"He unrolled the scroll ... and he rolled up the scroll and gave it back.".

  Perhaps the most commonplace contemporary portrait of Judaism is the
  picture of devout Jews standing at the Western Wall of the remains of
  the Temple in Jerusalem reading a Torah scroll. The central
  components of this familiar image are a building and a book. Their
  association with one another is so conventional that the ironies and
  contradictions of their filiation can easily go unnoticed. Although
  they share common values and concerns, the building and the book
  exhibit divergent traits. The building is fixed; the book is
  portable. The book is read outside the building; its recitation
  parallels the rites practiced within. The book describes the rituals
  inside the building but is not part of them. The building requires
  lineage; the book demands literacy ... the complex relationships
  between the building and the book--the Temple and the Torah--
  constitute the foundation of Judaism. (1)

This quote introduces William Scott Green's article on "Levitical Religion." His objective is to show that the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem in 586 BCE "was not the end of Israel's Temple-centered religion of cult and sacrifice." It was not the end, because during the exile Israel's priestly leadership gathered and edited the community's national traditions--narratives about its origins and destiny along with a set of behavioral principles and practices that defined its life in relationship to God and the world--into a text, which Judaism now recognizes as the Torah. The Torah was not a replacement for a lost religion; it was a compensation, an interim strategy for obedience to God in a world where politics and power had destroyed the very symbols that had once secured and nourished life in God's presence. Green observes that although the Torah preserved a collective memory, it also modified, and more importantly transformed it. Now, the promulgation of a text, not a temple or an altar, serves as a guide to religious practice. In short, "Reading the Torah becomes a means for the Jews to relate to God." (2)

A second citation from Green sharpens the point:

  Through the Torah, the Israelites in exile could relate to the
  Temple's religion of cult and sacrifice by reading about it, by
  hearing about it, by thinking about it, but not by actually
  performing it. Mary Douglas envisions this as follows: "There is no
  tabernacle, the faithful are not moving around in it, all the
  movement is in the book they are reading, or hearing through their
  ears. Learning the book becomes a way of internalizing the tabernacle
  ..." The Torah evoked a religion that Israel could not directly
  experience. In the religion it constitutes, the Torah becomes in
  itself what is described in the text, a portable point of contact
  between God and Israel, a textual Tabernacle. (3)

Green's image of the complex relationship between "the building and the book" in Judaism set me to thinking. What would be the analog for Christianity? Several possibilities come to mind. We might think, for example, of one of the Protestant reformers (in this context, John Calvin, of course) reading Holy Writ from a grand church pulpit in Europe; of the Pope reading scripture at Saint Peter's; or--and I apologize for this abrupt segue--of a Billy Graham crusade in Candlestick Park, of William Sloan Coffin preaching at Riverside Church in New York, of Robert Schuller preaching in the Crystal Cathedral, even Jerry Falwell, holding forth in Lynchburg, VA, with surround sound and video streaming, of course, to people and places far beyond. These and other images surely contribute to a portrait of the complex relationship between the Bible and the Church in contemporary Christianity. I have chosen to look elsewhere, however.

The Gospel of Luke offers the following description of Jesus reading scripture in Nazareth. Whether or not it has contemporary significance is, I suggest, a question that lies at the heart of the issue we have met to consider.

  When he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up, he went to
  the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom. He stood up to
  read, and the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He
  unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written:

  "The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
   because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor.
  He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
   and recovery of sight to the blind,
   to let the oppressed go free,
  to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor."

  And he rolled up the scroll, gave it back to the attendant, and sat
  down. The eyes of all in the synagogue were fixed on him. Then he
  began to say to them, "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in
  your hearing." All spoke well of him and were amazed at the gracious
  words that came from his mouth. (Luke 4:16-22)

Discerning a model for reading and hearing scripture

Luke's text invites consideration of several issues, each of which may contribute to (and problematize) a model for thinking about the authority of scripture in the modern world.

Context and setting

Luke reports that following his baptism by John, Jesus began his ministry in Nazareth. Luke does not make much of this location, and on first read we may be tempted to treat it as an incidental detail. It is instructive to remember, however, that Nazareth is a specific place on the map, and it provides a concrete setting for the reading and hearing of scripture. It is a Jewish village in the Lower Galilee, nestled inconspicuously between the Jezreel valley to the south, the Mediterranean Sea to the west, and the Sea of Galilee to the east. It is the village of Mary and Joseph, the place where Jesus "had been brought up" (4:16), the place where a small community of friends and neighbors (likely no more than 500) knew him as "Joseph's boy" (4:22). The date of Jesus' return to his hometown is unspecified, but we know that the calendar is turned to the first decades of the first century, a time period when daily life throughout Palestine was defined by Roman rule. In the metropolitan areas of the Empire, for example in cities like Rome, Alexandria, and Jerusalem, we know that the Romans permitted the Jews a measure of autonomy. As long as they were not subversive, they were free to participate in the marketplace of ideas and opportunities provided by a blended Greco-Roman culture. In smaller villages like Nazareth, we may assume that such opportunities were more abstract than actual. Local synagogues sustained traditional practices in a world that tolerated religious conviction but did little to reward it. And even in the synagogues, according to the archeological evidence from the Galilee area, the visible symbols of Judaism had likely been amalgamated with images from a status-quo culture that diminished their claims on a people formed by distinctive memories. In sum, when Jesus unrolled, then read, the scroll of Isaiah in Nazareth, he addressed persons whose lives were shaped by both the present world and the past, but abiding, Word.

