31). In Haran, God called him to leave for the land which he would show him, so he and Lot, his nephew, went to Canaan. At Shechem in the center of the land, God made the promise that Abraham’s descendants would own the land (Gen 12:1–9). Famine forced Abraham to seek food in Egypt, where the Pharaoh took Abraham’s wife, Sarah, who Abraham had declared was his sister. Discovering the deception, the Pharaoh sent Abraham away with all the wealth he had acquired, and Sarah (Gen 12:10–12). In Canaan, Abraham and Lot separated in order to find adequate grazing, Lot settling in the luxuriant Jordan plain. God renewed the promise of Abraham’s numberless descendants possessing the land (Genesis 13). Foreign invaders captured Lot, so Abraham with 318 men routed them and recovered Lot and the booty. This brought the blessing of Melchizedek, the priest-king of Salem to whom Abraham paid a tithe (Genesis 14). Following a reassuring vision, Abraham was promised that his childless condition would end and that his offspring would occupy the land, a promise solemnized with a sacrifice and a covenant (Genesis 15). Childless Sarah gave Abraham her maid Hagar to produce a son, then drove out the pregnant maid when she belittled her barren mistress. An angel sent Hagar home with a promise of a harsh life for her son, duly born and named Ishmael (Genesis 16). Thirteen years later God renewed his covenant with Abraham, changing his name from Abram, and Sarai’s to Sarah, and imposing circumcision as a sign of membership for all in Abraham’s household, born or bought. With this came the promise that Sarah, then ninety, would bear a son, Isaac, who would receive the covenant, Ishmael receiving a separate promise of many descendants (Genesis 17). Three visitors repeated the promise of a son (Gen 18:1–15). Lot meanwhile had settled in Sodom, which had become totally depraved and doomed. Abraham prayed that God would spare the city if ten righteous people could be found there, but they could not, so Sodom and its neighbor were destroyed, only Lot and his two daughters surviving (Gen 18:16–19:29). Abraham living in southern Canaan encountered the king of Gerar, who took Sarah on her husband’s assertion that she was his sister. Warned by God, King Abimelech avoided adultery and made peace with Abraham (Genesis 20). Now Isaac was born and Hagar and Ishmael sent to wander in the desert, where divine provision protected them (Gen 21:1–20). The king of Gerar then made a treaty with Abraham to solve a water-rights quarrel at Beersheba (Gen 21:22–34). When Isaac was a boy, God called Abraham to offer him in sacrifice, only staying the father’s hand at the last moment, and providing a substitute. A renewal of the covenant followed (Gen 22:1–19). At Sarah’s death, Abraham bought a cave for her burial, with adjacent land, from a Hittite of Hebron (Genesis 23). To ensure the promise remained within his family, Abraham sent his servant back to his relatives in the Haran region to select Isaac’s bride (Genesis 24). The succession settled, Abraham gave gifts to other sons, and when he died aged 175, Isaac and Ishmael buried him beside Sarah (Gen 25:1–11).

2. Abraham’s Faith. Although it was Abraham’s grandson Jacob who gave his name to Israel and fathered the Twelve Tribes, Abraham was regarded as the nation’s progenitor (e.g., Exod 2:24; 4:5; 32:13; Isa 29:22; Ezek 33:24; Mic 7:20). Israel’s claim to Canaan rested on the promises made to him, and the God worshipped by Israel was preeminently the God of Abraham (e.g., Exod 3:6, 15; 4:1; 1 Kgs 18:36; Ps 47:9). God’s choice of Abraham was an act of divine sovereignty whose reason was never disclosed. The reason for Abraham’s favor with God (cf. “my friend,” Isa 41:8) is made clear in the famous verse, “Abraham believed God and he credited it to him as righteousness” (Gen 15:6; cf. Rom 4:1–3), and in other demonstrations of Abraham’s trust (e.g., Gen 22:8). Convinced of God’s call to live a seminomadic life (note Heb 11:9), Abraham never attempted to return to Haran or to Ur, and took care that his son should not marry a local girl and so gain the land by inheritance, presumably because the indigenous people were unacceptable to God (Gen 24:3; 15:16). Throughout his career he built altars and offered sacrifices, thereby displaying his devotion (Gen 12:7, 8; 13:4, 18), an attitude seen also in the tithe he gave to Melchizedek after his victory (Genesis 14). The places sacred to him were often marked by trees, a token of his intention to stay in the land (Gen 12:6; 13:18; 21:33). Abraham believed his God to be just, hence his concern for any righteous in Sodom (Gen 18:16ff.). Even so, he attempted to preempt God’s actions by taking Hagar when Sarah was barren (Gen 16:1–4), and by pretending Sarah was not his wife. In the latter cases, God intervened to rescue him from the results of his own deliberate subterfuge because he had jeopardized the fulfilment of the promise (Gen 12:17f.; 20:3f.).

The God Abraham worshipped is usually referred to by the name yhwh (RSV LORD); twice Abraham “called on the name of the LORD” (Gen 12:8; 13:4), and his servant Eliezer spoke of the Lord, the God of Abraham (Gen 24:12, 27, 42, 48). The simple term “God” (ʾĕlōhı̂m) occurs in several passages, notably Gen 17:3ff; 19:29; 20 often; 21:2ff; 22. Additional divine names found in the Abraham narrative are: God Almighty (ʾel šadday, Gen 17:1), Eternal God (yhwh ʾēl ʿôlām Gen 21:33), God Most High (ʾēl ʿelyôn Gen 14:18–22), Sovereign Lord (ʾădōnāy yhwh, Gen 15:2, 8), and Lord God of heaven and earth (yhwh ʾĕlōhê haššā-mayim wĕhāʾāreṣ Gen 24:3, 7).

Abraham approached God without the intermediacy of priests (clearly in Genesis 22; elsewhere it could be argued that priests were present, acting as Abraham’s agents but not mentioned). God spoke to Abraham by theophanic visions (Gen 12:7; 17:1; 18:1). In one case, the appearance was in human form, when the deity was accompanied by two angels (Gen 18; cf. v 19). Perhaps God employed direct speech when no other means is specified (Gen 12:1f.; 13:14; 15:1; 21:12; 22:1). Angels could intervene and give protection as extensions of God’s person (Gen 22; 24:7, 40). Prayer was a natural activity (e.g., 20:17) in which Eliezer followed his master’s example (Gen 24). Eliezer did not hesitate to speak of Abraham’s faith and God’s care for him which he had observed (Gen 24:27, 35). God commended Abraham to Abimelech as a prophet (Gen 20:7, nābı̂ʾ). Abraham is portrayed as worshipping one God, albeit with different titles. Abraham’s is a God who can be known and who explains his purposes, even if over a time span that stretches his devotee’s patience.

3. Abraham’s Life-style. Leaving Ur and Haran, Abraham exchanged an urban-based life for the seminomadic style of the pastoralist with no permanent home, living in tents (Gen 12:8, 9; 13:18; 18:1; cf. Heb 11:9), unlike his relations near Haran (Gen 24:10, 11). However, he stayed at some places for long periods (Mamre, Gen 13:18; 18:1; Beersheba, Gen 22:19; Philistia, Gen 21:3, 4), enjoyed good relations with settled communities (Gen 23:10, 18 mentions the city gate), had treaty alliances with some, and spoke on equal terms with kings and the Pharaoh (Gen 14:13; 20:2, 11–14; 21:22–24). He is represented as having owned only one piece of land, the cave of Machpelah (Genesis 23). Wealth flowed to him through his herds, and in gifts from others (Gen 12:16; 20:14, 16), so that he became rich, owning cattle, sheep, silver, gold, male and female slaves, camels and donkeys (Gen 24:35). He may have traded in other goods, for he knew the language of the marketplace (Genesis 23). His household was large enough to furnish 318 men to fight foreign kings (Genesis 14). He was concerned about having an heir, and so looked on Eliezer his servant before sons were born (Gen 15:2), and took care to provide for Isaac’s half-brothers so that his patrimony should not diminish (Gen 24:36; 25:5, 6; cf. 17:18). While Sarah was his first wife, Abraham also married Keturah, and had children by her, by Hagar, and by concubines (Gen 25:1–6). His burial was in the cave with Sarah (Gen 25:9–10).

4. Abraham, Ancestor of the Chosen People. Belief in their ancestry reaching back to one man, Abraham, to whom God promised a land, was firmly fixed among Jews in the 1st century (e.g., John 8:33–58; cf. Philo), and is attested long before by the prophets of the latter days of the Judean Monarchy (Isa 41:8; 51:2; 63:16; Jer 33:26; Ezek 33:24; Mic 7:20). The historical books of the OT also contain references to Abraham (Josh 24:2, 3; 2 Kgs 13:23; 1 Chr 16:16–18; 2 Chr 20:7; 30:6; Neh 9:7, 8) as does Psalm 105. In the Pentateuch the promise is mentioned in each book after Genesis (Exod 2:24; 33:1, etc.; Lev 26:42; Num 32:11; Deut 1:8; etc.).

B. Abraham in Old Testament Study

1. Abraham as a Figure of Tradition. Building on meticulous literary analysis of the Pentateuch, Julius Wellhausen concluded “… we attain to no historical knowledge of the patriarchs, but only of the time when the stories about them arose in the Israelite people; this latter age is here unconsciously projected, in its inner and its outward features, into hoary antiquity, and is reflected there like a glorified mirage.” And of Abraham he wrote, “Abraham alone is certainly not the name of a people like Isaac and Lot: he is somewhat difficult to interpret. That is not to say that in such a connection as this we may regard him as a historical person; he might with more likelihood be regarded as a free invention of unconscious art” (WPHI, 319f.). The literary sources of the early Monarchy, J and E, drawing on older traditions, preserved the Abraham stories. At the same time, Wellhausen treated the religious practices of Abraham as the most primitive in the evolution of Israelite religion. Hermann Gunkel, unlike Wellhausen, argued that investigating the documentary sources could allow penetration beyond their final form into the underlying traditions. Gunkel separated the narratives into story-units, often very short, which he alleged were the primary oral forms, duly collected into groups as sagas. These poems told the legends attached to different shrines in Canaan, or to individual heroes. Gradually combined around particular names, these stories were ultimately reduced to the prose sources which Wellhausen characterized. Gunkel believed the legends arose out of observations of life associated with surrounding traditions, obscuring any historical kernel: “Legend here has woven a poetic veil about the historical memories and hidden their outlines” (Gunkel 1901: 22). The question of Abraham’s existence was unimportant, he asserted, for legends about him could not preserve a true picture of the vital element, his faith: “The religion of Abraham is in reality the religion of the narrators of the legends, ascribed by them to Abraham” (122).

The quest for the origins of these elements has continued ever since. Martin Noth tried to delineate the oral sources and their original settings, building on Gunkel’s premises (Noth 1948), and Albrecht Alt investigated religious concepts of the expression “the gods of the fathers” in the light of Nabatean and other beliefs. He deduced that Genesis reflects an older stage of similar seminomadic life, the patriarchal figures being pegs on which the cult traditions hung (Alt 1966). The positions of Alt and Noth have influenced commentaries and studies on Abraham heavily during the past fifty years. At the same time, others have followed the literary sources in order to refine them and especially to discern their purposes and main motifs (e.g., von Rad Genesis OTL). For Abraham the consequence of these studies is the same, whether they view him as a dim shadow in Israel’s prehistory, or as a purely literary creation: he is an example whose faith is to be emulated. The question of his actual existence is irrelevant; the stories about him illustrate how generations of Jews believed God had worked in a man’s life, setting a pattern, and it is that belief, hallowed by the experience of many others, which is enshrined in them (see Ramsey 1981).

2. Abraham as a Figure of History. Several scholars have searched for positions which allow a measure of historical reality to Abraham. While accepting the literary sources as the channels of tradition, they have seen them as reflecting a common heritage which was handed down through different circles and so developed different emphases. This explains the nature of such apparently duplicate stories as Abraham’s twice concealing Sarah’s status (Gen 12:11–20; 20:2–18). W. F. Albright and E. A. Speiser were notable exponents of this position, constantly drawing on ancient Near Eastern sources, textual and material, to clarify the patriarch’s ancient context. Albright claimed the Abraham stories fitted so well into the caravan society that he reconstructed for the 20th century b.c. “that there can be little doubt about their substantial historicity” (1973: 10). Textual and material sources included the cuneiform tablets from Mari and Nuzi and occupational evidence from Palestine. The Nuzi archives were thought to have yielded particularly striking analogies to family practices in the stories (see Speiser Genesis AB). These comparisons were widely accepted as signs of the antiquity of the narratives, and therefore as support for the contention that they reflected historical events. Even scholars who held firmly to the literary analyses took these parallels as illlumination of the original settings of the traditions (e.g., EHI). In 1974 and 1975 T. L. Thompson and J. Van Seters published sharp and extensive attacks on the views Albright had fostered, Thompson urging a return to the position of Wellhausen, and van Seters arguing that the stories belonged to exilic times (Thompson 1974; Van Seters 1975). The impact of these studies was great. They showed clearly that there were faults of logic and interpretation in the use made of the Nuzi and other texts, and put serious doubt on the hypothesis of an Amorite “invasion” of Palestine about 2000 b.c. In several cases, they pointed to other parallels from the 1st millennium b.c. which seemed equally good, thus showing that comparisons could not establish an earlier date for the patriarchal stories. For many OT scholars the arguments of Thompson and Van Seters reinforced the primacy of the literary analysis of Genesis and its subsequent developments, allowing attention to be paid to the narratives as “stories” rather than to questions of historicity.

Inevitably, there have been reactions from a variety of scholars who wish to sustain the value of comparisons with texts from the 2d millennium b.c. These include an important study of the Nuzi material by M. J. Selman (1976) and investigations of the Mari texts in relation to nomadism by J. T. Luke (1965) and V. H. Matthews (1978). Equally important, however, are considerations of the methods appropriate for studying the Abraham narratives, and these will be discussed in the remainder of this article, with examples as appropriate.

C. Abraham—A Contextual Approach

When the literary criticism of the Old Testament was elaborated in the 19th century in conjunction with theories of the evolution of Israelite society and religion, the ancient Near East was hardly known. With increasing discoveries came the possibility of checking the strength of those hypotheses against the information ancient records and objects provide. Were Genesis a newly recovered ancient manuscript, it is doubtful that these hypotheses would be given priority in evaluating the text. A literary analysis is one approach to understanding the text, but it is an approach that should be followed beside others and deserves no preferential status.

The current analysis is unsatisfactory because it cannot be demonstrated to work for any other ancient composition. Changes can be traced between copies of ancient texts made at different periods only when both the earlier and the later manuscript are physically available (e.g., the Four Gospels and Tatian’s Diatessaron). Moreover, the presuppositions of the usual literary analysis do not sustain themselves in the light of ancient scribal practices, for they require a very precise consistency on the part of redactors and copyists. Ancient scribes were not so hide-bound. Rather, the Abraham narratives should be judged in their contexts. They have two contexts. The first is the biblical one. Historically this sets Abraham long before Joseph and Moses, in current terms about 2000 b.c. (Bimson 1983: 86). Sociologically it places Abraham in the context of a seminomadic culture not controlled by the Mosaic laws, moving in a Canaan of city-states. Religiously it puts Abraham before the cultic laws of Moses, aware of God’s uniqueness and righteousness, yet also of others who worshipped him, such as Melchizedek. To an ancient reader, there was no doubt that Abraham, who lived many years before the rise of the Israelite monarchy, was the ancestor of Israel, a position which carried with it the promise of the land of Canaan and of God’s covenant blessing. That is the biblical context and it should not be disregarded (see Goldingay 1983). The detection of apparently duplicate or contradictory elements in the narratives, and of episodes hard to explain, is not sufficient reason for assuming the presence of variant or disparate traditions, nor are anachronisms necessarily a sign of composition long after the events described took place. These questions can only be considered when the narratives are set in their second context, the ancient Near Eastern world, at the period the biblical context indicates. Only if it proves impossible to fit them into that context should another be sought.

