boundary making

I'm currently working through my notes from Daniel Boyarin's Border Lines, which is in my view one of the most important texts in the last ten years among "parting of the ways" scholarship (and which largely subverts that scholarship) and has important implications for contemporary historiographical praxis. Here, however, I'd like to try to conceptualize a problem (a feeling, really) I've had whenever I read constructionist texts like Boyarin's.

First, a quote:

Ania Loomba’s statement of the current theoretical position that “no human utterance could be seen as innocent,” that, indeed, “any set of words could be analyzed to reveal not just an individual but a historical consciousness at work,” is crucial for me, for it is this postulate that enables my work as historian. This set of notions, to which I can more or less only allude in this context, does not quite dissolve completely (as sometimes charged) but surely renders much more permeable any boundary between linguistic (or textual) practice and “the real conditions” of life within a given historical moment and society. (2004:27)

Here I find articulated what both excites me and gives me pause about Border Lines (and cf. also Boyarin's earlier work, Dying for God). Boyarin develops and advances a genuinely sophisticated program of textual analysis that illumines not just the intention of the text but also its consequences. For example, applying Boyarin's program to, say, Matthew's gospel would reveal less about Jesus and more about the effects of Matthew's writing (better: performing) his account of Jesus' life. This surely isn't new; what is exciting is the significant advance on the now-traditional redaction-critical approaches to these types of questions. (For more detail you'll just have to read Boyarin's books.)

But there is a significant blind spot in Boyarin's work that has to be challenged. Border Lines blurs the clean and clear lines that ancient orthodox Christians and rabbinic Jews were drawing between "Judaism" and "Christianity." This blurring is ostensibly motivated by Boyarin's sympathy for "the folks . . . who dwelt in the interstices of the texts and objected to or simply ignored the work of the religious customs officers" (2004:7). As the first quote provided above makes clear, this does not result in the deconstruction of any and every distinction between "Jews" and "Christians," but it does highlight problematic aspects of that distinction.

But in blurring the lines so powerfully, Boyarin (inadvertently?) emphasizes another boundary that, I suggest, wasn't as clean and clear as contemporary theorists and historians like to imagine. The distinction, separation, and opposition between "lay folk," "the majority," "the oi polloi" (if I may be redundant), on the one hand, and "authority," "elites," "center[s] of power," on the other, is ubiquitous in contemporary analysis, especially political analysis, of historical and religious texts. And in many ways these two categories have contributed much to that analysis. But rarely do critics turn their category-blurring gazes upon this very powerful boundary that they themselves (we ourselves?) have in large part constructed. Like Boyarin, I'm not suggesting that distinctions between centers of cultural currency and the margins aren't real, but rather that they're not as impermeable as we like to think. This is not simply a point about social mobility, either; even in societies where upward social mobility was largely, if not totally, denied, the construction of the categories the elite and the masses was discursive and contested.

I admire and would like to advance Boyarin's deconstruction of the distinction between Christianity and Judaism, especially in the first 150 years C.E. I think our reification of this border has inflicted serious violence (ideological as well as actual) on our interpretations and appropriations of the NT texts throughout the last two millennia and not least in the last 100 years. But to accomplish that deconstruction at the expense of reifying another opposition — between the people and the elites, the Little and the Great Traditions, the Hidden and the Public Transcripts, and so on — is too high a price. Rather, the real historical (and, I think, theological!) promise lies in our ability to examine and appropriate the interaction and contestation precisely between our categories!

[For another instance of this problem and a significantly more advanced response to it than I have provided here, see John Bodnar's Remaking America (1992) and the extensive critique found in Barry Schwartz's Abraham Lincoln and the Forge of National Memory (2000).]

Bible figurines

I love Precious Moments.

BIBL 5107 Lesson 1:relating text and context

I am currently teaching two online courses for my institution's MA New Testament program, and each week I will try to comment briefly on one or two lessons from each course. Students enrolled in my courses can click on your class's label to see only those posts relevant to the class you're taking. (nb: These comments are also posted on the Discussion Board on your course's Blackboard site.)

As I was looking over the first lesson, which simply aims to introduce the course and its subject, I was thinking about an issue that this lesson implicitly raises but nowhere discusses: How does the study of the context of the NT texts relate to and affect our study and understanding of the texts themselves? In other words, What do we think we're doing when we study "The World of the New Testament"?

I have a sense (and this is only a gut feeling; I haven't verified this point empirically) that at least two motives drive research into the context of the NT texts, one historical and the other hermeneutical. The historical program seeks to either substantiate the historical claims made by the NT texts or subvert them. So, for instance, some scholars will suggest, with respect to the portrait of Herod in Matt. 2.16–18, that had Herod initiated any gruesome program of murder and terror as the Matthean evangelist reports, we certainly would read of it in Josephus or one of the Roman historians. Others, from exactly the same perspective but toward exactly opposite ends, will point out that Matthew's description of Herod's paranoia and cruel protection of his power matches exactly, say, Josephus's description of the end of Herod's reign in end of the first book of his Jewish War. For both arguments, insight afforded by study of the NT world serves to validate (or not) a NT report.

On the other hand, a hermeneutical approach to NT context seeks not necessarily corroborate NT historical claims so much as to understand them, irrespective of (or at least with less emphasis on) the "whether-or-not-ness" of more historical approaches. As another example, there has been considerable debate at least since Sanders's Jesus and Judaism (1985) whether or not Jesus had any significant conflict with the Pharisees of his day. While many "historical" approaches to this question have sought to prove or disprove genuine conflicts between Pharisaic theology and Jesus' teaching, other ("hermeneutical") research has sought to place the NT reports of such conflict in their proper context.

Curiously, Sanders himself provides salient examples of both approaches. On the one hand, Sanders vigorously denies that the Pharisees would have conflicted with Jesus if the latter had ever summoned "sinners" to repent and worship Israel's God in accordance with Torah and established Jewish practice. This, I suggest, is a historical judgment: What the NT reports to have happened could not have happened because of what we know from research into the NT world (viz., the Pharisees and their theology).

On the other hand, Sanders famously proposed that the conflict between Jesus and the Pharisees was rooted precisely in Jesus' acceptance of "sinners" without calling them to repent. Though this is also a historical judgment, I would like to draw our focus on its more intentionally hermeneutical focus. Here Sanders doesn't question the gospels' reports of conflict with Pharisees but rather reinterprets the causes and significances of that conflict. This reinterpretation is called for precisely because Sanders knows more about the Pharisees than what is reported in the NT texts and so can interpret those texts with some clearer idea of how the texts would have been interpreted by their original audiences (who likewise would have known more about the Pharisees).