In the recommended readings you received for this conference, you have a pre-publication collection of essays on the authority of scripture edited by William P. Brown. In his "Introduction" to this collection. Brown observes that when it comes to scripture, "authority is domain specific." I take this to mean that whatever authority the Bible may have in the modern world, it must be persuasive in the real world of competing and viable alternatives. Neither in Nazareth nor in Richmond does the reading of scripture command automatic assent. Every word that claims to mediate a transcendent truth from God must compete for a hearing with other and different truths spoken by this-world authorities, who command and exert power that may be resisted but cannot be denied.

Once we concede that the Bible's authority is domain specific, another issue comes into view. Does a biblical text read by a first century Jewish community in Nazareth mean the same thing when it is read or heard by other communities in different times and places? Would merchants and artisans in Corinth, familiar with patrons devoted to the Egyptian goddess Isis parading through the city, have sufficient interest or reason to turn aside and listen to a word from a Jewish God? The response to Paul's preaching by the Epicurean and Stoic philosophers in Athens accents the question. "What does this babbler want to say?" He seems to be a proclaimer of foreign deities" (Acts 17:18). Once we move beyond the context and settings of the early church to the modern world, the problem becomes still more acute. What authority does the Bible have for tribal villagers in southern Sudan, for the Muslim in Indonesia, for the Buddhist in Sri Lanka, for the Hindu in Bombay? Or to bring the question closer to home, what transcendent truths about the world and humankind can the Bible offer to the modern secularist, who regards religious perspectives as irrelevant at best, dangerous and destructive, at worst? (4) If the Bible's authority is domain specific, and if there is a plurality of domains in which the modern world searches for truth, not only in time and place but also, for example, in religion and science, medicine and law, ethics and philosophy, then how can we be certain that what we hold as authoritative in one domain is equally authoritative in another?

Christianity has exemplified various ways to answer such questions. Traditional Catholicism cedes absolute authority to the institution of the Church. Classical Protestantism has resisted this model, insisting instead on the absolute authority of Scripture, the Word of God, mediated through the Holy Spirit and preserved by the regula fidei (rule of faith), which controls dissent by promoting allegiance to formulated confessions and creeds. Within Protestantism, primarily, Fundamentalism finds ultimate authority in the very words of scripture, whose inerrant truth provides insulation against every challenge modernity poses. We may debate the strengths and weaknesses of each of these approaches; indeed, almost any book you read on the authority of scripture will devote considerable attention to them. But it may be sufficient for our purposes simply to recognize that no one approach to how and why the Bible is authoritative across and within various contexts and settings has as yet proved persuasive. (5) Authoritative statements on the Bible's authority are seldom able to attain the authority they claim. The statement is redundant, of course, which makes its truth all the more unsettling.

Tradition

Luke reports that when Jesus came to Nazareth, "he went to the synagogue on the sabbath day, as was his custom" (4:16). By doing so, Jesus exemplifies a willing conformity to traditional habits of piety. The synagogue represents both an institutional linkage to the Temple and a modification of its function in society. The Temple is regarded as a holy place that assures effective access to the presence of God. The English word "synagogue" (from the LXX) most frequently translates Hebrew words meaning "congregation" or "assembly," which indicates that it functions more as a gathering place for people than as a (symbolic) residence for God. (6) There is no uniform picture of what occurred in the worship of the synagogue at the time of Jesus, but it likely included reading from the Torah and the prophets, exposition, and prayer. The synagogue clearly provides a central place that links Jews to important persons (Moses, according to Acts 15:21 and often in Rabbinic tradition; Ezra and Nehemiah, according to some theories of origin) and events in Israelite history (the exile, the restoration of Jerusalem). It also clearly reflects the change necessitated by the destruction of the Temple (in 586 and again in 70 CE) (7) and the cessation of the "Temple-centered religion of cult and sacrifice," to use Green's terms once again. The shift in emphasis indicates that within the synagogue, the encounter with God takes places in the midst of people assembled around the Word read, preached, taught, and prayed.

Jesus' decision to go to the synagogue on "the sabbath day" also signals his recognition of tradition's importance for nurturing and shaping religious behavior. Jewish observance of the sabbath is rooted in ancient Israel's creation theology (Gen.2:l-3), which envisions a holy day of rest and celebration as part of God's primordial plan for the cosmos. Its observance is formalized as a commandment in the pivotal revelation from God at Mt. Sinai (Exod.20:8-ll; Deut.5:12-15), where it provides the linchpin that holds together Israel's covenantal commitment to love God absolutely (commandments 1-3) and to live among others in the world in full accordance with this love (commandments 5-10). The sabbath's imperative for worship of God that is inextricably coupled to enactments of justice in everyday life is the consistent burden of Israel's prophets (e.g., Amos 8:3-6; Isa.l:10-17; 56:2, 4, 6) and priests (see especially the requirements in Leviticus 25-26 concerning the Jubilee year, on which see below), and a promise of God's inviolable blessing, both to Israel and non-Israelites (e.g., Isa.56:1-8; 58:13-14; 66:22-23). The trajectory of the sabbath's importance is extended by Qumran texts (e.g., 4QShirShabb; CD VI, X-XII; llQTemple), apocryphal and pseudepigraphi-cal texts (e.g., Jub.2:17-33; 50:6-13; I Macc.2:29-31; II Macc.5:25-1), and extensively in rabbinic literature.

