Tag Archive for 'isaiah'

Tradition & Heresy

(This is the fourth and final part of a series on tradition. Part One, Part Two, Part Three.)

Tradition is best defined as the cyclical interaction between orthodoxy and scriptures. It can be seen most in the way that scriptures have been transformed through the course of time in their interaction with orthodoxy. Brevard Childs has provided an excellent resource for this: his book The Struggle to Understand Isaiah as Christian Scripture. This one work is a wonderful collection of texts from as early as the second century with the most influential church fathers to as late as ten years ago; it is one of the best collections covering the way that the book of Isaiah has been reinterpreted throughout Christianity. As the book revolves around the interpretation of Isaiah from the second century to the twenty-first century, it is worth a brief look to show the interaction between orthodoxy and scriptures.

Isaiah as an Example
Childs begins with Justin Martyr’s take on Isaiah. Justin reads in Isaiah the prophecies of the virgin birth and the suffering servant, particularly seeing the death of Christ as being symbolic of the Passover lamb. Yet Justin also has his own radical interpretations, such as applying the attacks in Isaiah 3 and 5 on the eighth-century Jewish leadership to the Jews of his own day [Brevard Childs, Struggle to Understand Isaiah as Christian Scripture (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2004): 41].

The first two interpretations carry to this day, but the third was eventually excluded in later (much later) generations. It is already here that there is an influence of scripture on orthodoxy, which gets re-interpreted as the basis for later interpretations.

Soon after Justin, Irenaeus added a few interpretations of his own. His chief addition was in interpreting Isaiah 7 and 9 as indicating the divine and human nature of Jesus [Childs, 51]. Irenaeus is also one of the first church fathers to quote at length Christian writings and treat these as canonical literature. By the end of the third century, orthodoxy had equalized about the nature of Christ and began to flesh out its view of the incarnation of Christ. Eusebius in the third century is fixated by this idea and dedicates four chapters of his Demonstratio Evangelica to it [Childs, 83]. Furthermore, Eusebius authored the earliest extant commentary on Isaiah—evidence that Isaiah had successfully crossed over from Jewish to Christian scripture [Origen authored the first, but it is lost].

The interaction has thus far developed in this way after the death and resurrection: the early Christian community sought to read the Jewish scriptures through the lens of the death and resurrection, which lead them to the passages in Isaiah (as well as others) that could be re-read as foretelling Jesus. By appealing to these Jewish scriptures for Christian theology, they had created the first connection between scriptures and orthodoxy: one had to believe in the death of Christ as a symbol of the Passover lamb. By making this first connection, Christianity treated Isaiah now as Christian scriptures; the first cycle. Within just 100 years, this cycle was completed again as orthodoxy included the virgin birth, the divinity of Jesus, and the human incarnation of God. By 400 CE, Isaiah was so integral to orthodoxy that it had gained acceptance throughout Christianity. This was the case with most of the books accepted into the canon at the second Council of Carthage.

Changes and Alterations
There are also cases where orthodoxy has changed scriptures, either by removing texts from the canon or modifying the actual texts. One such instance is the story of Bel and the Dragon from the Septuagint . Not only was this text attested by fathers of orthodoxy (Irenaeus, Tertullian, Origen) [Lee McDonald, The Formation of the Christian Biblical Canon (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson, 1995): 103], but it was also accepted at the Council of Carthage. It was removed during the Reformation first by protestants in their struggle to return to the Jewish scriptures, even though it appears in the original 1611 Authorized Version as well as being listed in the Thirty-nine Articles of the Church of England.

There is also a second form of orthodoxy interacting with scripture: deliberate alterations. In the Gospel of Luke’s account of Jesus’ baptism, there is a point where God speaks from the heavens saying “You are my beloved Son in whom I am well pleased” [Luke 3:23, NRSV]. Yet many early variants record God saying “You are my Son, today I have begotten you.” Bart Ehrman believes that this variant is the earlier, more original text which was changed in order to prevent an adoptionist reading of the passage [Bart Ehrman, Misquoting Jesus (New York: HarperOne, 2005): 159-160]. It is highly likely that this is the case, but it brings up the question on how orthodoxy and scripture should interact.

Theologians today seem to suggest that it should be a simple relationship indicated by fidelity to the original texts (or what we can gather as such) coupled with studious translation and interpretation to that. On the other hand, history has consistently suggested that orthodoxy and scripture should define and change the other, even at the cost of losing the most original documents. It may be better to see scriptures “not primarily as a chronicle but as a testimony of faith in the One who identified himself to Moses from the burning bush” [Jaroslav Pelikan, Whose Bible is it? (New York: Penguin, 2005): 31].

