The famous parable of the Good Samaritan is also worth considering.  Here Jesus, in response to a lawyer’s question, “who is my neighbor,” replies with a parable which presents a Samaritan as the moral hero (in contrast to the villains—a priest and a Levite).

Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead.  Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side.  So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side.  But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity.  He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him.  The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?’ He said, ‘The one who showed him mercy.’  Jesus said to him, ‘Go and do likewise’” (NRSV, Lk 10:30-37).

It is highly likely that the man who fell into the hands of robbers was a Jew.  He was after all, “going down from Jerusalem to Jericho.”  So the Samaritan is not only helping some stranger in need, he is showing mercy to an “enemy.”  The priest and the Levite in order to avoid becoming unclean choose to ignore the man in need.  As N.T. Wright puts it, “it was better that they remain aloof, preserving their purity at the cost of obedience to God’s law of love”—a law which was, by the way, an OT law and not simply something that emerged with the NT (Luke for Everyone, p. 127).

The lawyer in the story is disingenuous and poses his question in order to test Jesus.  The lawyer wants to know whom he should consider as his neighbor.  Again, Wright offers helpful commentary on the exchange.  Pointing out that the lawyer’s question and Jesus’ answer don’t exactly correspond, Wright goes on to say,

For him [the lawyer], God is the  God of Israel, and neighbours are Jewish neighbours.  For Jesus (and for Luke, who highlights this theme), Israel’s God is the God of grace for the whole world, and a neighbour is anybody in need.  Jesus’ telling question at the end isn’t asking who the Samaritan regarded as his neighbour.  He asked, instead, who turned out to be the neighbour of the half-dead Jew lying in the road.  Underneath the apparently straightforward moral lesson […], we find a much sterner challenge, exactly fitting in with the emphasis of Luke’s story so far.  Can you recognize the hated Samaritan as your neighbour? (Ibid., pp. 127-28).

I suppose the question to ask is, can you, can I, can we recognize ____________ as our neighbor/s?

Paul’s view, to anticipate the later argument, is that those who are in Christ, who are indwelt by the Spirit, do in fact ‘do the law,’ even though, in the case of Gentiles, they have never heard it.  The law, in Paul’s view, pointed to that fullness of life and obedience to God which comes about in the Messiah; those who attain that fullness of life and obedience are therefore ‘doing the Torah’ in the senses that, to Paul, really matter (p. 441).[2]

Though on the surface it has a paradoxical ring, Paul’s view carefully avoids, on the one hand, implying that the Torah was something bad and thus to be discarded-rather he upholds the holiness of the Torah-and, on the other, suggesting that “Gentile Christians are second-class citizens in the kingdom of the Messiah.”  In effect, Paul has his cake and eats it too:  Gentiles Christians “are not under the Torah, but at the same time they are essentially doing what the Torah really wanted” (p. 441).

Wright’s exegesis takes into account the important cultural-historical (not to mention theological) issue of the early Church:  what is the relationship between Judaism and Christianity, and are uncircumcised, non Torah-trained Gentiles to be received as full members of the Church?  Paul’s emphatic answer is, “yes, because in Christ circumcision is no longer the badge marking out God’s people; rather, faith in the faithful obedience of God’s Messiah is the indicator of God’s people.”

Wright also spends some time dealing with objections to his position.  The primary objection centers on the word, φύσει, physei, both in terms of its meaning and grammatical function.   Some scholars see physei functioning adverbially and modifying the verb “do.”  However, as Wright points out, physei is found in the middle of the clause, ὅταν γὰρ ἔθνη τὰ μὴ νόμον ἔχοντα φύσει τὰ τοῦ νόμου ποιῶσιν; consequently, physei, could modify either “do” or “having the law” (pp. 441-42).  Wright opts for the latter, as it makes sense of the present passage, harmonizes well with the larger section through 5:21, and is in agreement with Paul’s usage of physei in 2:27.  In other words, physei in Rom 2:14 refers to “origin” or “parentage.”  “Gentiles do not, by nature-that is, by origin or parentage-possess the Torah.”  Likewise, in Rom 2:27, ἡ ἐκ φύσεως ἀκροβυστία τὸν νόμον τελοῦσα, φύσεως (”the by-nature uncircumcision that fulfills the Torah”) “cannot here refer to something that is common, innate, to all humans.  Jews, too, are born uncircumcised; that is, in that sense, the ‘natural’ state.  It must refer to Gentile humanity as opposed to Jewish (cf. Gal 2:15)” (p. 442).