Luke's account of Jesus reading scripture on the sabbath day is but one example of the way the New Testament embraces its Jewish roots (cf. Matt.4:23; 9:35; Mark 1:21, 39; 6:2; Luke 6:6; John 6:59; 18:20; Acts 6:9). Luke's description of Jesus' conformity with tradition does not, however, provide a complete picture, for elsewhere the New Testament accents Jesus' debate with Jewish authorities concerning what work could or could not be done on this traditional day of rest. It is instructive to note that of the six texts that describe this debate, five deal with the question of healing on the Sabbath (Mark 3:1-6 and parallels; Luke 13:10-17; 14:1-6; John 5:1-9; 9:1-41) and one deals with the issue of plucking grain on the sabbath (Mark 2:23-26 and parallels). In each case, as a general rule. Jesus teaches that sabbath observance does not exempt one from the responsibility to heal those infirmed and to sustain those whose life is threatened. Yet, even as he critiques the tradition in which he participates, Jesus remains fully connected to it. When he asserts that "the Sabbath was made for humankind and not humankind for the sabbath (Mark 2:27), he both draws upon an Old Testament precedent (cf. Lev.24:5-9 and I Sam.21:2-6) and anticipates the teachings of the rabbis (e.g., Tanhuma 245a; m. Shabbat 16:1-7; 18:3; see also Midrash on Exod 31:12; Exod Kabbah 25:11; Deut Kabbah 1:21). In sum, when Luke reports that Jesus "went to the synagogue on the sabbath day," he not only locates Jesus within traditional beliefs and practices, he also invites us to understand that obedience to God often requires more than conformity to tradition.

Luke's account of Jesus' Galilean ministry provides insight into first century tensions between time-honored religious traditions and time-sensitive religious practices. Even so, whatever values we may cede to first century convictions about regularly setting aside days for reading and hearing words from scripture, there is strong evidence that such convictions, even among those who claim to be religious, are accorded little or no authority in the modern world. Two anecdotal observations suffice as illustration.

The most obvious Christian analog for the synagogue is the church, where Christians gather as a community to hear and heed the truths promulgated by scripture. Modernity has. however, seriously eroded almost all traditional notions of community, corporate commitment, and collective identity. Robert Putnam uses the leisure activity of bowling as a cipher for the assessment of our prevailing sense of disconnectedness. Once we bowled in leagues, striving for wins and bearing the losses with a team of kindred spirits. Now we not only bowl alone, we essentially

live alone. We seldom make long-term commitments to anything beyond ourselves. We do not join bridge clubs, charity leagues, YWCA, PTA, political parties, or religious denominations. We may send a check, agree to make a call, have our name listed in a membership roll, but for the most part our participation in institutional organizations is more an addition to our resume than a substantive and active contribution to our lives. Our principal connection to anything outside our private domains is the internet, which enables us to download, use, and then delete prepackaged data that satisfies our personal needs and curiosities. The church, ever alert to new marketing devices, has of course tapped into this way of connecting with its patrons. We have eagerly moved from the traditional models of tele-evangelism to sophisticated video streaming of our worship services, jazzed-up web-pages with electronic links to ministry opportunities, and email server lists that help us stay connected, through widescreen monitors, to those we no longer sit beside on the pew. Today, we are just as likely to get our notions about what the Bible says from Google, Wikipedia, or the Discovery Channel, which one of my colleagues recently described as the "National Enquirer" of cable TV (e.g., its March 4, 2007 expose on "The Lost Tomb of Jesus"). One wonders how the word "authority" has any measurable meaning at all in this setting.

The notion of sacred time, whether on the sabbath or any other day or season of the year, will also seem like a strange idea to many in the modern world. The notion that observance of sacred time contributes to cosmic harmony and social justice will seem to many like culturally sanctioned voodoo. New Age nonsense, or just plain silly, perhaps especially to those actively committed to social justice movements. When was the last time you saw a protestor carrying a placard that reads, "Work for Justice--Go to Worship"? (One often sees signs citing John 3:16, but does this not exacerbate our disease with such a way of appealing to the Bible?) It may well have been the "custom" for Jesus and others in the first century to mark their week by going to the synagogue on the sabbath, but there is little evidence that this norm transfers automatically to us. In the ongoing press to be good "time-managers," we learn, almost in self-defense, to schedule our work in the hope that there may some time left over for our rest. When we open our calendars to mark the appointments around which we schedule our lives, we instinctively look for Monday to Friday, typically 9 am-5 pm, although both boundaries for the work week are constantly eroding. To be sure, religious institutions will keep us at least somewhat mindful that the calendar also includes holy days, but it is just as likely that our awareness of the shifts in the season will come from the coupons and advertisements included in our newspapers, which remind us that these are high-value shopping days. The thought that we are commanded to observe the sabbath is not, in most cases, the first imperative we consider when we mark our calendars.

