Interpretation. A Journal of Bible and Theology April 2010

In This Issue

Volume 64 Number 2 April 2010

The Book of Ruth 115

EDITORIAL

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NARRATIVE AND POETIC ART IN THE BOOK OF RUTH • TOD LINAFELT Although the Book of Ruth is in many respects a classic example of biblical Hebrew narrative, there are two examples of formal poetry in the book (1:16–17 and 1:20–21). Biblical poetry works with a very different set of literary conventions than narrative, and by taking note of those conventions, we can see the distinctive contributions made by these poems to the book as a whole.

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THE ICONOGRAPHY OF THE BOOK OF RUTH • MARTIN O’KANE Although absent from early Christian iconography, Ruth has been a popular figure in both Christian and Jewish art from the medieval period onward. In depicting scenes from the Book of Ruth, artists have been sensitive to the nuances and subtleties of the biblical narrative and have interpreted her story visually in many original and distinctive ways.

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MORE THAN THE LOVE OF MEN: RUTH AND NAOMI’S STORY IN MUSIC • HELEN LENEMAN This essay introduces and discusses four musical works that extensively treat Ruth and Naomi’s relationship: two late nineteenth-century oratorios, and two twentieth-century operas. Both music and librettos are treated as midrash—a creative retelling through both altered text and in the language of music.

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FROM RUTH TO THE “GLOBAL WOMAN”: SOCIAL AND LEGAL ASPECTS • ATHALYA BRENNER In this short study, the Scroll of Ruth, and especially Ruth’s undisclosed motives for following her mother-in-law, are read alongside the situation of foreign, female migrant workers in contemporary Israel—and vice versa. This allows a bi-directional reading that supplies a possible context both for the biblical text and for the evaluation of today's issues. BETWEEN TEXT & SERMON

Major Book Reviews 182

170

Ruth 1:6–22

– Christine Roy Yoder

– Jessica Tate 174

Ruth 2

186

Ruth 4

Luke by Richard B. Vinson – Sharon H. Ringe

– Martha Moore-Keish 178

The Sword and the Stylus: An Introduction to Wisdom in the Age of Empires by Leo G. Perdue

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– Thomas W. Mann

Christian Worship: 100,000 Sundays of Symbols and Rituals by Gail Ramshaw – Paul Galbreath

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No Ordinary Angel: Celestial Spirits and Christian Claims about Jesus by Susan R. Garrett – Jeffrey L. Sumney

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The Child in the Bible edited by Marcia Bunge, Terence E. Fretheim & Beverly Roberts Gaventa and The Vocation of the Child edited by Patrick McKinley Brennan – Karen-Marie Yust

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Short Book Reviews and Notes

O F F I C E S TA F F

DEBRA REAGAN Managing Editor WILLA JACOB Subscription Manager NAROLA AO MCFAYDEN Editorial Fellow & Office Assistant

INDEXED BY

Academic Abstractions Arts & Humanities Citation Index Arts & Humanities Search ATLA Religion Database Book Review Index Current Contents/Arts and Humanities Guide to Social Science and Religion in Periodical Literature Humanities Index Index of Articles on Jewish Studies Index to Book Reviews in Religion International Bibliography of Book Reviews of Scholarly Literature on the Humanities and Social Sciences International Bibliography of Periodical Literature on the Humanities and Social Sciences Internationale Zeitschriftenschau für Bibelwissenschaft und Grenzgebiete New Testament Abstracts Old Testament Abstracts Theologische Literaturzeitung

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Editorial “Where you go, I will go; where you lodge I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God” (Ruth 1:16). For many readers, this single verse summarizes the plot and the meaning of the Book of Ruth. Yet, as this issue demonstrates, Ruth’s story is both more complex and therefore more generative of theological reflection than any simple summary can convey. Tod Linafelt examines the narrative artistry of Ruth, noting that its economical prose seldom gives readers access to the interior thoughts, feelings, and emotions of the characters. Why was Ruth committed to Naomi? Why did Naomi fail to understand Ruth's commitment? Linafelt discerns answers to these questions in two brief, easily overlooked, pieces of poetry (1:16–17; 1:20–21) that are crucial to the book’s plot. Martin O’Kane notes that the “iconic aspects of the literary narrative” have inspired artists of different periods to paint pivotal aspects of the text in order “to convey quite specific theological thoughts.” With careful exegesis of illustrations from the medieval (Bible Moralisée), Renaissance (e.g., Poussin’s The Four Seasons), and contemporary periods (e.g., William Blake and Marc Chagall), O’Kane shows how artists provide interpretive insights that enable us to “engage afresh the text.” “What can music add to our understanding of the book of Ruth?” Helen Leneman tracks the answer to this question by analyzing four musical works that deal extensively with the relationship between Ruth and Naomi (Otto Goldschmidt, Ruth, A Sacred Pastoral; Georg Schumann, Ruth; Joseph Rumshinsky, Ruth: A Biblical Opera; and Sir Lennox Berkeley, Ruth, Opera in Three Scenes). With clear exposition of the librettos, Leneman demonstrates that “music has the power not only to read between the lines and fill in the gaps, but also to create an inner world of the heart and mind.” More intense and more immediate than merely reading a text, music “offers us new and unfamiliar lenses through which to read a familiar story.” Interpreters often romanticize Ruth’s relationship to Naomi, Athalya Brenner argues, but Ruth is “a dead man’s wife”; there is nothing romantic about being a fugitive who must seek economic asylum in a foreign country. Brenner reads Ruth’s story alongside the situation of foreign female workers migrant workers in contemporary Israel. Careful attention to governmental data makes clear that the legal and social status of migrant workers in Israel is precarious at best. Modern Israel’s situation is but a parable for thinking carefully about human rights globally. “Look around you and ask,” Brenner says, “What do we do concerning migrants? How do we treat them? What are our terms for accepting or rejecting them?” Her final question is an apt conclusion to this issue, one we trust will return our readers to the Book of Ruth with renewed focus: “Will it not be beneficial . . . not only to read the Bible as an exemplum of our own ‘reality,’ whatever that might be, but also to read our reality as a guide for reading the Bible?”

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CONTRIBUTORS TOD LINAFELT is Professor of Biblical Literature in the Theology Department at Georgetown University in Washington, D.C., and a recent holder of the Cardin Chair in the Humanities in the English Department at Loyola College in Maryland. He holds graduate degrees from Emory University, the University of Oxford, and Columbia Theological Seminary. His work focuses on the literary resources and the cultural influence of the Bible. Current projects include a commentary on the Song of Songs for the Abingdon Old Testament Series and a volume on reading the Bible as literature for Oxford University Press’ series of Very Short Introductions. MARTIN O’KANE is Senior Lecturer in Biblical Studies at the University of Wales, Lampeter. He is a graduate of the L’École biblique et archéologique française, Jérusalem, and gained his Ph.D. from the University of Edinburgh, Scotland. In addition to teaching a number of courses on the Old Testament, he is also director of the research center, The Bible and the Visual Imagination (www.imagingthebible.org). He is author of Painting the Text: The Artist as Biblical Interpreter (Sheffield Phoenix, 2008) and Biblical Art from Wales (Sheffield Phoenix, 2010). HELEN LENEMAN has written and lectured extensively in the United States and Europe on musical interpretations of biblical women's narratives. Her book, The Performed Bible: The Story of Ruth in Opera and Oratorio (Sheffield Phoenix), was published in 2007. Other recent publications include essays on the biblical and musical representations of Ruth, Ruth and Boaz, and Deborah and Jael. In addition to her professional cantorial training at Hebrew Union College, Leneman completed her Ph.D. at the University of Amsterdam with Prof. Athalya Brenner. Leneman has worked for many years as a professional singer and pianist and has offered concerts with commentary, such as “Finding their Voices: Musical Settings of Biblical Women,” both in the United States and Europe. She is fluent in several languages and

since 2001 has lived in England, Italy, and Switzerland. Leneman is currently writing another book for Sheffield Phoenix about musical works based on the books of Samuel. ATHALYA BRENNER (Ph.D., Manchester University, England) is Emeritus Professor of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament at the University of Amsterdam, and currently teaches at Tel Aviv University. She is the editor of the Feminist Companion to the Bible Series 1 and 2 (1993–2001, to be reprinted by Continuum). Brenner is currently editing, along with Archie Lee and Gale Yee, the Hebrew Bible portion of a major new series called Texts@Contexts (Fortress). Brenner’s main teaching and research interests are Hebrew semantics, feminist biblical criticism, reception history, and the Bible as a cultural force in contemporary cultures. She lives in Haifa and in Amsterdam.

Narrative and Poetic Art in the Book of Ruth TOD LINAFELT Professor of Biblical Literature Georgetown University Although the Book of Ruth is in many respects a classic example of biblical Hebrew narrative, with its stripped-down style and the opaqueness of its character's inner lives and motivations, there are two examples of formal poetry in the book (1:16–17 and 1:20–21). Biblical poetry works with a very different set of literary conventions than narrative, and by taking note of those conventions, we can see the distinctive contributions made by these poems to the book as a whole.

T

o speak about the literary art of the Bible is really to speak more specifically about its narrative art or its poetic art, since biblical narrative and biblical poetry each works with a very different set of conventions and techniques–—with different literary toolkits we might say. A literary approach to the Bible, then, means more than just close reading, as it is so often understood. It also means becoming familiar with and attending to the distinctive and specific workings of narrative texts and poetic texts. It seems clear that the ancient authors were very much aware of the differing conventions and possibilities associated with narrative and with poetry, respectively, and that their audiences would have responded differently to these two primary literary forms. The better we understand these forms, the better we are as readers. The book of Ruth is, of course, composed primarily of narrative: it tells a story. But there are two passages—Ruth’s speech to Naomi in 1:16–17 and then Naomi’s speech to the women of Bethlehem in 1:20–21—that are marked as poetry: they take the form of verse, and may be set off in lines. By keeping in mind the distinctive literary resources of biblical narrative and biblical poetry, then, we can appreciate not only the artfulness of the book of Ruth as a story, but also begin to discern the function of the two poems that the book employs in the first chapter.

N A R R AT I V E Perhaps the single most distinctive characteristic of biblical Hebrew narrative is its rigorous economy of style. That is, biblical narrative tends to evince a drastically stripped-down

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manner of storytelling, making use of a fairly limited vocabulary and pretty consistently avoiding metaphors and other sorts of figurative language. Indeed, biblical narrative tends to avoid description of any sort, metaphorical or otherwise. It is striking how rarely we are told what either people or objects in biblical stories look like. What do Adam and Eve look like? We do not know. Abraham? Sarah? Moses? We do not know. Occasionally, a certain quality is ascribed to some person or object: we are told that Eve perceives that the tree of knowledge is “a delight to the eyes” (Gen 3:6), and likewise we are told that Joseph is “handsome and good-looking” (Gen 39:6). But as a rule such minimal notations are given only when necessary to introduce some element that is important to the development of the plot. The attractiveness of the tree of knowledge leads, of course, to the eating of its fruit, and Joseph’s attractiveness leads, in the next verse, to the sexual aggression of Potiphar’s wife and thus indirectly to Joseph’s imprisonment. And even here we are not told what it is that makes the fruit lovely to look at or just what physical qualities make Joseph so attractive. Beyond a lack of physical description in the biblical stories, one notices, too, that descriptions of personal qualities are largely absent. Characterization in biblical narrative, in other words, is rarely explicit, but rather must be teased out of the narrative based on what characters do and what they say. We know Jacob is cunning and deceptive, for example, not because we are told so, but because we see him trick his brother, his father, and his brother-in-law Laban, and we hear him lie to them. As a rule, it is the actions and the dialogue of the characters that leads to the readers’ judgments about them, rather than explicit commentary or moral evaluation on the part of the narrator. The Book of Ruth exhibits this same sort of reticence in describing its characters. Although readers often assume that Boaz is an older man, for example, the fact is that we are never told his age. There is the hint, in Boaz’s words to Ruth in 3:10 (“you have not gone after the young men [9habbah9u=rîm], whether poor or rich”) that he does not consider himself a young man, but that still leaves us with a range of, say, twenty to seventy years old (although the average lifespan would have been closer to forty or fifty years). The only information that might count as a direct description of Boaz is his designation by the narrator in 2:1 as “a prominent rich man” ()is\h gibbo
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So also with Ruth herself, we are given only minimal description and a sense of how she is perceived publicly. The latter is striking, because Ruth is repeatedly called “the Moabite” or described as having recently returned “from Moab.” Thus, when Boaz inquires after Ruth’s attachments in ch. 2 (“Boaz said to his servant who was in charge of the reapers, ‘To whom does this young woman belong?’” [v. 5]). His servant replies, “She is the Moabite who came back with Naomi from the country of Moab” (v. 6). This reference to Ruth’s nationality is placed in the mouth of a character, but the narrator had earlier made a similar statement at the end of ch. 1: “So Naomi returned together with Ruth the Moabite, her daughter-in-law, who came back with her from the country of Moab” (1:22). What do these social and familial designations convey? The narrator’s statement in 1:22 is almost certainly meant to be read ironically. If references to Moabites (and especially to Moabite women) in other biblical texts are any indication, the Bethlehemites who witness Naomi’s return (see 1:19), and perhaps the original audience for the book, are likely to have a very negative view of Ruth as a Moabite.1 At the same time, and by way of ironic counterpoint, the narrator seems to give a hint—though hardly more than that—of a more positive evaluation of Ruth’s character, since after all Ruth is the daughter-in-law who “came back with her” when Naomi was destitute and could not understand why anyone would want to stay with her. By the time the plot has worked itself out, the women of Bethlehem can state this positive evaluation of Ruth explicitly (“your daughter-in-law who loves you, who is more to you than seven sons” [4:15], with no mention of her Moabite origins), though we notice that the typically reticent narrator never does. The emphasis on Ruth’s Moabite identity by Boaz’s foreman in 2:6, unlike the narrator’s, would seem to hold no ironic double meaning. The boss has asked for information and the servant gives it: the young woman is not attached to any man and, being Moabite, is fair game. The possible allusion to the proverbial promiscuity of Moabite women constitutes no irony coming from the mouth of the foreman, since it only reinforces his message of Ruth’s sexual availability. It is difficult to say with certainty that the servant’s words are intended to hold such an allusion to Moabite sexuality, but it seems at least that Boaz takes them that way, since he immediately turns to Ruth, without answering the servant, and instructs her to stay in his field to glean and furthermore to “keep close to my young women,” and since he has to warn the young men away from her (2:9, 15). In the same way that readers often assume that Boaz is an older man, so, too, they often assume that Ruth is both young and beautiful, though there is little explicit evidence for the former and none for the latter. It is true that Ruth is referred to as a na(a\ra< (often translated as “young woman”) by Boaz and the foreman in their exchange in 2:5–6 and again by the

1 The land of Moab and the Moabites are freighted with animosity in Israel’s memory. See, for example, Num 21:29–30; Num 22; Amos 2:1–3; Jer 48:1–9. For the association of Moabite women with illicit sexuality, see the story of Lot’s daughters in Gen 19:30–38 and of the incident at Baal-Peor in Num 25:1–5.