Clearly the distinction between "historical" and "hermeneutical" research is neither hard nor fast. But I would like to suggest that our research into the World of the New Testament holds out particular promise for our interpretation of the NT, and not simply our estimation of its "reliability." As an experiment to text this hypothesis, as you read about "the historical Jesus," whether in the news or in scholarly monographs, notice how often some piece of contextual evidence is said to prove Jesus could not have said some thing he is reported to have said.

The current story of "Gabriel's Revelation" [see my previous post here] is a compelling instance. For some, the discovery of this particular datum of NT context (that some Jews spoke of/expected a dying and rising Messiah-figure) "proves" that the NT kerygma of Jesus' crucifixion and resurrection on the third day is a repackaging of a traditional story and not a report of a historical event. Even granting the authenticity of this ink-on-stone tablet (which April DeConick has aptly described as "odd"), the most this text offers to NT research is a crisper focus and clarification of the (after all) Jewish message of an actually crucified and resurrected Messiah-figure, Jesus.

As our discussion progresses, we ought to shift our understanding of NT context away from verification and authentication of historical claims to consider the way our understanding of the NT world affects our reading and understanding of the texts themselves.

good news

Rumor has it that two area Starbucks are slated to be included among the 600 stores that will be closed, though neither of these are among the first 50 stores identified. The useful map here shows confirmed and rumored store closings (nb: neither East TN store is marked on the map). The good news: Seymour's Starbucks seems not to be on the chopping block just yet. Besides employing a number of fine students from the institution that issues my pay checks, this Starbucks provides a convenient and friendly location for off-campus meetings of variegated purposes. We wait with bated breath as this international cultural crisis takes its natural course.

UPDATE: The final list of 600 Starbucks that will soon be closed has been published, and the Starbucks in Seymour has been granted a reprieve. The local branch at I-40 and Strawberry Plains is on the block, which is too bad. But I'm pleased that our localest establishment will continue to provide employment and caffeinated beverages for our area.

Something seems off here

This article pulls me in multiple directions. On one hand, I think Paul had something to say about brethren suing brethren. On the other hand, I would think any legal action Mr Lincoln takes against the church is a tacit acknowledgement (which is called for, in my opinion) that God was not behind his somewhat abrupt trip to the ground floor. On yet another hand (try not to do the math), the idea that other worshipers, who are similarly "asking God to have 'a real experience' while praying," should have been watching out for the consequences of Mr Lincoln's own such seeking strikes me as irresponsible. And, if I had a hand left, it would want to ask if Mr Lincoln had since decided that "a real experience" with $2.5M would suffice in the absence of theophany. I can't say I have very many sympathies for the charismatic interests of some of my sisters and brothers in the Lord (having come out of a charismatic background myself), but — in the absence of any other information — I would hope the court would support the church in this instance.

Is this really necessary?!

The following appeared in my Google Reader. I understand that the current fires in CA are unimaginably tragic, but is it really necessary to swear in — and then bleep — the headline?!

a new semester

Today begins the Fall 2008 semester for students in the MA New Testament program at my institution. I'd like to welcome students enrolled in my World of the New Testament course and my History of New Testament Interpretation course. I look forward to our discussions, whether on Blackboard, via e-mail, or here on Verily Verily.

the abominable church

As a confessing Christian I feel a sense of duty to oppose and condemn the plans of Westboro Baptist (I can't bring myself to type the word "church") to protest the funeral of a pregnant soldier found dead in a hotel bath tub on 21 June. I raise my voice in support of Danell Shafer and the Fort Bragg Mommies, who are organizing a protest of the Westboro abomination. I may try to make the 425-mile drive for the 16 July demonstration. May God bless and comfort Megan Touma, her unborn child, her family, and all the families and friends of those serving in our armed forces. And may God bestow mercy and forgiveness on a church that finds it hard to show God's love to everyone.

Resurrection, BC[E]

First, two preliminary comments.

1. It's a bitter-sweet thing to see the Bible in the news. On the one hand, our hearts are strangely warmed to see national and even international attention explicitly focused on The Book that We Love, and yet being in the news is rarely a sign of something good. In the case of the Bible, either we find (a) someone who similarly cherishes The Book that We Love speaking embarrassingly or uninformedly (á la Robertson or Dobson, et al.), or (b) someone who castigates said Book, often (though not not necessarily) from a similarly uninformed perspective.
2. I have attempted to avoid commenting on the story I comment upon here simply because the evidence is neither widely accessible, nor has it been subjected to the scrutiny of the scholarly community. Whether you trust them or loathe them, genuine, bona fide biblical scholars are human and liable to make untenable claims (see here for a recent and poignant example). The contribution biblical scholars make to wider cultural appropriations of the Bible is found precisely in the scholarly community, which reigns in its wilder elements and moves much mores deliberately (= slowly) precisely to avoid some of the embarrassing possibilities that have been actualized in recent years (examples here, here, and here). But this issue has since invaded even my seldom-used Facebook inbox, a sure sign that some sort of comment is in order.

That said, I have been following some (certainly not very much) of the media buzz regarding the so-called "Gabriel's [Vision of] Revelation."¹ On the basis of two news items from either side of the Atlantic — one in The Times Online, the other from Time (as in the magazine) — it appears that this story is destined to go the route of the sensationalized biblical news stories that ignite the public imagination and then fades before the scholarly discussion can moderate the popular claims made about this newly discovered tablet. But so far as the public's attention is still focused on this find, a few observations will help thoughtful inquirers (Christian or otherwise) properly assess the significance of this text.

First, the headlines and by-lines attached to these stories seriously misrepresent the actual text in question, even as reconstructed and interpreted by Israel Knohl, the chief proponent of the view that this text refers to a dying-and-rising messianic figure. For example, above the story on Time's website, we read:

A first-century BC tablet, thought to originate from the Jordanian bank of the Dead Sea, that tells the story of a Messiah who rose again after three days from the grave[.]

I immediately have two problems. First, nowhere in the actual report of the tablet's text does it refer to the figure in question as "Messiah." This is especially significant because scholars have been demonstrating for over two decades that messianic speculation in Second Temple Judaism was extremely variegated and disparate, with different Jewish groups nourishing (and being nourished by) different ideas regarding the messiah. This variety and diversity is only multiplied when we include speculation focused on people who aren't identified as "Messiah." And though the news piece doesn't acknowledge this problem, even Israel Knohl seems to be aware of it:

Professor Knohl contends that the tablet proves that messianic followers possessed the paradigm of their leader rising from the grave before Jesus was born.

Notice that, in this quote, the term "messianic" refers to Jesus' followers, not Simon's (see below); all that can be said about the potential parallel this text provides is that Jesus' followers could refer to another group's "leader" experiencing death and resurrection.