Interpretation

Luke's description of Jesus reading scripture in the synagogue brings us a step closer to substantive issues relating to the question of scripture's authority. How did Jesus read scripture? What scripture(s) did Jesus regard as authoritative for his life? How did authoritative scriptures shape his life and ministry? We pastors and educators will frame these and other related questions with sophisticated nuances. Meanwhile, many of those to whom we minister will have taken their cue from a simple four-word question that fits on a rubberized bracelet, perhaps the modern analog of a religious icon: "What would Jesus do?" (aka, WWJD).

Luke reports "what Jesus did" on this particular occasion. He is given a scroll containing the words of Isaiah, and he finds (presumably chooses)8 the place where the verses quoted from Isaiah occur. He quotes portions of two texts from the Septuagint of Isaiah 61:1-2 and 58:6, splicing the two together to form one "reading." We note that he not only rearranges the sequencing of these two texts but also (at least in Luke's version) adds to and subtracts from his source text. The italicized words below highlight the changes:

  4:18 (Isa.61:l) The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
  because he has anointed me
  to bring good news to the poor
   [Luke omits: "to bind up the brokenhearted."]
  He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives
   [instead of: "to proclaim liberty to the
   captives and release
   to the prisoners
  and recovery of sight to the blind,
  [not present in Isa.61:l; perhaps an allusion
   to Isa.35:5; 42:6-7]
  to let the oppressed go free
   [Isa.58:6, but omitting the rest of verse 6]

  4:19 (Isa.61:2) to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor,
  [Luke omits: "and the day of vengeance of our
  God; to comfort
  all who mourn"]

Luke does not report that Jesus read the scripture in Hebrew nor that he translated it into Aramaic, though both these acts would likely have been customary (see Neh.8:8). Some form of exposition would also have typically accompanied the reading, and here Luke has Jesus speaking a brief but pregnant word: "Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing" (4:21). When it comes to constructing a model for reading and hearing scripture as authoritative for the Christian community, surely this word is instructive. As with all such affirmations of scripture, however, this one invites and requires interpretation.

Jesus clearly recontextualizes the verses he quotes from Isaiah. If we assume that the scroll from which Jesus read contained the essence of the final form of the book, then we also know that in that context the one anointed with the "Spirit of the Lord" is an anonymous prophetic figure elusively described as God's "servant" (in the so-called "suffering servant" poems; Isaiah 42, 49, 50, and 52-53). Within the context of Deutero-Isaiah, this servant brings justice to Israelites who are languishing in Babylonian exile (42:1-4), is "a light to the nations" (49:6), and embodies the promise of God's presence by modeling the redemptive capacity of suffering (50:4-11; 52:12-53:13). In Luke's account, Jesus' threefold citation of the pronoun "me" has the function of equating his anointing by the Spirit with that previously given to the "servant" in Isaiah (cf. Luke 3:22; 4:1, 14). The Spirit now gives shape to Jesus' ministry in his own context and setting, which though centuries removed from that of Isaiah's "servant," sustains God's abiding promise of liberation and restoration to the poor, oppressed, and informed.

The recontextualization of Isaiah's scripture is also evident in the proclamation of the "year of the Lord's favor." The originating context for this proclamation is Leviticus 25, which contains the Priestly legislation concerning the Jubilee year of "release," when "you [the people of Israel] shall proclaim liberty throughout the land to all its inhabitants" (Lev.25:10). The "liberty" ("release," "freedom") envisioned is the promise that land that has been sold to pay off debts may be reclaimed (Lev.25:23-34), that those who have been forced to default on loans because of crop failure may work off their debts without paying interest (Lev.25:35-38), and that those who cannot work off their debts, and hence in effect have become slaves to their creditors, may be released from their servitude in the jubilee year. In Isaiah, the "servant" extends the promise of liberty encoded in the "year of the Lord's favor" to those broken and oppressed by exile. The audience and context are different, but the yearning for God's justice and mercy remains the same. In Luke 4, Jesus takes up the "old" promise and extends it to yet a different audience in another time and place. The "release" that God promises and that Jesus himself is now dramatically fulfilling is not limited to a year on a priestly calculated calendar; it is an era of peace and justice inaugurated by the radically new in-breaking of the "kingdom of God" (Luke 4:43). Its reality is manifest, according to Luke's gospel, in the promise of redemption that Jesus extends to all people, regardless of their social, economic, or religious status. For a preview of this ministry, we need look no further than the pericopes immediately following this one in Luke 4, which describe Jesus teaching and healing in Capernaum (4:31-44). (9)