1. Abraham the Ancestor. Although Abraham’s biography is unique among ancient texts, its role in recording his ancestral place is not. Other states emerging about 1000 b.c., like Israel, bore the names of eponymous ancestors (e.g., Aramean Bit Bahyan, Bit Agush). Some traced their royal lines back to the Late Bronze Age, and many of the states destroyed at the end of that period had dynasties reaching back over several centuries to founders early in the Middle Bronze Age (e.g., Ugarit). Assyria, which managed to survive the crisis at the start of the 1st millennium b.c., listed her kings back to that time, and even before, to the days when they lived in tents. In this context, the possibility of Israel preserving knowledge of her descent is real (cf. Wiseman 1983: 153–58). States or tribes named after ancestors are also attested in the 2d millennium b.c. (e.g., Kassite tribes, RLA 5: 464–73). Dynastic lineages are known because kings were involved. Other families preserved their lines, too, as lawsuits about properties reveal (in Egypt, Gaballa 1977; in Babylonia, King 1912: no. 3), but they had little cause to write comprehensive lists. Israel’s descent from Abraham, the grandfather of her national eponym, is comparable inasmuch as he received the original promise of the land of Canaan. The ancient King Lists rarely incorporate anecdotal information (e.g., Sumerian King List, Assyrian King List; see ANET, 265, 564). However, ancient accounts of the deeds of heroes are not wholly dissimilar. Sargon of Akkad (ca. 2334–2279 b.c.), a king whose existence was denied when his story was first translated, is firmly placed in histories as the first Semitic emperor, well attested by copies of his own inscriptions made five centuries after his death, and by the records of his sons. Stories about Sargon were popular about 1700 b.c., and are included among the sources of information for his reign from which modern historians reconstruct his career. Other kings have left their own contemporary autobiographies (e.g., Idrimi of Alalakh, ANET, 557). All of these ancient texts convey factual information in the style and form considered appropriate by their authors. The analyses of their forms is part of their proper study. Finding a biography in an ancient Near Eastern document that combined concepts drawn from the family-tree form and from narratives about leaders, such as Genesis contains, preserved over centuries, would not lead scholars to assume the long processes of collecting, shaping, revising and editing normally alleged for the stories of Abraham.

2. Abraham’s Career and Life-style. Journeys between Babylonia and the Levant were certainly made in the period 2100–1600 b.c. Kings of Ur had links with north Syrian cities and Byblos ca. 2050 b.c., and in Babylonia goods were traded with Turkey and Cyprus ca. 1700 b.c. A detailed itinerary survives for a military expedition from Larsa in southern Babylonia to Emar on the middle Euphrates, and others trace the route from Assyria to central Turkey. If Abraham was linked with the Amorites, as W. F. Albright argued, evidence that the Amorites moved from Upper Mesopotamia southward during the centuries around 2000 b.c. cannot invalidate the report of Abraham’s journey in the opposite direction, as some have jejunely asserted (e.g., van Seters 1975: 23). Where the identifications are fixed and adequate explorations have been made, the towns Abraham visited—Ur, Haran, Shechem, Bethel, Salem (if Jerusalem), Hebron—appear to have been occupied about 2000 b.c. (Middle Bronze I; for a summary of archaeological material, see IJH, 70–148). Gerar remains unidentified, nor is there positive evidence for identifying the site now called Tel Beer-sheba with the Beer-sheba of Genesis (Millard 1983: 50). Genesis presents Abraham as a tent dweller, not living in an urban environment after he left Haran (cf. Heb 11:9).

Extensive archives from Mari, ca. 1800 b.c., illustrate the life of seminomadic tribesmen in relationship with that and other towns (see MARI LETTERS). General similarities as well as specific parallels (e.g., treaties between city rulers and tribes) can be seen with respect to Genesis. Some tribes were wealthy and their chieftains powerful men. When they trekked from one pasturage to another, their passage was marked and reported to the king of Mari. Town dwellers and steppe dwellers lived in dependence on each other.

In Canaan, Abraham had sheep and donkeys like the Mari tribes, and cattle as well. This difference does not disqualify the comparison (pace van Seters 1975: 16), for the Egyptian Sinuhe owned herds of cattle during his stay in the Levant about 1930 b.c. Like Abraham, Sinuhe spent some of his life in tents, and acquired wealth and high standing among the local people (ANET, 18–22; note that copies of this story were being made as early as 1800 b.c.). To strike camp and migrate for food was the practice of “Asiatics” within reach of Egypt, so much so that a wall or line of forts had to be built to control their influx (ca. 1980 b.c., see ANET, 446). The story of Sinuhe relates that the hero met several Egyptians in the Levant at this time (ANET, 18–22); the painting from a tomb at Beni Hasan depicts a party of 37 “Asiatics” (ANEP, 3), and excavations have revealed a Middle Bronze Age settlement in the Delta with a strong Palestinian presence (Bietak 1979). Military contingents brought together in coalitions traveled over great distances to face rebellious or threatening tribes, as in the affair of Genesis 14 (see below C5). In an era of petty kings, interstate rivalry was common and raids by hostile powers a threat to any settlement. To meet the persistent military threat, many cities throughout the Near East were strongly fortified during the Middle Bronze Age; fortification provided well-built gateways in which citizens could congregate (Gen 23:10, 18).

Disputes arose over grazing rights and water supplies. Abraham’s pact at Gerar is typical, the agreement duly solemnized with an oath and offering of lambs. Abraham was a resident alien (gēr), not a citizen (Gen 15:13; 23:4). Concern for the continuing family was normal. Marriage agreements of the time have clauses allowing for the provision of an heir by a slave girl should the wife prove barren (ANET, 543, no. 4; cf. Selman 1976: 127–29). The line was also maintained through proper care of the dead, which involved regular ceremonies in Babylonia (see DEAD, CULT OF). Burial in the cave at Machpelah gave Abraham’s family a focus which was valuable when they had no settled dwelling (cf., the expression in Gen 47:30). Comparisons made between Abraham’s purchase of the cave reported in Genesis 23 and Hittite laws (Lehmann 1953) are now seen to be misleading (Hoffner 1969: 33–37). However, the report is not a transcript of a contract, and so cannot be tied in time to the “dialogue document” style fashionable in Babylonia from the 7th to 5th centuries b.c., as Van Seters and others have argued (Van Seters 1975: 98–100), and at least one Babylonian deed settling property rights survives in dialogue form from early in the 2 millennium b.c. (Kitchen 1977: 71 gives the reference).

3. Abraham’s Names. Abram, “the father is exalted,” is a name of common form, although no example of it is found in the West Semitic onomasticon of the early 2d millennium b.c. The replacement, Abraham, is given the meaning “father of a multitude” (Gen 17:5). That may be a popular etymology or a play on current forms of the name “Abram” in local dialects for the didactic purpose of the context, the inserted h having analogies in other West Semitic languages. The name “Aburahana” is found in the Egyptian Execration Texts of the 19th century b.c. (m and n readily interchange in Egyptian transcriptions of Semitic names [EHI, 197–98]). Genesis introduces the longer name as part of the covenant God made with Abram, so the new name confirmed God’s control and marked a stage in the Patriarch’s career (see Wiseman 1983: 158–60). No other person in the OT bears the names “Abram” or “Abraham” (or “Isaac” or “Jacob”); apparently they were names which held a special place in Hebrew tradition (like the names “David” and “Solomon”).

4. Abraham’s Faith. A monotheistic faith followed about 2000 b.c. is, so far as current sources reveal, unique, and therefore uncomfortable for the historian and accordingly reckoned unlikely and treated as a retrojection from much later times. The history of religions undermines that stance; the astonishing impact of Akhenaten’s “heresy” and the explosion of Islam demonstrate the role a single man’s vision may play, both imposing a monotheism upon a polytheistic society. Abraham’s faith, quietly held and handed down in his family until its formulation under Moses, is equally credible.

Contextual research helps a little. Further study has traced the “gods of the fathers” concept far beyond Alt’s Nabatean inscriptions to the early 2d millennium b.c., when the term referred to named deities, and the god El could be known as Il-aba “El is father” (Lambert 1981). Discussion of the various names and epithets for God in the Abraham narratives continues, revolving around the question whether they all refer to one deity or not (see Cross 1973; Wenham 1983). Some ancient texts which apply one or two of these epithets to separate gods (e.g., the pair ʾl “God” and ʿlywn “Most High,” in an 8th-century Aramaic treaty, ANET, 659), may reflect later or different traditions; the religious patterns of the ancient Levant are so varied that it is dangerous to harmonize details from one time and place with those from another. The OT seems to equivocate over the antiquity of the divine name yhwh. Despite Exod 6:3, the Abraham narratives include the name often. Apart from the (unacceptable) documentary analysis, explanations range from retrojection of a (post-) Mosaic editor to explanations of Exod 6:3 allowing the name to be known to Abraham, but not its significance (see Wenham 1983:189–93). The latter opinion may find a partial analogy in the development of the Egyptian word aten from “sun disk” to the name of the supreme deity (Gardiner 1961: 216–18). However, the absence of the divine name as an indubitable element in any pre-Mosaic personal name should not be overlooked. Abraham naturally had a similar religious language to those around him, with animal sacrifices, altars, and gifts to his God after a victory. He found in Melchizedek another whose worship he could share, just as Moses found Jethro (Gen 14; Exod 2:15–22; 8), yet he never otherwise joined the cults of Canaan.

5. Objections to a 2d Millennium Context. a. Anachronisms. The texts about Sargon of Akkad are pertinent to the question of anachronisms in the Abraham stories. In those texts, Sargon is said to have campaigned to Turkey in aid of Mesopotamian merchants oppressed there. Documents from Kanesh in central Turkey attest to the activities of Assyrian merchants in the 19th century b.c., but not much earlier. Therefore the mention of Kanesh in texts about Sargon and his dynasty is considered anachronistic. At the same time, the incidents those texts report are treated as basically authentic and historically valuable (Grayson and Sollberger 1976: 108). The anachronism does not affect the sense of the narrative. In this light, the problem of the Philistines in Gen 21:32, 34 may be viewed as minimal. Naming a place after a people whose presence is only attested there six or seven centuries later than the setting of the story need not falsify it. A scribe may have replaced an outdated name, or people of the Philistine group may have resided in the area long before their name is found in other written sources. Certainly some pottery entered Palestine in the Middle Bronze Age from Cyprus, the region whence the Philistines came (Amiran 1969: 121–23). A similar position can be adopted with regard to the commonly cited objection of Abraham’s camels. Although the camel did not come into general use in the Near East until after 1200 b.c., a few signs of its use earlier in the 2d millennium b.c. have been found (see CAMEL). It is as logical to treat the passages in Gen 12:16; 24 as valuable evidence for the presence of camels at that time as to view them as anachronistic. Contrariwise, the absence of horses from the Abraham narratives is to be noted, for horses could be a sign of wealth in the places where he lived (cf. 1 Kgs 5:6); horses are unmentioned in the list of Job’s wealth (Job 1:3). Ancient Near Eastern sources show clearly that horses were known in the 3d millennium b.c., but only began to be widely used in the mid-2d millennium b.c., that is, after the period of Abraham’s lifetime as envisaged here (Millard 1983: 43). Comparisons may be made also with information concerning iron working. A Hittite text tells how King Anitta (ca. 1725 b.c.) received an iron chair from his defeated foe. Recent research dates the tablet about 1600 b.c., yet iron only came into general use in the Near East when the Bronze Age ended and the Iron Age began, ca. 1200 b.c. Were the Anitta text preserved in a copy made a millennium after his time, its iron chair would be dismissed as a later writer’s anachronism. It cannot be so treated; it is one important witness to iron working in the Middle Bronze Age (Millard 1988). Alleged anachronisms in the Abraham narratives are not compelling obstacles to setting them early in the 2d millennium b.c.

b. Absence of Evidence. Occasionally the absence of any trace of Abraham from extrabiblical sources is raised against belief in his existence soon after 2000 b.c. This is groundless. The proportion of surviving Babylonian and Egyptian documents to those once written is minute. If, for example, Abraham’s treaty with Abimelech of Gerar (Genesis 21) was written, a papyrus manuscript would decay quickly in the ruined palace, or a clay tablet might remain, lie buried undamaged, awaiting the spade of an excavator who located Gerar (a problem!), happened upon the palace, and cleared the right room. If Abimelech’s dynasty lasted several generations, old documents might have been discarded, the treaty with them. Egyptian state records are almost nonexistent owing to the perishability of papyrus, so no evidence for Abraham can be expected there.

Abraham’s encounter with the kings of the east (Genesis 14) links the patriarch with international history, but regrettably, the kings of Elam, Shinar, Ellasar, and the nations have not been convincingly identified. R. de Vaux stated that “it is historically impossible for these five sites south of the Dead Sea to have at one time during the second millennium been the vassals of Elam, and that Elam never was at the head of a coalition uniting the four great near eastern powers of that period” (EHI, 219). Consequently, the account is explained as a literary invention of the exilic period (Astour 1966; Emerton 1971). At that date, its author would either be imagining a situation unlike any within his experience, or weaving a story around old traditions. If the former is true, he was surprisingly successful in constructing a scenario appropriate for the early 2d millennium b.c.; if the latter, then it is a matter of preference which components of the chapter are assumed to stem from earlier times. Yet the chapter may still be viewed as an account of events about 2000 b.c., as K. A. Kitchen has demonstrated (Kitchen 1977: 72 with references). A coalition of kings from Elam, Mesopotamia, and Turkey fits well into that time. To rule it “unhistorical” is to claim a far more detailed knowledge of the history of the age than anyone possesses. The span of the events is only fifteen years, and what is known shows how rapidly the political picture could change. Current inability to identify the royal names with recorded kings is frustrating; scribal error is an explanation of last resort; ignorance is the likelier reason, and as continuing discoveries make known more city-states and their rulers, clarification may emerge. (One may compare the amount of information derivable from the Ebla archives for the period about 2300 b.c. with the little available for the city’s history over the next five hundred years.) Gen 14:13 terms Abram “the Hebrew.” This epithet is appropriate in this context, where kings are defined by the states they ruled, for Abram had no state or fatherland. “Hebrew” denoted exactly that circumstance in the Middle Bronze Age (Buccellati 1977).

D. Duplicate Narratives

A major argument for the common literary analysis of the Abraham narratives, and for the merging of separate lines of tradition, is the presence of “duplicate” accounts of some events. Abraham and Isaac clashed with Abimelech of Gerar, and each represented his wife as his sister, an action Abraham had previously taken in Egypt (Gen 12:10–20; 20; 26). These three stories are interpreted as variations of one original in separate circles. That so strange a tale should have so secure a place in national memory demands a persuasive explanation, whatever weight is attached to it. In the ancient Near East, kings frequently gave their sisters or daughters in marriage to other rulers to cement alliances and demonstrate goodwill (examples abound throughout the 2d millennium b.c.). The actions of Abraham and Isaac may be better understood in this context, neither man having unmarried female relatives to hand. That they were afraid may reflect immediate pressures. For Isaac to repeat his father’s procedure at Gerar is more intelligible as part of a well-established practice of renewing treaties with each generation than as a literary repetition (Hoffmeier fc.).

Abraham and Isaac both had trouble with the men of Gerar over water rights at Beer-sheba. Again, the narratives are counted as duplicates of a single tradition (Speiser Genesis 202), and again two different episodes in the lives of a father and son living in the same area is as reasonable an explanation in the ancient context. One king might confront and defeat an enemy, the same king or his son having to repeat the action (e.g., Ramesses II and the Hittites, Kitchen 1982 passim). The naming of the wells at Beersheba, usually labeled contradictory, is also open to a straightforward interpretation in the light of Hebrew syntax which removes the conflict (NBD, 128).