Second, in the blurb quoted above, we have a very serious problem with verb tense. The article on Time's website refers to "a Messiah [and we've already noted the problems with this label] who rose again after three days from the grave." But, according to the report, this is precisely what is not included in the text. [nb: Here lies one of the problems of commenting on a text without actually having access to that text; my comments here are based solely on the news pieces linked to above and may be mitigated by the actual text itself.] Here is the report in The Times:

Israel Knohl, a biblical studies professor at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, argued yesterday that line 80 of the text revealed Gabriel telling an historic Jewish rebel named Simon, who was killed by the Romans four years before the birth of Christ: “In three days you shall live, I, Gabriel, command you.”

Notice that, according to Knohl's own reconstruction (which itself is a matter of debate), the text reports a promise from the angel Gabriel to Simon that he would live after three days. As any biblical scholar knows (and this is not rhetoric; this actually is a very basic point among scholars), there are important generic differences between an angelic promise about what would happen and a narrative reporting what has happened. Note that I am not saying one is more historically reliable or accurate than the other, only that there are important differences here. Case in point: Famously, Mark's gospel contains multiple "passion predictions" in which Jesus tells his hapless disciples that he would die and, three days later, rise again. But the gospel also goes on to narrate that resurrection (however incompletely and cryptically, given the ending of that text at 16.8). But, at least according to the news pieces I've seen, nowhere does "Gabriel's [Vision of] Revelation" narrate Simon's resurrection.

There are more problems besides. Notice the claim that Prof. Knohl is actually interested in making by way of this text (which, by the way, is the very same point he made in his 2002 book prior to the discovery of this text; such neat confluences between hypothesis and evidence should automatically raise red flags):

Professor Knohl . . . said that New Testament writers could have adapted a widely held messianic story in Judaism to Jesus and his followers. “Resurrection after three days becomes a motif developed before Jesus, which runs contrary to nearly all scholarship. What happens in the New Testament was adopted by Jesus and his followers based on an earlier messiah story.” [my emphasis]

Again, the problem is subtle but important. Scholars have long been resistant to the idea of a pre-Christian Jewish motif of a dying-and-rising messianic figure precisely because the evidence for such a motif was lacking. But even if this text proves that some Jews in the decades before Jesus' birth anticipated a "suffering Messiah" (again, remember the problems that attend to our use of "Messiah" here), the very fact that this text is so distinct from the rest of the extant evidence is significant in itself! That is, even if "Gabriel's [Vision of] Revelation" says exactly what Prof. Knohl claims it says, this does not in any way suggest such a motif was "a widely held messianic story." In fact, it would seem to be a very marginal messianic story, at least until it was taken up by later Christian tradents. But again, there are important generic differences between the Christian stories about Jesus and the angelic promise to Simon.²

As I am already getting weary of commenting on this story, perhaps only one more point will suffice. Here is an extended passage from Time's article:

This, in turn, undermines one of the strongest literary arguments employed by Christians over centuries to support the historicity of the Resurrection (in which they believe on faith): the specificity and novelty of the idea that the Messiah would die on a Friday and rise on a Sunday. Who could make such stuff up? But, as Knohl told TIME, maybe the Christians had a model to work from. The idea of a "dying and rising messiah appears in some Jewish texts, but until now, everyone thought that was the impact of Christianity on Judaism," he says. "But for the first time, we have proof that it was the other way around. The concept was there before Jesus." If so, he goes on, "this should shake our basic view of Christianity. . . . What happens in the New Testament [could have been] adopted by Jesus and his followers based on an earlier messiah story."

The problem here is precisely with Knohl's evaluation of the significance of "Gabriel's [Vision of] Revelation," even if we grant his reconstruction tout court. While many Christians may indeed make arguments for the resurrection on the basis that such ideas were unheard of prior to the earliest Christians' proclamation that Jesus had risen from the dead, many (perhaps even most) Christians — and especially scholars from a wide spectrum of confessional perspectives — have long insisted that both the event of Jesus' resurrection and his followers' reports of the resurrection were influenced by and took up motifs from "an earlier messiah story." Thus Philip is reported to have explained to an Ethiopian eunuch that Isa. 53 speaks of Jesus' death and resurrection (cf. Acts 8.26–40), Peter is remembered as telling a crowd in Jerusalem that all the prophets had foretold of the Messiah's suffering (cf. Acts 3.18), and Jesus himself is said to have explained to the two disciples travelling to Emmaus and to the disciples as a group that what happened to him was foretold by Moses and all the prophets (cf. Luke 24.25–27, 45–48). More examples could be given. Far from "skak[ing] our view our basic view of Christianity," this text is yet another example of what the NT itself claims happened.

I was pleased to see that Time had consulted with Ben Witherington to provide some balance to Knohl's over-enthused claims. Surely the precise details of the text written on this stone tablet will require further analysis, as will the tablet's significance for modern confessional and scholarly perceptions of Christianity, both as an ancient phenomenon and in its current expressions. The Times's piece similarly acknowledges that other scholars have real concerns about Knohl's reconstruction. We can only hope that the wider public, whether Christian, atheist, or otherwise, can appreciate the surprisingly nuanced comment found at the end of the first paragraph in Time's article:

Such a contentious reading of the 87-line tablet depends on creative interpretation of a smudged passage, making it the latest entry in the woulda/coulda/shoulda category of possible New Testament artifacts; they are useful to prove less-spectacular points and to stir discussion on the big ones, but probably not to settle them nor shake anyone's faith.

UPDATE: Thanks to our surly-colleague-who-shall-not-be-named, I have become aware of a post on this very issue by one Rachel Lucas, who claims, "I am not a Christian nor am I a biblical scholar," and yet clearly sees one of the problems with such sensational reporting. Would that the world's journalists learn to grasp more firmly and clearly what the rest of us find so obvious.

---

¹ The square brackets are necessary because, as with most things regarding this "Dead Sea Stone," there is no agreement in the news pieces regarding the title of this text. This should come as no surprise, since in actual fact there isn't any agreement regarding the contents of this text!

² This point applies equally to the similar statement found in Time's piece: "If true, this could mean that Jesus' followers had access to a well-established paradigm when they decreed that Christ himself rose on the third day" (my emphasis). One smudgy reference on one stone tablet does not "a well-established paradigm" make.

New war law?

According to the Christian Science Monitor, the American people's assessment of Congress is plummeting faster than the fuel gage on an H2 Hummer. Here's a pull quote:

A recent Gallup Poll confirms what many lawmakers say they're hearing from their constituents: that confidence in Congress has never been lower. Only 12 percent of Americans say they have a "great deal" or "quite a lot" of confidence in Congress as an institution – the lowest level ever for any US institution since Gallup began asking the question 35 years ago. Congressional job approval, a slightly different question, has dropped to 18 percent.

This raises a number of interesting questions, not least in view of the fact that both of our choices for POTUS no. 44 currently list "Senator" as their employer on their Facebook profiles.