Luke's description of Jesus' recontextualization of scripture invites two observations. First, we should note that the same scripture has authority in different settings and in more than one way. We may conceptualize this by considering the difference between scripture's kerygmatic and confessional functions. (10) Kerygma refers in the first instance to scripture's "preaching" or "proclamation" of some irreducible faith-assertion about the nature of God. The kerygma in I John 4:16, for example, is that "God is love." The confessional aspect of scripture refers to various responses that one may offer to faith-assertions about who God is. For example, 1 John 4:16 is completed with the confessional statement that 'Those who say, 'I love God', and hate their brothers or sisters, are liars" (I John 4:20). There is one asserted truth--"God is love"--but multiple possible confessional responses, e.g., "I choose to love as God loves" or "I choose, irrespective of what God may do, to hate others." By analogy, we may extend this distinction to Luke 4. In quoting from Isaiah 61 and 58, Jesus endorses a particular kerygma, namely, wherever God is present, there is the promise of redemption and restoration. Jesus' own confessional response is a commitment to embody this truth about God in the way he lives. Others may decide to respond differently (see, for example, Luke 4:28-29), in which case it is the kergyma that judges the confession, not vice versa. When it comes to evaluating the authority of scripture, scripture itself insists that "the kerygmatic has priority over the confessional." (11)

Second, Luke's description of how Jesus reads and modifies Isaiah invites us to understand that scripture requires ongoing interpretation. Long after history designates ancient texts as sacred scripture, successive generations of readers must decide if and how scripture's canonical truths have relevance for a contemporary world. Contrary to what we may assume, scriptural truths are seldom, if ever, simple, assured, or uncontested. On this point, Robert Alter's observations are cogent. In his view, scripture provides a "lexicon for imagining" how we might live with or against its semantic sweep. Even when we concede scriptural status to an ancient text, we have to choose whether we will embrace its claims about God and life in relation to God or resist them. Scripture's imperative does not close or finalize our search for truth; instead, it opens it up and keeps it alive with the promise of new possibilities. These new possibilities are nowhere more inviting than when the New Testament cites the Old, as in Luke 4, for this engagement of the "old" with the "new" generates. Alter suggests, a "culture of exegesis"--both within and beyond the Bible (12)--that survives to this day. Within this culture, Alter argues, every time a word from scripture is read, whether in ancient Nazareth or modern Chicago, those who hear are summoned to an "imaginative allegiance" to truths that are at once both "ungrasp-able" and "continually "mesmerizing." (13)

"Good news to the poor": An ethical criterion for Biblical authority What should we make of Luke's report that Jesus "found the place" where these particular verses from Isaiah are written? I am struck by the fact that of all the scriptures Jesus might have read on this sabbath day, he chose ones that accent the ethical imperative to release persons from various forms of bondage--spiritual, economic, political, and physical. Such an emphasis is of course particularly congenial to Luke, whose gospel gives special attention to Jesus' compassion for the broken and bruised, a radically inclusive category of persons that includes Jews and Samaritans, men and women, rich and poor, those whom society regards as reputable and those deemed beyond or beneath society's concern. Perhaps this emphasis can be attributed to tradition's identification of Luke as not only a companion of Paul but also as a "beloved physician" (cf. Co1.4:14; II Tim.4:11). Eusebius (fourth century), for example, describes Luke as one who had expertise in the "art of curing souls." For whatever reason, Luke is more precise than the other gospel writers in his descriptions of the illnesses and afflictions that rob healthy people of life and reduce them to outcasts in a world that readily assumes all suffering is a punishment for sin. In Luke's view, Jesus has come into the world to teach, preach, and demonstrate the good news that God cares for all such persons.

In thinking about what Luke's report of Jesus reading scripture in Nazareth might contribute to a contemporary model for biblical authority, I have found Gerd Theissen's work particularly instructive. (14) In Biblical Faith: An Evolutionary Approach (1988), Theissen argues that from time to time, the human race shows itself capable of what he calls an "evolution against evolution." At such times, the inherent selfishness of genetic and biological (and even cultural) development, which adheres to the Darwinian principle of the "survival of the fittest," goes into reverse. Mutations and recombinations mysteriously conspire against the process of selection to produce something new, the altruistic concern to protect and care for the weakest among us. Theissen sees this happening in two distinct phases of human religious history: in the increasingly monotheistic faith of ancient Israel, which grounds the meaning of life in one and only one God, the ultimate source and sustainer of" everything in the cosmos; and in the life, teaching, and death of Jesus of Nazareth, who reveals and exemplifies the most complete "adaptation to the reality of God" (15) history has ever witnessed.

In a recent publication. The Bible and Contemporary Culture (2007), Theissen extends this argument by focusing on how these two moments in history have indelibly inscribed contemporary culture. A brief excerpt from his comments on "Why Any Educated Person Should Know the Bible" introduces the salient aspects of the larger discussion. From the scriptures of the ancient Israelites, we receive:

* an "image of humanity that ascribes to each individual, made in the image of God, an inviolable dignity";

* an "impressive mandative ethics, by making the law of God--still alive today in the Decalogue and the command to love one's neighbor--independent of all human authorities";

* a "vision of history that makes human beings responsible for the course of events, but also drives them to repent and change when it is necessary to turn away from a disastrous past"; and

* an "understanding of God that saw God as a focus of infinite ethical energy." (16)

Jesus teaches and lives in accord with each of these fundamental Jewish beliefs, even as he shapes them in distinctive ways. But Theissen calls attention especially to the way in which Jesus incarnates "God's brilliant ethical energy," an energy that "manifests itself as a glowing fire of love, which can blaze into the flames of hell if opposed." (17) In the way Jesus lived and died, we see the distillation of the mandative ethics of a God who is on the side of the downtrodden rather than their oppressors. It is the imperative of the God who was in Jesus, the one and same God who seeks to bring a new, supranatural order of justice and peace out of the natural laws of selection that spell death, not life, for the weak and powerless. In sum, Theissen argues, we see in ancient Israel and in primitive Christianity two places in history where religion takes a decisive turn, away from supporting an ethos in which "only the strong survive," toward a fundamentally new ethos committed to solidarity with the weak and healing for the wounded.