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woman of Bethlehem in 4:12, but we must keep in mind that Ruth had been married for ten years (1:4) before the death of her husband Mahlon, so she can hardly be all that young (and the lifespan for women would have been even less than for men). And in the dialogue between Boaz and the foreman, the term na(a\ra< functions primarily to associate Ruth with the workers in the field, who are also called “young women” (ne \(a3ro\t) and “young men” (ne \(a3rîm). As far as her beauty goes, well, who knows? We are simply never told anything about her looks, although biblical authors have been known to specify a woman’s beauty (or a man’s for that matter, as we saw with Joseph and Potiphar’s wife above) if it is thought to be crucial to the plot: thus Rachel (Gen 29:17), Bathsheba (2 Sam 11:2), Vashti and Esther (Esth 1:11 and 2:7), and Job’s daughters (Job 42:15). In the book of Ruth, then, as is the case with biblical narrative in general, we encounter an economical narrative style that works with little explicit description of characters or their essential qualities, though we do get a handful of potentially important public and social designations. It would be a mistake, however, to take this economy of style as an indicator of the simplicity or primitiveness of biblical narrative or of the book of Ruth. Indeed, it is primarily this terseness that lends biblical narrative its complexity as literature. By not directly revealing the qualities of character of the actors in the narrative, the narrator puts the onus of interpretation on the readers, who must work out on their own—albeit with hints given—what they think of these characters. This is not the absence of characterization, but is a certain mode of characterization and, in fact, a fairly complex mode at that. Moving beyond the question of what characters might look like or what sort of people they might be, we may best see the complexity of this mode of characterization when it comes to the inner lives of the characters. Readers of Western literature—both classical and modern— are used to having access in one form or another to the thoughts, feelings, and motivations of literary characters. But in biblical narrative, we are only rarely told what a character might be thinking or feeling at any given moment. What are Eve and Adam thinking when they reach for the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil in the garden of Eden? What is God thinking in forbidding that fruit? (Despite Christianity’s long tradition of original sin, the answer to neither of these questions is immediately clear, and both prove quite interestingly complex if taken seriously.) What goes through Abraham’s mind when God demands, in Gen 22, that he sacrifice his son Isaac? (The inner calm of absolute faith? Perhaps. But perhaps also anger, disbelief, or even disgust—with God for demanding such a sacrifice, or with himself for failing to protest.) Why does Moses kill the Egyptian who is beating a Hebrew slave in Exod 2? (It is not clear whether Moses, raised an Egyptian, knows that he was born a Hebrew; and so his motivation might range from an elemental sense of justice, unrelated to ethnicity, to a specifically ethnic identification

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with the victim.) What is going through Aaron’s mind when his two sons are burned alive with fire from God in Lev 10? (The narrator reports only that “Aaron was silent.” Does this indicate mute acceptance? Crippling grief? A barely controlled anger? Pure shock?) As these examples show—and there are many more that we could bring to bear—biblical narrative exploits to great effect a genuine inner life and a complex, private subjectivity.2 In other words, biblical narrative is essentially “realistic” in its portrayal of human characters, since in real life, we do not have direct access to the inner lives of those we encounter, learning to rely instead on hints we receive about what people are really thinking or feeling, and basing our sense of what sort of people they are on what they do and what they say, on actions and dialogue.3 How does this narrative style play out in the book of Ruth then? To my mind, one of the most important consequences of the convention in biblical narrative of rendering the inner lives of characters opaque is that it tends to leave open, in a literarily fruitful way, the question of character motivation. If we are given only very limited access to the thoughts and feelings of the characters about whom we read, then it follows that the motivation behind what they do and say is also largely obscure. And the question of character motivation is paramount for interpreting the book of Ruth, as it is with most narratives. Naomi, for example, is nearly always characterized by interpreters as a model of loving, motherly concern. But if that is the case, why does she allow Ruth to go off into the fields to glean at the beginning of ch. 2 without so much as a word of warning (again, that the situation is potentially dangerous is shown by Boaz’s advice to Ruth in 2:9 and his warning to the young male workers in 2:15), and then exhibit an exaggerated motherly care at the end of the chapter, after seeing the interest that Boaz has shown in Ruth? And is it possible that her strenuous attempts to dissuade Ruth and Orpah from returning with her from Moab resulted from a desire not to be burdened with two Moabite women (and two more mouths to feed) in Judah? Does she even imagine that these Moabite women might well be the source of some killing curse, since both her sons died after marrying them (as for example Judah admits to thinking about Tamar in Gen 38)? The fact is that we just do not know what Naomi is thinking, about these or other issues; but our reaction to Naomi and to the developing plot depends on filling these gaps in our knowledge. So also with Boaz, there is real ambiguity in his approach to Ruth in ch. 2, when he first spies her in his field. Clearly, he displays a keen interest in her, but what is the source and nature of that interest? Is it familial and altruistic, as he implies in his statement in 2:11–12? Or is it sexual or romantic, as the exchange with his foreman (with its emphasis on her Moabite identity) earlier in the chapter might imply? Or are we even to imagine that Boaz himself is not entirely aware of his motivations—after all, at what point does one “realize” that one is interested in another romanti-

2 To be sure, one can find instructive counter-examples that prove the rule: Jacob’s love for Rachel, for example (“So Jacob served seven years for Rachel, and they seemed to him but a few days because of the love he had for her” [Gen 29:20]), or the transparency of Saul’s machinations against David in 1 Sam 18. These examples seem intentionally to flaunt the rule, though they are few and far between, and usually very limited. 3 The classic modern statement on the terseness of biblical narrative style and its importance for characterization, and still the best place to begin thinking about biblical narrative, is Erich Auerbach’s “Odysseus’ Scar,” published as the first chapter of his book Mimesis: The Representation of Reality in Western Literature (trans. Willard R. Trask; Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1953), 3–23.

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cally? And of course such interest does not preclude other interests and motivations. And in ch. 3, what is Boaz thinking when he awakes—half-drunk and half-clothed—in the middle of the night, with a woman at his feet? The awkward, rambling syntax of his response to Ruth in 3:10–13 (which seems to mirror the awkward, rambling syntax of Joseph’s response to Potiphar’s wife as he tries to escape her unwanted sexual advances in Gen 39) shows us that he is flustered, though we are not told the source and nature of his unease. It is entirely possible, even likely, that he himself is unaware of just what has transpired with this woman—who at first he does not recognize—and what sort of trouble he might have gotten himself (and her) into. As we wonder what Boaz might be thinking here, we are apt to wonder too about his motivations for “acquiring Ruth the Moabite” (4:10) as wife. The scene in private at the threshing floor in ch, 3 is in many ways the climactic scene of the book, setting up the final, public resolution of the plot that follows in ch. 4. So it is particularly striking that the scene turns not only on the unstated knowledge and motivations of Boaz but also and especially on those of Ruth. There is, in the first place, the question of what exactly Ruth intends to be doing in the scene. When she says to Boaz, “spread your cloak over your servant, for you are next-of-kin” (3:9), is she making an offer of betrothal, as many commentators argue, or is she making an offer of her sexual favors, as a few others have suggested?4 And when, in her speech to Boaz, Ruth links their relationship with the duties of a “next-of-kin” (go3)e3l ), what does she intend?5 Beyond the question of what Ruth is doing, there is the question of why is she doing it? Does she actually care for Boaz; does she desire him for herself? (The book is often read in this romantic light.) Does she desire to have a child, and take Boaz for a likely father? Or is she acting primarily on behalf of Naomi, in order to give Naomi the heir she needs to secure her legal rights in Judah? Or is it all a strategy for keeping together herself and Naomi, as perhaps suggested by the linking of levirate with next-of-kin duties, since the former apply more to Ruth and the latter to Naomi? The narrator refuses to tell us the answers to any of these questions, although we must surely wonder about them; and the way we as readers choose to answer them determines in no small way how we understand the plot movement and resolution, and to a certain extent I think “the meaning” of the book. A fuller analysis of the narrative art of the book of Ruth would pay attention not only to these issues of characterization and character motivation, but also—among other things—to the strategic use of repetition (such as repeated keywords), to larger structuring patterns, and to the artful use of dialogue as a means of advancing plot. The book of Ruth certainly rewards such study, but it will have to wait for another time, since I want to turn now to the book’s use of poetry.

4 For the former interpretation, see, e.g., Edward F. Campbell, Jr., Ruth: A New Translation with Introduction and Commentary (AB7; Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1975), 123; Paul A Kruger, “The Hem of the Garment in Marriage: The Meaning of the Symbolic Gesture in Ruth 3:9 and Ezek. 16:8,” JNSL 12 (1984): 79–86; Kristin Nielsen, Ruth: A Commentary (OTL; Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1997), 73; and Victor H. Matthews, Judges and Ruth (NCBC; Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 234. For the latter, see especially Danna Nolan Fewell and David M. Gunn, Compromising Redemption: Relating Characters in the Book of Ruth (LCBI; Westminster John Knox, 1990), 102. 5 The duties of a go3)e3l (“next-of-kin,” or “redeemer”) are primarily economic in nature (see Lev 25:25). The duties of the levir (“brother-in-law”), on the other hand, have to do with marrying the widow of a brother who has died without children (see Deut 25:5–6). It seems that neither duties are really incumbent upon Boaz, since Mahlon was not his brother and since there is a go3)e3l closer than he (3:12; 4:1), but he essentially assumes the role of each by the end of the book. It is Ruth, however, who first ties the roles together in the plot of the book, here in ch. 3.

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POETRY Although the book of Ruth is almost entirely in the form of prose narrative, there are two places where the author shifts into poetry—into, that is, formally marked lines of verse. I want to provide here my own, fairly literal translation, set out in lines as I think the passages ought to be, along with just a bit of the surrounding prose. The first of the passages is Ruth’s speech to Naomi in 1:16–17, occurring just after Naomi admonishes Ruth to follow Orpah’s example and to remain in Moab rather than returning with Naomi to Judah: And Ruth said, Do not press me to leave you, to turn back from after you. For wherever you go, I will go, And wherever you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God shall be my God; wherever you die, I will die, and there I will be buried. Thus may the Lord do to me and more, if anything but death separates me from you.

The second passage is Naomi’s speech, in 1:20–21, to the women of Bethlehem upon her and Ruth’s arrival at the city, after Naomi has been gone for at least a decade: And the two of them came to Bethlehem, and as they went into Bethlehem the whole city was buzzing about them; and the women said, “Is this Naomi?” And she said to them, Do not call me “Naomi,” Call me “Mara,” for the Almighty has made me “bitter” indeed.6 I was full going away, and empty the Lord has brought me back; Why call me Naomi, when the Lord has afflicted me, and the Almighty brought evil upon me?

Before considering why it might be that the author shifts, for these passages only, into poetic form, we should say a few words about what it is that makes them poetry. In fact, most translations do not represent these speeches as poetry. The KJV, the RSV, the NEB, the NIV, and the Tanakh (JPS Version), among others, all render the speeches as prose. Neither do the major scholarly editions of the Hebrew text, Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia (BHS)

6 Naomi makes a sarcastic pun here on her name, which sounds like the Hebrew word for “delight” (no4(am), by saying that she should instead be called “Bitterness” (ma4ra<)).