E. Conclusion

To place Abraham at the beginning of the 2d millennium b.c. is, therefore, sustainable. While the extrabiblical information is not all limited to that era, for much of ancient life followed similar lines for centuries, and does not demand such a date, it certainly allows it, in accord with the biblical data. The advantage this brings is the possibility that Abraham was a real person whose life story, however handed down, has been preserved reliably. This is important for all who take biblical teaching about faith seriously. Faith is informed, not blind. God called Abraham with a promise and showed his faithfulness to him and his descendants. Abraham obeyed that call and experienced that faithfulness. Without Abraham, a major block in the foundations of both Judaism and Christianity is lost; a fictional Abraham might incorporate and illustrate communal beliefs, but could supply no rational evidence for faith because any other community could invent a totally different figure (and communal belief can be very wrong, as the fates of many “witches” recall). Inasmuch as the Bible claims uniqueness, and the absolute of divine revelation, the Abraham narratives deserve a positive, respectful approach; any other risks destroying any evidence they afford.

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King, L. W. 1912. Babylonian Boundary Stones. London.

Kitchen, K. A. 1966. Historical Method and Early Hebrew Tradition. Tyn Bul 17: 63–97.

———. 1977. The Bible in Its World. Downer’s Grove, IL.

———. 1982. Pharaoh Triumphant: The Life and Times of Ramesses II. Warminster.

Lambert, W. G. 1981. Old Akkadian Ilaba = Ugaritic Ilib? UF 13: 299–301.

Lehmann, M. R. 1953. Abraham’s Purchase of Machpelah and Hittite Law. BASOR 129: 15–18.

Luke, J. T. 1965. Pastoralism and Politics in the Mari Period. Ann Arbor.

Matthews, V. R. 1978. Pastoral Nomadism in the Mari Kingdom. ASORDS 3. Cambridge, MA.

Mendenhall, G. 1987. The Nature and Purpose of the Abraham Narratives. Pp. 337–56 in AIR.

Millard, A. R., and Wiseman, D. J., eds. 1983. Essays on the Patriarchal Narratives. 2d ed. Leicester.

Millard, A. R. 1983. Methods of Studying the Patriarchal Narratives as Ancient Texts. Pp. 35–51 in Millard and Wiseman, 1983.

———. 1988. King Og’s Bed and Other Ancient Ironmongery. Pp. 481–92 in Ascribe to the Lord, ed. L. Eslinger. JSOTSup Sheffield.

Noth, M. 1948. A History of the Pentateuchal Traditions. Trans. B. W. Anderson. Englewood Cliffs, NJ. Repr.

Ramsey, G. W. 1981. The Quest for the Historical Israel. Atlanta.

Selman, M. J. 1976. The Social Environment of the Patriarchs. Tyn Bul 27: 114–36.

———. 1983. Comparative Customs and the Patriarchal Age. Pp. 91–139 in Millard and Wiseman 1983.

Thompson, T. L. 1974. The Historicity of the Patriarchal Narratives. Berlin.

Seters, J. van. 1975. Abraham in History and Tradition. New Haven.

Wenham, G. J. 1983. The Religion of the Patriarchs. Pp. 161–95 in Millard and Wiseman 1983.

Wiseman, D. J. 1983. Abraham Reassessed. Pp. 141–60 in Millard and Wiseman 1983. 

 

From the New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary (Terence E. Fretheim):

 

GENESIS 22:1–19, THE TESTING OF ABRAHAM

Commentary

Recent readers of this famous story have been particularly interested in delineating its literary artistry. Significant gains have resulted, but one wonders whether this approach has overplayed its hand by overdramatizing the story and reading too much between the lines. Likewise, religious interpretations, especially in the wake of Kierkegaard’s Fear and Trembling, seem often to intensify the contradictoriness of the story, perhaps in the interests of heightening the mystery of the divine ways. While the frightening, even bizarre, character of the divine command ought not to be discounted, it should not be exaggerated either.

This story (commonly assigned to E, with supplements) remains firmly within the circle of the family, which suggests an original pre-Israelite setting. At the same time, the theological force of the story takes on new contours as it is passed through many generations (especially vv. 15–19). Exilic Israel may have seen itself in both Abraham and Isaac: God has put Israel to a test in which many children died, has called forth its continuing faith, has delivered it through the fires of judgment and renewed the promises.

Israelite ritual regarding the firstborn informs this text. Israel knew that God could require the firstborn (Exod 22:29), but that God had provided for their redemption (Exod 13:13; 34:20). Here, God does just this: God asks that Isaac be sacrificed and provides an animal “instead of” Isaac. This issue belongs indisputably to the story, but with a metaphorical understanding of Israel as God’s firstborn (see below). The text bears no mark of an etiology of sacrifice (see 4:3–4; 8:20) or a polemic against child sacrifice, clearly abhorrent to Israel, though it was sometimes a problem (cf. Lev 20:2–5; 2 Kgs 3:27; Jer 7:31; 32:35).

This text fits into the larger sweep of Abraham’s life. The relationship between God and Abraham is in progress; it has had its ups and downs, in which each has affected the other. Abraham has exhibited a deep faith and engaged God in significant theological conversation, while God has consulted with Abraham regarding the fate of Sodom and Gomorrah. At the same time, Abraham’s response has been less than exemplary, even distrusting the promise (17:17) and not showing the “fear of God” in relationship to outsiders (see 20:11). His response has raised an issue for God, indeed what God truly knows (v. 12).

Generally, though, this text presupposes “familiar mutual trust” built over no little experience together. From Abraham’s perspective, the God who commands has filled his life with promises; he understands that God has Abraham’s best interests at heart. He has already learned to trust this God. He has no reason to distrust the God from whom this word comes, however harsh and frightening it may be.

The test appears especially poignant in view of the parallels with the story of Ishmael (see 21:8–21). Abraham has just lost his son Ishmael, hence the repeated reference to Isaac as “only son.” Now he is asked to sacrifice his remaining son. We may view these stories as mirrors of each other, focusing on the potential loss of both sons, as well as on God’s providing for both children.

Parallels between Gen 12:1–4 and Genesis 22 provide an overarching structure. Although this divine command does not appear as abrupt as in 12:1, they are similar in other ways, in vocabulary (“take, go” to a “place that I shall show you”), along with Abraham’s silent, but faithful, response. Both are ventures in faith and enclose the story of Abraham; Abraham begins and ends his journey with God by venturing out into the deep at the command of God. The former cuts Abraham off from his past; the latter threatens to cut him off from his future.

We may observe the structure of the entire text in the threefold reference to “your son, your only son” (vv. 2, 12, 16). Also, the repetition of Abraham’s “Here I am,” spoken to God (v. 1), then Isaac (v. 7), and finally God (v. 11) highlights basic moments in the story.

22:1–14. God commands Abraham not to kill or murder his son, but to present him “on the altar” as a burnt offering to God (עלה ʿōlâ; cf. Exod 29:38–46; Lev 1:3–17). The offering language places this entire episode within the context of the sacrificial system. The deed will be a specifically religious act, an act of faith, a giving to God of what Abraham loves (only then would it be a true sacrifice). Inasmuch as sacrifice involves a vehicle in and through which God gives back the life that has been given, the hope against hope for Abraham would be that God would somehow find a way of giving Isaac—or another life—back (hence the link made to the resurrection by Heb 11:17–19). We should note that Abraham does, finally, offer a sacrifice.

Abraham’s silent response to God’s command (on test, see below) may be designed to raise questions in the mind of the reader. Why is Abraham being “blindly” obedient, not raising any questions or objections (especially in view of 18:23–25)? Abraham’s trust in God seems evident in his open stance (“Here I am”) and unhesitating response. At the same time, the text gives us no clue as to his emotional state (e.g., whether he was deeply troubled).

God’s command is accompanied by נא (naʾ), a particle of entreaty or urgency. Rarely used by God (cf. Judg 13:4; Isa 1:18; Isa 7:3), God thereby may signal the unusual character of the moment and the relationship of mutual trust. It may help Abraham to see that God has as much stake in this matter as he does; God needs to know about Abraham’s faith. This may account for Abraham’s silence. However, God does not engage in a ploy, but offers a genuine command. Yet, the command pertains to a particular moment; it is not universally valid. Moreover, God does not intend that the commandment be fully obeyed. Hence, God revokes the command when the results of the test become clear and speaks a second command that overrides the first (v. 12).

We should note the emphasis on “seeing.” Twice, Abraham lifts up his eyes (vv. 4, 13), and five times the verb “to see” (ראה rāʾâ) is used of Abraham (vv. 4, 13) and God (vv. 8, twice in 14). From a distance, Abraham sees the place where God told him to sacrifice Isaac and then, close up, he sees the ram provided at that very place. This process testifies to a progressively clearer seeing. Abraham places his trust in God’s seeing (v. 8) and that trust finally enables him to see the lamb that God has seen to. Seeing saves the son (cf. Hagar’s seeing in 16:13; 21:19, which saves Ishmael).

The writer offers another important feature: “the mountains that I shall show you” (v. 2; cf. 12:1). The narrative stresses it early on (vv. 3–5, 9) and returns to it in v. 14, when a name appears: God will provide. God shows Abraham that place (by v. 3 NRSV). It is as if God has prepared the scene ahead of time, ram and all, and hence Abraham must be precisely directed to it. Moriah, three days’ journey away (a general reference), a place unknown to us, but not to him, may refer to Jerusalem (2 Chr 3:1; cf. “the mount of Yahweh” [v. 14] in Ps 24:3; Isa 2:3). The place name Moriah gives the command a special quality: Abraham will not sacrifice at any altar, but in a specific God-chosen place a great distance away. Might this arrangement have given Abraham a clue to what God intended?

Verses 7–8 are central. The statement “the two of them walked on together” encloses this interchange between Abraham and Isaac. Abraham’s statement of faith that God will provide (v. 8) is the only time Abraham responds more fully than “Here I am.” This is also the only time that Isaac speaks. Note also the movement from the more distancing language of “boy” in v. 5 to the repeated “my son” in vv. 7–8, perhaps testifying to a shift in perspective.

By this point Abraham stays on course because he trusts that God will act to save Isaac. He conveys to Isaac what he believes to be the truth about his future: God will provide. He testifies to this form of divine action in v. 14, as does Israel’s witness to the event “to this day” (v. 14). God tests precisely the nature of Abraham’s response as unhesitating trust in the deity. As God puts it (v. 12), it involves Abraham’s fear of God, a faithfulness that accords with God’s purposes and works itself out in daily life as truth and justice (see 20:11). Abraham obeys because he trusts God; trust out of which obedience flows remains basic. Disobedience would reveal a lack of trust. At least by v. 8 Abraham’s obedience is informed and undergirded by a trust that God will find a way through this dark moment.

Anticipations of this trust occur earlier. In v. 5 Abraham tells his servants that both of them will worship and both will return; the servants witness to this conviction. The author relates the trustful reference to worship with the worship in v. 8. To suggest that Abraham is equivocating or being ironic or deceptive or whistling in the dark finds no basis in the text; such ideas betray too much interest in dramatization. It would be strange for a narrative designed to demonstrate Abraham’s trusting obedience to be punctuated with acts of deception.

Verses 7–8 also focus on Isaac. The author initially devotes attention to Isaac as a child (without recalling the promise). Abraham loves this child (in God’s judgment, v. 2); we should not assume an abusive relationship. Although ignorant of the journey’s purpose, Isaac does not remain entirely passive. He breaks the silence with a question of his father (v. 7)—the only recorded exchange between them. He senses that something is not right (his lack of reference to the knife no more suggests this than does the absence of fire in vv. 9–10). Yet, Isaac does not focus on himself. (Isaac’s emotions are often overplayed.) Isaac addresses Abraham as a loving father, mirroring Abraham’s trusting relationship to God. Abraham responds in like manner.

Abraham centers on what his son has to say, attending to him as he has attended to God (“Here I am”). He does not dismiss Isaac’s question, as if inappropriate. It even elicits Abraham’s trust in God in a public form. Isaac enables his father’s trusting action to be joined with trusting words. While not telling him everything, Abraham does answer Isaac’s question directly and conveys to him what he believes will happen. What had been implicit (v. 5) here becomes explicit. Their walking on together conveys indirectly Isaac’s response. He exhibits no resistance, even later when his father prepares him for the sacrificial moment (some descriptions of the knife go beyond the text). Isaac believes his father’s trust to be well placed. Abraham’s trust in God has become Isaac’s trust: God will provide a lamb, which is God’s intention from the beginning, of course, and Abraham and Isaac are now both attuned to that intention and trust it.

The text also focuses on Abraham’s continuing trust in God. The trusting departure does not settle the issue, or God could have cut off the journey much earlier. The question becomes: Will Abraham stay with the journey? The author stresses the journey as such, which provides opportunity for second thoughts (vv. 6, 8) following each expression of trust (vv. 5, 8). Abraham exhibits his trust in God by staying the course. Only at the end of the journey can God say, “Now I know.”

Tensions in the text also center on God. What is at stake in this for God?

1. God’s testing. God and the reader know this is a test; Abraham does not. God intends not to kill Isaac but to test Abraham’s faithfulness, which is essential if God is to move into the future with him. In responding, Abraham no doubt observes (as do all commentators) the apparent contradictory character of the command: God, having fulfilled the promise of a son, asks Abraham to sacrifice that son and the future that goes with him. The fact that Abraham obeys shows that he trusts God will find a way into the future. God had found a way to fulfill the promise of a son when nothing seemed possible (see 18:14); given that experience, Abraham trusts that this comparably impossible situation will not be beyond God’s ability. Abraham trusts that God’s promise and command are not finally contradictory; whatever conflict there may be, it is up to God to resolve it, and God is up to it.

If Abraham had known in advance that it was a test, it would have been no real test; for he (or anyone) would respond differently to a test from a more indirect method of discernment. Moreover, the test would not work simply at the verbal level; words might not lead to action. Abraham may recognize this fact by his silence, responding in deed rather than word. In the OT, God tests Israel to discern whether they will do justice to a relationship in which they stand (Deut 8:2–3). God can test by discerning the human response to a command: Is Abraham’s loyalty undivided? God initiates the test to gain certainty.

2. God’s knowledge. Brueggemann notes correctly that this test “is not a game with God; God genuinely does not know.… The flow of the narrative accomplishes something in the awareness of God. He did not know. Now he knows.” The test is as real for God as it is for Abraham.

The test is not designed to teach Abraham something—that he is too attached to Isaac, or that Isaac is “pure gift,” or that he must learn to cling to God rather than to the content of the promise. Experience always teaches, of course, and Abraham certainly learns. But nowhere does the text say that he now trusts more in God or has learned a lesson of some sort. Rather, the test confirms a fact: Abraham trusts deeply that God has his best interests at heart so that he will follow where God’s command leads (a point repeated in vv. 12 and 16). The only one said to learn anything from the test is God: “Now I know” (v. 12; on the angel, see commentary on 16:7). God does not teach; rather, God learns. For the sake of the future, God needs to know about Abraham’s trust.

While God knew what was likely to happen, God does not have absolute certainty as to how Abraham would respond. God has in view the larger divine purpose, not just divine curiosity or an internal divine need. The story addresses a future that encompasses all the families of the earth: Is Abraham the faithful one who can carry that purpose along? Or does God need to take some other course of action, perhaps even look for another?

Is the promise of God thereby made conditional? In some sense, yes (see vv. 16–18). Fidelity was not optional. God could not have used a disloyal Abraham for the purposes God intends.

3. God’s vulnerability. Some people read this story as if God were a detached observer, a heavenly homeroom teacher watching from afar to see if Abraham passes the test. But God puts much at risk in this ordeal. God had chosen Isaac as the one to continue the line of promise (at one point Abraham would have chosen Ishmael, 17:18; 21:11). Although God does not intend that Isaac be killed, the test places God’s own promise at risk, at least in the form of the person of Isaac. The command has the potential of taking back what God has taken so many pains to put in place.