Additional support for Wright’s interpretation is found in 2:15a, where we read, “[t]hey show that what the law requires is written on their hearts” (NRSV).  This language of the law “written on the heart” is New Covenant language, of which Jeremiah (Jer 31:33) and Ezekiel (Ezek 36:26, cf. the “new heart”) speak.  “Paul clearly believed, and elaborated this at various points, that the covenant had been renewed, according to this promise, through Jesus, and that this renewal was being implemented by the Spirit in those who were ‘in Christ’” (p. 442).

Notes

[2] N.T. Wright, “The Letter to the Romans,” in Vol. X of The New Interpreter’s Bible (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 2002): 395-770.

The proper answer to that [extreme liberal] approach is not simply to reassert that because we believe in the Bible we do not need to ask fresh questions about Jesus.  As with God so with the Bible; just because our tradition tells us that the Bible says and means one thing or another, that does not excuse us from the challenging task of studying it afresh in the light of the best knowledge we have about its world and context, to see whether these things are indeed so.  For me the dynamic of a commitment to Scripture is not “we believe the Bible, so there is nothing more to be learned” [hence, the arrogance mentioned above], but rather “we believe the Bible, so we had better discover all the things in it to which our traditions … , which have supposed themselves to be “biblical” but are sometimes demonstrably not, have made us blind (p. 17).

Personally, I find Wright’s balanced approach quite refreshing.  He is one of the few cutting-edge biblical scholars who is able to stand firmly for and articulate well an orthodox Christian position all the while genuinely appreciating the scholarly contributions of those with whom he disagrees (whether extreme liberal or ultra conservative scholars).  Moreover, Wright is willing and able to criticize those within his own camp for their complacency, arrogance and reactionary posture.  Though it was of course necessary for orthodox Christians to speak out against the modernist, reductionist portrayal of Jesus as just one of many “failed Jewish revolutionaries” and a man really no different from other radical religious types, we must also be aware of tendencies in the opposite direction, tendencies which in effect negate Jesus’s genuine humanity and which portray Him as a kind of “demigod, not really human at all, striding through the world as a divine, heroic figure, untroubled by human questions … aware of himself as someone outside the whole system, telling people how they might escape the wicked world and live forever in a different realm altogether” (p. 24).  Wright continues by pointing out that large segments falling within the orthodox camp (evangelicals and conservatives across denominational boundaries) have embraced this demigod, superhero version of Jesus, have undervalued and given little attention to the created order (which is seen as a kind of a sinking ship that must be abandoned anyway so why care for it now), and have paid little attention to the humanity of the Scriptures (a clear reactionary stance to the errors of extreme liberalism).  Paradoxically, both liberal and conservative extremes continue to instantiate Enlightenment-inspired dualisms, refusing to allow the tensions of human-and-divine (not human or divine) to coexist.  At the risk of employing a somewhat hackneyed and over-applied phrase, I find Wright’s closing words “prophetic” and hope that God will give us ears to hear.  “Woe betide us if, in our commitment to winning yesterday’s battles against reductionist versions of Christianity, we fail to engage in tomorrow’s, which might be quite different” (p. 25).  If Christianity hopes to make an impact, for example, on the universities to which we are sending our children, we’d better follow Wright’s example and support those within the Church who are called to the hard, rigorous, spiritually challenging work of academic study. Otherwise, we have no right to complain about those “liberal” ideas being taught to our young people.  Likewise, perhaps we ought to expect to learn a thing or two from those with whom we vehemently disagree and be prepared to modify and expand our own position given that the “subject matter,” viz., Jesus, cannot be exhausted.

I find it interesting that in I.vi.1 of the Institutes, Calvin, after having spent several paragraphs discussing the ways in which the creation proclaims the knowledge of God, then states that something further is needed so that we might read the “text” of creation aright.

For as the aged, or those whose sight is defective, when any books however fair, is set before them, though they perceive that there is something written are scarcely able to make out two consecutive words, but, when aided by glasses, begin to read distinctly, so Scripture, gathering together the impressions of Deity, which, till then, lay confused in our minds, dissipates the darkness, and shows us the true God clearly. God therefore bestows a gift of singular value, when, for the instruction of the Church, he [...] opens his own sacred mouth; when he not only proclaims that some God must be worshipped, but at the same time declares that He is the God to whom worship is due; when he not only teaches his elect to have respect to God, but manifests himself as the God to whom this respect should be paid.