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or Biblia Hebraica Quinta (BHQ), set the verses off as poetry. But both the NRSV and the Jerusalem Bible, as well as some individual scholars’ translations, represent the speeches as formal lines of poetry, or verse, though they tend to differ on how to lineate the poetry. The Jerusalem Bible, for example, renders Ruth’s first line (“Do not press me to leave you and to turn back from your company, for. . .”) as prose, but beginning with the phrase “wherever you go, I will go,” the rest of the speech, including all of v. 17, is presented as verse; and in a similar way, it represents Naomi’s first line as prose (“Do not call me Naomi, call me Mara, for Shaddai has marred me bitterly”) but the rest of the speech as verse. My own lineation is very close to the NRSV for both of the passages, except that I take the final part of v. 17 (“Thus may the Lord do to me and more, if anything but death separates me from you”) to be prose. The latter simply does not demonstrate the sort of rhythm and parallelism that characterize the rest of Ruth’s speech. Moreover, all other oaths of this sort in the Bible are in more obviously prose contexts.7 Parallelism—the matching of two or sometimes three short lines that mirror each other semantically (in meaning), syntactically (in word arrangement), or with regard to diction (word choice)—has been a common way of understanding the basic principle of biblical Hebrew poetry ever since Robert Lowth’s influential Lectures on the Sacred Poetry of the Hebrews (published in Latin in 1753 and in English in 1787). More recent work on biblical poetry has made clear that the old notions of parallelism are too simple. In the first place, the widespread characterization of the second (or third) lines as essentially saying the same thing as the first, but in slightly different words, has given way to a more dynamic understanding of the relationship between the lines, so that we now recognize that the second or third lines will often intensify, heighten, or otherwise move beyond (sometimes chronologically, for example) the first.8 And secondly, the idea that parallelism is the single defining feature of biblical poetry has come under question, since there are in fact quite a few lines that do not exhibit strict parallelism.9 Nevertheless, such parallelism is one of the commonest ways of articulating poetic lines in the Bible, and we see it functioning in our passages here. For example, Ruth’s first line, “Do not press me to leave you,” is clearly paralleled by the second, matching line, “to turn back from after you.” The jussive verb-phrase “do not press me” governs both lines, and the matching infinitives “to leave” ((a4zab) and “to turn back” (šu
7

See, for example, 1 Sam 3:17; 14:44; 20:13; 25:22; 2 Sam 3:35; 19:14; 1 Kgs 2:23; 19:2; and 2 Kgs 6:31. On the dynamic movement between the lines, see especially Robert Alter, The Art of Biblical Poetry (New York: Basic, 1985), chs 1–3. 9 For the most sustained challenge to the older notions of parallelism and a thorough, though quite technical, argument for syntax as the determining factor for poetic lines, see Michael Patrick O’Connor, Hebrew Verse Structure (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1980). 8

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double repetition of noun-phrases in the third (“your people . . . my people” and “your God . . . my God”), each of the latter exhibiting of course the grammatical shift from second to first person. But we also see in these middle two couplets the subtle dynamism or movement between lines that I mentioned above. The second couplet moves chronologically from “going” to “lodging,” and there is a hint of intensification in the implication that not only will the journey begin (“you go … I go”) with us together, it will end (“you lodge … I lodge”) with us together as well. The third couplet exhibits intensification or heightening in affirming that not only will your people be my people, but also your God will be my God, insofar as it is likely a stronger statement in the author’s mind to switch theological allegiance than ethnic allegiance (the latter of which, one might argue, Ruth has already done by marrying into Naomi’s family). The fourth and final couplet of Ruth’s poetic speech to Naomi introduces more variety into the parallel structuring of the lines, such final variation being a not uncommon way of marking closure in biblical poems. There is still the semantic and grammatical parallelism of the two firstperson singular imperfect verbs “I will die” and “I will be buried,” as well as in the matched particles “wherever” and “there.” But the second line of the couplet, and thus the final line of the poem, exhibits an elegant and emphatic conciseness, comprising only two words in the Hebrew: we\ša4m )eqqa4be3r (“there I-will-be-buried”), lending both a structural and a thematic finality to the poem. Structural finality is achieved by the substituting of “there” for the expected fourth occurrence of “wherever” (which we have seen already three times in this handful of lines) and by the way the reader is brought up short by the brevity of the final line, thus breaking the poetic rhythm. The use of the Hebrew ša4m (“there”) rather than )a]šer (“wherever”) achieves conciseness not only by replacing a two-syllable word with a one-syllable word, but also by allowing the author to drop the second-person verb we expect to be there; so instead of the expected “wherever you are buried, I will be buried” we get the terser “there I will be buried.” Thematic finality also inheres in the substitution of “there,” in the sense that there are no more “wherevers,” only a final “there,” but is evinced even more strongly of course in the final verb “I will be buried,” an appropriate final phrase if ever there was one. Naomi’s speech displays a similar sort of poetic parallelism. Compare, for example, her first two lines in v. 20: “Do not call me ‘Naomi,’ // call me ‘Mara,’” with the repetition of the verb “call” (qa4ra4); once in the negative and once in the positive) and of the first-person preposition “to me” (lî; represented in English simply as “me”). The line-ending occurrences of “Mara” and “Naomi” are syntactically and grammatically matched (as double accusatives and as proper names, respectively) and are matched, in Naomi’s sardonic pun on her own name, as a semantically opposed

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word-pair, “Naomi” being related to the word for “delight” and “Mara” meaning “bitterness.” Notice also the parallelism of the couplet in the first two lines of v. 21, each three words in the Hebrew: “I was-full going-away, // and-empty returned me-the Lord.” Again, we see precisely matched opposing terms —“full/empty” and “go/return”—with the whole couplet framed by the opposing subjects, “I” (the first word of the couplet) and “the Lord” (the last word). Naomi has set herself over against the Lord both structurally and thematically, with the opposition heightened in the lines that close out the poem: “Why call-me ‘Naomi,’ // when-the-Lord has-afflicted me, // and-the-Almighty brought-evil upon-me?” While Naomi’s reference to herself (“I”) and to God (“the Lord”) were the outer terms in the previous lines, in the first two of these final lines they are the inner terms, “Naomi” / “the Lord.” Unlike Ruth’s poem, Naomi’s makes use of the triplet form, that is, three lines instead of two. The poem as a whole is structured as a triplet, a couplet, and a triplet. The triplets that frame the poem match each other not only in form but in content as well, with the first line of each matching in every respect except for the opening particle: “Do-not” ()al) being replaced by “Why” (la4mma\). The second lines in each triplet essentially function as effect (“call me ‘Bitterness’”) and cause (“the Lord has afflicted”), thus further emphasizing the opposition that Naomi has set up between herself and God. The third lines of each triplet are tied together by the repetition of the Hebrew term for God, šaddai (translated above as “the Almighty”) in the subject position, by the first-person preposition lî (“me” or “upon me”), and by the sound-play between the two verbs, he3mar (“made bitter”) and he3ra( (“brought calamity”), which share two of their three letters.10 But in comparing the length of the two lines, the third line of the second triplet, and thus the final line of Naomi’s poem, exhibits, like the final line of Ruth’s poem, a brevity (three words to five) that brings the reader up short and provides an effective sense of closure. That formal closure is thematically reinforced—again, in a way comparable to the final line of Ruth’s poem—by the implacable despair of its content: “Shaddai has brought calamity upon me.”

T H E M I X I N G O F N A R R AT I V E A N D P O E T R Y There is a great deal more that one might say about the poetic art of Ruth’s and Naomi’s speeches, both in terms of form and content. But it seems clear that we have here two carefully constructed poems, which stand out from the surrounding prose narrative by virtue of their verse form. The question then becomes, why does our author place this formally marked poetry into the mouths of Ruth and Naomi? The beginning of an answer to this question lies, I think, in the differing literary conventions and resources of biblical narrative and poetry. And one of the

10 The Hebrew word šaddai would seem to be an example of poetic diction, a word that occurs only rarely in prose but quite frequently in poetry, thus lending support for our taking Naomi’s speech as poetry. Of some four dozen occurrences of the term, only a very few are in prose contexts; and of the many occurrences in poetry, by far the majority occur as second terms in second or third lines, just as we find in our poem here.

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most striking differences between the two is their treatment of the inner lives of characters and speakers. If classical Hebrew narrative consistently (though not slavishly) avoids giving access to the inner lives of its characters, ancient Hebrew poetry has no such qualms. Take, for example, two biblical books composed entirely in verse form, the Psalms and the Song of Songs: the former gives eloquent expression to both the despair and the joy of its anonymous speakers, and the latter leaves readers in no doubt as to the depth of passion felt by the young lovers whose voices are represented therein. The conventions of prose narrative simply do not apply to biblical poetry, which is in any case relentlessly non-narrative. That is, unlike other ancient Near Eastern texts, biblical literature uses only prose to tell stories, reserving poetry for non-narrative purposes, such as the lyrical expression of feeling that we see in Psalms and in the Song of Songs. The book of Job is an interesting case in this regard, since it begins in the mode of prose narration (chs. 1–2), and we are given precious little insight into what Job (or God for that matter) is thinking as a series of horrendous events befalls him and his family.11 But when it is time for Job to give vent to the emotional chaos and to the desire for death that, we learn, constitute his inner life, the Joban author shifts into verse form in ch. 3 and following. After the emotionally (and intellectually) heated exchange between Job and his three interlocutors—and, eventually, God—in chs. 3–42:6, the book shifts back into the prose narrative mode in 42:7–17, where once again we are left guessing as to Job’s thoughts and feelings as he lives out his long life in the wake of catastrophe and restoration. I would suggest, then, that the author of the book of Ruth shifts into the poetic mode here precisely in order to give the reader access to the inner lives of Ruth and of Naomi, and to signal to the reader that he or she is doing so. Why? In the first place, the shift foregrounds the importance of Ruth and Naomi for the book, since they are the only two characters who get such treatment; Boaz, then, the other major character, is confirmed on this reading as secondary to these two women. But I think also that the specific content of their speeches is important to the formation of the book’s plot. For most of the book, we are left to wonder what the characters are thinking and feeling, but here at the beginning, the author wants us to know that Ruth’s primary commitment and motivating factor for her actions is her allegiance to Naomi and, further, that Naomi specifically fails to understand that commitment. We are encouraged to read the two speeches in conversation with each other, since they are separated by only two verses and are the only two poems in the book. (If they occurred in different chapters, one might be less inclined to see them as so closely related.) Moreover, each speech begins with exactly the same word in Hebrew, )al, “do not,” followed in each case by a second-person feminine jussive grammatical form (“press me” and “call me,” respectively). The fact that Ruth’s opening verb is a second-person feminine singular and Naomi’s a plural underscores the fact that although the speeches are formally matched and

11 Indeed, the plot of the book of Job turns on this lack of access to Job’s inner life, as neither the reader nor the Adversary (“Satan” in the NRSV) nor God is able to tell for sure the source of Job’s piety; this is why he must be tested, to find out whether he “fears God for nothing” (1:9) or rather in the expectation of some reward.

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meant to be read together, they contrast greatly in terms of content. Ruth addresses Naomi, but Naomi addresses the women of Bethlehem; a disjunction that is emphasized by the fact that Naomi pointedly does not respond to Ruth’s speech of commitment, with her next reported words being those of the poem in 1:20–21. The two poetic speeches of ch. 1, then, set up our two protagonists as the bearers of the fundamental tensions of the plot. One of those tensions is personal: Ruth has expressed a nakedly emotional commitment to Naomi, while Naomi has ignored that commitment and deemed herself “empty” as she returns from Moab. The reader, then, is meant to follow this tension to see how it is resolved by the end of the book. Will Naomi recognize and accept Ruth’s commitment to her? A second tension foregrounded by these speeches is theological: Ruth brings up God almost incidentally, as she includes a commitment to “your God” in her larger vow of solidarity with Naomi, but Naomi makes God the center of her speech, referring directly to God four times (in a chiastic pattern of Shaddai—YHWH—YHWH—Shaddai), and naming God as the primary agent in her life, an agent conceived of, moreover, in an entirely negative light. How, we wonder, will this tension between Naomi and God turn out? Will Naomi be confirmed in her dire judgment that God has inflicted calamity upon her and drained her life of meaning and relationship? And whose view of reality is correct here? Is Naomi right to attribute such agency to God, or is Ruth right to focus on human relationships, relegating divine action to the margins? It is a witness to biblical narrative’s abundant “negative capability,” to borrow a phrase from the poet John Keats (who defines it as “capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, and doubts”12), that none of these tensions is finally resolved by the end of the narrative. We are still not sure of how Naomi views either Ruth or God. Recall that it is the women of the neighborhood who declare “blessed be the Lord” upon the birth of Obed (4:14) and who deem Ruth “better to you than seven sons” (4:15). From Naomi, however, we hear not a word. Naomi does take the child to her bosom we are told (v. 16), and perhaps we are to imagine that she loves and hopes again after the tragedies that have defined her life to this point. Or, perhaps it is obligation or necessity that motivates Naomi to accept Obed into her life. Then, it may well be some combination of these that defines Naomi’s inner life at the end of the book, since love and loss are hardly mutually exclusive. And what of the theological tension between Ruth’s and Naomi’s view of reality? Here too much is left up to the reader. The book is in fact much less explicitly theological than is often claimed, mentioning the action of God directly only twice: first, when Naomi hears in ch. 1 that God has broken the famine in Judah (v. 6), and then again in ch. 4, when we are told that when

12 John Keats, “Letter to George and Tom Keats, 21 December 1817” in Romanticism: an Anthology (ed. Duncan Wu; 3d ed.; Malden, Mass.: Blackwell, 2006), 1351.

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Ruth and Boaz “came together, the Lord made her conceive” (v. 13). Other than God “making Ruth conceive” (with of course the help of Boaz), all of the action that gets done in the plot, especially in chapters 2 and 3, gets done by human characters enacting human agency in a world of recognizable human relationships, both personal and social. Indeed, it seems to me that Ruth’s solidarity with Naomi is the central driving fact of the narrative, as she first provides food to keep them alive and then provides the heir that Naomi needs to secure her legal rights in Judah. Still, it is certainly possible, as the many theological readings of the story demonstrate, to see God working behind the scenes of the narrative. In the end, this ambiguity is also characteristic of Hebrew narrative, which clearly prefers to hold together human and divine agency, affirming a certain amount of providential guidance in history while also admitting and encouraging human action and moral responsibility. Philosophers and theologians might have to solve such questions—e.g., Who ensured that Jacob got the blessing over Esau, God or Rebekeh? Who led the Israelites out of Egypt, God or Moses? Who provided Naomi with an heir, God or Ruth?—but a storyteller is free to raise the questions and leave them unsolved. And thus the story both requires and rewards the work of interpretation. The book of Ruth, then, brings together narrative and poetic art, but the narrative mode is paramount. Had the poems, with their revelation of inner lives, come near the end of the book, the tensions might be resolved more neatly and we might not be left wondering whether Naomi ever realizes the strength and depth of Ruth’s commitment to her, or wondering whether Ruth ever comes to love Boaz, or wondering about the nature of reality and whether God might be said to have an explicit role in the shaping of human destiny. But in Hebrew narrative such doubt almost always wins out. Biblical poetry, when given free rein, revels in the play of language, in the generating of metaphor, in structures of intensification, and in the expression of feeling. This is very different than the deliberately stripped-down style of biblical narrative, which trades in ambiguity, in complexity of motive, and in the fundamentally unsolvable nature of human existence in the world. The book of Ruth gives us a compelling touch of poetic art, but it is ultimately in the service of narrative, so that in the end we are left to wonder.