It's from this angle that I would like to suggest we need to approach the proposal published in the NYT (and reported on by CNN) by former secretaries of state James Baker III and Warren Christopher, that "the next time the president goes to war, Congress should be required to say whether it agrees." On the surface this seems like a potentially effective solution to the problems that have arisen since the 2002–2003 consultations regarding Iraq in the months building up to the invasion and the plight of the Democratic majority to force the President to end the war since November 2006.

But this only seems to be the solution. The fundamentally reactive procedures motivating most legislative action, not least since September 2001, have consistently demonstrated themselves to be ineffectual for anticipating and preparing for the needs of the future. Examples could be cited (from banning finger nail clippers from commercial air travel to calls for the dissolution of the Electoral College in presidential politics). But beyond empirical arguments, this proposal suffers philosophical flaws, namely, by assuming that the best way to address problems with the [mis]application of existing laws is to pass new laws.

The American Constitution already makes provision for the waging of war, which is certainly not surprising in light of the recent experiences with the British Empire and a continuing political environment that would eventually erupt in the War of 1812. According to that document, Congress has the authority to wage war granted to them in the following: The Congress shall have Power

To declare War, grant Letters of Marque and Reprisal, and make Rules concerning Captures on Land and Water (U.S. Constitution, Article I, Section 8, Clause 11)

Of course, that same document also bestows certain rights and responsibilities on the President, notably,

The President shall be commander in chief of the Army and Navy of the United States, and of the militia of the several states, when called into the actual service of the United States (U.S. Constitution, Article II, Section 2)

This latter clause has been used to justify presidential powers to initiate military action in the case of attacks against the United States, but, as current political discourse and debate makes clear, the distinction between offensive and defensive military action isn't always so clear cut.

What is more, the War Powers Resolution (passed 1973) already provides for "initial and regular consultations" between the President and Congress whenever American troops are or imminently may be involved in hostile actions. Interestingly, this is precisely what Baker and Christopher hope to achieve with their current proposal, which (according to CNN)

would create a new consultative process between the White House and Congress to help prevent a potential constitutional showdown.

One wonders what is "new" about the proposed "consultative process" and how it will succeed in light of the [apparent] breakdown of existing "consultative process[es]" legislated in 1973.

All of this means that there is already substantial and, I would suggest, adequate provision for the political requirements for the waging of war. If there were problems with the processes which led to the most current instances of armed conflict (and this is a matter of debate; even more so is the question of which problems these are) these need to be addressed within the constitutional and legislative framework already in place. In light of the President's woeful performance numbers and the (somehow) even more woeful approval ratings of Congress, one cannot help but suspect that the current proposal addresses political rather than actual problems.

If Baker and Christopher (and others) want to be more productive, they would be well-advised to examine why the current framework didn't achieve the goals for which it was developed. The current proposal, which will undoubtedly be popular for political reasons, will only succeed in helping us to feel like we've solved a real problem. That is, until the next time we face the same problem. Then someone will propose new legislative solutions that provide for yet more "new consultative process[es]" in the procedures for going to war.

What qualifies as most Jewish?

In late 2005 I read George Nickelsburg's Ancient Judaism and Christian Origins, which raised a number of issues for me regarding not just ancient Judaism and Christian origins, but also — and, I think, more importantly — questions regarding how we have come to recognize the NT texts in the first place. That is, how did we come to perceive them as we do? How did we decide that they are what they are? These aren't questions pertaining to canon-formation, necessarily. Rather, I'm wondering how we've categorized the texts the way we have. If I can use a metaphor with which most of us would feel comfortable, What if the New Testament documents weren't stored on the library's 227 shelf but somewhere else (say, in the 222s, or somewhere else completely)? My initial formulation of this question can be found here.

I'm still asking this question, and in fact I'm currently exploring different ways these processes — usually performed un- or sub-consciously — affect our disciplines in dramatic ways. In my reading on "parting of the ways" scholarship, I've come across a mass of confusion regarding precisely this question [again, How did we come to identify the NT texts as what they are?], but interestingly I haven't yet found anybody asking this question explicitly.

In 2006 James D. G. Dunn's book, The Partings of the Ways [orig. published, 1991], was published in a second edition. Significantly, the second edition has a new preface and an essay exploring the relationship between the Mosaic and the "new" covenant(s) (cf. Jer. 31.31–34); these later additions call into question most of the conclusions from the original edition, but the substance of the book hasn't (as far as I can tell) been edited to address these new questions.

There are a number of things both commendable and questionable about this book (as with all of Dunn's work, in my experience). But I want to call out a particular formulation by which Dunn introduces his discussion of Matthew's gospel. Dunn starts,

It is worth giving particular attention to Matthew, since his is the most Jewish of the Gospels, and since his christological claims mark important developments or phases or features in second generation Christianity. (2006:278)

Throughout the rest of the book he spends much more attention, among the gospels, on Matthew and John; Mark and Luke, by comparison, are marginal. And while his treatments of both Matthew and John make a number of points worth considering and following up, I can't wonder what it means to label Matthew as "the most Jewish of the Gospels," or why Dunn would want to use such a label.

Dunn's statement directly raises the questions I posed above. What makes a text (or an individual, a group, a practice, a belief, etc.) "Jewish," and what distances a text (and so on) from that label? Why is Matthew characterized as "most Jewish" while the other three are somehow "less" or even "non-Jewish" (though, to be fair, I suspect Dunn would object to this latter formulation)? More fundamentally, are these judgments at which we have arrived on the basis of textual analysis, or are these presuppositions that will determine textual analysis? While this last question is certainly posed in terms too stark to be helpful, I would like to see NT scholarship pay more attention to this latter possibility.

I suspect the "Jewishness" of the NT texts and the events and figures portrayed therein will become a prominent theme on this blog. Hence the all-caps in the label attached to this post: I use JUDEO-Christianity in a way similar to the identification of genus and species in zoology. You only need read one or two chapters of Partings to see how fundamentally different this conceptualization is from Dunn's, who writes of "four pillars" of Judaism and asks throughout the book whether NT formulations and ideas call one or more of these pillars into question.

One last point: My own use of JUDEO-Christianity, like Dunn's use of "Judaism" and "Christianity," similarly risks reifying both as "things" that exist rather than spaces that are contested and fought over discursively (and, all too often, really). But hopefully thinking of "Christianity" as a species of "Judaism" does better justice to the situation in the first century/-ies in which, unlike our own situation, "Christianity" and "Judaism" were not separated religious identities. But more on this later.