The course which God followed towards his Church from the very first, was to supplement these common proofs [which Calvin discussed in a previous section] by the addition of his Word, as a surer and more direct means of discovering himself. And there can be no doubt that it was by this help, Adam, Noah, Abraham, and the other patriarchs, attained to that familiar knowledge which, in a manner, distinguished them from unbelievers. I am not now speaking of the peculiar doctrines of faith by which they were elevated to the hope of eternal blessedness. It was necessary, in passing from death unto life, that they should know God, not only as a Creator, but as a Redeemer also; and both kinds of knowledge they certainly did obtain from the Word. In point of order, however, the knowledge first given was that which made them acquainted with the God by whom the world was made and is governed. To this first knowledge was afterwards added the more intimate knowledge which alone quickens dead souls, and by which God is known not only as the Creator of the worlds and the sole author and disposer of all events, but also as a Redeemer, in the person of the Mediator.”

It seems to me that Wright’s idea of beauty encountered in the created order as an echo of another voice might be brought into fruitful conversation with what Calvin says in the passage above.  What do you think?

The issue for the writers of the Historical and Theological Field Committee Report [hereafter HTFC] does not seem to lie in the use of a Christological analogy for assessing the relation of divine and human “causality” in the production of Holy Scripture; the writers are quite willing to argue for their own version of the analogy in question.  The real issue is: which Christology counts as “orthodox” for Reformed Christians?  The presumption throughout is that a simple and straightforward equation can be made between the Chalcedonian Formula and Reformed Christology.  But can it?  I will state my conclusion at the outset and then seek to explain how I arrived at it.  My conclusion is that the Christology of the writers of HTFC is certainly “orthodox” in the ecumenical sense of the word, but – ironically, given the current situation at WTS – it is not Reformed.

For Reformed Christians, it is not simply Chalcedon which defines “orthodoxy” within the realm of Christological reflection; it is Chalcedon as interpreted by the Reformed Confessions.  Or, in the case of denominations like the OPC and PCA, it is Chalcedon as interpreted by the Westminster standards.  Westminster’s Christology stands, however, at the end of a long history of confessional reflection on the person of Jesus Christ and cannot be rightly understood without careful attention to that history.

Why some Reformed thinkers are in such an uproar about the incarnational analogy applied to Scripture still baffles me.  Theologians within the Reformed tradition itself refer to ideas along these lines.  I recall reading an article by B.B. Warfield (”The Divine and the Human in the Bible”) in my student days at Westminster.  In the article Warfield says,  ”[o]f every word in the Bible it is asserted that it has been conceived in a human mind and written by a human hand” and “of every word in the Bible it is asserted that it is inspired by God and has been written under the direct and immediate guidance of the Holy Spirit.” (p. 57).  Again, I see no reason why the authoritative claim of the word of God in light of its divinity has to be diminished by our acknowledgement that it is simultaneously the word of human beings given in human language, by human beings, and as Dei Verbum says, “in human fashion” (III.12).   The broader Catholic tradition has no problem with this kind of approach as an aid or model for our understanding the nature of Scripture.  Again, in Dei Verbum, we read,

The fact is that truth is differently presented and expressed in the various types of historical writing, in prophetical and poetical texts, and in other forms of literary expression. Hence the exegete must look for that meaning which the sacred writers, in given situations and granted the circumstances of their time and culture, intended to express and did in fact express through the medium of a contemporary literary form [Cf. St. Augustine, De Doctrina Christiana, III, 18, 26].  Rightly to understand what the sacred authors wanted to affirm in their work, due attention must be paid both to the customary and characteristic patterns of perception, speech and narrative which prevailed in their time, and to the conventions which people then observed in their dealings with one another (DV, III.12, italics added).[1] 

The document then states that Scripture must also   be read and interpreted with its divine authorship in mind” and that equal attention must be given to the unity of Scripture as a whole, which involves of course a Christocentric understanding of all of Scripture, and “taking into account the tradition of the entire church and the analogy of faith” (DV, III.12). 