The Iconography of the Book of Ruth MARTIN O’KANE Senior Lecturer in Biblical Studies University of Wales, Lampeter Although absent from early Christian iconography, Ruth has been a popular figure in both Christian and Jewish art from the medieval period onward. In depicting scenes from the Book of Ruth, artists have been sensitive to the nuances and subtleties of the biblical narrative and have interpreted her story visually in many original and distinctive ways. INTRODUCTION Traditional studies on the book of Ruth have tended to focus almost exclusively on the book’s date to determine whether it was written before or after the exile (587–537 B.C.E.), to find the reasons why it was written in the first place, and to offer various explanations as to the different canonical positions the book was to hold subsequently in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin Bibles. More recently, however, interest has shifted decidedly to an appreciation of the literary qualities of the book and the sheer mastery and artistry of its composition.1 The powerful recurring themes of exile, homecoming, and marriage, and the controlling metaphors of emptiness and fullness, famine, and harvest, so eloquently articulated by the author, were sure to appeal, too, to the imagination of the visual artist. Indeed, in the history of the iconography of Ruth, artists have not only reflected upon and illustrated the story of this obscure Moabite woman who becomes linked with the mainstream of OT history, but they have also expanded elements of the literary narrative and attempted to fill in the gaps in this all too short story in many insightful and imaginative ways. And so, before looking at some specific visual representations of the story of Ruth, it is important first to appreciate several important iconic aspects of the literary narrative that has made the story so universally appealing to artists.2 Scholars frequently draw attention to the richness and subtleties of the story of Ruth, to its structure, setting, plot, characterization, and rhetorical effect, which demonstrate that the book is a carefully wrought piece of literature that offers the reader not just one but an entire range of interpretive possibilities. In particular, they draw attention to the effectiveness of the fourpart structure of the book, to the way the narrative unfolds in four chapters, each part of the story corresponding to a particular chapter.3 Chapter 1 recalls the initial tragic background as Naomi and Ruth arrive in Bethlehem; ch. 2 introduces the figure of Boaz and the possibility of

1 See, for example, D. R. G. Beattie, “Ruth” in Dictionary of Biblical Interpretation, K-Z, (ed. John H. Hayes; Nashville: Abingdon, 1999), 426–28; Grace I. Emmerson, “Ruth” in The Oxford Bible Commentary (ed. John Barton and John Muddiman; Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), 192–95; Leland Ryken, “Ruth” in A Dictionary of Biblical Tradition in English Literature (ed. David Lyle Jeffrey; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1992), 669–70. 2 It has not been possible to include all the images discussed in this essay. However, all the images discussed are readily available on a number of websites. 3 Gerald West, “Ruth” in Eerdmans Commentary on the Bible (ed. James D. G. Dunn and John W. Rogerson; Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2003), 208–12.

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romance and a desirable union; ch. 3 describes in understated terms how Ruth spends the night on the threshing floor of Boaz, while ch. 4 culminates in the birth of a son to Ruth. The story is thus noteworthy for its careful ordering of events, for the way its four chapters are structured to accentuate the night-time meeting between Ruth and Boaz, and for the intricate and detailed characterization of its three iconic figures, Ruth, Naomi, and Boaz. Chapters 2 and 3 are parallel in structure, beginning and ending in scenes in which only Ruth and Naomi participate; their main focus is on Ruth’s encounter with Boaz, which bring for her blessings both material and spiritual. Yet the settings of the two meetings between Ruth and Boaz are contrasted: the former takes place in the countryside by daylight and the latter in the intimate privacy of a threshing floor by night. Grace Emmerson makes the point that, by and large, God is “muted” in the narrative and seems present not even “in the shadows,” while at least twice significant events are attributed to chance and fate (2:3; 3:18).4 Finally, the recurrence of the word h9esed throughout the narrative, suggesting an enduring love that is both human and divine, ensures the book of Ruth can be read as a love story that concludes with a happy ending for the heroine. Commentators and exegetes have long noted the prominence given to the female characters in the book of Ruth, an aspect emphasized more recently in several perceptive literary and feminist readings of the narrative. Emmerson notes that “whatever the book’s original purpose, its position in the Christian canon introduces a note of hope after the negative anarchical tone of the end of Judges and restores woman and the male-female relationship to an honorable position after the sordid misogynist events of Judg 19–21.”5 On the other hand, when the book of Ruth immediately follows the book of Proverbs, as in the canonical arrangement of the HB, Ruth is seen to be an embodiment of the exemplary wife of Prov 31. Thus, the story of Ruth has all the essential qualities required—and easily comparable to any other in ancient literature—to assure it a central place in the rich and vibrant visual afterlife of the Bible.

E X E G E S I S A N D I N T E R P R E TAT I O N Iconographical traditions associated with any biblical character are heavily influenced by the interpretation and exegesis of the Church Fathers. Indeed, much early and medieval art frequently represent biblical topics solely through the filter of their teachings. However, in the case of Ruth, little was actually written about her in the early Christian church and, down to the period of Clement of Alexandria and Tertullian, there is only one citation from the book of Ruth.6 No doubt this is the reason why Ruth is completely absent from early Christian art, unlike other OT characters, for example Jonah, that receive huge attention.

4

Emmerson, “Ruth,” 426. Ibid. 6 The reference is in the works of Mefito of Sardis who was concerned with defending the canonical position of the book of Ruth after Judges. Jerome's comments on the book of Ruth focused on the same concern. See Elena Giannarelli, “Ruth and the Church Fathers,” Journal of the Service international de documentation judeo-chrétienne 23.2 (1990): 12–15. 5

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Later exegetes were concerned with typological concerns. Like so many female figures in the OT, Ruth is seen primarily as a type of the church (typus ecclesiae). Hippolytus of Rome examines the invitation given by Boaz to Ruth to eat bread and dip the morsel in the wine (2:14) and to drink of the water drawn by the young reapers (2:9). He concluded that this passage must be read as referring to baptism in the church by the Apostles, with whom the reapers are to be identified. Together with the prophets, they draw water from the everlasting fount of immortality. Once grace has been received from Christ, they are able to slake the thirst of those who are spiritually parched. Origen also specified that Ruth symbolizes the church. Ruth becomes a type of the Gentiles (typus gentium), representing pagans who are converted to the Christian faith. Ambrose focuses on the virtues of Ruth. He states that Boaz took her as his wife not only to obey the law of Moses, but primarily because he had recognized her virtues: devotion to her mother-in-law, fidelity to her dead husband, veneration for God, and a search for justice before her own pleasure, evident in the fact that she did not turn to young men in her widowhood but to an old man, symbol of perfection. On the other hand, the Book of Ruth receives more attention in Jewish tradition, where it has always held an important place not only liturgically, in that it was recited during the feast of Shavu’ot (the harvest feast of Pentecost), but also because it was debated at some length in early Jewish exegesis and commentaries. The Aramaic Targum, which is twice as long as the Hebrew MT, expands the story and fills in what it perceives as “gaps” in the original narrative. Various passages were used for didactic purposes in the Targum; for example, Ruth’s declaration of fidelity to Naomi (1:16–17) is expanded into a catechism, in each phrase of which Ruth indicates her acknowledgment and acceptance of some consequence of her conversion. Ruth is thus seen as a model proselyte. In Jewish midrash, Ruth is praised for her extraordinary beauty (Ruth Rab. 2.4) and also her piety (Ruth Rab. 3.3; Pirqe R. El. 23.115b) and although a Moabitess, by virtue of the blessing from Boaz she became for tradition one of the “mothers of Israel” (Pesiqta Rab. Kah. 16.124a).7 The influence of early and medieval exegesis, both Jewish and Christian, on the development of the iconography of book of Ruth is substantial and indeed has yet to be fully researched.

M E D I E VA L I C O N O G R A P H Y Since early Christian art did not include images of Ruth, the earliest illustrations of the book are found in the illuminated Byzantine Octateuchs. In Greek and Latin Bibles, Ruth is the eighth book in the OT and so the Byzantine Octateuch began with Genesis and ended with Ruth.

7

Ryken, “Ruth,” 669.

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However, while the first books of the illuminated Octateuchs, especially Genesis, were adorned with a vast selection of colorful miniatures, Ruth, the concluding book, received only two scenes. It was not until the twelfth and thirteenth centuries that more widespread interest in Ruth became evident, with the elaborate illustrated biblical cycles developed in Paris that reserved a particular place in honor of Ruth. The French illuminators based their illustrations on the earlier Byzantine models but also expanded and developed the range of images by including motifs from everyday rural life (facilitated, of course, by the many references to the harvest and barley in the book of Ruth). The style of the French version became widespread in Western Europe and during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries gradually turned into a general European tradition. An early and very fine example of French illumination is the Bible Moralisée, one of a unique group of Bibles that contain extensive cycles of biblical illustrations and juxtapose theological texts with allegorical, interpretative images.8 It was produced in Paris in the early thirteenth century and contains over a thousand exquisitely illuminated medallions accompanied by textual extracts and commentaries that act as captions to the illustrations in order to reveal, by word and image, the relevance of the Bible to contemporary life. The images are arranged in such a way that the Bible Moralisée, is “read” by viewing/reading a biblical image with its corresponding caption and then by viewing/reading the corresponding commentary image and caption; the commentary is designed to uncover the contemporary meaning, often moralizing in character, of the biblical event for the medieval viewer/reader.9 The biblical text is based largely on the Vulgate. There are ten illustrations that interpret the book of Ruth: five illustrate biblical scenes of Ruth, and five offer textual and visual allegorical interpretations and expansions, based largely on the Church Fathers, and reveal a particular interest in typological interpretation. Since the captions are representative of how Ruth was interpreted visually in medieval times, I have included the biblical texts and corresponding commentary captions in full. The illustrations focus on five pivotal episodes in the book of Ruth and provide an imaginative, if inconsistent, range of interpretations, largely based on the exegesis of the church fathers. In the first biblical medallion (figure 1), the central figure, named as Boaz, is clearly not Boaz but rather Naomi, who is seen as a type of Mother Church. But why is she called Boaz here? We should not necessarily assume that it is a mistake on the part of the scribe—it may have been intentional to establish a connection between the close union of Ruth and Naomi and the later union between Ruth and Boaz. Orpah is clearly identified in the commentary image with those who turn away from the church, with the Jews, indicated by their trademark pointed hats, a negative depiction of Jews that appears in several of the subsequent images as well.

8 Codex Vindobonensis 2554 is now in the Österreichische Nationalbibliothek in Vienna. All the medallions, along with translation of the captions and commentary, have been published in Gerald B. Guest, Bible Moralisée (London: Harvey Miller, 1995). I have taken the translations of the captions from this volume. 9 Guest, Bible Moralisée, 1.

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Figure 1, biblical text: Here is a woman named Boaz (?) who has two daughters. One of the daughters holds to her and says that she will go with her rather than part from her, and the other leaves her and her company. (Ruth 1:6, 14) Commentary caption: The woman who has two daughters, one of whom holds to her and the other leaves her, signifies the Holy Church, who has two types of people, one holds to her and does her will, the other turns from her and renounces her.

Fig. 1. Ruth with Naomi and Orpah, Codex Vindobonensis 2554 (detail). Early thirteenth century. ©Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna.

In the next biblical medallion (figure 2, upper left), two key aspects of the story are conflated: the day-time meeting with Boaz in the grain field and the night-time meeting at the threshing floor. The commentary image depicts Boaz as God the Father, Ruth as the church, and the mantle becomes the embodiment of Christ. In a departure from the biblical story, in the third biblical medallion (Fig. 2, upper right), Boaz struggles to take the sandal from his kinsman while the message of the commentary image and text focuses on an anti-Jewish polemic. This anti-Jewish polemic continues in the next biblical medallion (Fig. 2, lower left), where the emphasis is not on the marriage of Boaz and Ruth but on the priest that performs the ceremony. The commentary image and text highlight the “good clerics” while the text condemns the Jews, who have excluded themselves from the Gospels. Following the interpretation of the church fathers, the final biblical medallion (Fig. 2, third in the right column) sees the birth of Obed as a type of new life given to the Christian in baptism. Figure 2, upper left column, biblical text: Here Boaz is in the middle of his field and the girl who is named Ruth comes before him and he takes his mantle and extends it over her and covers her. (2:3–4; 3:7–9) Commentary caption: That Boaz extended his mantle over the girl and covered her signifies the Father of Heaven who extended over the Holy Church His mantle of flesh which is of the Son and He covered her. Upper right column, biblical text: Here Boaz comes and takes off the shoe of a man who had left Ruth and he drags him from his room and the man declares the woman free and leaves her to him. (4:7–10) Commentary caption: That Boaz took off the man’s shoe signifies that Jesus Christ unshod and stripped the Jews from the Gospel. That he left the woman to Boaz signifies that the Jews did not wish to retain the

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Gospels but left them to Jesus Christ and did not care. Lower left column, biblical text: Here Boaz comes and takes Ruth as a wife and marries her with great joy and the priest of the law gives her to him and he receives her. (4:13) Commentary caption: That Boaz married Ruth and took her as a wife and the priest of the law gave her to him signifies the good clerics and the good prelates and all the good Christians who took the Gospels, which the Jews had left and abandoned and Jesus Christ took them and delivered them. Lower right column, biblical text: Here Boaz

Fig. 2. Ruth and Boaz, Codex Vindobonensis 2554 (detail). Early thirteenth century. ©Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Vienna.

is with his wife Ruth in a bed and has a child by her. (4:13) Commentary caption: That Boaz engendered by his wife Ruth a child signifies that Jesus Christ has engendered and engenders each day many infants through baptism in the Holy Church.

Despite the clear anti-Jewish sentiments expressed in this particular Bible Moralisée, Sarit

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Shalev-Eyni has argued persuasively that there is also considerable evidence in other illuminated manuscripts to show that, at least in some cases, Jewish and Christian illuminators worked collaboratively in producing Christian Bibles. Distinctive aspects of Jewish exegesis and illustrations of the book of Ruth, she argues, even found their way into Christian Bibles in the late medieval period.10 She shows how some aspects of the Tripartite Mahzor (an illustrated Jewish prayer book of 1322) and the Padua Bible (a Christian picture Bible of 1400 that contains around forty-six scenes from Ruth) are based on Jewish commentaries and midrashic texts and share several iconographic similarities. She argues that both go back to a common earlier Jewish iconographic tradition. The illuminated Ruth cycle of the Padua Bible is testimony to the Christian interest in the literal sense, and the Jewish understanding of scripture and the detailed cycle of miniatures that it contains, along with the accompanying captions, present a literal story of Ruth that manifestly incorporates several Jewish exegetical elements. Thus, Shalev-Eyni concludes, there was evidently a substantial participation of Jews in the creation and formation of this particular Christian illuminated OT and probably several others as well. Not only did the Christian scribes work under Jewish supervision but also apparently the illuminators did so who incorporated Jewish midrashic components within the miniatures and their captions.