"And he rolled up the scroll, gave it hack to the attendant ... they got up, drove him out of town ..."

I am attempting to make a case that the authority of scripture in the modern world may be better located in the moral and ethical behavior it elicits from its readers than in the knowledge, beliefs, or doctrines that its readers profess. We may believe and promulgate biblical truths as witness to ultimate reality; but this alone will not validate them for anyone who does not already agree with us. Theissen makes the point as follows:

  [A]s we know only too well, the functionality of an ethos does not
  validate it. No matter how many people are convinced that they should
  conform to a certain set of rules, the result is not normative force
  but merely social pressure to conform. The fundamental principle
  remains: imperatives do not follow from facts. Standards accepted by
  many are not necessarily norms. It is therefore a huge leap from the
  observation that a particular ethos has proved its worth and
  functionality to personal commitment to that ethos. Such a commitment
  means inward affirmation. It means adherence to it amid all the
  conflicts of life, practicing it in spite of all the detriments it
  firings, readiness to sacrifice one's life rather than one's
  convictions. (18)

Here again, I believe Luke's description of Jesus reading scripture is instructive ... and sobering. He reports that on first hearing Jesus' words, "everyone was giving testimony (imperfect tense) about him; they were amazed at the words about God's grace (reading an objective genitive here) that came from his mouth" (4:22). Upon further reflection, however, presumably after they realized that the good news they believed extended only to them was not theirs to control, "they were filled with rage" and "drove him out of the town" (4:29). At the risk of over interpreting, I venture this observation. It is not the opening of the scroll, the reading of its words, or the verbal affirmation of its truths that validates its authority. Only when the scroll is closed, when words proclaimed as scripture and affirmed by belief are embodied in palpable behavior, can convictions about the "authority of scripture" exert a demonstrable claim on our lives. The last word in this particular pericope from Luke, therefore, offers both a judgment and a promise. Even as those who heard his words were "giving testimony" to truth they were unwilling to act upon, Jesus was "going on" (eporeueto; 4:30) ... to other proclamations of the truth about God, to other demonstrations of this truth's power to transform lives, and to other people in different times and places who would have opportunity to hear and respond differently (cf. Luke 4:31-44). It is this "going on" witness to scripture's authority, I suggest, that compels us to gather round this table today.

"So Now ... What Does the Lord Your God Require of You?" (Deut.10:12; cf. Mic.6:8)

"What Then Should We Do?" (Luke 3:10, 12, 14)

These questions set the table for concluding this paper. The first comes from the scripture we know as the Old Testament. It is anchored in Moses' final sermon to those who had received the Torah at Sinai and were now being prompted to consider how they would live out its truths in the new world of Canaan (Deut.l0:12). The question is sustained in the preaching of the prophet Micah, who insists that the same Torah presents the same question to those in eighth century Jerusalem, who may be tempted to believe that they no longer need to heed the Torah's imperative "to do justice and to love kindness." The second citation, which comes from Luke, reminds us that "old" Torah truths linger in history; long after the times and places that first defined them as important, they beckon responses that remain consequential.

Luke's recapitulation of the question occurs in a pericope that precedes the one in chapter 4 on which I have been focused. He reports that when the crowds came to John the Baptist requesting "a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins," John responded by saying that before he could do what they asked, they must first "bear fruits worthy of repentance" (Luke 3:3, 7; cf.6;43-4; 13:6-9). The diverse crowd responds, in turn, with a question, three times repeated: "What should we do?" (Luke 3:10, 12, 14). John's answer is Luke's version of the Torah's mandative ethics, the behavior required by repentance:

  [To "the crowds"] Whoever has two coats must share with anyone
  who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise ...

  [To the tax collectors] Collect no more than the amount prescribed
  for you ...

  [To the "soldiers"] Do not extort money from anyone by threats or
  false accusation, and be satisfied with your own wages. (Luke 3:11,
  13, 14)

"The fruits of repentance." What does this mean? I take a cue once again from Theissen, who notes that in Matthew's account of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus uses similar language to explicate the one criterion that defines all those who would be Jesus' disciples: "you shall know them by their fruits" (Matt.7:16. 20). The point of this Matthean metaphor, I believe, is that neither knowledge of the scriptures nor belief about God will count for very much in the final judgment. The one criterion for deciding who has truly done the will of God will be the fruit produced by those rooted in the radical ethic of God's commandment to love others. The quintessential expression of this ethic, rooted as Matthew insists in the "law and the prophets" (the phrase Matthew uses both to frame and summarize Jesus' teaching; 5:17; 22:40), is the so-called Golden Rule: "In everything you do, do to others as you would have them to do you" (7:12; cf. Luke 6:31).