This, I take it, is not some version of Scriptural Nestorianism where we have two persons and two natures with no metaphysical or logical priority given to the divine, but rather is very similar to the trajectory of Enns’ work (perhaps minus a specifically Roman Catholic understanding of the two things mentioned in the final quote).  Yet, given Enns area of expertise, he wants to apply the analogy to the various issues and objections leveled at Scripture that he has encountered in his particular context of Old Testament studies.  At least one of the goals that Enns’ has in mind with the incarnational analogy is to, on the one hand, (1) avoid an inappropriate elevation of the human features of Scripture (as is often the case in extreme liberal theology), as well as to (2) resist so emphasizing the divinity of Scripture that we lose sight of the fact that the Bible was (a) written in an historical context and (b) communicated in various (human) languages, with the divine Author being quite cognizant of speaking into the cultural and socio-political practices of the day (and yet not limited to these cultural boundaries).  With regard to (2), Enns utilizes the incarnational analogy as a way to faith-fully understand the similarities between, e.g., Israel’s religious practices and those of the Ancient Near East.  That is, rather than simply denying these similarities or being threatened or embarrassed by them, we can appeal to the incarnational analogy of Scripture as affirming the degree to which God condescends to reveal himself via the cultural thought patterns and with a view to the religious and political practices of the day.  Yet, Enns is also quick to point out the differences between Ancient Near Eastern practices and views and those found in Scripture.  For example, God’s people in the Old Testament were announcing YHWH as the God and proclaiming all other putative “gods” to be false, mute, dead idols.  As a Christian philosopher, I see this as something akin to what I do in my study of various philosophers in the Western tradition.  That is, as I study Plato, Aristotle, Plotinus, Gadamer and others, I encounter numerous similarities and continuities with Christianity.  However, with St. Augustine, what I do not find in the (non-Christian) thinkers of the Western tradition is a God-made-flesh sacrificed for me. 

In closing, while I readily acknowledge that one’s application and explication of the analogy can always be refined and improved, I still see no reason why the incarnational analogy as a way to understand the nature of Scripture is unorthodox.  If the problem is with the particular way that Enns’ has formulated it or perhaps with the way that he applies it, then why not discuss those particulars and attempt to make adjustments.  Unfortunately, so many of Enn’s detractors fail to interact with Enns’ writings in a way that demonstrates that they have actually given the book a thorough read and are competent to summarize his claims such that Enns would say, “Yes, that is an accurate version of my position” (e.g., see the following reviews, here, and here, and Enns’ responses, here and here).  If Enns’ use or formation of the incarnational analogy is so heterodox that he, as a tenured professor, should be suspended or even dismissed, then it would seem only fair (not to mention charitable) to (1) at least present Enns and the rest of the faculty with a clear explication of Enns’ position, which Enns’ would recognize as his own, and (2) to give an equally clear and detailed analysis of that which is considered heterodox in Enns’ work.  From what I understand of the situation, neither of these has occurred. 

The one substantive objection that has somewhat frequently surfaced is that Enns’ analogy denies the supremacy of the divine nature of Christ in the Incarnation. Let’s call this the “SOSF” (i.e., the Standard Objection So Far). Even if the divine nature has a supremacy (which is, it seems true, provided we are careful about what we mean by that), that is irrelevant to Enns’ point – all it takes for his point to follow is that there is a human element present in Scripture and capable of influencing the form in which Scripture expresses itself. So far as I understand it, Enns’ position is not contingent upon assigning that human element any particular priority relative to the divine nature. If this is the case, then the SOSF is a kind of detractor that doesn’t really touch the issues that Enns is trying to address in his book and use of the analogy.

As a former student of WTS and one who benefited from Prof. Enns’ instruction, I am saddened by the current situation, and our family has asked that our names be removed from alumni mailing lists.  As I watch this drama enfold, I can’t help but to ask myself, “What happened to the Westminster that considered it part of our calling to engage the broader culture, including the academic culture, (particularly in light of the fact that we have so many “in vogue” atheists today churning out books to show the silliness and violence of the Christian tradition)?” 

Notes

Given that we are in process of being confirmed in the Anglican Church and have been out of the narrowly defined Reformed world for a few years now (which by the way does not mean that we have abandoned our Reformed beliefs–just read the 39 Articles, which of course resound with Reformed teaching; the Anglican world just has more room for diversity–and yes, of course, it has its messes too and big ones), I am hesitant to post anything on more Reformed in-house fighting. Nonetheless, because I know Prof. Enns personally and have sat under his teaching and greatly benefitted from his courses, I’ve decided to post a short piece voicing some of my thoughts regarding the recent events at Westminster. In case you haven’t heard, Prof. Peter Enns, a tenured professor of Old Testament at Westminster Theological Seminary, was suspended for supposed heterodox teachings espoused in his book Inspiration and Incarnation. Strangely, Enns’ suspension went through even though a majority of the seminary faculty voted in favor of Enns’ orthodoxy. Apparently, the board has the power to override a faculty vote (there were of course those on the board who gave dissenting votes).