RENAISSANCE ART Images from the book of Ruth are extremely rare in Italian art, the most famous being Michelangelo’s (1475–1564) fresco of Salmon, Booz, and Obeth. This appears among the fourteen lunettes of the ceiling of the Sistine chapel that document the ancestors of Christ. Michelangelo’s inspiration for these figures was the opening genealogy of Matthew’s Gospel, and this explains why the caption includes only the three male names mentioned in Matt 1:5, which states that “Salmon was the father of Boaz by Rahab and Boaz the father of Obed by Ruth,” although the female figure depicted in this particular lunette is clearly Ruth. While forty names of the ancestors of Christ are listed in a lunette, all of them male, Michelangelo in fact painted over ninety figures to illustrate them, including many women and young children. Andrew Graham-Dixon makes the point that many of these figures are of pedestrian quality, suggesting indeed that they were painted not by the artist himself but by his assistants. He comments wryly that the figure of Salmon verges on caricature: “the hunchbacked greybeard who stares with comical puzzlement at the carved handle of his walking stick, which is decorated with a gurning, gargoyle version of his own face.”11 Michelangelo, faced with the needless succession of biblical names, treated the ancestors mentioned in Matthew’s genealogy not as individuals but as a collective representation of the people of Israel, waiting somewhat listlessly for the arrival of Christ.

10 Sarit Shalev-Eyni, “In the days of the Barley Harvest: The Iconography of Ruth,” Artibus et Historiae 51/XXVI (2005): 37–57. 11 Andrew Graham-Dixon, Michelangelo and the Sistine Chapel (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 2008), 139.

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Graham-Dixon observes that the figures seem oppressed by boredom “weighed down by the mundanity of lives that are going nowhere.”12 Within the scheme of the ceiling as a whole, the ancestors represent a phase of humanity and an aspect of the human condition decreed by divine plan. They may carry within them the physical seed of Christ, but they themselves are spiritually unenlightened. They are condemned to a vacuity symbolized by the bare and shallow spaces they occupy. Ruth, like many of the females in these lunettes, is preoccupied with caring for her child but displays no distinctive characteristics by which we might identify her as the figure of the biblical Ruth. We identify her only through association with the accompanying caption. In seventeenth-century Protestant Holland, on the other hand, scenes from the book of Ruth, particularly those that featured the heroine herself, were very popular, since the profoundly human story of Ruth provided a model and moral example to which the Christian could aspire. It was above all Rembrandt and his followers who illustrated the story, and one of their most cherished scenes was clearly Ruth’s first encounter with Boaz as she gleans in the field (2:8–9), since there are several examples of the scene dating from this period. The story of Ruth transported into seventeenth-century Protestant Holland and expressed through the customs and costumes of the period was seen as having a timeless quality and a universal moral message. Rembrandt himself, in fact, did not actually paint any scene from the book although he did complete several drawings, the best known of which are those that depict Ruth’s statement of loyalty to Naomi (1:15–16), her meeting with Boaz (2:6–9), and Boaz’s generosity in giving Ruth six measures of barley (3:15).13 In all three, Rembrandt portrays the emotions of the characters at pivotal moments in the story and conveys to the viewer the close and respectful bond between Ruth and Naomi and between Ruth and Boaz. In his first drawing, Rembrandt shows Ruth and Naomi engaged in an animated discussion on the road to Bethlehem, where it is clear Ruth is determined not to leave her mother-in-law. In the second, which depicts Ruth 2:8–9, Rembrandt depicts in a skilful and sympathetic manner, through emphasizing the imposing figure of Boaz and his outstretched hand, Boaz’s generosity and kindness. In his depiction of Ruth 3:15 (figure 3), where Boaz gives Ruth six measures of barley, the Fig. 3. Ruth and Boaz, c. 1650, Rembrandt van Rijn

(1606–1669). ©Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam. 12

Ibid., 140. The three drawings with notes are included in Hidde Hoekstra, Rembrandt et la Bible (Netherlands: VBI, 1983). 13

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vigorous lines express the union of both characters, Ruth’s mantle dramatically bringing both characters together in an intimate symbolic union. Two further examples from seventeenthcentury Holland demonstrate the popularity of iconography associated with Ruth. A pupil of Rembrandt, Fabritius, depicted Ruth’s meeting with Boaz (1660), in which Boaz appears as a member of the landed gentry in a scene totally removed from its original biblical setting and now located in Holland. We can see, too, from this painting how artists were increasingly interested in the story of Ruth as foreground (and sometimes simply as a pretext) for painting rural pastoral landscapes of autumn and harvest scenes. Aert de Gelder’s (1645–1727) painting entitled Boaz and Ruth, which depicts two rumbustuous and rather saucy characters, has extremely little to do with the biblical story.14 At this time, there was a demand for portraits of couples disguised as biblical characters, such as the Virgin and the Angel Gabriel, and this practice became something of a social convention that had little to do with religion but was sanctioned by the church (Rembrandt’s Jewish Bride and Isaac and Rebecca are other examples).

NICOLAS POUSSIN’S THE FOUR SEASONS (1660) Nicolas Poussin’s Summer (figure 4) is probably the painting used most often in biblical commentaries to illustrate the book of Ruth, yet it is generally taken out of context and frequently misunderstood.15 The French artist Nicolas Poussin had a profound and abiding interest in the Bible as a source of artistic inspiration. His distinctive treatment of biblical themes can be attributed to two main factors: first, his own essentially stoFig. 4. Summer or Ruth and Boaz, 1660–1664. Nicolas Poussin (1594–1665). Location: Louvre, Paris, France. Photo Credit : Erich Lessing/Art Resource, N.Y. 14

The painting is included in Bruce Bernard, The Bible and its Painters (London: Orbis, 1983). For a more comprehensive discussion on Poussin, see Martin O'Kane, Painting the Text: The Artist as Biblical Interpreter (Sheffield; Sheffield Phoenix, 2007). 15

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ical attitude to life and second, his professional aim as an artist to give expression to the richness of ancient literature (in this case, the Bible) through the “silent eloquence” of his paintings. It is these two major influences on the artist that make his visual interpretation of biblical stories so intellectually challenging and less dominated by traditional Christian symbolism or theological considerations than were other paintings of his day. In addition, the fact that he had relative freedom to choose his own biblical subjects allowed him to include autobiographical aspects in the stories he painted. Poussin concluded his long artistic career immersed in exploring the parallels between the course of human life and the cycles of nature. Such interest already underlies his earlier work where the theme of life and death is set against a background landscape of transience, for example glimpses of the landscape can be seen in some of The Seven Sacraments, in particular Baptism and Ordination. From 1648 onward, however, he dedicated himself to exploring how the forces of nature could be employed to reflect the character or mood of important themes from ancient literature that particularly appealed to him. His final years were occupied exclusively with The Four Seasons, executed between 1660 and 1664, and such was his determination to complete this last cycle of paintings that he abandoned all his other works. The Four Seasons is regarded as Poussin’s most pantheistic and most stoical work and derives directly from the philosophy of Ovid, summed up in a passage from Metamorphoses: Do you not see the year assuming four aspects, in imitation of our own lifetime? For in early spring, it is tender and full of fresh life, just like a little child; at that time, the herbage is young, swelling with life, but as yet without strength and solidity, and fills the farmers with joyful expectation. Then all things are in bloom and the fertile fields run riot with their bright-coloured flowers; but as yet there is no strength in the green foliage. After spring has passed, the year, grown more sturdy, passes into summer and becomes like a strong young man. For there is no hardier time than this, none more abounding in rich warm life. Then Autumn comes, with its first flush of youth gone, but ripe and mellow, midway in time between youth and age, with sprinkled grey showing on the temples. And then comes aged winter, with faltering step and shivering, its locks all gone or hoary.16

Following the perspective of Ovid, Poussin approached the paintings of his last years as a final formulation of his own philosophy of life; he gives a much less prominent role to humanity and greater importance to inanimate nature and becomes preoccupied with the themes of birth, death, and transformation in nature. His final cycle depicts a mood of philosophical resignation to the passing of time, but viewed in the context of the artist’s entire output, it also provides a conclusive formulation of his thoughts on the human condition.

16

Ovid, Metamorphoses, Book XV, 199–213.

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Richard Verdi argues that The Four Seasons are startlingly original and unique not only in Poussin’s oeuvre but also in the entire history of art.17 Their utter originality lies in the fact that he takes four quite unrelated biblical episodes and makes them symbolic of the four seasons; each episode forms part of a large allegorical cycle that sums up universal themes of life and death. Before Poussin, artists generally depicted the four seasons in one of two ways: like Guido Reni, they could use human or divine figures to represent different times of the year, especially the figures of gods and goddesses, for example, the goddess Ceres to symbolize summer and Bacchus to represent autumn. The second way was, for example in the paintings of Pieter Brueghel, to depict landscapes with agricultural workers performing tasks appropriate to particular times of the year. But Poussin’s approach is unique in that he employs a biblical theme for each season and in doing so, he creates an entirely new perspective from which to view the four biblical episodes he chooses. He takes the biblical story of the Garden of Eden to represent spring, the meeting of Ruth and Boaz in the cornfield to evoke summer, the spies with the grapes from the promised land as autumn, and the flood to represent winter. In addition, he places the four episodes at different times of the day—morning in the Garden of Eden, noon in the cornfield of Boaz, and afternoon in the Valley of Eschol, while the flood takes place in the darkness of night. In order to emphasize the natural world, his settings contain little or no architecture, and he chooses his OT stories not only for their evocative landscapes but also to suggest early moments in the primeval history of the Bible. Stylistically, the most striking aspect of each painting is its color. Each is dominated by a single prevailing hue: green for spring, golden-yellow for summer, greyish-brown for autumn, and blackishgrey for winter. The emotional essence of his theme is thus conveyed through color alone. One of the reasons for Poussin’s choice of subject for Summer was undoubtedly the biblical setting of the wheat field for the story of Boaz and Ruth. Unlike Spring, the earth has now been cultivated, and this is mirrored in the rigorously constructed forms of the landscape. The natural paradise of Genesis has now been replaced by one created by human hand. The number and variety of people that animate the painting illustrate how humankind has engaged with the landscape and works in harmony with it. The picture is highly organized and all the workers—and the horses—show how nature has been harnessed by humankind and contrasts with Spring, where the natural landscape in its idyllic and virginal state. The steady noonday sun reminds us that we are now at the pinnacle of life. The number of people dressed in a rich variety of ways allows for even more color and contrasts with the primeval nakedness of Adam and Eve. Ruth kneels before Boaz and begs to glean wheat in his fields (Ruth 2:1–17). Both characters are depicted in strict profile and placed in the center foreground; Ruth kneels to highlight her suppliant attitude, while Boaz stands over her to denote his status and majesty. Thus, the position of

17

Richard Verdi, Nicolas Poussin (London: Royal Academy of Arts, 1995), 317.

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the male and female figures are reversed from those in Spring, where Eve towers over Adam. Richard Verdi notes that many of Poussin’s paintings illustrate the artist’s preoccupation with depicting either the male or female in a subservient pose but suggests that the reason for doing so remains known only to the artist.18 Here, the viewer can only note the parallel that Poussin evidently wanted to draw between Adam and Eve and Ruth and Boaz. While Eve is associated with the fruit of the tree, Ruth becomes associated with the corn (other early seventeenth-century engravings often depict Ruth holding wheat as Ceres, classical goddess of the harvest); following an exegetical tradition first expressed by Hippolytus of Rome, the symbol of the wheat evokes the Eucharist and so Ruth becomes a redemptive figure as opposed to Eve who introduces evil by picking the fruit from the tree. The picture may contain other symbolism: the seated bagpiper on the right may suggest the future marriage of Ruth and Boaz—a marriage that according to medieval interpretation was symbolic of the union of Christ and the Church. Poussin may also have wished to include another of his favorite themes, namely exile: just as Adam and Eve were exiled from the Garden, so too Ruth remains always the exile, always the Moabitess. But there may be other reasons why Poussin chose this story to represent a key aspect of the cycle of life. The biblical story of Ruth moves from famine to harvest, from death to birth, and from emptiness to fullness, and all these movements are reflected in the natural landscape described by the text. Furthermore, as I pointed out in the introduction, Emmerson highlights how in the biblical book of Ruth, there is no overt intervention by God in the course of human events: significant occurrences in life are attributed to chance (2:3 and 3:18). In the first instance, Ruth “happened” to be in the part of the corn field belonging to Boaz and in the second, Naomi advises Ruth to see “how things will turn out.” The idea of important events happening by chance would have appealed to Poussin. Emmerson also draws attention to the hiddenness of God throughout the book; sometimes, “he is not even in the shadows.” This general absence of God from the story also may have appealed to Poussin and enabled him to continue the theme of the absent God with which he introduces the first painting, Spring. Finally, the emphasis throughout the book on h9esed, the human obligation to act according to loyalty and kindness, corresponds to the qualities of virtue and right-living that the artist believed were essential when faced with the unpredictability of life and the inevitability of fate.

THE NINETEENTH AND TWENTIETH CENTURIES Images of Ruth were particularly popular in nineteenth-century Victorian Britain and in this category we can begin with William Blake’s well-known and idiosyncratic version (1795), which

18

Verdi, Nicolas Poussin, 37.