UPDATE: In the CSB Harmony of the Gospels, which I am using for my first-year gospels course, Rick Melick goes even further than did Dunn: "Matthew is at once the most Jewish and the most universal of the Gospels" (2007:11). I am amazed and disappointed that scholarship this recent can make such claims, not just about Matthew being, again, "the most Jewish," but also that it can imply that Matthew's double-status as "most Jewish" as well as "most universal" stand in tension to one another. Perhaps I'm over-interpreting here, but the assumption behind this phrase seems to be the old "the problem with Judaism is that it's too particularist [nationalist?])" prejudice, combined with the inappropriate view that what was right about Christianity was its universalist, non-nationalist emphasis. Such blunt and unwieldy language used to analyze Christian origins and Christian texts strikes me as similar to trying to carve Michelangelo's Pietà with a backhoe.

Why do we pay these people?

CNN.com reports that Sen. John Warner (R-Va) has an idea: Lower fuel consumption by reintroducing a lower national speed limit. That's the problem, John: Americans are driving too fast. Not that we choose to drive cars that rate less than 30 mpg; not that our infrastructure was designed for people to drive everywhere; not that our current level of fuel supply is less than demand; not that the world's two largest populations are waking up to the joys of fossil fuels; not that governments across the globe attempt to regulate fuel consumption through the tax code.

Of course, my skepticism is challenged by the facts of the case:

Congress in 1974 set a national 55 mph speed limit because of energy shortages caused by the Arab oil embargo. The speed limit was repealed in 1995 when crude oil dipped to $17 a barrel and gasoline cost $1.10 a gallon.

I was born during the Carter administration, so naturally I don't remember that particular era. Perhaps someone with a bit longer memory can help me: Was it Congress's 1974 institution of the 55 mph speed limit that brought the cost of oil to less than $20 a barrel?¹

Obviously the current problems with the energy situation are complex, and any simple answer Congress puts forward will neglect more than it will address. But this is ridiculous. Do we really think that reducing 2% of our highway fuel consumption will make a dent in the world demand for oil and oil products?! This is a problem with the "baby steps" thinking that's popular in contemporary political problem solving. Not that changing our light bulbs or foregoing plastic shopping bags aren't good things to do, but by taking the "baby steps" we comfort ourselves that we're making a difference and we lose any motivation to make any real changes.

If I may offer an opinion, amateur though it may be (and what else are blogs for?): It seems that there is a positive and a negative side to the current energy climate. On the positive side, $145 a barrel oil provides significantly more motivation to develop alternative sources of energy and their concomitant technologies. If Warner's speed limit proposal has the same effect as it did in Carter's day, it will be hard to convince consumers (or developers!) to invest in hydrogen Hondas and hybrid Highlanders when oil is back down to a handful of Tic Tacs per barrel and a gallon of gas costs two buttons and a hair pin. Markets might not be comfortable, but this is how they work.

On the negative side, we are not yet to the point, technologically, to go cold turkey from fossil fuels. While our long-term problem may be that oil is not the future, our short-term problem is that oil is our present, and demand is out-pacing supply. Perhaps (perhaps!) driving more slowly could affect our national demand (though not significantly, not to mention its complete irrelevance to international demand), legislating a lower speed limit makes even less sense than adding a third of our corn supply to the gas we burn.

Regardless of which side of this debate you're on, I think the daily escalating gas prices is bound to move public opinion toward the solution suggested by the Energy Department's Angela Hill:

If Congress is serious about addressing gasoline prices, they must take action on expanding domestic oil and natural gas production.

I'd like to add an amendment to Ms Hill's suggestion: As we're expanding domestic energy supply capabilities, I would be willing to support a 5% pay increase for Sen. Warner and his colleagues (including those of the Lower House) if they would stop thinking about real issues and take up Monopoly.

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¹ The CNN piece suggests this very thing: "Warner cited studies that showed the 55 mph speed limit saved 167,000 barrels of oil a day, or 2 percent of the country's highway fuel consumption, while avoiding up to 4,000 traffic deaths a year."

Facial diversity

Inside Higher Ed. reports on a study by a sociologist at Augsburg College on the discrepancy between the image of [racial] diversity portrayed in the recruiting materials of many institutions of higher education, on the one hand, and the actual diversity of the student body. The problem is, obviously, real, but the article does a commendable job of avoiding the easy criticism of these institutions as "hypocritical" or "deceitful." While colleges and universities need to be held accountable when the appearance of diversity suffices in the presence of a lack of any substantive diversity, the portrayal of a diverse campus can legitimately function as an expression of an administration's hopes and plans and may even encourage bringing about the reality the promotional pieces manufactured.

But the article hints at another problem, one I first encountered when working at a church in Uptown Cincinnati that legitimately (and somewhat successfully) strove to diversify its worshipping body as well as its ministerial staff. The problem is well-stated by Timothy Pippert, the sociologist behind the study.

Black equals diversity for many people. If you show African American students, people think that means your institution is diverse. [my emphasis]

Given the torrid (but not completely so) history of race relations in this country, this perception is understandable. But let's be clear: An absence of Black persons does not equal homogeneity, and vice versa. On my own campus I can think off the top of my head of only two current students, both of whom are biracial, who self-identify as African American and one recent graduate who is currently enrolled in one of our Masters programs who is Black. We also have (at least) one international Black student (though he is not African; the use of "African American" as a euphemism for "Black" runs into trouble precisely in the cases of non-Black African[-American]s and non-African Blacks). And while my institution has some way to go toward becoming a legitimately diverse campus (and knows it has its work cut out for it), our campus is more diverse than a simple count of Black (or even darker) faces would suggest.

My father is, to put it nebulously, a professional in the area of diversification and diversity-training. And though I would never claim to speak for him or on his behalf, he has said on numerous occasions something that we would all do well to remember: "Diversity means difference: young or old, American or international, male or female, Black, Caucasian, Latino/a, Asian (and so on)," all these things go some way toward promoting and expressing diversity. None of this excuses campuses that are content to operate without regard for racial minorities, but hopefully it does remind us that efforts toward diversification have be more than skin-deep.

Investing in Religious Education

Today's Chronicle of Higher Education ran a piece entitled "More Top Students Answer the Ministry's Call," which relates the recent efforts of the Lilly Endowment's scheme, Programs for the Theological Exploration of Vocation. This scheme has injected over $176M into the budgets of 88 church-related institutions from 2000–2007 and has seen the increase of students under thirty with higher undergraduate GPAs.

In light of the current politicization of education, we can probably fairly consider schemes like this countercultural. Given the striking suspicion with which many people regard all things religious (see, for example, the ambivalence in an article announcing "A Downtown Revival-ization" in Knoxville¹), I would like to suggest that the Lilly Endowment's efforts, if successful, will benefit not just the Church but society at large (even its irreligious elements).