This story presents a test not only of Abraham’s faith in God, but of God’s faith in Abraham as well, in the sense that Abraham’s response will affect the moves God makes next. God places the shape of God’s own future in Abraham’s hands. Given his somewhat mixed responses to God up to this point, God took something of a risk to put so much on the line with this man. As E. Roop puts it: “God took the risk that Abraham would respond. Abraham took the risk that God would provide.” One cannot project what God would have done had Abraham failed, or if Abraham had actually killed Isaac, but God would have had to find another way into the future, perhaps another way with Abraham.

Why would God place the promise at risk in order to see whether Abraham fears God? Why not just get on with it, or wait to put Isaac to the test? But, according to vv. 16–18 (and 26:3–5, 24), it is not enough for the sake of the history of the promise that Isaac be born. There are also other promises to be fulfilled. Abraham’s continuing faithful response to God remains a central issue. God waits upon him before getting on with the promised future.

The interpreter may find difficulty in relating Genesis 22 to the divine promises of chap. 15, where God participates in an act of self-imprecation; God’s potential sacrifice there (reinforced here by God’s own oath) correlates with Abraham’s potential sacrifice of Isaac. While the promises are not given a new shape in Genesis 22, they receive a new emphasis in view of Abraham’s response.

4. God’s trustworthiness. The test raises the question of whether God can be trusted. This God promises, proceeds to fulfill that promise, and then seems to take it back. Can readers trust this God only because they know this is a test, and that God does not intend to kill Isaac? For Abraham, trust was there without this knowledge. What will God’s response be?

Abraham departs for the place of sacrifice because he believes that God can require Isaac of him (and of God!); yet he trusts that God will somehow find a way to fulfill the promises. By v. 8 in his long journey, his trust has taken the form that God will provide a lamb. His public confession constitutes a new situation with which God must work. This ups the ante for God. The test no longer involves simply Abraham’s trust but becomes a matter of God’s providing as well. Will Abraham’s trust in God be in vain? Is God free to ignore Abraham’s trust? If God did not provide, then that would constitute another kind of test, at a much deeper level than the one initiating this journey.

If God tests within relationship to determine loyalty, then God cannot disdain the expression of such loyalty. Given God’s previous commitments (especially in chap. 15), God is bound to stay with a trusting Abraham. So God does speak, forbidding the sacrifice of Isaac and providing an animal; even more, God provides it as a substitute for Isaac, “instead of his son.”

5. God’s providing. Why should God be praised as a provider for following through on God’s own test? God appears praiseworthy for being faithful to the commitment to Abraham. But why was the ram even necessary? After discerning that Abraham did fear God, God stopped him before he saw the ram (vv. 12–13). Yet, God provided the ram, and Abraham offered it “instead of his son.” A sacrifice seems necessary, even if not expressly commanded. If not Isaac, then it must be another.

The redemption of the firstborn remains as a concern in this text (Exod 13:13; 22:29; 34:20). But the interest is not etiological or historical. This motif underscores Israel as the firstborn of God (Exod 4:22), an issue faced by the exiles (Jer 31:9, 20; cf. 2:3). This story presents a metaphor for Israel’s life with God, in which Israel becomes both Abraham and Isaac (see below).

22:15–19. These verses report God’s response in straightforward language (reinforced by 26:3–5, 24, but often obscured by efforts to wiggle out of the implications), twice spoken as if to ensure the point: Because Abraham has done this, previously spoken divine promises can be reiterated. The promises were originally made (12:1–3) independently of Abraham’s response. God’s promises create his faith (15:6), though Abraham could still be unfaithful. That is not reversed here so that his faith creates the promises. The covenant in chap. 15 was made with Abraham as a person of faith (as all covenants in the OT are). Here the promises are reiterated (in an emphatic way) to a trusting Abraham. If he had been unfaithful to God, we do not know what would have happened (God may have given Abraham another opportunity), but we do know that the promises would always be there for Abraham to cling to. Having seen Abraham’s faithfulness, God swears an oath for the first time in the narrative, in effect laying the divine life on the line, putting the very divine self behind the promise.

Reflections

1. This is a classic text. It has captivated the imaginations of numerous interpreters, drawn by both its literary artistry and its religious depths. It has played a special role in both Jewish and Christian traditions. Before its depth and breadth one stands on holy ground. But this text also presents problems. It has occasioned deep concern, especially in a time when the abuse of children has screamed its way into the modern consciousness.

Psychoanalyst Alice Miller claims this text may have contributed to an atmosphere that makes it possible to justify the abuse of children. She grounds her reflections on some thirty artistic representations of this story over the centuries. In two of Rembrandt’s paintings, Abraham faces the heavens rather than Isaac, as if in blind obedience to God and oblivious to what he is about to do. Abraham’s hands cover Isaac’s face, preventing him from seeing or raising a cry. Not only is Isaac silenced, but only his torso shows—his personal features are obscured. Isaac “has been turned into an object. He has been dehumanized by being made a sacrifice; he no longer has a right to ask questions and will scarcely even be able to articulate them to himself, for there is no room in him for anything besides fear.”

We may not simply dismiss the possible negative impact of this text; it would not be the first time the Bible has been used knowingly or unknowingly for such purposes. The text contributes to such an understanding, as God asks and then twice commends Abraham for not withholding his son, his only son (vv. 2, 12, 16). Abraham asks no questions, and God offers no qualifications. The child seems to be a pawn in the hands of two “adults” who need to work out an issue between them.

Yet, while moderns might wonder about the psychological abuse Isaac endures in all of this, the narrator gives him a questioning voice, and his father attentively responds to his query. This dialogue leads Isaac to place himself trustingly in the arms of his father and his God. The text offers no evidence that trust in God ever wavers for either father or son. We must be careful to stress these elements for the sake of a proper hearing of the text. Children must be allowed to ask their questions about this text, to which adults should be highly alert.

2. Once again, an Abrahamic text mirrors a later period in Israel’s life. Israel, God’s firstborn, had been sentenced to death by God in the fires of judgment. But exilic Israel remains God’s firstborn (so Jeremiah affirms, 31:9), the carrier of God’s purposes into the future. As Isaac was saved from death, so was Israel delivered from the brink of annihilation. But what of the future? Out of this matrix the Israelites developed an understanding that a sacrifice was necessary to assure Israel’s future, shaped most profoundly in Isaiah 53 (see the use of שׂה (śeh), lamb, in 53:7 and vv. 7–8; cf. Jer 11:19). Israel’s redemption would not occur without cost. At the same time, Israel’s faithfulness was not an optional matter as it moved into a future shaped by God’s promises. The emphasis on descendants in v. 17 also connects well with these exilic concerns (see Isa 51:2, and the renewed interest in Abraham in exile). The NT use of this story to understand the sacrifice of God’s only Son constitutes an appropriate extension of the text (see John 1:14).

3. To trust God does not mean always to respond in an unquestioning way; this text does not commend passivity before God. Chapters 18 and 22 must be kept together, showing that Abraham’s faithfulness to God works itself out in various ways. Perhaps Abraham responds as he does in chap. 22 because he learned from the encounter in chap. 18 that God is indeed just, and that he need only trust on this occasion. The confession that God will provide pertains as much to times of questioning and challenging as to moments of ‘blind’ trust. It may well be the reader who, having learned from Abraham in chap. 18, responds with questions to God’s command to sacrifice Isaac.

Abraham does not simply obey; he obeys because he trusts. He could have obeyed because he was ordered to do so; if God commands, he had better respond. But v. 8 makes clear that he obeys because he trusts God, that God will be faithful and will act in his best interests. Hebrews 11:17–19 posits the Resurrection at this point; if necessary, the promises will remain in and through death. Moreover, Abraham does not claim ownership of the promise, as if it were his possession, as if his faithful response counts for little or nothing (see Jas 2:18–26).

4. This story presents the last dialogue between Abraham and God and between Abraham and Isaac. It follows closely on the heels of the birth of Isaac and precedes Sarah’s death (23:2). The narrative’s literary setting intimates a concern for the (unprecedented) turning of the generations; Isaac now moves out into the world on his own. The absence of an explicit reference to Isaac at the end (v. 19) may witness to a future open to the next generation, with uncertainty as to what will happen to the promises as Abraham moves off the scene.

One promise has been fulfilled. Yet, promises of land, numerous descendants, and being a blessing to the nations remain. What status do these other divine promises have now? Are they a matter of course, to be fulfilled irrespective of Abraham’s (or anyone else’s) faith in God? Are God’s promises now to be carried by genetics, by a natural biological succession? What happens if Abraham ceases to trust God? At times scholars speak of the unconditionality of God’s promise to Abraham in such a way that faith becomes irrelevant. Verses 16–18 together with 26:3–5, 24 make clear, however, that God reiterates the promise to Isaac because of the way in which Abraham responded in faithfulness. Hence, the promise does not automatically or naturally carry on into the family’s next generation.

Although God will never invalidate the promise, people do not participate in the sphere of the promise independently of a faithful response. Abraham could have said no to God, and complicated God’s moves into the future, though not finally stymied them. While the divine word of promise inspires Abraham’s trust (15:6), he could resist the word of God; if that were not the case, then the command would have been no test at all, for the outcome would have been settled in advance. God, however, does not coerce or program Abraham’s fidelity.

The apostle Paul incorporates this point when making the claim that the promises of God cannot be reduced to genetics (Rom 4:16–25; Gal 3:6–9). Those who have faith in the God of Abraham have received the promises irrespective of biological succession.

At the same time, the text does not imply a spiritual succession across the centuries, for the promise takes shape in the actual lives of people, whose own words and deeds are centrally involved in its transmission. This means that the word of God, in some general way, does not provide for the continuity across the generations. God places the promise in the hands of those who are faithful, and their witness ought not to be discounted.

Another way of putting the issue: What happens to faith when the promise reaches fulfillment? Granted, other promises reach out to the future. But receiving the promised son could have tempted Abraham to push other promises to the side: I now have what I want. How do promises already fulfilled affect the relationship with God? Will Abraham’s trust in God still be the core of his life? Will Abraham still ground his life in the divine promises rather than bask in the sunshine of fulfillment? In order to explore these questions, the test focused precisely on the point of fulfillment: Isaac.

5. Testing must be considered relationally, not legalistically. Life in relationship will inevitably bring tests; individuals will often find themselves in situations where their loyalty is tested. What constitutes testing will be determined by the nature of the relationship and the expectations the parties have for it. As a relationship matures and trust levels are built up, faithful responses to the testing of the relational bond will tend to become second nature. Yet, even in a mature relationship, sharp moments of testing may present themselves. Abraham may have faced this kind of moment.

Is the relationship with the deity one in which the people of God can expect to be put to the test again and again? Are there absurd, senseless experiences in life that can become the occasion to turn away from God? There may well be a deep, dark, and seemingly hopeless valley through which we travel. Maybe we think God protects us from such moments, especially those who have been given promises; if God does not protect us, then we will turn away from God. We should learn from this story that receiving promises does not entail being protected from moments where those promises seem to be called into question.

To move to the NT, God does not expect of Abraham something that God would be unwilling to do. God puts Jesus through a time of testing to see if he will be faithful, and hence could be a vehicle for God’s redemptive purposes in the world. God risked that Jesus would not be found faithful. Even more, God put Jesus through a time of testing in the Garden of Gethsemane. How was it possible for Jesus to believe that God would be faithful to promises in such a time? Jesus trusts himself to the will of God, trusting that God will find a way to be faithful to the promises even in the face of death. And God does prove faithful in raising Jesus from the dead.

Some NT words on testing may be helpful: “Because he himself was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested” (Heb 2:18 NRSV; cf. 4:15). We are promised by 1 Cor 10:13, “God is faithful, and he will not let you be tested beyond your strength, but with the testing he will also provide the way out so that you may be able to endure it” (NRSV). These affirmations do not make trust an option, but we can count on the faithfulness of God, who in the midst of the worst possible testings will provide a way through the fire.

 

Ancestors: Noah

Note: You can watch this teaching on CrossWalk’s YouTube channel.

Before we launch into the story of Noah, the ark, the flood, and his sons, we need to deal with an underlying issue related to language and tradition.  First, let’s talk about the word “myth.”  Try Google searching topics related to myths, like, “myths about dieting” or “myths about sex” or “myths about aging” or “myths about sex while dieting and aging” and you will begin to notice that in our casual use of the term myth, we equate it with falsehood.  If it’s a myth it’s not true.  But that does a disservice to the term, which actually relates to a literary device or form that, while fictional, is actually striving in many cases to communicate truth.  Myth doesn’t mean false.  In fact, great truths have been communicated through myths.  Some of Jesus’ greatest truths were communicated through stories he made up – fictional characters of a father and his two sons, or a Good Samaritan.  To say that the story of Noah and the Ark was a Jewish myth causes some to stumble a bit because it’s in the Bible.  And if it’s in the Bible, it must be true (not a myth), right?

This idea that God essentially wrote the Bible using the hands of humans has a fancy name to impress your friends, Plenary Inspiration, which asserts that the Bible (at least originally) is exactly how God wanted it to be.  In addition to that, the loudest branch of Christianity in the United States for the last 125 years or so said that “real” Christians believe that the Bible is inerrant (without error) and infallible (incapable of being wrong).  Add it all together, and when you open up the Bible and read the first chapters, you might therefore conclude that God created the heavens and the earth in week, with a literal Adam and Eve and talking snake, and eventually a guy named Noah saving the animals and humans from extinction with an ark he was told to make by God, and that all of it is literally, historically, and factually accurate.

That way of thinking about the Bible, however, is very Western and relatively new.  Judaism is an Eastern religion and is very old – the ancient rabbis did not view the Bible the way we do.  They were very comfortable with creating and using myths and embellishing historical accounts for theological purposes.  They were not writing for us, with our hyper-critical sensitivity to detailed accuracy.  They were wanting to convey their theological perspective to the world, and primarily for their own adherents.  If you have a problem with thinking about the Bible this way, you have a problem with more than me – you have a problem with the actual writers who gave the Bible to you.  As you reflect on this, you may end up having a much bigger problem with those who set you up for this problem in the first place – the publishers and leaders who demanded that the Bible be looked at in a very particular way, and added threat if you didn’t.  That stifling of questions and ideas is in direct opposition to the spirit of Jewish scholarship, which is what informed Jesus and Paul’s approach.  Viewing parts of the Bible in their appropriate genre – sometimes myth or fiction – does not rob it of authority.  In fact, appreciating and embracing the genre strengthens it.

The story of Noah and the Ark (Genesis chapters 6-9) was written in response to other stories emerging from surrounding cultures about a great flood that actually did happen.  In the Nerd Out Notes below, you can read descriptions of some of those stories.  Did a flood actually cover the entire earth? That is entirely unlikely.  To the original people who experienced some sort of major flood, however, that’s how it seemed.  Remember that our knowledge of the curvature of the earth is a new discovery in perspective.  None of the biblical writers had a cosmology that included a spherical earth.  When these ancient people looked around when such a flood took place, their report would be that the whole earth was covered, because that’s as far as they could see. They did not consider the fact that they could not actually see the ends of the earth – just their end of their earth.  Lots of cultures tried to explain why the gods would allow or cause such an event.  Remembering that Genesis is the story of beginnings for the Jewish people, we need to ask what the story meant for them, and also what they weren’t trying to communicate.