From what I can gather at least one of the concerns centers on Enns’ use of an “incarnational analogy” to speak of the nature of Scripture and whether or not this falls within the bounds of the Westminster Confession of faith. (I imagine that there are also concerns as to whether or not Enns’ engagment with higher criticism is “in bounds”; however, I haven’t heard the details on that).

Enns of course is not the first person in the history of Christianity to employ the incarnational analogy. For example, in Mary Healy’s article, “Biblical Inspiration and the Christological Analogy,” Healy discusses what she calls the “Christological analogy” and its hermeneutical implications in order to move us beyond the “false dichotomy between critical exegesis and Christian faith, so that the biblical text will once again be illumined as a means of access into the mystery of the God who revealed himself in time and space” (p. 193). Healy begins by presenting a basic definition of the doctrine of inspiration, viz., “the conviction that God himself is the primary author of the sacred books” (p. 190). In other words, God himself speaks through the biblical authors. Granting this, we must then take into account both the human and the divine authorship of Scripture. As Healy explains, the Christological analogy-comparing Scripture with the hypostatic union of two natures in Christ-was employed by the Second Vatican Council and has roots in patristic sources (e.g., Chrysostom). The SVC version reads, “For the words of God, expressed in human language, have been made like human discourse, just as of old the Word of the eternal Father, when he took to himself the weak flesh of humanity became like other men.” Here we see the sacramental character of Scripture corresponding to the sacramentality of Christ’s humanity. Moreover, just as Christ was fully human and fully divine, so too we must affirm Scripture as fully human and fully divine-neither elevating one over the other or seeing the two in tension. The human and divine aspects of Scripture form a unity and (contra modern critical practices) given this unity, we cannot presume to discern which passages are “divine” and which are merely “human” (p. 191).

Continuing with the Christological analogy, just as there heretical Christologies, so too are their imbalanced doctrines of Scripture and inspiration. One might, e.g., fall into a kind of “Monophysite” exegesis in which the human dimension of the text is severely downplayed. An extreme version of this would be a “dictation” theory. A second imbalanced approach would move in a direction in which the human aspects are unduly exalted and the divine (if attended to at all) serves as a kind of afterthought. Given our desire to avoid both of these extremes, Healy suggests that we consider a “‘Chalcedonian’ form of exegesis, which does full justice to the human and the divine aspects of Scripture in the integral unity, [...] one which takes seriously the human authorial processes and rigorously investigates the relevant manuscripts, languages, literary genres, historical contexts, cultural settings and so on-but [is] open from the beginning to the interior and vertical dimension. The logical priority of the human dimension is at the service of the teleological priority of the divine: interpretation is for the sake of the knowledge of God in Christ” (p. 192). Clearly, employing the Christological analogy as our hermeneutical key does not mean that we write off completely historical-critical methods. Yet, we do recognize that such “tools” are not neutral and are informed by our own convictions. For example, whether or not we believe that God acts in history will no doubt influence our interpretation. Though we all bring presuppositions to the table and begin with a certain perspective, “[t]he only perspective that is adequate to the realities mediated by Scripture is that which is open to the living God: that is, the perspective of faith. Faith is here understood not merely as assent to confessional doctrines but as a prophetic, that is, divinely bestowed, interpretation of all reality. Its absence-whether real or by artificial abstraction-will close off the most significant dimensions of reality from the perception of the interpreter” (p. 193). To illustrate her point, Healy gives the following excellent analogy taken from Farkasfalvy, “[e]xcluding the experience of faith from the exegetical process … is like subjecting a musical piece to the judgment of a jury whose members must be deaf, so that their aesthetic experience would not interfere with the unbiased objectivity of their judgment” (Farkasfalvy, “In Search of a ‘Post-Critical’ Method of Biblical Interpretation,” p. 303; as cited in Healy, p. 193).

If the current interpretation of the Westminster Confession finds the incarnational analogy heterodox, so much the worse for the Confession. (If there is more to it than this, someone please fill me in).