The benefits of programs like this for the church are obvious. I don't mean simply the higher visibility of religious and theological programs, especially to students who have other and more lucrative options. But if I may speak stereotypically, the current ethos of American evangelicalism does a better job of attracting students who have an emotive (or otherwise nebulous) interest in ministry, theology, or biblical studies. Though exceptions are easy to find, the typical student in my experience prefers inspirational rather than intellectual readings. While this approach to ministerial education has its positive contributions to make,² the Church becomes captive to cultural fads and slogan theology when it suffers a dearth of men and women who can participate in and advance intellectual discourse about God, the Bible, the Church, and the world. If the Lilly Endowment (and similar organizations) can attract young, capable students into religious education, the Church will find its roots strengthened and nourished.

But this will also benefit society at large. I'm not suggesting that the world is a better place when the Church's influence is expanded (history itself denies this link, at least as simplistically formulated here). But the current cultural climate reveals clearly the wider negative consequences (political and otherwise) when the Church becomes shallow and yet finds its public voice. The lack of sensitive Christian voices contributing (on either or both sides of the political spectrum) to American cultural discourse has polarized a number of contemporary discussions in desperate need of nuance. The recent volleys between Barack Obama and James Dobson are a prime example. But genuine and thoughtful discussion between intelligent Christian (and other religious) perspectives and similarly intelligent irreligious perspectives has the potential (as yet unrealized) to positively impact both American and global culture. Perhaps the increase in "top students" reported in the Chronicle will help prepare at least one side of that dialogue for the challenges facing us in the coming years.

One last point: This article is yet another challenge to the popular Christian (or, rather, premillennial Christian) view that the world is steadily devolving morally and sinking into ever deepening pits of sin (the language here is only minimally dramatic). As I have suggested elsewhere, there are plenty of examples of genuine advance being made in twenty-first century American morality, spirituality, religion, and so on. But though I would reject the idea that the world is going to hell in a hand basket, neither is it going in the other direction. There will always be wars and rumors of wars. The world will always need the dialogue I hope is on America's horizon. The Church will always have its work to do.

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¹ Thanks to Mark Nelson for bringing this article to my attention; we should note, as does the article, that downtown Knoxville is hardly devoid of churches; the article's ambivalence, I think, regards the arrival of two churches precisely in Market Square.

² I certainly don't mean to come across as grumbling about ministerial students, many of whom have had to overcome Herculean obstacles to pursue what they perceive as God's call on their lives.

real faith (real, real faith)

60 Minutes tells the story of the vicar of Baghdad, sent to minister to the Anglican community in Baghdad nine years ago (when Saddam Hussein statues still figured in official Iraqi decorating policy). The interview makes clear that Christianity was a religio licita under Saddam, and according to this criterion at least the current situation in Iraq is bleak indeed.



I recommend this piece with both a heavy heart and with some reluctance. I can't say the reporting was in any way impressive; Scott Pelley's ability to avoid the really interesting questions is certainly legendary and may in fact be unrivaled. But the man at the heart of the story is, perhaps, the most credible professional Christian I have seen on tv ever. The Reverend Canon Andrew White has done what most Christians (myself included) can only dream of — he's earned the right to be heard. When (apparently) all the other Christian men have fled Baghdad (and I type this last phrase without any sense of condescension or condemnation), White remains to minister to (one of?) the last underground Christian congregations in that war-torn city, leading our beleaguered sisters and brothers in worship, feeding the poor, and encouraging the faith of those who claim Doubting [!] Thomas as their spiritual ancestor.

The question Pelley didn't ask — the question I wanted to yell at the tele — was, Why, Reverend Canon White, do you stay in Baghdad to minister in what may be the most dangerous place on earth for confessing Christians?

I admit I have suspicions of an answer. But these are suspicions of my answers, and to be perfectly honest, I haven't earned the right to be asked that question. I want to know why Andrew White stays in Baghdad. And even if he answers exactly how I would have expected, the answer itself would have been legitimated for being his answer and not mine.

I would give my right ring finger to serve Holy Communion to a single woman or child of Reverend Canon White's congregation. But even then I wouldn't deserve such an honor. These are modern-day heroes of the faith. I am privileged to be called their brother in the Lord. This week, as I grade a half-dozen undergraduate assignments and continuing researching for a book idea I'm working on, I pray that my work for the kingdom might be the dimmest and distantest star shining in the same sky illumined by the blazing sun of the faith of Baghdad.

My summer job

Back in late May when the excitement of having all my grades finished and turned in to the Registrar was still fresh in my gut, I came across this excellent essay (click the title of this post). As a faculty member of a small, private Evangelical college, I would be lying through the Cheshire-cat grin on my face if I didn't say that summer was my favorite time of year. But many of my coworkers (staff and administration more than other faculty) seem to think that I look forward to summer break with tears in my eyes because I get to sit in my air-conditioned house watching Judge Judy and eating Doritos for three months. Even when I explain that summer is actually a busier time of my year (though I wouldn't say busiest), the response I get (nearly word-for-word) is, "Yeah, but you're working on personal things."

I don't need to describe the blood, sweat, and tears that go into producing academic papers, articles, and monographs, and most of us are only too painfully aware of how much effort goes into class prep from June through August. Rachel Toor poetically describes the banality of academic work if not academic life. But I would like to make one point, which I suspect applies to many — if not most — of us: I look forward to the summer months with such passion not because these are the "lazy days of summer" where I can begin to catch up with my over-worked DVR. My enthusiasm for the summer springs from the fact that, during these months more than the other nine, I can choose what work will command my attention and what work will gather dust on my desk. No grading, no lectures, no exam writing, no student complaints . . . from June to August I get to pursue my own interests. Does this mean that I'm "working on personal things"? Maybe. But this work also serves the interests of my students, my classes, and my institution. It is work properly called. It is my summer job.

Not a descent into hell

A few weeks ago on Primal Subversion Sean posted some comments on the vexing problem at 1 Pet. 3.18—22. His point is very well taken, namely that the "proclamation" [ἐκήρυξεν; ekēruxen] Jesus made "in the Spirit" [ἐν ᾧ; en hō, referring back to πνεύματι (pneumati) at the end of 3.18] to the "spirits in prison" [τοῖς ἐν φυλακῇ πνεύμασιν; tois en phylakē pneumasin] refers to the Christian community's proclamation in the hostile areas of NW Asia Minor of Jesus' victory over death. I think he rightly understands that Peter is not referring to any cosmic preaching of Jesus in the world's (or heaven's) nether regions. The problem remains, however, that the reference to these spirits' disobedience in the days of Noah [ἀπειθήσασίν . . . ἐν ἡμέραις Νῶε; apeithēsasin . . . en hēmerais Nōe; 3.20] hasn't found adequate explanation. I'd like to propose a solution. What follows is an extremely condensed version of an argument I have made elsewhere.