Theissen applies this "by their fruit" criterion in support of the following proposal:

  Religions, I believe, should be approached in two ways. First they
  should be known and judged ethically, "by their fruits" (Matt.7:16,
  20); second, they must be respected religiously for their beliefs,
  even if these appear alien. (19)

It is clear that Theissen regards both the ethical (moral conduct) and the religious (beliefs) aspects of religions as important criteria for assessing their contribution to the modern world. Nonetheless, his sequencing of these two criteria hints that the ethical component has priority. Why might this be so? Theissen's answer is closely argued, and I cannot do it justice in the limitations of this paper. We can however gain a toehold on its essentials by turning to his invitation to consider an imaginary scene:

  Let us imagine that at the end of the ages the "Heavenly Academy of
  Sciences" is charged to select from all books and traditions whatever
  will be deemed true for all eternity. If we believe that the Bible in
  its core belongs to this "eternal canon," we affirm it as Holy
  cripture. There is no reason that this canon cannot include texts
  from other religions. We do not know which they might be. We should
  remain open to the possibility that we would find many texts from
  other religions in this canon, but also the possibility that it might
  not include the whole of the Bible! One criterion used by these
  heavenly scholars--perhaps not the only one--would be the extent to
  which the texts are committed to an anti-Darwinian spirit. (20)

Let me try to "unpack" the argumentation that foregrounds Theis-sen's invitation to consider this hypothetical scenario.

* In the modern world, the context within which all religions must vie for a hearing is the tension between scientific thought and faith. (21) Scien tific statements privilege the hypothetical (if X can be empirically verified, then Y is the result); faith statements privilege unconditional affirmations that are true, regardless of empirical data (X is true, even if the "facts" may not suppoit it). Scientific thought is always subject to falsification and thus can and must be corrected or modified as the facts require; faith assertions, while not impervious to changing empirical data, are tuned to transcendent certainties that resist mere "facts." Scientific thought not only invites and requires debate about alternative possibilities, which happily promote disagreement and dissension. Faith promulgations seek consensus, not dissent; they aim at conformity to authoritative truths that unite rather than divide. Theissen's first sentence in the citation above, which cedes the final say in this debate to the "Heavenly Academy of Sciences" invites us to ponder carefully the strengths and weaknesses of the religious argument in a world where competing truths vie for commitment.

* In a modern, pluralistic society, Theissen argues, Judaeo-Christian assertions about God and humankind do not have unquestioned author ity. Christians and Jews may, indeed must, bear witness to the transcen dent truths by which they live. But they must know that virtually every testimony buttressed by faith convictions stands to be cross-examined by faithful witnesses from other religions who have different convictions about ultimate truths. When it comes to ultimate reality, Theissen con tends, all religions "must be respected religiously for their beliefs, even if they appear alien" to those who do not agree with them. If there were a day of final judgment before a "Heavenly Academy of Sciences," where decisions will be made about what is true "for all eternity," then we may imagine that religious beliefs will call attention to the differences that separate one religion's claims to superiority from another. Such a judgment is not unimportant; indeed, the sad truth may be that our "hermeneutical civil war[s] over the interpretation of texts" (22) may require it. But what if we imagine that the most important criterion for deciding what is "eternally true" is the extent to which the texts by which we live commit us to an "anti-Darwinian spirit"? That is, what if the final judgment on the authority of any sacred text--the Bible, the Qur'an, the Tipitaka, the Bhagavad-Gita--is its demonstrable capacity to transform the way those who confess its truths live? What if the final criterion is obedience to a "mandative ethic," which transcends all other authorities, to live in ways that make life possible for the weakest among us?

If we were to concede that the final decision on the authority of the Bible depends not on the creeds or confessions it inspires but instead on the ethical behavior it authorizes (23) and empowers, then how would the Bible fare in Theissen's imaginary scene in the "Heavenly Academy of Sciences"? I am struck by the parallel between the hypothetical assessment by "heavenly scholars" in Theissens's imaginary end-of-time scenario and the last judgment envisioned by the Bible itself.

Of the Gospel writers, only Matthew gives us any details about this "last judgment." Following a long series of six parables about what it means to live responsibly so as to be ready for the coming of the Son of Man (Matt.24:32-25:30), Matthew invites us to consider this scene:

  When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him,
  he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be
  gathered before him, and he will separate people from one another as
  a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the
  sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. Then the king will
  say to those at his right hand, "Come, you that are blessed by my
  Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of
  the world; for 1 was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and
  you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me,
  I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of
  me, I was in prison and you visited me." Then the righteous will
  answer him, "Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you
  food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? And when was it
  that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you
  clothing? And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and
  visited you?" And the king will answer them, "Truly I tell you, just
  as you did it to the least of these who are members of my family, you
  did it to me."

  Then he will say to those at his left hand, "You that are accursed,
  depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his
  angels; for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and
  you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not
  welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in
  prison and you did not visit me." Then they also will answer, "Lord,
  when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked
  or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?" Then he will
  answer them, "Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of
  the least of these, you did not do it to me." And these will go away
  into eternal punishment, but the righteous into life. (Matt.25:31-46)

Matthew says nothing about belief, creeds, or confessions. Instead, the gospel in this Gospel is that the only thing that matters on the Day of Judgment is whether we have acted with loving care for needy people. According to Matthew, the one and only decisive criterion for entering the kingdom of God are deeds of love and mercy that feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked, and offer community and communion to strangers who have no place to call home.