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conveys so effectively Ruth’s utter determination to accompany Naomi and the latter’s protestations that she has little to offer her in Bethlehem (figure 5). The close union of the two women contrasts with the isolated figure of Orpah, who slips away ashamedly. Blake’s subdued colors, together with the barren mountains in the background, convey the tragedy and emptiness of the scene. Allusions to Ruth as a Fig. 5. Naomi Entreating Ruth and Orpah to Return to the Land of representative of ideal yet erotic Moab (1795), William Blake (1757–1827). Watercolor. London, England. Inv.: 69-1894. Location: Victoria and Albert Museum, love can be found in Blake’s Jerusalem (ch. 3, 62.11). He lists London, Great Britain. Photo Credit: V & A Images, London/Art Ruth with Bathsheba and other Resource, NY. OT women as the “Maternal Line” culminating in Mary.19 Many of the Victorian paintings of Ruth are simply pictorial in that they seek to portray a virtuous and often romanticized Ruth, frequently with Naomi or with Boaz in the barley field, against an idyllic rural background. In some cases, the story is presented as a narrative, as in the triptych by Thomas Matthews Rooke (1876), which shows the three central moments of the story: Ruth’s adherence to Naomi; her meeting with Boaz; and the birth of Obed. Two interesting “groups” of painting from this period are especially worthy of note: first, the distinctive PreRaphaelite style and second, what we might call “orientalist” paintings that seek to situate the story within a biblical Palestinian background. The Pre-Raphaelite images are typified by William Morris and Edward Burne-Jones. In 1865, Morris completed a stained glass window of Ruth and Boaz for the Sacred Heart Church, North Gosforth, England (figure 6). Unlike other stained glass of the period that included elaborate background scenes, Morris allows the two biblical characters to stand out in much greater relief without any distractions. Boaz and Ruth are identified by their sheaves of wheat while Ruth, in addition, holds in her cloak the six measures of barley Boaz has given her. Boaz is richly dressed, befitting his status, while Ruth is barefoot, a sign of her poverty.

19

See Leland Ryken, “Ruth,” 669.

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In Edward Burne-Jones’s version of Ruth Meets Boaz (1879), Boaz, who dominates the left of the drawing, stretches out his hand toward Ruth, who raises her eyes to look at him (figure 7). The garments of both Boaz and Ruth are delicately drawn, suggesting the gracefulness of the figures themselves and the romanticism of this pivotal moment in the story. Three orientalist examples from the same period illustrate the interest in situating both the character and the story of Ruth within its “original” topographical setting in the biblical Bethlehem. This was intended to provide the figures Fig. 6. Ruth and Boaz, c. 1865, William Morris (1834– 1896). Sacred Heart Church, North Gosforth, England. ©Photo credit: Sheelagh Watson.

with a more appropriate background, but it also gave the paintings a more exotic appeal. In Merle Hughes’s Ruth in the Fields (1876), the artist evokes such a scene: the sun shines on the golden harvest and on the dark skinned features of the figures who are dressed in Arab clothes. Ruth is not the fair skinned beauty of the Pre-Raphaelites but rather she wears the simple clothes of a young Arab woman. Although she is presented as an exotic figure, her head is partially covered, suggesting her modesty and virtue. The painter James Tissot in his watercolor Ruth Gleaning (1896) actually traveled to Palestine in order to paint a series of paintings of biblical subjects, of which Ruth was one. Here, Ruth is presented as a young Palestinian girl in the cornfields of Bethlehem.

Fig. 7. Ruth and Boaz, c. 1879, Edward Burne-Jones (1833–1898). All Hallows Church, Allerton, Liverpool, England. ©Photo credit: Paul Young.

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A final example is Ruth and Naomi by the painter Philip Hermogenes Calderon, who situated the scene of Orpah’s departure and Ruth’s clinging to Naomi against an exotic background of cactus plants, palm trees, rocks, and semi-desert landscape (figure 8). All of these orientalist paintings serve to make the characters more exotic, the love story more intense, the journey of Ruth more hazardous, and the general ambience more authentic and “biblical.”20 There can be no better way to conclude a review of the iconography of Ruth than by referring to the series of paintings by Marc Chagall, which he began in 1960. In this series of paintings, Chagall uses Fig. 8. Ruth and Naomi (1902), Philip Hermogenes Calderon (1833– dazzling images of the 1898). ©National Museums, Liverpool, England. burning heat of the sun, the shades of the evening, and the shimmering moon to convey the passion and intensity of the relationship between Ruth and Boaz. His recurring colors are brown and a fiery red. Chagall selects five pivotal scenes from the book to form his narrative: Naomi with her two daughters-in-law, Ruth gleaning in the field, the meeting between Ruth and Boaz, Ruth at the feet of Boaz, and Boaz awaking to find Ruth at his feet. In the first painting, the three women huddle together; interestingly, Chagall depicts not the moment of Orpah’s departure but a moment prior to that which shows the close union between the three women. The color is a subdued brown, but even here the sun throbs mercilessly in the background in anticipation of the events to come. In Ruth Gleaning, Chagall captures the burning heat of a day in late summer and the whole pictures throbs with the heat of the sun. In the third of the series, Ruth and Boaz Meet, Chagall gives the impression of instant recognition, as if both figures know that their meeting was meant to happen. In the final two images, Ruth at the Feet of Boaz and Boaz Awakes and Sees Ruth at his Feet, the mood becomes more sensual

20 Cheryl Exum has famously used the sexual ambiguities in this painting as her starting point to explore possible parallel ambiguities within the text in relation to Boaz and Naomi. See J. Cheryl Exum, Plotted, Shot and Painted: Cultural Representations of Biblical Women (JSOTSup 215; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 1996).

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and sexual. As Ruth lies at the feet of Boaz, her breasts reflect the light of the shimmering moon, while in the final picture, both figures are naked. The throbbing red sun suggests the passion of their union, while the sheaves of wheat suggest the fruitfulness of their future marriage. The reclining position of the fully clothed Boaz with his arm above his head as he sleeps in the penultimate image is reversed in the final image as the naked Ruth with her arm above her head reclines in rest. Unlike the biblical text, which is ambiguous as to what took place on the threshing floor, Chagall’s interpretation leaves nothing to the imagination.

CONCLUSION In the history of the iconography of Ruth, it is remarkable how artists have almost always chosen scenes from the book that reflect pivotal aspects and turning points in the literary structure of the story. The iconographical tradition thus reflects and mirrors the nuances and sensitivities of the original author. It is also remarkable that the story of Ruth was popular in certain historical periods but not at all in others: Ruth does not feature in early Christian art nor significantly in the Italian Renaissance but, on the other hand, her story receives enormous theological reflection in the Middle Ages in both Jewish and Christian milieux. Ruth as a female icon becomes popular in seventeenth-century Protestant Holland and then again in Victorian Britain. Several of these pictorial images of Ruth are now used in modern editions of Bibles and in other religious and pedagogical literature but unfortunately most are taken out of context and detached from either their iconographical tradition or from their original historical setting. However, as the theology behind medieval illuminations of the book of Ruth—and the philosophical perspective that underpins Poussin’s Summer—clearly demonstrates, images of Ruth that we all too often use as illustration were first used by the artists as interpretation to convey quite specific theological and philosophical insights. Ruth provides a pertinent case study as to how we should always try to seek out the interpretative insights biblical paintings offer us as a way of engaging afresh with the text rather than simply being content with using them as isolated and detached illustrations.

More than the Love of Men: Ruth and Naomi’s Story in Music HELEN LENEMAN Scholar, Writer, Lecturer and Musician

This essay introduces and discusses four musical works that extensively treat Ruth and Naomi’s relationship: two late nineteenth-century oratorios, and two twentieth-century operas. Both music and librettos are treated as midrash—a creative retelling through both altered text and in the language of music.

T

he bond between Ruth and Naomi in the Book of Ruth is more powerful than either woman’s ties to her own people or her own land. Theirs is a committed relationship that crosses the boundaries of age, nationality, and religion.1 Love and affection are attributed to both women in many musical settings of the story. A shift from the usual focus on men to a focus on women is seen near the start of the Book of Ruth (henceforth referred to as the Scroll). The literary device that allows this shift is the death of all the men in the story. The women then set the story in motion, make plans, and carry them out to the desired resolution, albeit within a patriarchal framework. Encounter scenes of women together are key points of transition in the plot. Virtually all dialogue in the Scroll involves either Ruth and Naomi together, or one of them with someone else. This highlights the centrality of the two women in the story. EXEGETICAL COMMENTS*

The Scroll opens with the phrase, “A man went . . . with his wife and his two sons” (1:1, my translation; italics mine). In the opening two verses, the reader is told where Elimelech came from, why he emigrated, whom he married, and where he died. The lack of lineage, which is usually included when a male character is first introduced,2 is a clue that this will not be Elimelech’s story. The story starts with the death of males and ends with a female giving birth (albeit to a boy). The only other same-sex friendship depicted in the Bible besides Ruth and Naomi is that of David and Jonathan. Certain similarities can be found between David and Ruth: David left his

*Except where indicated, English translations are all from Tanakh: The New JPS Translation (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1988). 1 Rebecca Alpert, “Finding Our Past: A Lesbian Interpretation of the Book of Ruth,” in Reading Ruth (New York: Ballantine, 1994), 93. 2 Even Jephthah is described as the “son of a prostitute,” whose father was Gilead (Judg 11:1); Elkanah is introduced as “son of Jeroham son of Elihu son of Tohu son of Zuph” (1 Sam 1:1), even though he will not be the main focus of the story.

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parental home as a boy to become a member of Saul’s household. Like Ruth, he married into his new family and formed a close relationship with a family member of the same gender. The word da4be\qa< (“clung”), which describes the attachment between Ruth and Naomi (1:14), is the same verb found in Gen 2:24 to describe the union between a man and a woman: “A man leaves his father and mother and clings to his wife.” The root da4baq, “cling, cleave, keep close” (BDB3 and KBL4), “adhere”5 or “stick to” (HAL)6 may signify desire, love, affection, or loyalty. It is an example of how words for various manifestations and levels of “love” are loaned from other semantic fields. The word essentially has a concrete physical reference, “to be physically very close to.”7 It is not coincidental that this root is found in the modern Hebrew word for “glue.” The verb da4baq is not necessarily an allusion to sexual love; it is rather a general indication of a powerful attachment that may or may not include sexual love. The fact that it is used only here in the Bible to describe a woman’s actions towards another woman may indicate an unusual attempt by a writer to depict a strong attachment between two women. Not accidentally, two verses after this verb appears, Ruth pledges her love to Naomi (1:16–17), even after Naomi has made clear that this choice probably will make the possibility of Ruth’s ever remarrying unlikely. Ruth, in other words, is willing to sacrifice her chance at marriage in order to stay with Naomi—a startling choice in that patriarchal era. Interpersonal relationships can sometimes be understood through use of language. Naomi addresses Ruth as bittî (“my daughter”) in several places (2:2, 22; 3:1, 16, and 18). In contrast to Boaz’s use of the word, only one of Naomi’s uses of this term includes a command: “Go, my daughter” (2:2). In other instances, its usage, though expected in the in-law relationship, might also be interpreted as a term of affection. It is also the only place this word is uttered by a woman in the entire Bible. Ruth’s pledge of fidelity to Naomi, “Entreat me not to leave you . . . Whither thou goest” (1:16–17, KJV, the version almost always used in librettos) is one of the most well-known and oftquoted verses in the HB. It has been described in superlative terms by commentators: “…one of the most beautiful and profound expressions of attachment of one human being to another in literature;”8 “. . . one of literature’s most poignant declarations of affection and love.”9 Read out of context, Ruth’s words would be understood as a declaration of a primary commitment; and readers unfamiliar with its origins or context would assume it to be a declaration of heterosexual love. It is, after all, a lifelong commitment, since Ruth declares that not even death will separate them. Yet the writer no more explains Ruth’s motives for her vow than Naomi’s complete lack of response

3 F. Brown, S. R. Driver, and C. A. Briggs, A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament (3rd printing, Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 1997), 179. 4 Ludwig Koehler and Walter Baumgartner, Bilingual Dictionary of Hebrew and Aramaic Old Testament (Leiden: Brill, 1998), 199. 5 David Clines, ed., The Dictionary of Classical Hebrew (6 vols.; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1993–2007), 2:385. 6 L. Koehler, W. Baumgartner, and J. J. Stamm, The Hebrew-Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament (trans. and ed. M. E. J. Richardson; 4 vols.; Leiden: Brill, 1994), 1: 209. 7 Athalya Brenner, “Naomi and Ruth” in A Feminist Companion to Ruth (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1993), 84. 8 Cheryl Exum, Plotted, Shot, and Painted: Cultural Representations of Biblical Women (JSOTSup 215; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1996), 137. 9 Jack Sasson, Ruth: A New Translation with a Philological Commentary and a Formalist-Folklorist Interpretaion (2d ed.;The Biblical Seminar 10; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1989), 28.