The whole passage up to 3.18 is concerned with a judicial, or at least an interrogative situation (cf. 3.15); either way, the focus here is squarely on the imagery of opposition. Opposition is the link between the Anatolian Christians' readiness to offer an answer to anyone who asks about their curious hope before 3.18, on the one hand, and the reference to Noah and the discussion of Christian social norms after 3.18, on the other.

While the author acknowledges the difference between Christ’s salvific death/resurrection and the suffering of the churches in Asia Minor, he simultaneously points to a vital link between Christ's suffering and the community's. Christ’s suffering paved the way for humanity’s salvation; similarly, the suffering of Christians for their righteous lifestyle in Christ serves to proclaim that offer of salvation to the unbelieving world. Concerning the application of both ἄδικοι [adikoi; "unrighteous ones"] and δίκαιοι [dikaioi; "righteous ones"] to Christians, remember that, “because the notion that Jesus Christ ‘came not to call the just, but sinners,’ was so firmly rooted in the Gospel tradition, it became necessary at times for NT writers to characterize the redeemed as ‘unjust’ or ‘sinners’ before God in order to highlight their new status as ‘just’ or ‘righteous’” (Michaels, 1 Peter, 202—203). In this sense, Peter’s readers are called to suffer in order to lead the world to God before he pours out his judgment on all who are doers of evil, just as Christ suffered in order to lead those who believe to God. 

Both Christ's and the community's suffering, then, serve two functions: (i) proclamation, which is achieved when the suffering is for righteousness’ sake and not as a consequence of evil action; and (ii) vindication, which comes after suffering. To miss one point or the other will affect the interpretation of the difficult verse which follows. The suffering of the people of God for the gospel of Jesus Christ serves a similar function as the suffering of Christ; Christ’s suffering functions as a metaphor for the community’s current experiences of suffering. But, more importantly, suffering for righteousness identifies followers of Christ with the One whom they follow.

Notice that Peter never says that Jesus went to the prison; rather, Jesus "went and proclaimed to the spirits in prison"; in the spirit of the NASB, I translate the ἐν φυλακῇ [en phylakē; "in prison"], along with the participle πορευθεὶς [poreutheis; "he went," or "going"], as "he went to the spirits now in prison. They were not necessarily imprisoned when Jesus preached to them. “Although [Noah’s contemporaries] were not then in any physical prison, they have been confined after their death — they are spirits now in prison” (Skilton, "Old Problems," 6).

Peter also describes the spirits to whom Jesus preached as “those who were disobedient when the patience of God was waiting in the days of Noah during the construction of the ark” (3.20). ἀπειθήσασίν [apeithēsasin; "were disobedient"] functions as a temporal circumstantial participle (“when they were disobedient”), rather than an adjectival participle (“those who were disobedient”). “The participle here does not look at all like an attributive or substantive participle, but it looks for all the world like an adverbial participle” (Skilton, "Old Problems," 1–2). Moreover, ὅτε [hote; "when"] suggests a temporal function. Therefore, when we ask, Who are these spirits to whom Jesus made proclamation? the answer is clear: They are those who were disobedient during the construction of the ark. Here Peter draws upon the image of Noah experiencing the same type of opposition which the community is experiencing now. Whether Peter is referring to supernatural spirits who were disobedient (cf. Gen. 6.1–5, 1 Enoch) or human beings who heard the message of God’s judgment and grace (cf. 2 Pet. 2.5) and mocked Noah’s boat-building enterprise is the subject of much debate, and the text itself does not necessarily suggest one over the other.

If we understand τοῖς ἐν φυλακῇ πνεύμασιν [tois en phylakē pneumasin; "to the spirits (now?) in prison") as human agents who were given (and rejected) the chance for repentance upon hearing the proclamation made by Christ [ἐν] πνεὐματι [(in) the S/spirit; cf. 3.18], we need to ask when Peter understood that proclamation to have occurred. Was it while they were spirits in prison, or are they spirits in prison because they did not heed the preaching made to them? We would opt for the latter choice on the basis of the image Peter paints of the spirits’ disobedience “during the construction of the ark”. As Noah built his big boat on the side of an arid mountain, his actions and his preaching (again, cf. 2 Pet. 2.5) proclaimed the coming judgment of God against an evil world.

 

At some length — 120 years? — it began to rain, and Noah, ridiculed for so long on account of the ark he was building, was the only one prepared to endure God’s judgment. Of course, Noah was prepared for God’s judgment only because God, in his mercy, had provided for him a way of escape. And Noah, in his faithfulness to God, took that way despite the opposition that his faith-in-action drew. In this way, we avoid the incoherent conclusion of Jesus proclaiming the gospel to people who rejected God during their lifetimes. This view is also distinct from the one that sees Peter portraying Jesus as a second Enoch proclaiming his victory — without an option for salvation — to those “sons of God” who were the height of evil and motivated God to deluge his creation.

This explains perfectly the reference to baptism, ὃ καὶ ὑμᾶς . . . νῦν σῴζει [ho kai hymas . . . nyn sōzei], "which now even/also saves you" (3.21). That 1 Peter is a baptismal paranaesis has been widely accepted (cf. 1.22). Here Peter makes the point that baptism, as an example of faith-in-action that incurs opposition from those outside the community, can be understood in precisely the same terms of Noah's ark-building, another example of faith-in-action that brought about opposition. But baptism — just like Noah's ark — does not only bring opposition; it is also the vehicle through which (a) God proclaims his mercy to the world and (b) God vindicates those who suffer for his sake. Noah was saved by the ark; the Anatolian Christians to whom Peter writes will be saved through baptism (again, νῦν σῴζει; nyn sōzei).

Verily Verily 2.0

After nearly three years, I've decided to try to get back to the online discussion. If you remember the old Verily Verily, you'll notice there's a new look and a few new features. I'm still not steadfast enough to promise regular posting. But I hope to incorporate Verily Verily into my classroom discussions, and that should provide the motivation to keep this site updated. If you have any suggestions or ideas, feel free to leave me a comment.

The Talmud, brought to you by Oxfam

Leaving a friend's house yesterday I stopped at the local Oxfam to see if they had any interesting books. I'm glad I did, because they had a number of classics for just a couple quid. At one point I had four books under my arm, but, even though they were uber-cheap, I had to choose only two. So I bought an English translation (ca. 1905) of Plato's Republic, and H. Polano's English translation (1894) of selections from the Talmud.