Pete Enns, author of Genesis for Normal People, notes:

The first thing that helps us take off our modern glasses is to recognize that (1) Israel’s neighbors also had flood stories very similar to the biblical one, and (2) Israel’s flood story was written after these other stories (as we saw with the creation story in Genesis 1). These older versions come from ancient Sumeria, Assyria, and Babylon. It seems there really was a catastrophic flood at some point in the far distant past (some archaeologists say around 2900 B.C.) in the ancient Near East. And different cultures in that region gave different reasons for why it happened. (50) Let’s remember that for ancient Israel, as for other cultures, this deathly flood had to be explained somehow. And the Israelites gave an explanation that said something loud and clear about how their God was different from the other gods. Their God isn’t touchy and grumpy; he has standards he expects his created beings to uphold. For God to have killed all life on earth must mean that his standards have been violated across the board. Or, as the writer of the story puts it, “every inclination of the thoughts of their hearts was only evil continually” (6:5). So, God wiped the slate clean and started over by choosing Noah, the righteous one, as the new beginning. (54)

In the story of creation, the biblical authors wanted to paint God as one who brought order out of chaos.  We hear that echoed in the Flood story – water again covered the surface of the earth, and God restored it to order.  This was a cosmic do-over.  While we may get stuck on a lot of questions along the way about what the meaning of unleashing the flood in the first place says about the character and nature of God, this was not the original author’s leading purpose.  Their statement is simply that God is the one powerful enough to do this, was motivated from a place of holiness, and yet was also driven by grace.  Some ancient Midrash on the story submit the idea that it was actually Noah’s sons who built the Ark, and Noah spent that century warning everyone else to prepare, presumably inviting them to be saved as well (but to no avail).  Noah, in this regard, becomes a graceful second Adam who doesn’t fall into the temptation of disobedience which leads to death, but gets it right and lives (along with his family and the rest of the animals).

The ark is built, the animals get onboard, the flood happens, every breathing thing dies except for those on the ark, and eventually, the water subsides and Noah and company start over.  God hangs up his bow of wrath pledging never to destroy the earth again.  It’s the colors of the rainbow, letting us know God is inclusive right there in the beginning!  Everything is perfectly restored.  Until it isn’t.

The story takes a weird turn.  Enough time passes for Noah to plant a vineyard, harvest the grapes, and make wine. Apparently, it was a good vintage, because he got ripped.  So ripped that he ended up going to bed naked in his tent.  His son, Ham, went into the tent, perhaps to check up on his dad, and saw that he was naked and cracked up.  Instead of covering him up right away, he thought it would be fun to let his brothers Shem and Japheth in on the discovery.  His brothers, however, didn’t want to see their dad’s junk on full display, and instead walked in backwards with a blanket to cover him up.  When Noah woke up, he was incensed, and cursed Ham.  Remember that in the story of Adam and Eve there was a curse delivered around the subject of nakedness?  The serpent issued the temptation which, when indulged, led to shame associated with nakedness.  Here we are all over again.

The writers of Genesis tell us in this account (Genesis 9:18-29) that Ham was the father of Canaan.  This anachronism is one nod to the fact that this was written way past the earliest remembrance of Israel’s history since Canaan didn’t exist yet – this is told in retrospect to people who knew the most important thing about Canaan to every Israelite: Canaan was the sworn enemy in days of old.  Israelites hated Canaanites.  They warred against Canaanites.  The wrote against Canaanites.  They forbid intermarriage with Canaanites.  It was totally okay to speak terribly of Canaanites. You get the idea. Now, in the story of Noah, we are given an explanation of where they came from, and why it was okay to treat them so poorly: their genesis was the DNA of Ham the disobedient son.  A disobedience to God.  As a cursed people, their mistreatment was therefore warranted and eventually even ordained by those claiming to speak for God.

This story eventually became a foundation for affirming the peculiar institution of American slavery.  American slaveholders were biblically justified to mistreat this particular ethnic group because it was ordained by God.  In The Great Stain: Witnessing American Slavery, Frederick Douglass was remembered for his weighing in on such an abuse of scripture:

“Between the Christianity of this land and the Christianity of Christ, I recognize the widest possible difference—so wide that to receive the one as good, pure, and holy, is of necessity to reject the other as bad, corrupt, and wicked. To be the friend of the one is of necessity to be the enemy of the other. I love the pure, peaceable, and impartial Christianity of Christ; I therefore hate the corrupt, slave-holding, women-whipping, cradle-plundering, partial and hypocritical Christianity of this land. Indeed, I can see no reason but the most deceitful one for calling the religion of this land Christianity…”

What are we left with?  If we take the story as simply as it was offered, and with its original intent, we can go home hearing our long-suffering Jewish ancestors remind us that God is really powerful, and truly graceful, even when it seems like the rains will never end.  We are not alone, and our suffering is not because God is trying to destroy us.

Since we live now, however, we may want to ask some questions of ourselves, like…

·       How do we make sense of chaos and destruction in our time – what kind of theology are we holding?

·       How have we limited our understanding of this story due to the influences of American Christianity?

·       How have we justified our mistreatment of others (attitudes and behaviors), perhaps even using scripture for our support?

May we all embrace the love of God proclaimed in this complex story.  May we all take time to delve into the complexity of our perspectives, that we would never find ourselves using this story to justify our own prejudices in our time.

Nerd Out Notes…

 

Add these books to your reading list for reference on Genesis: Pete Enns, Genesis for Normal People by Pete Enns, which brings excellent academics with very approachable writing (he is fun to listen to and read); and In the Beginningby the great historian Karen Armstrong, which offers a Midrash approach to the texts.

 

From the Yale Anchor Bible Dictionary:

 

NOAH AND THE ARK This entry consists of two articles. The first focuses on the biblical hero of the Flood (Gen 5:28–9:29) who later became the subject of Jewish and Christian legend. The second article focuses on the ark itself and the claims through the ages that its remains have survived.

THE HERO OF THE FLOOD

A.   Introduction

1.   Name

2.   Flood Heroes in Other Ancient Literature

B.   Noah in Judeo-Christian Tradition

1.   Hebrew Bible

2.   Apocrypha

3.   Genesis Apocryphon

4.   New Testament

5.   Pseudepigrapha

A. Introduction

In the genealogical reckoning of Gen 5:28–29, Noah is introduced as a son of the 182-year-old Lamech. Noah stands at the end of the era that is now to be destroyed, the era that has lasted more than 1,500 years since the beginning of the world when the first human couple was created.

According to the genealogies of Genesis 4 and 5, there have been 7–10, depending on how we count them, generations starting with that of Adam and Eve up to Noah’s generation. However, the narrative tradition hurries through the same 1,656 years in just three generations, beginning with that of Adam and Eve, followed by that of Cain and Abel, and now of Noah and his family. Then the Flood sweeps over—only Noah’s family is saved, because “Noah was a righteous man; he was blameless in his time; with God Noah walked” (Gen 6:9). Thus, Noah is the one who is saved, guarded by the covenant of the rainbow, and in turn is destined to save humanity. He is the father of the new era; he is the father of Shem, Ham, and Japheth, whose offspring are going to repopulate the entire world after the Flood (Gen 10:1–32). Noah is an epoch divider figure as well as a bridge between the quasi-mythological history and a more humanly accountable history.

In these early chapters of Genesis a complex image of Noah emerges. The later chapters and books variously refer to Noah specifically by name or obliquely by alluding to many aspects of Noah and the Flood Story. In the following sections the major significance of Noah and his ancient counterparts and some of the more obvious references and allusions to him are examined.

1. Name. No firm etymology for the name Noah (Heb Nōaḥ, Gk Nōe) has been established, but it is generally derived from the verb root nwḥ, to rest, settle down, repose, etc.; thus “Noah” may mean “to rest.” Whatever “Noah,” spelled consonantally as nḥ, may have meant originally, the genealogy (Gen 5:29) gives us a folk etymology that Noah (nḥ) is to bring us comfort (nḥm, Piʿel, to comfort, console: Nipʿal, to be sorry, console oneself); thus nḥ is associated aurally to nḥm, making Noah the bringer of comfort (nḥm) from labor (derived from ʿśh) and toil (derived from ʿṣb).

It is not fortuitous that when the Flood Story introduces Noah, these very same roots, nḥm, ʿśh, and ʿṣb, are repeated in the same order: “And the Lord was sorry [nḥm] that he had made [ʿśh] man on the earth and it grieved [ʿṣb] him to his heart”—(Gen 6:6).

The wordplay involving nḥm continues; “And the Lord said, ‘I will blot out [mḥh] man whom I have created’ ” (Gen 6:7). Here the two key consonants  and m are reversed. The wordplay still goes on as “Noah [nḥ] found favor [ḥn] in the eyes of the Lord” (Gen 6:8); note here the two consonants of the name are also reversed. Furthermore, Noah begets a son named Ham (ḥm, Gen 6:10), relating assonantally to nḥm, “comfort,” but substantially to ḥms, “violence”; “and the earth was corrupt in the eyes of God and the earth was filled with violence [ḥms]” (Gen 6:11). “Noah” (nḥ) and “violence” (ḥms) are picked up again in Gen 6:13 and the wordplay extends to the word mḥwṣ, “outside,” in Gen 6:14, as Noah is to “pitch it (the ark) with pitch inside and outside [mḥwṣ].”

Moreover, observe that Ham is introduced soon after the initial episode of the story, namely, the sexual involvement of the sons of gods with the daughters of men (Gen 6:1–4), and then he finds himself in a sexual offense against Noah at the final episode of the story (Gen 9:18–29). These two episodes of sexual intrigue frame the story, and Ham is closely associated with both of them.

The notion of mḥh, “blotting out,” as a result of the Lord’s “regret” (nḥm) terminates in the central episode of the devastating flood destruction (Gen 7:17–24), where that verb is used both actively and passively: “and he blotted out [ymḥ] every living thing that was upon the face of the ground … and they were blotted out [ymḥw] from the earth” (Gen 7:23). The idea of the name Noah, “rest,” is fittingly echoed where the ark securely rests (tnḥ) after 150 days of water ordeal, yet the dove (ywnh) could not find the place to rest (mnwḥ) its foot (Gen 8:9).

Many words that are loosely associated with the name Noah are used in a cluster at the beginning of the story. These same words are then distributed in strategic positions throughout the story, helping to unify the story and to make it unmistakably Noah’s Flood Story.

2. Flood Heroes in Other Ancient Literature. a. Mesopotamian. Noah as the Flood hero has many counterparts in ancient literature. To begin with, the Sumerian and Akkadian genealogical material as well as the epic tradition preserved various names of the righteous Flood hero, who stands exactly at the same relative position in world history as Noah, that is, at the end of the mythological, primeval historical era, ushering in a new, more concretely historical era. The Flood, thus, serves as an epoch divider. The main difference between Noah and his Mesopotamian counterparts is that Noah dies, while the other Flood heroes seem to gain immortality (Cohen 1974). See FLOOD.

(1) The Sumerian Deluge Story. The Sumerian counterpart of Noah is Ziusudra (meaning “life of prolonged day(s)”), the son of Ubartutu of Shuruppak. He is the Flood hero and epoch divider who becomes immortal. This is known from both the genealogical tradition found in the Sumerian king list (Jacobsen 1939) and from the narrative tradition as preserved in the Sumerian Deluge Story (ANET, 42–44; Civil 1969).

The 6-column text of the Sumerian Deluge Story is badly broken; the major portion of each column is gone. Only about one fourth (approximately 70 out of 300 lines) of the story remains, and even that is preserved imperfectly. But the text includes more than the Flood Story. In column 1, there appears to be one or two episodes of earlier destructions of humankind long before the Flood. The text also recalls the creation by Anu, Enlil, Enki, and Ninhursag of the black-headed people, i.e., the Mesopotamians. The kingship and civilization are established, and the name of five antediluvian cities, which we know from the Sumerian King List and to which different gods are assigned, are listed in column 2. The pious king Ziusudra is praying in column 3 and the impending flood is announced in column 4. The Flood rages, Ziusudra is saved, and he offers a sacrifice in column 5. The earth is repopulated and Ziusudra becomes immortal and lives in Dilmun in column 6. The rest of the tablet is broken off.

(2) Gilgamesh XI The best preserved Mesopotamian Flood narrative, however, is found in Tablet 11 of the Akkadian Gilgamesh epic. It provides so far the clearest parallel to Noah’s flood story. The creator and magician god Enki/Ea cleverly communicates to Utnapishtim (for the meaning of the name, see below), whose nickname is Atrahasis (meaning “exceedingly wise”), about the impending disaster and instructs him to build a cubical ship with six stories and nine sections and to save himself and his family. The Flood rages for seven days; everyone dies except the Utnapishtim family, the seed of all living creatures, and all the craftsmen. The ship rests on the top of the Mount Nasir, a bird is let out to check the water level, and Utnapishtim offers a sacrifice over which the hungry gods gather like flies. Utnapishtim is granted immortality by the gods. According to Anne D. Kilmer (1987b) we perhaps can even recover a rainbow covenant motif from the enigmatic passage describing Ishtar’s colorful necklace of lapis lazuli and her promise:

Then she [Nintu] approached the big flies

Which Anu had made and was carrying …

Let these flies be the lapis around my neck

That I may remember it [every (?)] day [and forever (?)]

(Atrahasis, 3.5.46–6.4)

The parallel passage in Gilgamesh is:

When at last the Great Goddess arrived,

She lifted up the great flies [jewels] which Anu had made light-heartedly[?]

“These gods—verily [by] the lapis round my neck and I shall not forget

These days—surely I will remember forever and not forget.”

(Gilgamesh XI 162–169)

Enki then chastises Enlil for sending the most destructive flood instead of a less severe disaster, such as a lion or a famine, to “diminish mankind.” In response Enlil makes Utnapishtim immortal.

The Flood hero himself, reluctantly at first, narrates this Flood Story to Gilgamesh, who is questing immortality and thinks that he too may obtain it by consulting Utnapishtim. Thus the rest of the Gilgamesh Epic offers no contextual parallel to Genesis, except for some isolated verbal and motif similarities.

(3) The Atrahasis Epic. However, the Atrahasis Epic, though the Flood portion of the text (Tablet III) is quite damaged, presents a narrative account of the Mesopotamian primeval history that parallels Genesis 1–11 inclusively. The Flood Story in Atrahasis (approximately 405 lines) is more than twice the size of the Gilgamesh flood story (approximately 190 lines). Although they seem to tell the same story (cf. Utnapishtim is identified as Atrahasis, “Exceedingly Wise,” in Gilgamesh XI.187), the function of the Flood in these two epics is quite different; in Atrahasis it is a population control measure and an epoch divider, whereas in Gilgamesh it explains how immortality was once granted to a mortal. A synoptic outline of the Atrahasis Epic and Genesis 1–11 is as follows:

Atrahasis

 

Genesis 1–11

 

A. Creation of Mankind

 

(Tablet I.1–248)

 

(Gen 1:1–2:25)

 

Summary of Work of Gods

 

Summary of Work of God

 

Creation of Mankind

 

Creation of Mankind

 

B. People’s Numerical Increase

 

(I.249–415)

 

(2:4–3:24)

 

Attempt to Decrease Numbers

 

Adam and Eve

 

Threat of Death by Plague

 

Near Death

 

C. Second Attempt to Decrease

 

Double Story (II i.1–vi.55)

 

(4:1–5:32)

 

1.   Threat of Death: Drought

 

1.   Cain and Abel

 

2.   Severer Means

 

2.   Lamech’s Taunt

 

D. Final Solution

 

(II vii–II vi.40)

 

(6:1–9:29)

 

Atrahasis’s Flood

 

Noah’s Flood

 

Salvation in Boat

 

Salvation in Tēbâ—Ark

 

E. Resolution

 

(III vi.41–viii.18)

 

(10:1–11:32)

 

Compromise between Enlil and Enki

 

Dispersion—Abram Leaves Ur

 

“Birth Control”

 

Exodus Motif

 

The Atrahasis Epic begins with the creation of humankind because the labor-class gods are fed up with the heavy tasks imposed on them by the management-class gods, and they make much “noise,” especially against the chief god, Enlil. As a result, the mother goddess Mami and magician god Enki create procreating people as a substitute for the laboring gods. The people multiplied so much in 1,200 years that they made a great “noise,” to the annoyance of Enlil. Enlil tries to exterminate them first by a famine, then 1,200 years later by a drought, and finally, yet another 1,200 years later, by the flood. Three times Enlil’s plans are foiled by Enki and his faithful worshipper Atrahasis. Now the thrice failing and furious Enlil convenes a divine assembly where a post-Flood compromise is reached among gods to limit the expanding population. At least three such population control measures (Kilmer 1972) are suggested, presumably by Enki and Mami:

Moreover, a third category let there be among people;

Let there be among people bearing women and barren women!