Tradition is arguably the most important aspect for the longevity of a religion. While it is normally seen as the handing down of beliefs from one generation to the next, it should also be seen as that which is handed down, particularly the interaction between orthodoxy and scriptures. This interaction is a never-ending cycle of alteration and redefining, sometimes subtle (and sometimes not-so-subtle). The relation most often seen is scriptures defining orthodoxy. Yet the reciprocal also happens, perhaps more often than some admit; orthodoxy changes scriptures through either interpretation or in modifying the set of accepted scriptures. These two functions play on each repetition of each other throughout multiple generations. Whereas some people see this as problematic, it should be embraced as an integral part of the nature of religious movements as they are concerned ultimately with the nonphysical, be it God, nirvana, rebirth, or the end of ages. Faith is not a matter of fidelity to a group of texts but rather that which inspired those texts.

God Actually Likes It When We Do Good Things

Editor’s note: In the spirit of pursuing truth and engaging different views, Zeal For Truth will publish guest commentaries such as today’s article written by Josh Herchenroeder. He received a degree in Bible from Abilene Christian University, and then spent three years auditing grad school.

“All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags.” These words, taken from Isaiah 64:6, have become a banner verse for many conservative Christians. All believers who think we’re pathetic, horrible people who can’t get anything right or impress God in any way rally to this standard which seems to legitimize their low view of humanity. The prophet’s words become a universal indictment of Earth’s citizens. I have serious problems with this line of thinking. Not only does it ignore both the immediate context in Isaiah and the broader biblical witness, but it doesn’t even make sense.

Context Explained
The dominant theme of Isaiah 63 and 64 is confession and repentance. The prophet, speaking on behalf of the Israelite people, recognizes their corporate sin and its consequences, and he pleads with God to forgive and bring restoration.

The image that the text brings to mind is of a young lover who has wounded his beloved and realized his mistake, and now finds himself knocking on her door, holding a bundle of flowers up to the peephole. He doesn’t try to persuade her with rational arguments, but instead says things like, “I’m sorry. You’re right, I’m wrong. You’re beautiful, I’m ugly. I’m the dumbest guy ever for saying/doing/thinking that.” Is he truly the dumbest guy ever? Probably not. In the same way, the prophet uses self-deprecating hyperbole to say, “We’re screwed up and we can’t do anything right…will you take us back anyway?”

Even if my interpretation is off, it’s still difficult to argue Isaiah 64:6 is a blanket statement on God’s opinion of our actions. Just look one verse earlier: “You come to the help of those who gladly do right…” If our good deeds truly are filthy rags to God, why would he be interested in helping people for doing right?

Jesus Weighs In
I could run off a list of verses which offer a different perspective on how God feels about our righteousness, but I would rather explore an illustration Jesus uses to reveal God’s character. Matthew 7:9-11 reads,

Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him?

Jesus acknowledges that, while we are flawed and certainly not on God’s level, we can give good gifts. But what if we invert the parent/child metaphor and place God on the receiving end—after all, are not our good deeds gifts to our heavenly father?

A young child takes a few crayons and a piece of paper, and five minutes later presents an incoherent scribble to his or her mother. She doesn’t glance at it and declare, “This is crap; you’re a lousy artist.” No, her eyes widen with delight, and before you know it, the refrigerator has another masterpiece hanging on the door. If we respond with such joy at the meager offering of our children, how much more so does God, the source of all that is good in the world!

Does it Even Make Sense?
My house was broken into and robbed last week, and I was still in a foul mood when I showed up to work the next day. A cleaning lady named Ana stopped by my station to talk for awhile. Now, she barely knows any English, and I only know about twelve words in Spanish (and they’re all foods) but this has never deterred her from chattering on for several minutes straight. It always makes me smile, and this day was no exception. Later that day someone randomly brought me a cinnamon bagel, which also made me smile. These two small gestures brightened my day when I really needed it. Did God look at those two acts that were so meaningful to me and say, “That’s gross!”

And what about volunteers who are trying to bring peace and healing to a ravaged Darfur region? Surely God doesn’t view their efforts as useless.

In Man’s Search for Meaning,” Viktor Frankl recounts his tortured existence in a Nazi extermination camp. But alongside the horrors, he tells of the powerful impact when someone could find the strength within himself to offer encouragement, or even to generously offer his daily piece of bread to another. Did God observe such episodes and toss them in the laundry heap? Perhaps, instead, he thought to himself, “Yes, this is what I created them to do. See, even in the worst of times, my creatures can still do good.”

I really don’t have any way of knowing what goes through God’s mind, but I’m not sure why anyone would want to follow a God who treats our best efforts with contempt. Love is reciprocal in any legitimate relationship. If our good deeds truly are filthy rags to God, then how can anyone convincingly argue that he wants our love? If our righteous acts are no more than a dirty dishcloth, then what’s the point of moral living?


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