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to it. These gaps are understood differently in every era and culture, and are filled in various ways by librettos and the music to which they are set. The relationship between these two women, like others in the Scroll, is not defined rigidly. There is much gender blurring, as Exum points out, as sexually identified roles are shared and also transgressed by the book’s three main characters.10 But the story is clearly a reversal of most biblical stories: it focuses on the struggles and adventures of women, not men; and even the main male character, Boaz, is portrayed as merely the “mechanism for securing the well-being of an enterprising partnership of women.”11 The requirements of the patriarchal structure are met with the birth of a son to Ruth. But there is a suggestion that this was only the means to an end: the women can now spend the rest of their lives together under Boaz’s roof. Though there is little in the biblical text to suggest romantic or even reciprocal love between Ruth and Naomi, commentators have proclaimed that the love between the two women drives the story and is its “romantic heart;”12 or that this story illustrates “how the love between women can lead to blessing and redemption.”13 Yet the verb )a4hab, “love,” is applied only to Ruth in the Scroll. In 4:15, the women refer to her as “your daughter-in-law who loves you,” implying that Ruth has made her emotional attachment to Naomi obvious to the other women, even if not to the reader of the story. Ruth’s emotional commitment to Naomi is special and unique, especially when viewed in the context of other women’s relationships in the Bible. Brenner is the only commentator to suggest boldly that Naomi may have felt physical desire for Ruth, which took her by surprise and which she never expressed. This implies that Naomi had a different motive for encouraging Ruth to seduce Boaz: Naomi was afraid she could not overcome her desire for Ruth if they continued to live together.14

CHARACTER DEPICTION In some regards, Ruth is the main character of the book, since the writer named the Scroll after her and she is the focus of interest. But in other ways, Naomi seems to be the principle character, as she appears slightly more often. Since all other characters stand in relation to her, most of the story’s perceptual point is viewed through Naomi15—in other words, the story is largely viewed from Naomi’s perspective. The actions of the different characters propel the plot forward while revealing individual personality traits. The character of Naomi develops and changes more than Ruth. Naomi’s presence throughout

10

Exum, Plotted, Shot, and Painted , 174. Theodore W. Jennings Jr., Jacob’s Wound: Homoerotic Narrative in the Literature of Ancient Israel (New York: Continuum, 2005), 227. 12 Ibid., 230. 13 Ibid., 232. 14 Athalya Brenner, I Am . . .Biblical Women Tell Their Own Stories (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2005), 116–17. 15 Adele Berlin, Poetics and Interpretation of Biblical Narrative (Winona Lake, Ind.: Eisenbrauns, 1994), 84. 11

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the story is both commanding and ambiguous. Naomi is the central character in terms of discourse, which can be seen as a form of domination.16 Ultimately it is Naomi’s discourse in 3:1–4, where she gives Ruth instructions, that moves the plot to its conclusion. Naomi is a unique figure: as a widow with no sons, she has no status and might be expected to disappear from the story. Instead, she continues her textual life as a “mother-in-law.” She is initially named as Elimelech’s wife (1:2), but in the next verse, Elimelech is called “Naomi’s husband.”17 Naomi is described through her words: more of her personality is shown through her words than that of any other character. For example, in her retort to her daughters-in-law (1:10–13), a sense of self-deprecation and even sarcasm come through. Naomi is portrayed as a woman who can only measure her self-worth in relation to men.18 When Ruth brings food home, Naomi attributes the abundance to “the man who took notice,” looking to a male figure for security. It is not clear if Ruth has the same perspective. Though a contemporary reader views that kind of self-image as negative, we have no way of knowing whether the writer meant to portray this aspect of Naomi as a positive trait, or simply a neutral and realistic one. In spite of Naomi’s apparent dependence on men, her speech is exclusively with women. In the first chapter, the reader can simultaneously feel “sympathy and antipathy” for Naomi. Van Wolde sees Naomi’s apparent self-centeredness as a negative trait, and claims it is visible through the preponderance of “I” and “me” in her speech throughout the first two chapters.19 But the actual total of self-referencing words (including all pronouns and verbs) is only twenty for Naomi in ch. 1, equaling eighteen percent of her 113 words. In ch. 2, Naomi uses no self-referencing words, and in ch. 3, only one. Though her age is never stated, Naomi describes herself as “too old to be married” (1:12). This is a relative age designation, however, and only tells us that she is older than Ruth and Orpah (in the context of when the story was written, she could be in her 30s or 40s). In ch.1, Naomi is gentle but firm with her daughters-in-law. Naomi’s silences are as enigmatic as her speech. Her silence after Ruth’s eloquent pledge to her (1:16–17) can be interpreted a multitude of ways, from indifference to overwhelming emotion. Many librettos assign words to Naomi in this scene, as modern readers find her lack of response unsettling. By not describing how Naomi felt, the writer leaves her personality a blank to be filled by the reader. Such “silence” gaps in the Scroll are filled creatively in many musical works. Silence is also a response, but many librettists felt the need to alter this. After Ruth’s pledge of loyalty, the gap of Naomi’s silence is filled in several works with Naomi consoling and/or embracing Ruth,

16 Ilona Rashkow, “Ruth: The Discourse of Power and the Power of Discourse,” in Brenner, A Feminist Companion to Ruth (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1993), 28. 17 This technique of shifting the spotlight to a woman after initially introducing a man is also seen in 1 Sam 1–9. There, Elkanah is introduced in 1:1, but the focus shifts gradually to Hannah in 1:5 and becomes her story by 1:9. 18 Tod Linafelt and Timothy Beal, Ruth and Esther (Berit Olam; Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical, 1999), 15. 19 Ellen van Wolde, Ruth and Naomi (trans. John Bowden; London: SCM Press, 1997), 15.

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expressing surprise, or joining Ruth in a duet. All of these address the need to have Naomi respond in some way, which she does not do in the Scroll. The affectionate words and actions found in most musical works create a different and warmer Naomi than her biblical portrait might suggest. Naomi expresses bitterness and sadness to the community of women in Bethlehem (1:19–20), feelings enlarged upon in many librettos. Naomi suffers at God’s hand but believes in the possibility of a reversal of fortune. The unusual nature of Naomi’s quest is that she pursues her goal without appealing directly to God. She is not defeatist, as seen in her encouragement to Ruth in relation to Boaz in ch. 3. In her plotting of their encounter, she could be seen as clever, manipulative, and controlling. These impressions are supported, if never overtly stated by the text. Ruth remains an ambiguous character, because her speech is both less frequent and more cryptic than either Naomi’s or Boaz’s. Although she seems to have initiative, it is usually a response to other characters in the story.20 Brenner notes that Ruth is a “symbol of unconditional love and loyalty,”21 and this love-motif not only gives the story depth and credibility, it also becomes the focal point uniting the various strands of the plot. Sasson claims, rightly, that we cannot assume Ruth’s motivation was affection. She may have submitted herself totally to Naomi’s will in an almost slave-master relationship because she knew this was her best hope.22 Brenner, modifying her earlier impression, suggests that Ruth did not have many options. She could be compared to foreign workers of any era, who are contracted, basically invisible, hard workers, whose only hope of integration into the host society would be marriage. Once she left her own people, Ruth needed Naomi to help her in Bethlehem.23 For me, this does not explain her motivation any better than affection. If these theories are correct, we still do not know why only Ruth was motivated in this way, and Orpah was not. The motivation remains opaque. In librettos and music, affection between the women is easier and more appealing to depict as a motive. This is midrash, however, not simply interpretation. Ultimately, it is up to the reader to decide on the degree of Ruth’s sincerity and her motivation. Unlike other prominent biblical women—Sarah (Gen 12:14), Rebecca (Gen 26:7), Rachel (Gen 29:17), Abigail (1 Sam 25:3), Bathsheba (2 Sam 11:2), Esther (Esther 2:7)—Ruth is not described as either beautiful, wise, or intelligent. The reader knows her only through her actions and, even more, her words. Ruth’s speech and actions show her to be both independent and strong-willed, starting with her determination to leave her people and follow Naomi, for unknown motives. This example of decision-making establishes Ruth as a woman with a mind of her own right from the story’s opening.

20

Danna Fewell and David Gunn, Compromising Redemption (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 1990), 94. Brenner, A Feminist Companion to Ruth, 84. Sasson, Ruth, 124. 23 Athalya Brenner (ed.), A Feminist Companion to Ruth and Esther (The Feminist Companion to the Bible, 2/3; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2000), 159–60. 21 22

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Ruth’s decision is a one-time action that may or may not reflect constant qualities; theoretically it could suggest Ruth is a risk-taker in general, since she did also marry an Israelite. Onetime actions, however, can reveal traits that may be qualitatively more crucial than more routine habits might be.24 The verb describing Ruth’s decision-making, often translated “was determined” (1:18), can also be translated as “confirm oneself in a purpose”25 or “exert oneself.”26 The root )a4mas9 means “be strong,”27 “be bold, alert,”28 “be solid, hard.”29 In the hitpa(el (reflexive) form, it is found uniquely here in the feminine form. This verb applied to a woman implies an attempt to depict a female character of great determination. Musical devices found in many works are used to underline this trait of determination in Ruth. Some of Ruth’s speech appears to indicate deliberate manipulation of language to make a certain impression. Her consistent response to Naomi’s requests or demands is complete compliance in speech, but her actions tell a different story. The portrait of Ruth that ultimately emerges, through her speech, is that of a strong-minded woman who knows how to appear compliant while silently working towards her own goals.

THE MUSIC What can music add to our understanding of these texts? At a purely emotional level, there is something deeper, more immediate and intense about hearing than reading or seeing. Even the most passionate speech is surpassed by its musical representation. The medium of music is particularly well adapted to depicting inward thoughts and emotions as distinct from outward actions and words. Music is also well suited to filling gaps in character and personal relations; for example, age is revealed at once in the choice of voice type, while relationships can be depicted in musical ensembles. Ruth is invariably cast as a soprano, a high voice implying youth, whose highest reaches can also depict passionate determination. Naomi is usually a mezzo-soprano, a lower voice standing for age and authority, but which also has a warm and comforting sound. Motives assigned to both Ruth and Naomi by librettists are generally those of affection, which lend themselves well to musical depiction. Harmonic duets between the two women, for example, have a romantic sound that musically suggests a deep emotional connection between the women. Librettists and composers were well aware of the centrality of Ruth’s pledge, as it is always included in oratorios or operas based on the story. It is also a musical highlight that is used as a

24

Shlomit Rimmon-Kenan, Narrative Fiction (2d ed.; London: Routledge, 2002), 61. Brown et al., A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament, 55. Clines, The Dictionary of Classical Hebrew, 1:320. 27 Ibid. 28 Brown et al., A Hebrew and English Lexicon of the Old Testament, 54. 29 Koehler and Baumgartner, Bilingual Dictionary of Hebrew and Aramaic Old Testament, 62; Koehler et al., The Hebrew-Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament, 1:65. 25 26

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leitmotif, a musical theme or “reminiscence motif,” which continually reminds the listener of Ruth’s pledge at many different points of the story. Most scores contain duets of varying lengths between Ruth and Naomi, filling in the time they spent together before the plot’s resolution. I will examine a few of these scenes, pointing to ways in which the librettos— but especially the music— highlight or diminish their individual personality traits as outlined above, and their emotional bond. Ruth’s pledge is a musical highlight and a leitmotif running through all these works. Musically, this centers the entire story on the committed relationship initiated by Ruth’s famous text. Ruth’s and Naomi’s words can be heard in many keys and diverse melodies, and various musical techniques breathe life into the text to suggest emotion that can only be read between the lines of the biblical text. I will try to explain musical terminology in the simplest terms possible. When I refer to pitches, I utilize a European notation system in which middle C is represented by c’; other notes in that octave would be d’, e’, etc. The next octave starts with c’’ and a high C is c’’’. The standard range for a mezzo or alto is roughly g (below middle C) up to g’’, while that of a soprano would be c’ to c’’’. The page references refer to pages in the musical score. “Staff ” is a line of music; “reh.” refers to the rehearsal number in the score; and “m.” refers to the measure number. 1. Otto Goldschmidt, Ruth, A Sacred Pastoral.30 Otto (Moritz David) Goldschmidt (1829– 1907) studied with Mendelssohn, among others, and his music was strongly influenced by Mendelssohn’s melodic style and harmonies. Ruth is considered Goldschmidt’s most wellknown composition31 and was performed several times in the nineteenth century, in England and Germany. He wrote the part of Ruth for his wife, well-known Swedish soprano Jenny Lind. While Ruth is singing her aria “Intreat [sic] Me Not to Leave Thee,” Naomi interrupts her (p. 30, top) singing “Behold thy sister Orpah” (1:15, placed here after 1:16, so that Naomi is responding to Ruth’s words). The accompaniment switches abruptly to triplets, and modulations between major and minor recur frequently. Such rhythmic and tonal shifts, here and throughout this scene, suggest underlying anxiety and uncertainty. When the two voices sing together (p. 30, 4th staff), Ruth singing “Intreat me not” against Naomi’s “Return thou,” a shift to fast sixteenth notes heightens the excitement and conflicting desires of the two women. This is a fine example of the power of music to suggest emotion that is not found in the text standing alone. The recapitulation of the opening “Intreat me not” phrase is marked agitato and repeated on

30 In English; words from the KJV. London: Lamborn Cock, Addison & Co., 1868; Ruth—soprano; Naomi— mezzo soprano. A longer discussion of this and the following composers and their works, plus the works of several other composers, can be found in Helen Leneman, The Performed Bible: The Story of Ruth in Opera and Oratorio (The Bible in the Modern World 11; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2007). 31 Gaynor Jones in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians (ed. Stanley Sadie; 26 vols.; 2d ed.; New York: Grove, 2001), 10:107.

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increasingly higher pitches (p. 30, 4th staff). Ruth interrupts Naomi with this phrase, as Naomi had previously interrupted Ruth. The final repetition of the words “to leave thee” are sung on the dominant (unresolved chord) of F, C7; when it is resolved, the conclusion is played più tranquillo (more calmly). The section ends with both voices on the dominant C7, leading to a reprisal of “Whither thou goest” (figure 1).

Fig. 1. Source: Helen Leneman, The Performed Bible: The Story of Ruth in Opera and Oratorio (The Bible in the Modern World 11; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2007).

The quality and tone of Ruth’s music is sweeter than Naomi’s, because of its smoother rhythms, brighter keys, and higher pitches, musically portraying the difference in their characters as Goldschmidt saw them. Goldschmidt effectively weaves a single musical leitmotif, heard here in Ruth and Naomi’s first duet, throughout the score. This ties all the subsequent action back to their relationship. 2. Georg Schumann, Ruth (oratorio) Opus 20.32 Georg Schumann (1866–1952) was the director of the Berlin Singakademie from 1900–1950. He conducted the final twentieth-century performance of Ruth in 1946, just six years before his death. The work was revived and performed at the Berlin Philharmonic on November 4, 2003, a performance I attended.

32 In German, with English translation; F.E.C. Leuckart, Leipzig, 1909 (orchestral score); G. Schirmer, 1910 (piano score); Ruth—soprano; Naomi—mezzo soprano.