Let there be among people the pāšittu-demon;

Let him snatch the baby

from the lap of the woman who bore it!

Place Ugbabtu-priestess, Entu-priestess,

and Igiṣı̄tu-priestess;

Let them be taboo and

Thus cut off child-bearing!

(Atrahasis III vi.52?—vii.9)

Note Genesis 1–11 topically parallels the Atrahasis Epic but reaches exactly an opposite conclusion. Whereas the Atrahasis Epic suggests “birth control” as means to curb human population, Genesis offers “dispersion” as means to accommodate the expanding population in response to the initial blessing of Gen 1:28, “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth.” Out of the dispersion of Gen 11:1–9, who but Adam, the first Hebrew, emerges.

Atrahasis may have received immortality in the end. We cannot be sure because of the broken text, but his longevity, known from the unbroken part of the epic and spanning over three generations of 1,200 years each, is extraordinary. This gave rise to the following speculation.

(4) The Enki and Ninmah Story. The longevity of Atrahasis has led to the thought that Atrahasis may be the first man, or at least the first baby. This speculation is based on a Sumerian story called “Enki and Ninmah” (Benito 1969), which deals with the creation of people in two stages (Kikawada 1983). Note in the following story of Enki and Ninmah, the same topics and motifs as in Genesis 1–2 and Atrahasis I.1–351 are found, i.e. in the first stage humanity is invented for the purpose of work, to have dominion over the other living beings (Gen 1:26), and to bear the toil of the gods (Atrahasis I.191), and in the second stage specific persons, Adam and Eve (Gen 2:7, 22) and seven pairs of people (Atrahasis K 3399+3934, Obverse iii 9–13), are created and destined to be self-propagating by establishing marriage (Gen 2:24, Atrahasis I.300–1).

The Enki and Ninmah story begins after the goddess Nammu gives birth to gods who work in different regions of the world. When the work becomes too severe for the worker gods, they complain to the manager gods. The creator god Enki first tries to ignore the complaint by sleeping, but mother Nammu persuades Enki to create “substitutes,” namely humanity, for worker gods. Nammu decrees the fate of the new creature; goddess Ninmah imposes work on humankind. Gods become very happy; and have a big feast where Enki and Ninmah get drunk. That is the first stage of creation.

In the second stage, Ninmah proposes a people-making contest to Enki, one to create and the other to decree fate. Ninmah begins and she creates from clay six (could be seven, see Lambert and Millard 1969) creatures with some physical weaknesses. Enki decrees fates for them:

Ninmah’s Creature

 

Enki’s Decree

 

1.         One with weak arm

 

Court officer

 

2.         One with blinking eyes

 

Singer

 

3.         One with weak feet

 

?

 

4.         One with uncontrollable semen emission

 

Made safe

 

5.         One barren

 

Appointed to harem

 

6.         One sexless person

 

court officer

 

All these creatures of Ninmah are appointed to appropriate stations in the society—hence they gain independence and livelihood. The apex of the second stage is the creation of the procreating woman and her first baby, Umul, who was miraculously sired by Enki, the magician god himself. An irony of this story seems to lie in the fact that Ninmah the mother goddess does not recognize a baby:

She [Ninmah] approached Umul and asked him questions

[but] he did not know how to speak,

She offered him bread for his nourishment

[but] he did not reach out for it,

On the … [his] heart could not rest,

he could not sleep,

Standing up he could not sit down,

could not lie down,

a house he could not build[?]

food he could not eat,

Ninmah said with a stammer to Enki,

“The man you have fashioned is neither alive nor dead, he cannot carry anything.”

(Enki and Ninmah 96–101)

Then Enki advises her to hold him on her lap and assures her that Umul, having Enki’s “form,” will be a pious man. By the bringing forth of the first baby the model for human procreation is established by Enki, who instructs Ninmah, saying, “pouring the semen of an erected phallus in a woman’s womb, that woman will conceive in her womb.”

If the Enki and Ninmah story and the Sumerian deluge story are viewed in succession, they together seem to offer a tantalizing parallel to the whole of the Atrahasis Epic (Kilmer 1976). For this reason, Atrahasis is suspected of being the first baby. The other link between Atrahasis and the first baby lies in the meaning of the names. The first Sumerian baby’s name, given at birth, is Umul, “my day [of death] is far”—suspiciously a longevity name! Note that Atrahasis’ other name is Utnapishtim, reading here as ūta-napištim, “I have found life”—a longevity name given at the “end” of life when he is made immortal (Gilgamesh XI.193–95). Perhaps it is even better to read his full name, Utnapishtim the Distant, as um-napištim-rūqi, meaning “day of my life is long,” which would give us a still closer parallel to the Sumerian hero. Note that the name of the hero in the Sumerian deluge is Ziusudra, which means “life of prolonged day(s)”—a longevity name as well. Mesopotamian Noahs all have longevity names. In sharp contrast (Cohen 1974) to these names, Noah (nḥ)may signify eternal “Rest” or “Repose” in Sheol (cf. Isa 57:2 and Job 3:17).

b. Indo-European. (1) Iranian. The Avesta, in Vendidad Book 2 of the Iranian tradition, preserves a Zoroastrian counterpart to Noah, called Yima/Yama, the first man and first king (Christensen 1943), entrusted with government as well as religion. Yima helps expand the overburdened earth in three stages to accommodate the increasing population. He lives through 1,200 years until he is directed by Ahuramazda to prepare for an impending flood resulting from the melting snow. Ahuramazda gives Yima detailed instructions on how to make an enclosure in the mountain to save himself and “the seed of small and large cattle and the mortals and dogs and birds and the red burning fire” (Vendidad 2.25). The end of the story takes on an eschatological tone and it appears as though Yima is still in the enclosure even at the present time. From this story, too, we can recover the overall outline of the primeval history. Yima, like Noah, stands at the demarcation point between the primeval era and the new age to come.

(2) Indian. From India we can observe the Flood hero in both the genealogical and narrative traditions. He is either the seventh (or fourteenth) Manu, the last sage of the primeval era. In genealogical material Manu Vaivasvata stands at the end of the primeval epoch that is terminated by the Flood. The succeeding epoch has a different form of social structure which is reflected in a different type of genealogy (Thapar 1976). The antediluvian genealogy is a linear type wherein only one leader in a given period is accounted for, as in Genesis 4 and 5. After the Flood, the style of genealogy changes to the branched type wherein all the contemporary leaders and their relatives are recorded, i.e., to describe a family tree as in Genesis 10. The same Manu, in a narrative tradition, is saved from the Flood by a giant horned fish, which he found when it was little and helped by giving it successively bigger containers in which to grow. Thus, Manu Vaivasvata, like Noah, is the hero of the epoch-dividing Flood.

(3) Classical. Another Indo-European flood tradition is found in Greco-Roman literature, featuring righteous Deucalion and his pious wife Pyrrha, the best example of which is preserved in Ovid’s Metamorphoses. This Flood Story is placed in the same relative position in the early history of humankind as in the Mesopotamian tradition and Genesis.

The Metamorphoses begins with creation, followed by deterioration of the world in four stages from the Golden Age of the righteous to the Iron Age of evil. Jove then intends to get rid of the evil; he tries this in three stages. First, the household of evil, Lycaon, is blasted by a thunderbolt. Next, Jove wants to do the same thing to the whole earth but he is dissuaded because of the fear that heaven would be burnt up as well. In the third and final stage Jove sends the Flood from which the righteous couple, Deucalion and Pyrrha, are saved; after the Flood the earth is repopulated for the new epoch.

A scholiastic commentary on Homer’s Iliad. (Il. 1.5, on Dios boulēn) preserves a progression of topics similar to that found in Metamorphoses. The commentary also alludes to and summarizes the lost composition by Stasinos, entitled Cypria, whose emphasis is on the unburdening of the overpopulated earth in three stages. The motif of overpopulation brings this tradition close to the Mesopotamian and the biblical traditions.

B. Noah in Judeo-Christian Tradition

Both in the Old and New Testaments as well as in the intertestamental literature there are references to Noah. The following are some obvious examples and some speculative specimens.

1. Hebrew Bible. a. Exodus 1–2, 15 Moses is an obvious Noah figure, perhaps even a double Noah figure, in the book of Exodus, although Abraham emerges as an even earlier reflection of the Noah figure in the Sodom and Gomorrah story (cf. 2 Peter 2:5–6 section of this article).

The Hebrew people, now located in Egypt, must go through the threefold trial and tribulation of Pharaoh’s effort to diminish their number; note the very close parallel to the outline of the Atrahasis Epic as well as that of Genesis 1–11. First, taskmasters are set up to impose hard work on the Israelites, but the harder they oppress the Israelites, the more the Israelites “multiply” (Exod 1:12, cf. 1:7 where “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth” of Gen 1:28 is already echoed and amplified). Then, Pharaoh orders that the infant sons are to be killed by the two midwives Shiprah and Puah. When this plan too fails, the third trial is commanded by Pharaoh, “Every son that is born to the Hebrews you shall cast into the Nile!” (Exod 1:22). This is the Flood in miniature: Moses is saved in the ark (tēbâ), the Hebrew word used exclusively for Noah’s ark.

The connection is underscored by the language (cf. Exod 2:3 and Gen 6:14), for this is the only time the word tēbâ is used outside of Genesis 6–9. The way in which the ark is built is the same in both instances: the one for whom the ark is made, the material of which it is built, and the number of times it is to be “pitched with pitch” are all designated in the same order. Out of this water ordeal there emerges an adult Moses, a hero for the new age, another Noah.

Moses along with the children of Israel, however, goes through another epoch-dividing Flood as depicted in Exodus 15. Here the war imagery of the Lord as a Man of War dominates, but the Flood as the means of salvation for Israel and that of epoch divider is also present. While the pharaoh’s army is drowned in the upsurging waters, Moses and Israel emerge as a new entity to be feared among the neighbors such as Philistia, Edom, Moab, and Canaan. A new era for Israel thus begins. Note the change in the form of genealogical reckoning (cf. Thapar 1976) as well. After Noah’s Flood up to this point the genealogy has been of the branched type accounting for the lines of brothers and sisters, but now it reverts to the linear type of reckoning, accounting again only for the main line of leadership.

The war image associated with the Noachian Flood is recoverable from the rainbow. Remembering that the biblical Hebrew does not have a special word for “rainbow,” what we have in Gen 9:12, 14, 16 is the expression “a bow [the weapon] in the cloud,” suggesting, perhaps, that the Lord is declaring a truce after a war by resting his bow in the cloud.

In the following section only a few prophetic reflections of Noah material are brought out, although there may be many other allusions that are hidden in unsuspected places.

b. Isaiah 54 The important verses here are 9 and 10, which read:

For this is like the days of Noah to me,

As I swore that the waters of Noah

Should no more over the earth,

So I have sworn

that I will not be angry with you

and will not rebuke you.

For the mountain may depart

and the hills be removed,

but my steadfast love

shall not depart from you,

and my covenant of peace

shall not be removed,

says the Lord,

who has compassion on you.

Along with Noah the Flood and covenant are recalled by Isaiah for the people who are afflicted and not comforted (nḥm, Isa 54:11), reminding them of the everlasting kindness and great compassion of God (rḥmh, Isa 57:7, 8). Isaiah plays on the folk etymology of the name Noah, i.e., nḥm of Gen 5:29, and adds rḥmh, “compassion,” to the continuing wordplay.

Isaiah renames the covenant, changing it from the “everlasting covenant” (Gen 9:16), to the “covenant of peace” in Isa 54:10. This may be seen as a commentary on the rainbow. It is based on a further play on the name Noah (nḥ), especially in reference to Isa 54:15–17 in which the Lord has caused the smith to blow (npḥ)the fire of coals (pḥm) to create weapons. But these weapons will not be used against God’s people. Realizing that Hebrew has no special word for rainbow, we understand that the Lord hangs the bow on the cloud, as a sign of the covenant and as a gesture of peace after a battle.

c. Jeremiah 31 In the context of the everlasting covenant, Jeremiah 31 may be appreciated in a new light. While Jeremiah’s new covenant (Jer 31:31–34) is explicitly based on the Mosaic covenant, the Noachian covenant may be implicitly referred to in the passage immediately following (Jer 31:35, 36). In it Jeremiah recalls both the creation of sun and moon and the perpetuity of seasons as promised by the rainbow covenant:

Thus says the Lord,

who gives the sun for light by day,

and who the fixed order of the moon,

and the stars for light by night,

who stirs up the sea and its waves roar—

the Lord of hosts is his name,

“If this fixed order departs from before me,

then shall the descendants of Israel

cease from being a nation

from before me all the days.”

Note that both Isaiah’s reinstatement of the Noachian covenant of perpetual compassion and Jeremiah’s updating of the Mosaic covenant of the Law are described in the cosmic setting of mountains and hills (Isa 54:10) and heaven and earth (Jer 31:37). Both prophets seem to invoke the primeval history, the earliest part of cosmic and human history, for the establishment of a new covenant. Perhaps they are recalling the very beginning of the world when and only when the entire creation is described as “good” and “very good,” insisting upon making the new covenant firmly based on the primeval goodness of the creation (Cf. Hesse and Kikawada 1984).

d. Ezekiel. The Lord’s speech to the Son of Man (Ezek 14:12–20) demands righteousness for salvation, recognizing no act of supererogation. Noah, Daniel, and Job are singled out as exemplary men of righteousness in sinful ages. Ezekiel sees the three men as having survived extraordinary ordeals by their own righteousness.

Noah, as the hero of the epoch-dividing Flood, may be hidden at the end of Ezekiel’s first vision (Ezek 1:1–18). The vision moves from “I saw and behold …” (Ezek 1:4) and “I saw … and behold …” (Ezek 1:15) to the audition, “I heard …” (Ezek 1:24). Ezekiel hears seven voices (qwl). One of the seven voices is that of many waters (Ezek 1:14), perhaps of the Flood. The six voices are clustered in two verses (Ezek 1:24, 25). As the seventh voice is about to be heard, Ezekiel makes a flashing allusion to Noah’s Flood by “the bow in the cloud on the day of rain” (Ezek 1:28). The seventh voice, climactically introduced, is none other than the voice of the Lord; and it is heard throughout the rest of the book.

Here, Ezekiel is apparently invoking primeval authority for contemporary speech, as did the poet of Psalm 29 In the Psalm we find the lone reference to the Flood, mabbûl (Ps 29:10), outside of the Noah story (Genesis 6–9).

e. Jonah. Within the ironic reversal of the whole narrative structure of primeval history, we find Jonah as another Noah in the episode of the tempest and the great fish. The overall topical outline of the book of Jonah that chiastically parallel Genesis 1–11 (Hesse and Kikawada 1984) is given in the table below.

 

 

Jonah

 

 

 

 

 

Genesis

 

 

 

A.

 

Fleeing to Tarshish

 

 

 

A.

 

Dispersion

 

 

 

 

 

Not going to Mesopotamia despite God’s will

 

1:1–3

 

 

 

Coming out of Mesopotamia according to God’s will

 

 

 

 

 

Nineveh

 

1:2

 

 

 

Babel/Shinʿar

 

11:1–32

 

 

 

Hebrew

 

1:9

 

 

 

Abram, the Hebrew

 

14:13

 

B.

 

Flood, nāhār

 

1:4–15

 

B.

 

Flood mabbûl

 

6–9

 

 

 

Ship of tribulation

 

1:5

 

 

 

Ship of salvation

 

 

 

 

 

Jonah = Dove

 

 

 

 

 

Dove

 

8:10–12

 

 

 

Fish, vessel of salvation

 

2:1

 

 

 

(Cf. Manu and Fish, Indian myth)

 

 

 

 

 

Waves passed over Jonah

 

2:4

 

 

 

Wind passed over earth

 

8:1

 

 

 

Tĕhômsurrounds

 

2:6

 

 

 

Tĕhôm bursts forth

 

7:11

 

 

 

Bottoms of the mountains

 

2:7

 

 

 

Tops of the mountains

 

8:5

 

 

 

Jonah remembered the Lord

 

2:8

 

 

 

God remembered Noah

 

8:1

 

 

 

In 40 days …

 

3:4

 

 

 

End of 40 days …

 

8:6

 

C.