The latter is truly fascinating, not just for being rabbinic literature but for representing a portion of Judaic scholarship from over one hundred years ago. (I presume Prof. Polano was a rather Orthodox Jewish scholar, though I am unable to defend such a presumption.) At any rate, I wanted to post the following from the myth of origins behind the oral tradition that was codified in the Talmud. I've run across this elsewhere, but the presentation as a [quasi- (?)]historical account is what is particularly interesting. For a current and stimulating discussion of ancient Jewish oral tradition, see M. Jaffee's Torah in the Mouth. Without further ado, the words of Prof. Polano:

During the last forty years of the life of Moses, the Lord gave to him six hundred and thirteen precepts, including the Decalogue, with full explanation of their meaning and intent, that he might be able to properly instruct the people. The manner in which Moses imparted these precepts to the chosen race is thus recorded in the treatise Erubim. First, he called his brother Aaron into his tent and spoke to him alone, all the words which God had commanded; the sons of Aaron were then admitted and the same words repeated to them; the seventy elders of the people were then called before Moses, and from his lips received the commandments and ordinances of their God, and then any of the people who so desired were allowed to enter the tent, and to them Moses spoke again the same words. Thus Aaron heard these precepts four times, his sons thrice, the elders twice, and the people once, from the lips of Moses. After this first course of instruction, the prophet retired and Aaron repeated the precepts; then his sons spoke the words which they had heard; the elders reiterated them, and thus were the commands delivered to Moses, impressed upon the minds of the people, who were authorised in turn to teach one another. The precepts themselves were written on rolls of parchment, but the explanations thereof became the basis of the oral law, the foundation and substance of the Talmud. These six hundred and thirteen precepts were given between the years 2448 and 2488 (1312 and 1272 B.C.E.).

Polano, H., trans. The Talmud. Selections from the Contents of that Ancient Book, its Commentaries, Teachings, Poetry, and Legends. London and New York: Frederick Warne and Co., 1894.

The NT as 'Christian' texts?

Mike Bird has asked recently raised a question re: the referent of 'Israel of God' in Gal. 6.16. This question is important not just for theology but also for historical reconstruction. Over the last couple of weeks I've been thinking about the effects of the predominant classification of the NT texts as 'Christian' texts, and I was curious what other bibliobloggers thought about this issue.

The affirmation that the NT texts are 'Christian' has impacted NT studies in subtle but important ways. Relatively mildly, this affirmation has affected, for example, Dibelius's judgement on the Epistle of James, which he took to be a Jewish work that was later 'Christianised' by the addition of [KURIOU] IHSOU CHRISTOU at 1.1 and 2.1. More sinisterly, it allowed for anti-Judaic and anti-Semitic generalisations in which Judaism was a religion of law and external practices and Christianity was a religion of grace and internal transformation.

In the course of reading George W. E. Nickelsburg's Ancient Judaism and Christian Origins, which is shaping up to be a fantastic book, this question has become particularly urgent. On the one hand, Nickelsburg deconstructs the distinction between Judaism and Christianity at a number of points, such as:

This review of Jewish texts (cf. pp. 44-51) sensitizes us to elements in the New Testament that are often overlooked. Such a comparison indicates more similarity and continuity than the traditional paradigm has allowed. (p. 51)

or:

The New Testament, too, portrays the God who saves in different ways and circumstances and employs a number of terms (often metaphors) for "salvation," which vary according to the complex of ideas in which they fit. The rich, explicit variety in postbiblical Jewish texts, and the important transformations of biblical traditions that they attest, help us understand better the variety in early Christian thought and the similarities and differences between it and the traditions on which it draws. (p. 61)

On the other hand, the title of Nickelsburg's book, and especially the subtitle ('Diversity, Continuity, and Transformation; my italics), reinforces the sense that there is a qualitative difference between Christianity and Judaism (as do some of his comments, e.g., at p. 36). Certainly by the end of the first century or in the second century (e.g., in the writings of Ignatius, or even in the Pastorals) such a distinction (hence, 'Transformation') is appropriate, but my question (and it is a genuine one; I don't have the answer) is: Is there a meaningful difference between Judaism and Christianity throughout most of the first century CE, reflected especially in the writings of Paul and even in the synoptic gospels? If not, wouldn't the subtitle 'Diversity and Continuity' have been sufficient?

Nickelsburg makes a number of other helpful observations which suggest that, in many quarters, at least, Christianity comprised another perspective within the diverse groupings of communities and theologies that were Greco-Roman Judaism. Even the high estimate of Jesus current in 'early Christian' circles, or the judgement of new texts like Mark or 1 Corinthians as authoritative (even approaching scriptural), do not represent 'breaks' with Judaism (e.g., p. 28). Neither does the relative marginalisation of the Torah, though this is a complex issue for both Jewish and early Christian studies (cf. Nickelsburg's comments re: 1 Enoch, p. 46f.). And neither does the inclusion of gentiles into the covenantal community, though, as before, 'early Christian' attitudes toward gentiles were not monolithic (cf. p. 76-79). And so on.

At any rate, here's the point. I suspect that most of us accept that a hard-and-fast division between Judaism and Christianity does violence to our sources. But, if you're interested, I'd be curious about comments from the blogging community re: how a reappraisal of the NT texts as Jewish texts affects specific exegetical, theological, and/or historical conclusions about the NT itself or about the early Christianity/ies that produced these texts. By way of example, I offer one here. The Lukan Jesus announces to the synagogue in Nazareth:

'But truly I say to you, there were many widows in Israel in the days of Elijah, when the sky was closed up for three years and six months, as a terrible famine was wrought upon all the land. And yet to none of them was Elijah sent, but to the widow in Zarephath of Sidon. And there were many lepers in Israel for Elisha the prophet, yet none of them was cleansed, but Naaman the Syrian.' (4.25-27)

Though some have seen Lukan theology at work here, and especially inasmuch as this represents a critique of Israel qua Israel and legitimises the so-called 'mission to the gentiles', this need not necessarily be the case. Certainly this passage serves Luke's theology. But it also makes sense as a critique of Israel made from within Israel. For one thing, its critique is not only made in terms of Israelite tradition but stems from that tradition in the first place. Also, within the gospel itself, Jesus is not made to turn his attention away from Israel on the basis of this passage. Though some passages (e.g., Luke 17.12-19) pick up this theme, Luke does not relate the story of the Syrophoenician woman's daughter, and 7.11-17 explicitly links the Elijah tradition with the exclamation, 'A great prophet has arisen among us, and God has visited his people' [TON LAON AUTOU]. If Jesus, in the Nazareth synagogue or in any other Jewish context, said anything like Luke 4.25-27, it is less likely to have been in anticipation of a 'gentile mission' as it was an expression of the thoroughly Jewish conclusion that, when God acted to restore/vindicate his people, some (= unrighteous) Jews would fare less well than the righteous among the nations (cf., e.g., 1 Enoch 10.21; among others; without the optimistic perspective on the gentiles, cf. 1QS 8.12-16; among others; cf. also Nickelsburg, p. 76-77). If this is on the mark, Jesus as a Jew comes into slightly crisper focus (hopefully), and our understanding of Luke's theological perspective may also find itself in need of some revision.