For more details on Enns’ suspension and his book, see the following blogs/websites:

Sacra doctrina (Dr. Joel Garver)

A review of Inspiration and Incarnation by Susan Wise Bauer

Brandon Withrow

Under the Sun

Christianity Today

*Healy’s article was published in Behind the Text: History and Biblical Interpretation. Edited by Craig Bartholomew, C. Stephen Evans, Mary Healy, and Murray Rae (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2003), pp. 181-195.

“But in fact Christ has been raised from the dead, the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep. For as by a man came death, by a man has come also the resurrection of the dead. For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive. But each in his own order: Christ the firstfruits, then at his coming those who belong to Christ. Then comes the end, when he delivers the kingdom to God the Father after destroying every rule and every authority and power. For he must reign until he has put all his enemies under his feet. The last enemy to be destroyed is death.  For “God  has put all things in subjection under his feet.” But when it says, “all things are put in subjection,” it is plain that he is excepted who put all things in subjection under him. When all things are subjected to him, then the Son himself will also be subjected to him who put all things in subjection under him, that God may be all in all (1 Corinthians 1:20-28, ESV). 

Below are selected moments from Tom Wright’s commentary on this passage. 

“The resurrection of Jesus was the moment when the one true God appointed the man through whom the whole cosmos would be brought back into its proper order.  A human being had got it into this mess; a human being would get it out again.  The story of Genesis 1-3-the strange, haunting tale of a wonderful world spoiled by the rebellion of God’s image-bearing creatures-is in Paul’s mind throughout this long chapter” (Paul for Everyone:  1 Corinthians, p. 212).  After rehearsing a kind of mini redemptive-historical narrative, St. Paul begins to discuss the coming of God’s kingdom.  Many Jews of St. Paul’s longed for the coming of God’s kingdom-for the day when “God would become king over the whole world, restoring Israel to glory, defeating the nations that had oppressed God’s people for so long, and raising all the righteous dead to share in the new world” (p. 212).   For St. Paul, with the resurrection of Christ, this day had in a very real sense been inaugurated, yet, in a way that took him totally by surprise.  “Instead of all God’s people being raised at the end of history, one person had been raised in the middle of history.  That was the shocking, totally unexpected thing.  But this meant that the coming of God’s kingdom was happening in two phases” (p. 213).  When St. Paul speaks of each occurring “in his own order,” he has in mind both the order of events and God’s final ordering (p. 213).  The former, viz., the order of events, speaks of Jesus’ present reign as the risen Lord and King.  Yet, the “purpose of this reign-to defeat all the enemies that have defaced, oppressed and spoiled God’s magnificent world, and his human creatures in particular-has not yet been accomplished.  One day this task will be complete:  the final enemy, death itself, will be defeated (verse 26), and God will be ‘all in all’ (verse 28)” (p. 213). 

Then we move to the final ordering where we have a picture of a world “put back to rights.”  Here St. Paul appeals to two psalms, and weaves together a Messianic mosaic manifesting to us what we as <i>imago Dei</i> were created to be and do.  “Psalm 110, quoted in verse 25, is about the king whom God will place at his right hand until all his enemies are brought into subjection.  This, Paul declares, is now being fulfilled in Jesus.  Psalm 8, quoted in verse 27, belongs closely with this, speaking of God ‘putting all things into order under his feet’ [Wright's translation].  But instead of talking about the Messiah, as Psalm 110 does, Psalm 8 talks about the human being.  This role, of being under God and over the world, is not just the task of the Messiah; it’s what God had in mind from the very start when he created human beings in his own image.  This is how Paul ties the passage tightly together:  the achievement of the Messiah, and his present reign in which he is bringing the world back to order, is the fulfillment of what God intended humans to do (see verse 21).  The story told in Genesis is completed by the story told in the Psalms” (p. 214). Our enemy, death, of course plays a crucial role in this story; however, death does not have the final word.  Rather, the Final Word has the final word and death is silenced.  He is Risen!

In this post, in addition to hearing thoughts from Anglicans, Episcopalians, and Roman Catholics (as well as other thoughtful contributors), I am particularly interested in hearing Roman Catholic counter arguments and alternative exegetical readings of the following passages presented below (as well as those commented on in N.T. Wright’s article above).  I am not suggesting that I agree with all the conclusions or am convinced in toto by Wright’s intepretations.  However, in my opinion, Wright offers a number of plausible exegetical alternatives to the commonly appealed to texts that are typically interpreted as prohibiting the ordination of women (e.g., I Corinthians 11 and 14, Ephesians 5, and I Timothy 2).