 

Jonah’s anger and

 

 

 

C.

 

Cain’s anger and

 

 

 

 

 

Tôb in causative stem

 

4:4

 

 

 

Tôb in causative stem

 

4:7, 9

 

 

 

Driven out before God

 

2:5

 

 

 

Driven out of God’s face

 

4:14

 

 

 

Hebel = Abel

 

2:9

 

 

 

Abel = hebel

 

4:2

 

 

 

Jonah wants to die

 

4:4

 

 

 

Cain wants to live

 

4:13–14

 

 

 

Jonah yšb east of city

 

4:5

 

 

 

Cain yšb east of Eden

 

4:16

 

D.

 

Gourd and Worm

 

4:6–7

 

D.

 

Tree and Snake

 

2:5–3:24

 

 

 

Protection from evil

 

4:6

 

 

 

Cause for evil

 

3:22

 

 

 

Glad because of gourd

 

4:6

 

 

 

Tree is delightful

 

3:6

 

 

 

Worm causes gourd to wither

 

4:7

 

 

 

Snake entices to eat of tree

 

3:4–5

 

 

 

Gourd taken away = test

 

4:7

 

 

 

Tree given = test

 

2:17

 

 

 

Jonah wants to die because of gourd

 

4:9

 

 

 

Eat of tree and surely die

 

2:17

 

E.

 

God who care for both

 

 

 

E.

 

God the Creator of

 

 

 

 

 

Men and beasts

 

4:11

 

 

 

Beasts and men

 

1:1–2:3

 

 

 

Seven narrative days

 

 

 

 

 

seven days of creation

 

 

 

 

 

Cf. “God of heaven, who made the sea and the dry land”

 

1:9

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Jonah is not only Noah (Jonah 1:4–3:4) but also he is Adam (Jonah 4:6–9), and Abel (Jonah 2:5–4:5). Moreover, we may even visualize Moses when Exod 34:6–7 is restated in Jonah 4:9, “… for I know that thou art a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love, and repentest of evil,” or recall Abram when Gen 14:13, 19–22 is echoed in Jonah 1:9, “I am a Hebrew, and I fear the Lord, the God of heaven who made the sea and the dry land,” as an answer to his shipmates.

2. Apocrypha. In the Apocrypha of the OT, references to Noah appear in such books as Tobit, Sirah, and the Wisdom of Solomon. In these books Noah takes a minor part in the list of people who are to be commended.

Tobit’s advice to his son Tobias (Tob 4:3–21) includes an admonition to marry his own kind as did Noah, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob (Tob 4:12). Neither the Flood nor the covenant is recalled.

In Sir 44:17–18, Noah appears in the long list of praises to the fathers of old, a list that begins with Enoch and ends with Moses. Noah is regarded as a substitute/continuator in the new age and in the remnant left from the Flood which ended because of the covenant.

Wis 4:10 refers to Noah without using his name, for the main interest of the passage lies in the enumeration of the accomplishments of Wisdom. Adam, Abel, Noah, Abraham, et al. are all alluded to without names. Wisdom saves the earth by “guiding the righteous man’s course by a poor piece of wood.”

3. Genesis Apocryphon. Column II of the Genesis Apocryphon preserves fragments of an episode recounting Noah’s extraordinary birth. Noah is so extraordinary that his father, Lamech, is frightened and doubts the paternity of the child, suspecting one of the Watchers, the holy ones, or the fallen angels (for an Assyriological view on the Nephilim, cf. Kilmer 1987a). Lamech first goes to his wife, btʾnws, who assures him that the child is his, reminding him of her pleasure when the child was conceived. Still discontent, Lamech goes to his father, Methuselah, who in turn proceeds to Enoch, his own father, for explanation. Here the text breaks, but what happens next may be supplied from the pseudepigraphic fragment of the book of Noah (= 1 Enoch 106, see above).

ATRAHASIS

 

GENESIS 1–11

 

EXODUS 1–2

 

MATTHEW 1–3

 

A. Creation of Man (Tab I. 1–248) Summary of Work of Gods Creation of Man

 

(Gen 1:1–2:25)

Sum of Work of God

Creation of Man

 

(Exod 1:1–7)

 

A Genealogy

 

(Matt 1:1–17)

 

A Genealogy

 

B. Man’s Numerical Increase (I. 249–4 15 Attempt to Decrease Numbers Threat of Death by Plague

 

(2:4–3:24)

Adam and Eve

Near Death

 

 

(1:8–14)

Hard Labor of Hebrews

 

 

(1:18–25)

Joseph and Mary

“Virgin Birth”

 

C. Second Attempt to Decrease: Double Story (11. 1:1–4.55) 1. Threat of Death: Drought

 

(4:1–5:32)

1. Cain and Abel

2. Lamech’s Taunt

 

(1:15–22)

1. Two Midwives

2. Severer Means

 

(2:11–18)

1. 3 Wise Men

2. Infanticide

 

D. Final Solution (11. 7.–111. 6:40) Atrahasis’ Flood Salvation in Boat

 

(6:1–9:7)

Noah’s Flood

Salvation in tēbâ

 

(2:1–10)

Moses and the Nile

Salvation in tēbâ

 

(2:19–23)

Flight to Egypt

Exodus Motif

 

E. Resolution (111. 6:4 1–8.18) Compromise between Enlil and Enki

 

(9:8–11:32

Dispersion-Abram leaves Ur

 

(2:11–25)

Moses goes out to Midian

 

(3:1–17)

Baptism of John in River Jordan

 

“Birth Control”

 

Exodus Motif

 

Exodus Motif

 

Flood Motif

 

NOA.01. Comparative chart of Primeval History.

4. New Testament. a. Matthew 24:38 and 1:1–3:17 Matthew uses the Flood as an illustration for the eschatological coming of the Son of Man, who will come stealthily without the knowledge of incorrigible sinners. The Flood is seen here as the epoch divider and the Son of Man event will be analogous to it; the Son of Man is another Noah.

For Matthew, Jesus like Moses is another Noah from the outset (Kikawada 1974). In fact, the outline and themes of Genesis 1–11 and Exodus 1–2 as well as the ancient parallel to them can be seen in the first three chapters of Matthew’s gospel. See Fig. NOA.01 All four are relating the primeval history. Atrahasis and Genesis 1–11 are on a macrocosmic scale whereas Exodus 1–2 and Matthew 1–3 are on a microcosmic scale. All four symbolically tell their stories from the very beginning of the world through the epoch-dividing event, and then introduce the new era. In all the biblical examples the dispersion or Exodus motif emerges as a means of salvation in contrast to the Mesopotamian method of salvation, i.e., birth control. The motifs of mass killing of undesirable population and of the “Flood” as an epoch divider are present in all.

Jesus the Savior comes out of the water of salvation. Thereupon, he is met by the dove, linking him to the Flood tradition and making him another Noah.

b. 1 Peter 3:20 In a very enigmatic passage of 1 Peter 3:13–22 in which Peter may be claiming that Christ has preached the gospel to the dead (cf. 1 Pet 4:6), especially to the dead of the time of Noah, the Flood is made analogous to baptism as a means of salvation through water. Quite independently of this passage, however, the baptism of Jesus in Matthew’s gospel can be construed as a miniature Flood bearing the significance of an epoch divider within a miniature primeval history in Matthew 1–3

c. 2 Peter 2:5–6 Peter makes a reference to two Genesis figures, Noah and Lot, both of whom are righteous persons saved from disasters. It is difficult to know how much Peter wished to parallel these figures, but the stories of these two men are astonishingly similar. Consider the following (the present writer owes this observation to his student Hugo Garcia).

The whole area of Sodom and Gomorrah was said to be “like the garden of the Lord” (Gen 13:10); but the people of Sodom were very wicked (Gen 13:13). Despite Abraham’s plea on behalf of the people, they were to be destroyed (Gen 18:16–33). From this point on the parallel with Noah becomes closer. In both the Noah and Lot stories the sex offense episodes, including incest and homosexuality, frame the story and the sequence of events concerning the great disaster and salvation from it provides point-by-point contacts between the two:

Sodom and Gomorrah Story

 

Noah’s Flood Story

 

Sex offensive involving “angels” and “daughters”

 

Angels—homosexual (19:1–11)

 

Sons of God (6:1–4)

 

Announcement of disaster because of wickedness

 

To Lot (19:12–14)

 

To Noah (6:11–13)

 

“come in [boʾ]” and “shut [sgr]”

 

Angels brought Lot (19:10)

 

All flesh (7:16)

 

Instructions for salvation of a family

 

Lot and daughters 19:15–23

 

Noah family 6:14–18

 

“Rain”—himṭı̂r 19:24, mamṭı̂r 7:4

 

Brimstone/fire 19:24

 

40-day rain 7:4

 

All die but one family

 

Lot’s family 19:25–29

 

Noah’s family 7:21–23

 

“God remembered”

 

Abraham instead of Lot 19:29

 

Noah and animals 8:1

 

Living outside of city

 

Cave in hills 19:30

 

In tent 9:20–21

 

Drunkenness

 

Of Lot 19:32–35

 

Of Noah 9:21

 

Sex offense—Incest

 

Father/daughters 19:31–38

 

Father/son, homosexual 9:22–23

 

Thematically, note that Lot, like Noah, is the epoch-divider figure who, having experienced the end of Sodom and Gomorrah, ushers in the new generation of Moabites and Ammonites. The major difference, however, lies in the fact that Lot is not a covenant figure as is Noah. The reason for this may be that Noah obeys all that God commands (Gen 6:22; 7:5, 9, 16), whereas Lot twice modifies the angel’s instruction to flee to the hills—initially Lot wants to go to the little city of Zoar because it is closer than the hills, but eventually he settles (nwḥ) in a cave in the hills outside (mḥwṣ) of Zoar because he is afraid of the city! On the other hand, Lot’s cousin Abraham, the intercessor for Sodom and Gomorrah, is a covenant figure whom “God remembers” (Gen 19:29, cf. 8:1, “God remembers Noah”). Abraham vicariously participates in the “rain” of fire that sweeps over Lot’s cities, thus making both Lot and Abraham Noah-like.

d. Hebrews 11:7 In the list of righteous people of faith, Noah is used to illustrate the definition of faith as “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” Noah’s obedience of the divine instruction to construct an ark saves his household and preserves the seed of righteousness for the new generation. Noah is seen as a bridge between the condemned world and the new age.

5. Pseudepigrapha. a1 Enoch 106. Enoch tells the story of Lamech being frightened at the birth of Noah. At birth Noah’s “body was as white as snow and red as a rose; the hair of his head as white as wool and his demdema [an Ethiopic word describing his hair] beautiful; and as for his eyes, when he opened them the whole house glowed like the sun—[rather] the whole house glowed even more exceedingly” (1 En. 106:2). Lamech goes to Methuselah and Methuselah to Enoch; but note that Lamech does not go to his wife for explanation first as he did in the Genesis Apocryphon.

Enoch assures Methuselah that Lamech indeed is the child’s father, revealing the secret that there will be a Flood to destroy wicked humanity. Enoch advises Methuselah to name the child Noah. He will be saved from the disaster along with his three children (1 En. 106:18) and “he will comfort the earth after all the destruction” (1 En. 107:3; cf. 106:18). The folk etymology of the name in Gen 5:29 is reflected here also. Apart from the name and its folk etymology, this pseudepigraphic story, like that in the Genesis Apocryphon, has nothing to do with the Genesis story, although some connections with the Sumerian and possibly with the Babylonian stories may be adduced in terms of the miraculous birth of the Flood hero (see above).

1 Enoch. includes a few more references to Noah. The Most High sends the archangel Uriel to Noah to inform him of the impending Flood, so that Noah may escape the destruction and preserve his seed for the future generations (1 En. 10:2). In 1 Enoch 65, Enoch foretells the destruction of the world and the salvation of Noah in response to Noah’s outcry for help because the earth had “sunk down” or “became deformed” (1 En.65:1). One is tempted to speculate here that a tradition of preflood overpopulation as in the Atrahasis Flood Story and of overburdened earth as in Yima’s Flood Story may be reflected in this passage.

The word of God comes in 1 Enoch 67 and tells Noah that he has been “blameless” and “righteous” (cf. Gen 6:9) and that “the angels are working with wood [making an ark]” (1 En. 67:2). The divine speech also includes an echo of the blessings of Gen 1:28 and 9:1, “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth.” In contrast to this passage, 1 En. 89:1 reports that Noah himself makes the ark, which floats on water to save him.

b. Book of Jubilees. From its own peculiar viewpoint of chronology and law, the Book of Jubilees recounts the history of the world from creation to Moses, with whom the new age of the Law begins. The Flood Story is retold in much greater detail in Jub. 4:28–10:17. Noah also appears in scattered references down to Jub.22:13 in the context of blessing (Jub. 22:24, 27; 22:13) and covenant (Jub. 14:20). Moses, however, replaces Noah as the epoch divider as in the book of Exodus.

Bibliography

Avigad, N., and Yadin, 1956. Genesis Apocryphon. Jerusalem.

Benito, C. A. 1969. “Enki and Ninmah” and “Enki and the World Order.” Diss. Pennsylvania.

Cassuto, U. 1949. Genesis. Vol. 2. Jerusalem.

Christensen, A. 1943. Les Types du Premier Himme et du Premier roi. Archives d’études orientales 14/2. Leiden.

Civil, M. 1969. Sumerian Flood Story. Pp. 138–45 in Atra-hasis, ed. W. G. Lambert and A. R. Millard. London.

Cohen, H. H. 1974. The Drunkenness of Noah. University, AL.

Hesse, E. and Kikawada, I. M. 1984. Jonah and Genesis 11–1. AJBI 10:3–19

Humphries, R. 1958. Ovid: Metamorphoses. Bloomington, IN.

Jacobsen, T. 1939. The Sumerian King List. Chicago.

Kikawada, I. M. 1974. Literary Conventions for Primeval History. AJBI 1:3–21.

———. 1983. The Double Creation of Mankind in Enki and Ninmah, Atrahasis I 1–351, and Genesis 1–2. Iraq 45: 43–45.

Kikawada, I. M., and Quinn, A. 1985. Before Abraham Was. Nashville.

Kilmer, A. D. 1972. The Mesopotamian Concept of Overpopulation and Its Solution as Reflected in the Mythology. Or41: 160–77.

———. 1976. Speculations on Umul, the First Baby. AOAT 25: 265–70.

———. 1987a. The Mesopotamian Counterparts of the Biblical Nephilim. Pp. 39–43 in Perspectives on Language and Text, ed. E. W. Conrad and E. G. Newing. Winona Lake, IN.

———. 1987b. The Symbolism of the Flies in the Mesopotamian Flood Myth and Some Further Implications. AOS 67: 175–80.

Lambert, W. G., and Millard, A. R. 1969. Atra-hasis: The Babylonian Story of the Flood. London.

Thapar, R. 1976. Genealogy as a Source of Social History. The Indian Historical Review 4.

Wolff, F. 1910. Avesta, die heiligen Buecher der Pasrsen. Strassburg.

Isaac M. Kikawada

NOAH’S ARK

Noah’s ark (Heb tēbâ) was the great boxlike vessel by means of which Noah and his family escaped the waters of the Flood. According to the story, God was dissatisfied with the violence of human creatures and decided to destroy them and cleanse the earth by means of a universal deluge. Because he was a righteous man, Noah was to be the exception. Consequently, God instructed him to construct a huge floatable “box” wherein he and his family could ride out the destructive waters. It was to be made of “gopher wood,” the identification of which is a matter of dispute among modern interpreters [Heb gōper, possibly the same as Gk kyparissos, Eng “cypress”]. The vessel was then to be caulked with pitch (bitumen), divided into three partitioned decks, and provisioned for Noah’s family and for pairs of land and flying animals. When it was completed, rain and subterranean waters devastated the earth for 40 days, covering the tops of the highest mountains. Approximately one year later, when the waters had subsided and the earth had become dry, Noah’s family disembarked atop one of the mountains of Ararat and repopulation of the earth began.