Theissen is reaching for a model for reading the Bible in "intercomfessional dialogue" with other religions. His agenda is related to but not exactly the same as ours. Nevertheless, his wonderment about the usefulness of an ethical criterion for the authority of scripture is instructive, and may in fact seed the discussions we will pursue. Would adherence to an ethical criterion for the authority of sacred scriptures enable all human beings, whatever their religious convictions, to live more meaningfully, more fully, more wholly, in a world that too often privileges only the strongest among us? Theissen frames the question and proposes an answer along the following lines.

  For relationships between human beings all are subject to the same
  ethical criteria; for relationship to transcendence, all respect
  their distinguishing religious characteristics. Could religions live
  side by side in "reconciled diversity" in this manner? This formula
  would not end the controversy over truth, but the debate would obey
  certain rules--which of course would have to be redefined
  repeatedly." (24)

If scripture has the power to shape and constrain human beings for relationships that conform to transcendent truths, then its suasion will likely come more from the ways in which we live our lives than from ecclesiastical debates over the truth of this or that confession about God. If it is obedience to an ethic for life that does justice to God (or to "ultimate reality"), then the old words of Isaiah, proclaimed anew by Jesus of Nazareth, bear witness to the abiding authority of scripture in the modern world, which, of course, as Theissen reminds us, has to be repeatedly redefined.

Notes

(1.) Green, William Scott, "Levitical Religion," in Judaism from Moses to Muhammad: An Interpretation. Turning Points and local Points, eds., Jacob Neusner, William Scott Green, and Alan J. Avery Peck (The Brill Library of Reference: Leiden. Boston: Brill. 2005), 3.

(2.) Ibid., 9.

(3.) Ibid. The internal reference to Mary Douglas is from Leviticus as Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), 230.

(4.) Note the recent spate of best-selling books--from scientists and philosophers--which argue that religion is a scourge on society, e.g.. Dawkins, R. The God Delusion (New York: Houghton Mifflin, 2006); Dennett. D., Breaking the Spell: Religion us a Natural Phenomenon (New York: Allen Lane. 2006); and Harris, S., The End of Faith: Religion. Terror, and the Future of Reason (New York: W. W. Norton, 2005).

(5.) My formulation of this issue draws upon the cogent observations of Gerd Theissen concerning "The Bible in Dialogue with a Pluralistic World," in The Bible and Contemporary Culture (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 142-9.

(6.) Other common terms for synagogue, such as "house of prayer" and "house of learning/ inquiry/study" suggest a similar understanding.

(7.) Most of the archeological evidence for synagogues in the Galilee region comes from the late first to the fourth centuries GE, which suggests that the descriptions found in Luke and the New Testament reflect the role of the synagogue at the time of the authors.

(8.) We may be reasonably confident that by the first century there was a fixed triennial cycle of readings from the Torah. The evidence for fixed readings from the Prophets at this time is however less clear. Texts were probably chosen because they contained thematic or linguistic affinities with the readings from the Torah. By describing Jesus as "finding" these texts particular texts from Isaiah. Luke hints that Jesus was making an intentional choice.

(9.) By incorporating the line from Isa 58:6--"to let the oppressed go free" or "to send the oppressed away in release"--Luke accents the promise of "release." The term (apehesis) is elsewhere used in Luke only for the forgiveness of sins (e.g., 1:77; 3:3; 24:47). but here Luke seems to be saying that Jesus understands that forgiveness of sin, no less than liberation from economic, physical, or political affliction, is a form of liberation from bondage.

(10.) On this distinction, see further, Jodock, D., The- Church's Bible: Its Contemporary Authority (Minneapolis: Fortress. 1989). 120-5.

(11.) Ibid., 138.

(12.) Alter, R., Canon and Creativity: Modern Writing and the Authority of Scripture (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2000). As the title indicates. Alter's focus is on the potency of scripture for modern writers (specifically Franz Kafka. Haim Nahman Bailik, and James Joyce), whose writings bear witness to the enduring importance of biblical images for their own urgent concerns.

(13.) Ibid.. 11, 15-6. 77.

(14.) See especially. Biblical Faith: An Evolultionary Approach (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1985); The Bible and Contemporary Culture (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007).

(15.) Theissen, Gerd, Biblical Faith, 83.

(16.) Theissen, Gerd, The Bible and Contemporary Culture, 11.

(17.) Ibid., 38.

(18.) Ibid.. 84 (emphasis added).

(19.) The Bible and Contemporary Culture, 137.

(20.) Ibid., 140.

(21.) See. Theissen. Biblical Faith, 3-8.

(22.) Theissen, Gerd, The Bible and Contemporary Culture, 142.

(23.) On the use of the word "authorize" as a way of conceptualizing biblical authority, see the seminal work of Kelsey, D., The Uses of Scripture in Recent Theology (Philadelphia and London: SCM Press, 1975), and its application by, for example, Brueggemann, W., "Biblical Authority in the Post-Critical Period," ABD V. 1049-56.

(24.) Ibid., 140 (emphasis added).