***

Everything that follows is taken directly from the official document (see bibliography below). 

1.  Cardinal Kasper’s reference to Junia in Romans 16:7 itself seemed to allow that there might after all be a possibility of re-opening the question; if, he seemed to imply, it could be demonstrated that Junia really was a woman (not ‘Junias’, a supposedly masculine name, as most translations have had it), then even Roman tradition might be forced to recognise the possibility that women could be apostles, and therefore presumably could hold ordained ministry in the apostolic succession. In fact, despite what the Cardinal suggested at that point in his paper, recent scholarship, drawing on excellent philology and study of ancient names, strongly suggests that the person in question was female. Junia is a well-known female name of the period, but the suggested male name Junias is not otherwise known; and, when Greek scribes began to introduce accents into their texts, they accented the name in such a way as to make it clear that it was female. That, despite what the Cardinal said, is how it appears in the most recent edition of the Nestle-Aland Greek New Testament; and the newest edition of Metzger’s commentary on textual variants indicates that those who still preferred the masculine accentuation did so simply on the grounds that they doubted whether a woman would be referred to as an ‘apostle’ – which precisely begs the methodological question.

2.  This small but significant point opens the way for a consideration of the larger exegetical and theological issues which will come before Synod in July. First, and most important, we must give great weight to the fact that all four evangelists, but especially John, place the testimony of the women, and especially Mary Magdalene, in prime position in their accounts of Easter. It is to these women, and particularly to Mary, that the risen Lord entrusts the good news, not to the male apostles themselves. It cannot be overemphasized that this was hugely counterintuitive in the ancient world. Had the narratives been invented later, this would never have commended the account; had the evangelists had any doubt that women were to be regarded as primary witnesses of the resurrection, they would never have allowed such a story to remain in their texts. Yet there it is, in each gospel. If, with Paul, we regard ‘apostleship’ as primarily constituted by witness to the resurrection, Mary Magdalene is the ‘apostle to the apostles’, as indeed some Roman theologians have styled her.

3.  This addresses the highly significant question of anthropology, rightly raised by various parties in the debate. The evangelists, again particularly but not exclusively John, present the resurrection of Jesus not as an isolated ‘miracle’ but as the beginning of God’s new creation, God’s renewal of the whole world. Within that, the roles of men and women are re-evaluated, not (to be sure) to make them identical or interchangeable in any and all respects, but to celebrate their complementarity, not least their complementary apostolic witness to Jesus’ resurrection. The same point is visible in Acts, where it is remarkable how women are singled out both as co-equal recipients of the outpoured Spirit and also as co-equal sufferers of persecution (Acts 9:2 etc.), a tell-tale sign that they were community leaders in their own right.

4.  Witness to the resurrection on one hand, and participation in the Spirit on the other, is the gospel foundation of all sacramental life. The question of what has been called ’sacramental assurance’ is answered in the New Testament not by a theory about ministry – the NT is innocent of any explicit or developed linkage of ordained ministry and the sacraments – but by the fact that, with the resurrection of Jesus and the gift of the Spirit, the new creation has begun in which heaven and earth, and also present and future, now overlap. That is the ontological basis for sacramental assurance.

5.  The biblical argument against the ordination (and, a fortiori, consecration) of women has tended to rest on a portfolio of texts often supposed to speak of ‘headship’ in a way which rules out women’s ordination. In fact these texts – in I Corinthians 11 and 14, Ephesians 5, and I Timothy 2 – are by no means as clearly opposed to female ordination as their proponents usually make out. ‘Headship’ is in fact only mentioned in I Corinthians 11 (where it has to do with headgear worn while leading in worship – hardly an argument against women’s public ministry) and Ephesians 5 (where it concerns the manner of mutual submission between husband and wife). The passage in I Corinthians 14, thought by some conservative textual critics on good manuscript evidence to be an interpolation, relates, even if original, not to ministry but to the good order of worship services in which, as in some Middle-Eastern churches today, local women might not always understand the language of public worship and might be inclined to chat amongst themselves. The famous passage in I Timothy 2 does not mention ‘headship’, and can properly be read, within a context (Ephesus) where the mainstream religion was female-only, as a warning against allowing women to usurp the proper ministry of men. In fact, the primary exhortation of I Timothy 2:11 is ‘let the women learn’ (the Greek manthano means ‘learn, especially by study’), and is qualified with a phrase which can mean ‘in silence’ but equally ‘at leisure’: in other words, women must be given the space to study for themselves, an obviously revolutionary proposal in that age as in many subsequent ones, not least because, in Paul’s world as in Jesus’, to ’study’ would not be for one’s own benefit alone, but in order to become a teacher of others. These arguments, so briefly sketched, are of course too brief to be conclusive, but should indicate that those who support the ordination of women to priestly and Episcopal ministry cannot be dismissed as treating scripture in a cavalier fashion, or as indulging in a fancy, exercising fancy hermeneutical footwork to imply that the text is now unimportant.