A. Dimensions of the Ark

The size of the vessel is given in “cubits,” the modern estimate for which is approximately 18 inches each. Thus, 300 cubits long, 50 cubits wide, and 30 cubits high converts into 450 feet, 75 feet, and 45 feet, and this yields a rectangular box which was more suitable for floating than for sailing. Its size is astonishing in comparison with some modern vessels (e.g., the English ship Mayflower was only ninety feet long).

There is reason to suspect that the dimensions reflect a preoccupation with the number 60, as was commonly the case in Mesopotamian mathematics and occasionally that of the Bible. (For example, the ages of the Mesopotamian antediluvians in the Sumerian King List are given in multiples of 602 years and those of the Bible in Genesis 5 are given in multiples of 60 months with the occasional supplement of 7 years.) Thus, the vessel of Utnapishtim, the Mesopotamian flood hero of the Akkadian version, is 120 cubits per side. (Allowing 19.7 inches for a Babylonian cubit, this yields 197 feet per side, for a volume about 5 times that of Noah’s boat.) The sides are thus (60 × 2) cubits, a reflection that Mesopotamian mathematics reckons in a place notation of base 60 (in contrast to the English system of base 10). This means that Utnapishtim’s vessel is two ideal (or base) units per side and has an ideal volume of (60 × 2)3. Good fortune, one may suppose, must thereby smile upon it.

The dimensions of Noah’s vessel, likewise, rather than being random or corresponding to actual measurement of Israelite boats, reflects the same idealization. It is 300 (60 × 5) cubits long and 30 (60/2) cubits high. The third dimension, the width, is a curious 50 cubits, but nonetheless the resultant volume is (603× 2) + (602 × 5) cubic cubits.

B. Claims that the Ark has Survived

Prior to the beginning of the Common Era, the claim was being made that parts of the Flood Hero’s boat yet survived and had been seen: “It is said there is still some parts of this ship in Armenia, at the mountain of the Gordyaeans; and that some people carry off pieces of the bitumen … [for] use chiefly as amulets” (Josephus, Ant 1.3.6 [1st century, c.e.], quoting the Babylonian priest Berossos [3d century, b.c.e.]). Berossos here speaks of the Sumerian hero, Ziusudra, whom Josephus happily identified with Noah. Thereafter (in Christian, Jewish, and Muslim literature), a number of sites were proposed as the landing place of Noah’s ark, most of which were alleged to have produced wooden remnants: in Arabia (Jabal Judi in the ʾAjaʾ Range), on the headwaters of the Tigris in SE Turkey (Cudi Daǧ/Jabal Judi in the Gordian Mountains), in the Caucasus Range (Mt. Baris), in W Turkey (near the city of Apamea), in N Iran (Alwand Kuh and Mount Demavand), and in NE Turkey (Masis/Aǧri Daǧ).

It is the last of these sites, a majestic mountain (39° 42´ N; 44° 18´ E) which rises dramatically to a height of 16,900 feet above the plain, that modern ark searchers have designated as “Mount Ararat” (a term which the Bible itself, at Gen 8:4, does not use; rather, it speaks of “the mountains of [the kingdom of] Ararat”). See Fig. NOA.02 for map of proposed sites. Although the literature of the native Armenian population knows this peak as the landing place only since the 11th–12th centuries c.e., the claim has recently been made (in newspapers, magazines, books, movies, and television programs) that this is undeniably the biblical site. Such claim has been supported by eyewitness testimony to a boat protruding from a glacier, by photographs, and by pieces of hand-hewn timber which reportedly date to high antiquity (up to 5,000 years of age, which might accord with Archbishop Ussher’s literal biblical chronology which puts the Flood around 2450 b.c.e.; Montgomery 1972; Navarra 1974).

 

NOA.02. Regional map of proposed sites for “Mt. Ararat.” 1, Jabal Judi in the ʾAjaʾ Range; 2, Cudi Daǧ (Jabal Judi in the Gordian Mountains); 3, Mount Baris; 4, near Apamea, on the Marsyas River; 5, in Adiabene (Pir Omar Gudrun/Pira Magrun); 6, Büyük Aǧri Daǧ/Masis.

None of this alleged evidence for the survival of Noah’s vessel has withstood rigid scrutiny (Bailey 1978; 1989). The eyewitnesses fundamentally contradict each other and some accounts have been shown to be fabrications. The photographs are either now missing or have been denounced as fake. The beams, based upon the best scientific evidence, are to be dated to the 7th century c.e. (Bailey 1977). There is no reason, then, to believe that remnants of Noah’s ark are to be found anywhere in the world (regardless of one’s decision about the historicity of the biblical account of the Flood).

Bibliography

Bailey, L. R. 1977. Wood from “Mt. Ararat”: Noah’s Ark? BA 40: 137–46.

———. 1978. Where Is Noah’s Ark: Mystery on Mt. Ararat. Nashville.

———. 1989. Noah. Columbia, SC.

Montgomery, J. W. 1972. The Quest for Noah’s Ark. Minneapolis.

Navarra, F. 1974. Noah’s Ark, I Touched It. Plainfield, NJ.

Lloyd R. Bailey

 

From The New Interpreter’s Bible Commentary:

 

Genesis 9:18–29, Curse and Blessing in Noah’s Family

Commentary

On the far side of the flood story, the texts begin to reflect known historical realities. Even more, stories of individuals within a family begin to extend into relationships among larger communities. Although especially evident in chap. 10, such a move occurs within this text (assigned to J): intrafamilial conflicts within Noah’s family (vv. 20–24) lead to communal difficulties among his descendants (vv. 25–27). Noah’s sons may be understood in both individual and eponymous terms, thus preparing the way for the table of nations. Both Noah and Adam remain “typical” characters. Moreover, both their families produce sharp repercussions for their descendants. Even more, the relationships anticipated among the descendants of Noah’s sons apply to various historical situations. The narrative thus serves complex purposes, including typological, ethnological, and etiological issues.

This brief text consists of an unusual admixture of literary types, from genealogy to story to curse and blessing. This multiform text reflects a complex tradition history, which no redactor has smoothed over. Whether a fuller form of this story ever existed remains uncertain. The text presents numerous difficulties, often so intractable that little scholarly consensus has been achieved. What is the nature of Ham’s indecent act? Why is his son Canaan cursed? Why is Canaan to become a slave to his brothers? Why does Noah refer to what his “youngest son” has done, when Ham seems to be the second son (see 7:13; 9:18)? Why are Shem and Japheth aligned?

The redactor may have worked with two different traditions regarding the identity of Noah’s sons: (1) Shem, Japheth, and Canaan; (2) Shem, Ham, and Japheth. Two ways of conceiving the resulting amalgamation are thus: The first has been overlaid by the insertion of “Ham, the father of” (vv. 18, 22); or the second has been overlaid with material about Canaan, based on Israel’s later experience in the land. The latter seems more likely, but uncertainty abounds. No known parallels to this story exist in other ancient Near Eastern literature.

The story is enclosed by brief genealogical notices. Verses 18–19 resume earlier references to the sons of Noah and announce the spreading out of their families (detailed in chaps. 10–11). Verses 28–29 give chronological notes about Noah’s life and death, completing the genealogy of chap. 5. The references to grape-bearing vines and Canaan as a mature grandson make clear that the story takes place many years after the flood. Also, these verses present the first Genesis story in which God does not appear directly.

The story involves the themes of blessing and curse.

1. Blessing pertains to both nonhumans and humans in this text. God’s post-flood blessing begins to take effect amid the world of the curse in all its aspects, hence ameliorating the effects of the curse.

Noah is the first to plant a vineyard and practice winemaking, discoveries ascribed to the gods elsewhere in the ancient Near East. Noah’s skill at farming and crop development provides some relief from being totally at the mercy of what the ground brings forth on its own, so intimated in the words of his father, Lamech (5:29). As such, he stands in the tradition of the family of Cain (4:21–22), founders of other cultural blessings. He also functions as a new Adam, whose original calling was to till the ground and keep it (2:15).

This focus on vineyards and wine may seem a small matter for modern people, but these were important economic realities for Israel, celebrated in the feast of Booths (Deut 16:13–16). Vines, the grape harvest, and wine symbolize God’s blessings of life and fertility (see Pss 80:8–16; 104:15; Isa 5:1–7; 27:2–6; Hos 2:15; 9:10). Blessings can be abused, however; that which makes the heart glad can also promote drunkenness (see the warnings in Prov 20:1; 23:31–35; 31:6–7; Isa 5:11). What is good within God’s creation can be made perverse by inappropriate human behavior.

At another level, the blessing on Shem (v. 26) first hints at God’s blessing of Israel. Shem begins the line that will lead to Abraham, in and through whom this blessing will reach out to all the earth (see 12:1–3).

2. Sin and the Curse. The flood did not rid the world of sin (so 8:21). In this text, sin manifests itself in the effects of drunkenness, disrespect of parents, and familial conflict.

The narrator offers no explicit judgment about Noah’s drunkenness; yet, it opens Noah to victimization and provides the occasion for all the suffering and conflict that follow. He has drunk himself into an unconscious state and lies naked in his tent (see Lam 4:21; Hab 2:15). The theme of nakedness (chaps. 2–3) involves issues of shame and exposure, an issue of no little consequence in Israel, in both religious (Exod 20:26) and social (2 Sam 6:20; 10:4–5) life. The prophets use this same theme to portray Israel’s apostasy (Ezek 16:36) and the resulting divine judgment, in which Israel’s shameful behavior will be exposed for all to see (Isa 47:3; Ezek 16:37–39).

What Noah’s youngest son “had done” has prompted numerous conjectures. Some readers hypothesize about an inappropriate sexual act, from sodomy to incest. Some even appeal to Lev 18:7–8, which condemns “uncovering the nakedness of one’s father,” a reference to sexual activity with one’s mother. Yet, the OT does not normally shrink from “telling it like it is” (see chaps. 18–19). Here the text makes clear that Noah uncovers himself. Moreover, Ham’s seeing his father naked constitutes the problem, as confirmed by the detailed report of how his two brothers make sure they do not (v. 23; a chiasm of v. 22). Yet, the problem involves more than seeing (which may have been inadvertent); Ham errs in what he does with what he has seen. Rather than keep quiet or seek to remedy the situation, Ham tells tales to a wider public. The matter entails not simply a breach of filial piety, but the public disgrace of his father. Parent-child relationships were considered to be of the highest importance in Israel (see Deut 21:18–21, which prescribes capital punishment for sons who rebel).

When Noah awakens from his stupor, he learns what has been done, probably because it is now public knowledge, and speaks his first and only words. The reference to his “youngest son” may mean that earlier references to Shem, Ham, and Japheth (5:32; 6:10; 7:13) do not occur in chronological order. Noah’s blessing and cursing words stand in the tradition of Isaac (27:27–29, 39–40) and Jacob (49:1–27), though one cannot help wondering whether he is overreacting. The curse on Canaan appears most prominent; indeed, his enslavement also becomes part of the blessing of Shem and Japheth. Yet, for Canaan to become a slave of his brothers in an individual sense seems difficult. It almost certainly bears an eponymous force at this point, condemning the wickedness of the Canaanites in advance (see 15:16; Deut 9:4–5). In the blessings of Shem and Japheth (the NIV more literally translates that God is being blessed/praised, as in 24:27, but for unstated reasons), Noah calls for God to act (unlike the curse). The blessings request a future divine action and are not understood to be inevitably effective (see 25:23; chap. 27).

Noah’s cursing of Canaan is most puzzling: He does not curse Ham, but Ham’s son, Noah’s grandson. Perhaps both father and son were responsible in an originally longer text; this telescoping would be a way of involving both. Perhaps the author alludes to the effects of the sins of the parents on the children (see Exod 20:5). More probably, those reading the text in terms of ethnic units as much as individuals would not have made a clear distinction between Canaanites and Hamites (see 10:6). An original reference to Ham was narrowed to one Hamite group, the Canaanites, when they came into conflict with Israel. Not changing the details keeps the Hamite link intact.

Although chap. 10 identifies many peoples in the lineage of Noah’s sons, the author focuses on a narrower range, which is most prominent here: Shem represents the Israelites (but this is unique in the OT); Canaan the Canaanites; Japheth the sea-faring peoples, such as the Philistines; Ham the Egyptians, probably. The first three are the most prominent groups occupying Palestine in the early years of Israel’s life in the land; their relationships may be foreshadowed in these verses. The Israelites and the Philistines entered Canaan from east and west, respectively, in this period, resulting in the subjugation (i.e., enslavement?) of the Canaanites. The blessing regarding Japheth may represent a qualification of the fulfillment of the promise. Japheth’s dwelling in the tents of Shem may mean that Israel does not have the land to itself, but shares it with others, a situation prevailing at various times (as with the Philistines). Ham was the progenitor of nations in the Egyptian orbit (10:6; see Pss 78:51; 105:23–27); Canaan was controlled by (was the son of) Egypt from 1550 to 1200 bce. The various nations in chap. 14 may represent another level of the fulfillment of vv. 25–27, since all three branches of Noah’s genealogy are represented in that conflict.

Reflections

1. The often-cited parallels between this narrative and the Eden story, especially as interpreted through 5:29, make it typical. Noah, a new Adam, takes up the creational task once again in “planting” and tilling the “ground”; his skill leads to a taming of what the ground produces and hence ameliorates the curse (3:17; 5:29). Yet, Noah as the new Adam (and one child) also fails as miserably as the old Adam. Similar themes appear in both stories: nakedness after eating fruit, and intrafamilial conflict, including human subservience and its affect. The curse on the serpent and the ground parallels the curse on Canaan, both of which affect life negatively. Yet, the act of Shem and Japheth in covering the naked one mirrors earlier action of the deity (3:21).

These parallels strongly suggest that, in the post-flood movement to the world of nations, “good and evil” patterns in life persist. God’s work of blessing influences the worlds of human and nonhuman, family and nation; but there are also deep human failures due to the “evil inclination of the human heart” (8:21). This mix of goodness and evil will accompany every human endeavor, whether familial or sociopolitical, and every relationship, whether personal or communal, down through the ages to our own time.

2. It seems incredible that this story could have been used to justify the enslavement of Africans. Suffice it to say that, inasmuch as Canaan among all the sons of Ham, is not the father of a Negroid people (see 10:15–19, where all the peoples listed are Semitic or Indo-European), any attempt to justify the slavery of African peoples is a gross misuse of this text. Regarding slavery in general, however, neither the OT nor the NT condemns this inhumane institution. Various OT laws seek to regulate (never commend) this practice (Exod 21:1–11). And an increasing concern for issues of humaneness may be discerned in later laws (see Deut 15:12–18; Lev 25:39–46). The “enslavement” of Canaanites envisaged in this text probably reflects their later subjugation rather than any practice of slavery.

This text mentions enslavement in the wake of sinful behavior; such a human practice is thus clearly set at odds with God’s creational intentions. As with the sentence in 3:14–19, humans should, appropriately, work to overcome this effect of sin.

3. Noah’s word (no word from God occurs here) about the future of his sons should not be interpreted in fatalistic terms. What happens over the course of history affects what in fact will happen in the aftermath of such a word (see 25:23).

4. The chief point of this text may involve relationships between children and their parents, a negative illustration of the commandment, “Honor your father and your mother.” Israelites considered the family of extreme importance in the created order; any deterioration in the quality of family life could only disrupt the creational intentions of God. Such a perspective would be in line with chaps. 3–4, which speak of other familial relationships that have been distorted in the wake of human sin. At the same time, the author has in view broader relationships among peoples and nations, which are profoundly affected by what happens within families. Dysfunctional families affect our communal life together.