6.  A second strand relates to the foundation of the theology of orders in Christology, rather than in the examination of the practice of the early church. The ordained ministry of the Church does not simply fulfil useful functions of oversight, leadership and service, such as are variously described in the Epistles: rather the ordained ministry focuses in those ministers the diaconal and priestly call of all God’s people, a call that is founded in their baptism. They become what Austin Farrer called ‘walking sacraments.’ In speaking of our baptism, Paul is clear (Galatians 3:27,28) there can be no division between male and female: both have put on Christ. Which of the baptised then can represent Christ in the ministerial orders of the church, can stand in the imago Christi? Can it be only men, or would that be to confuse the universal Christ with the Jesus of history? There is a strong argument to say that only a ministry open to both men and women can properly represent Christ, who became, in the words of the Nicene Creed, anthropos (human), not aner (male).

7.  A third strand develops the theology of creation and the new creation. The old dispensation has God creating human kind, male and female in his image and likeness (Genesis 1:27). Men and women have an equal dignity, and male and female are seen as complementary. Thus far we travel together. But if complementarity means differentiation of the two sexes by function, as is clearly expressed in Cardinal Kasper’s paper, what does this have to say about how men and women are together made in the image and likeness of God? The true complementarity of the new creation surely envisages men and women working together, representing the unity of the divine image together, in a way that makes the kind of complementarity that Cardinal Kasper speaks of look more like a kind of Modalism. Certainly the place of the Virgin Mary in the theology of the Victorines is more robust than the traditionally passive one. When Hugh of St Victor describes Mary’s part in the birth of the Saviour in De Sacramentis, he says

‘Nor is the Holy Spirit himself to be called the father of Christ because his love operated the conception of the virgin, since He did not contribute the seed to the foetus of His own essence to the virgin but provided substance to the Virgin herself from her own flesh through his love and virtue.’

8.  A further strand acknowledges the ‘dynamic nature of tradition’, and develops the notion of apostolicity in an eschatological direction, where it becomes more important to consider the church’s apostolic witness not just in terms of historical perspective but as a sign of a redeemed creation. If there is ‘an apostolic procession to the end of time’, then women and men have an equally significant contribution to make to the apostolic mission of the church now, in the apostolic order.

The Faith as the Church of England has Received it

The faith that the Church of England has received is, as already indicated, the apostolic faith uniquely revealed in holy scripture, set forth in the catholic creeds, and witnessed by our historic formularies, including the Ordinal. It focuses on Jesus himself, and his unveiling of the Father through his kingdom-announcement and his death and resurrection, and on the sending of the Spirit through whom his followers are enabled to bear witness to him throughout the world. Announcing the Son in the power of the Spirit is the foundation of all Christian, new-covenant ministry. There is ample evidence in the earliest Christianity known to us that this ministry was shared by women. Nothing in holy scripture, the catholic creeds, or our historic formularies makes it necessary to go against this primal witness.

How we move forward in these matters is a question of appropriate and careful strategy, granted our calling to guard the unity of the church. That we may, and indeed must, move forward is a conviction that can be reached, not on the basis of a casual or sloppy attitude to scripture and theology, nor in disregard for our ecumenical partners, but out of a deep conviction rooted in the gospel itself. It may be that the prophetic witness in this matter to which the Church of England is, we believe, called is a greater contribution to the unity of the whole people of God for which our Lord prayed so deeply.

*Women Bishops:  A Response to Cardinal Kasper by Tom Wright, Bishop of Durham and David Stancliffe, Bishop of Salisbury.  A background article written for the discussions at General Synod, York, July 2006.