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Schumann’s harmonic style falls on the border between the late Romantic and early twentieth-century. Schumann’s libretto, which he wrote, is a mix of extended biblical passages— notably Ecclesiastes and Song of Songs—with “biblicized” passages blended in. Schumann’s style includes unusual intervals and dissonances; dramatic climaxes, often with high sung notes; syncopated rhythms to create excitement; effective use of silence, with sustained rests; and interesting tonal painting through pitch. The unusual instrumentation, including harp, drums, and tambourine, lends a Middle Eastern flavor to the score. Schumann uses leitmotifs throughout. Most notable is the “Whither thou Goest” motif, which clarinets play in the opening measures of the oratorio, after which it is repeated in the strings. I am calling this Ruth’s leitmotif 1, while I call the theme heard in Ruth’s aria to the text, “Let me now follow after thee,” Ruth’s leitmotif 2 (p. 18, m.3 after reh. #31). These themes link all the sections and characters of the oratorio. Ruth’s leitmotif 1 heard at the opening of “Entreat me not” has a light, upbeat feeling because of the major key and the sixteenth-note leading tones. On Ruth’s last phrase, “Let me now follow after thee” (p. 18, m.3 after reh. #31), both the voice and orchestra have a more flowing and passionate melody including big leaps—Ruth leitmotif 2—that is repeated in several keys. The vocal leaps to steadily higher pitches depict increasing excitement. Naomi responds to Ruth’s words, an addition that fills the gap of silence: Unto whom shall I compare thee, to give thee consolation?

Ruth continues: Say no more unto me, that thou dost desire me to leave thee! (p. 18, reh. #32)

This is sung to the Ruth leitmotif 2, first heard in “Let me now follow,” but in a different tonality. The musical phrase continues to rise, up to a’’ on “to leave” (p. 19, top), which is sung forte and molto ritardando (loud, slowing down a great deal). The voice descends a seventh to b’, leading directly into “Whither thou goest” (1:16–17 [figure 2]). The opening measures are marked espressivo e con fuoco (fiery, passionate). The melody, Ruth leitmotif 1, opened the oratorio and has been threaded into the music before this scene. When the theme is sung here for the first time, its lyricism becomes passionate because of the increasing complexity of the accompaniment. Though the theme is still in a major key, the dotted rhythm becomes more irregular here and is coupled with a dense accompaniment. The voice is doubled in flutes and oboes, and the harp plays at the end of each phrase. This is a musical portrayal of a passionate and very determined Ruth.

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Fig. 2. Source: Helen Leneman, The Performed Bible: The Story of Ruth in Opera and Oratorio (The Bible in the Modern World 11; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2007).

After “buried,” the frenzied orchestral accompaniment suddenly dies down, leading to a new time indication of largamente maestoso (broad, majestic). The word “thee” is on a sustained a’’ sung fortissimo (very loud) and held for four full beats (two measures before reh. #35). The fact that the climactic high note appears on the word “thee” underlines the intensity of this relationship. On the note itself, the chord is F major; but the orchestra ascends chromatically over the note, creating dissonance with the sung a’’, until the voice descends to e’’ and back to the home key of E major for final resolution. At this point, the dynamic marking is still ff, but a few measures of conclusion in the orchestra gradually lower both the pitch and volume, concluding on a soft E major chord in the full orchestra, including snare drum, with the violins playing an open E. The conclusion of this section on a soft tonic chord conveys calm and joy, as well as a sense of anticipation and mystery from the slightly eerie sound of the open E. Naomi now expresses love and gratitude to Ruth that are never seen in the Scroll: O Ruth, thou beloved, thou hast steadfastly journeyed with me. The Lord will keep thy feet upon thy way!

The closing words between the women suggest that their strength lies in their bond. This is

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confirmed in the next scene, when the villagers express anger at Naomi for abandoning them at a difficult time. Ruth steps forward and tells their story: Naomi, now my mother, left the land of Judah. With Elimelech and her two sons she found a home in the country of Moab. ‘Twas love that led me to her house, where with vow for vow we pledged our troth now and evermore!

This last phrase suggests that Ruth’s love for her husband led her to Naomi’s house, where the two women exchanged vows. This would explain why Ruth wanted to follow Naomi: they had made a vow to one another ten years earlier. This is not elaborated further in the libretto, but it is an intriguing idea that fills many gaps. It is the only libretto that suggests this possibility, and it is a pity Schumann did not choose to elaborate further on such an original and provocative idea. His music supports the idea of a powerful, even passionate, bond between the women. 3. Joseph Rumshinsky, Ruth: Biblical Opera.33 Joseph Rumshinsky’s (1881–1956) first music studies, in Vilna, Russia (now Lithuania), were with a cantor and at music conservatories. Rumshinsky traveled around Eastern Europe from 1890–1894, accompanying a number of cantors and studying music, with noted composer Rimsky-Korsakov among others.34 The opera Ruth was his last work. Rumshinsky’s dream of seeing this work performed on stage in Israel was never realized, as he died in the midst of negotiating for its production.35 Later attempts to see it staged in Los Angeles all failed.36 Musically, this is a very unusual work. Modality features significantly, probably a result of Rumshinsky’s early training in Eastern Europe, as well as his many years writing for Yiddish theater, where music would also have incorporated modal sounds. In addition to modality, Rumshinsky uses chromaticism and dissonance very effectively to heighten dramatic moments. The setting of Ruth’s pledge is unusually dramatic. The aria develops into a scene between Ruth and Naomi. The orchestra opens with a rapid, repeated figure of thirty-second notes, with an ostinato tremolo (short, incessant repetition) on A in the bass, a drone punctuating each beat (figure 3). Over this agitated accompaniment, Ruth’s opening phrase leaps an octave, from e’ to e’’, descends a half step to d’’#, and another to d’’. These modal characteristics (E-D#-D) give the phrase an “oriental” sound. The next phrase repeats this pattern, while the orchestra continues its hammering accompaniment. This almost frenzied opening is a vivid musical portrayal of a strong-willed, even fiery Ruth. The voice continues to rise in pitch and volume throughout, signifying Ruth’s great

33 In Hebrew; Libretto by I. L. Wohlman; copyright 1949 by both authors (unpublished manuscript); Ruth— lyric soprano; Naomi—mezzo soprano. 34 Obituary, New York Herald, 2/6/56. 35 Obituary, New York Times, 1956. 36 Rumshinsky archives, UCLA Music Library.

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Fig. 3. Source: Helen Leneman, The Performed Bible: The Story of Ruth in Opera and Oratorio (The Bible in the Modern World 11; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2007).

determination and confidence. Naomi interrupts to ask (p. 95): What has come over you to leave your god Chemosh and your birthplace to go after me and cling to this god, Shaddai.

This is an interesting addition to the Scroll, where Naomi never asks Ruth this question, nor does she ever mention the god Chemosh. The story makes more sense with this addition, because it is only logical that Naomi would ask Ruth about her motives. In the next scene, the villagers ask Naomi who Ruth is, and she responds: Ruth, after the death of her husband, left her father and mother and came with me to Bethlehem; we came together in the shadow of the wings of the God of Israel.

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While in the Scroll neither Naomi nor the people seem to notice Ruth’s presence at her side, here Naomi not only recognizes but also praises Ruth’s actions. Also of note is Naomi’s reference to her son’s death as that of Ruth’s husband; and her recounting that Ruth left her father and mother. Neither of these phrases appears in the Scroll, and they make Naomi seem more focused on Ruth than on herself. Ruth and Naomi now sing a duet describing their feelings for each other: Your happiness is my happiness, your peace is my peace. You are the bird in my dream. You are like a daughter of my birth.

The final act of the opera is a wedding scene, presided over by Naomi and with Ruth’s active participation. This is a major change from the terse narrative of the Scroll’s ch. 4, in which neither Ruth nor Naomi even has a voice. This libretto indicates that the close relationship between the two is not disrupted by the marriage between Ruth and Boaz, because it is Naomi who performs the wedding. 4. Sir Lennox Berkeley, Ruth, Opera in Three Scenes, Opus 50.37 Sir Lennox Berkeley (1903– 1989) studied Modern Languages at Oxford, where he also took private organ lessons. Ruth was one of three chamber operas he wrote between 1952 and 1956 (the others were the grand opera Nelson and the one-act comedy A Dinner Engagement). The instrumentation and sound of the score are similar to Benjamin Britten in places, possibly because it was written for the English Opera Group and for the same small-scale forces as several of Britten’s operas (for example, Rape of Lucretia, Turn of the Screw).38 The casting is unusual, since uniquely here Ruth is a mezzo and Naomi a soprano. The motive was probably the availability of particular singers, but it is also possible that Berkeley wanted to suggest a more mature Ruth and a more dramatic Naomi. The London premiere was in 1956. Ruth was performed again in 1983 (concert performance, done as a “pageant” in Tewkesbury Abbey) at the Cheltenham Festival, when Berkeley was 80. It was performed at that festival again in 2003, billed as a “semi-staging;” but in reality the opera has not been fully staged since the 1950s, when it was performed several times. A compact disc of this work was released in 2005 on the Chandos label (Chandos 10301). This score is not tonal like the others I have discussed, so musical devices used to project emotion are different. Ruth’s pledge has a suggestion of both F major and f minor; the home key is rarely evident (figure 4). On “where thou diest” (p. 20, reh. #22), the orchestra plays a chord of GC against the sung f’’; the F functions as a suspension to E (the third of a C major chord). Such suspensions are found throughout the aria. The vocal line is characterized by chromatic complementarity, varying from whole to half step intervals.

37 38

Libretto by Eric Crozier; J. & W. Chester Ltd., 1956; Ruth—mezzo; Naomi—soprano. Peter Dickinson in The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, 3:359.

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Fig. 4. Source: Helen Leneman, The Performed Bible: The Story of Ruth in Opera and Oratorio (The Bible in the Modern World 11; Sheffield: Sheffield Phoenix, 2007).

The main theme is repeated three times on increasingly higher notes, musically depicting increased excitement. The voice dips to its lowest note, c’, on the word “buried” (p. 20, measure before reh. #23), an example of musical word-painting. “Nothing but death” is repeated to the same melodic pattern but off the beat and in a dotted rhythm, a rhythmic alteration that suggests greater agitation. The closing phrase “And thy God” (p. 21, m.2 after reh. #24) reprises the opening notes of the aria, with a small change in the final sixteenthth-note phrase: the interval of a major second is flatted to a minor second. The flatting of Ruth’s a’ in this little sixteenth-note run is a subtle musical signal of doubt or memory of past grief, both also reflected in the lack of tonal resolution. The aria ends on a sustained b’’ flat over a C7 chord (p. 21, 2nd staff). But when the voice stops, only a sustained middle C is heard in the orchestra, the closest to a resolution this music reaches; there is no C major in the orchestra independent from the voice. Ruth has not found resolution. The tonality almost becomes C major, which is often associated with purity and has been used by Berkeley to that purpose;39 but the presence of a B flat keeps the chord a C7. Small pitch and rhythm changes throughout this aria continue subtly to suggest Ruth’s emotional state. After Ruth’s aria, Ruth and Naomi sing a short unaccompanied passage in which they agree to go on together to Bethlehem. The a capella setting effectively mimics speech (p. 21, reh. #25):

39

Peter Dickinson, The Music of Lennox Berkeley (London: Boydell & Brewer, 1989), 179.

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Come, daughter, (come, mother), come my well-beloved, Let us go on together, let us go hence to Bethlehem.

The major change from the Scroll here is the aspect of mutual consent. The importance of the Ruth-Naomi relationship is evident musically, since the theme of Ruth’s pledge is continually brought back in the opera. In musical terms, this suggests her devotion to Naomi is the motivating force behind all her actions. CONCLUSION There are not many textual differences between these librettos’ portrayals of Ruth and Naomi’s relationship. The original text for Ruth’s pledge is always retained, but the librettos deviate from the biblical text in Naomi’s response. Only Goldschmidt uses strictly the Scroll text for their first scene. In the other librettos, Naomi expresses words of affection to Ruth. Musically, in spite of great differences due to the different eras of the four works, there is a commonality in the emotional intensity of the music Ruth and Naomi sing together. The music strongly suggests deep feelings between the women. Music has the power not only to read between the lines and fill in the gaps, but also to create an inner world of the heart and mind. Music suggests and music becomes a kind of subtext; and as such, it surpasses what the text can transmit on its own. The subliminal message is heard and absorbed by listeners as the musical theme of Ruth’s pledge runs like a thread throughout each work, becoming their emotional core. Some musical settings may resonate more than others with one’s own image of Ruth and Naomi. If one were able to hear these musical renditions, one would never read the text in the same way again, I promise. This is the power of music: it offers us new and unfamiliar lenses through which to read a familiar story.

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From Ruth to the “Global Woman”: Social and Legal Aspects ATHALYA BRENNER Professor of Biblical Studies, Tel Aviv University and Professor Emeritus of Hebrew Bible and Old Testament, University of Amsterdam In this short study, the Scroll of Ruth, and especially Ruth's undisclosed motives for following her mother-in-law, are read alongside the situation of foreign, female migrant workers in contemporary Israel—and vice versa. This allows a bi-directional reading that supplies a possible context both for the biblical text and for the evaluation of today's issues. A STORY If, very early in the morning, on a high summer day, you’re going back home after a party and you encounter a fairly young woman wandering. . . . She’s on her own, a little dangerous at that hour, and she is wearing an evening gown. She seems to be aimlessly walking about. She is definitely in evening wear, upon examination, a party gown, but her hands and skin seem those of a menial worker. . . . Not a prostitute, doesn’t look like one, but who knows? Obviously foreign, can’t speak the language properly, you can hardly understand her. Seems disoriented and unstable, drunk perhaps? On drugs? Mumbles something about “the man,”“the man,” ha-)is\. . . she is not bleeding. Neither does she look molested or harmed. Still, it is a problem. What to do? You are a responsible citizen, so you use your cellphone to alert the police. The police come. They arrest the woman, who has no ID or other documents. Communication is difficult. Eventually they threaten her with deportation if she can’t explain her “loitering.” Still not much information is forthcoming. Ha-)is\, ha-)is\, she mumbles. . . . The police must bring in an interpreter. She has a story: she’s a farm worker nearby, for a local rich farmer, and supports a local former mother-in-law. She claims her employer is going to marry her. The cops laugh: such Cinderella stories don’t happen so easily in our insular society. But now they have to call in a lawyer: no deportation is possible without a court order, even when the facts seem clear. The lawyer calls the rich farmer named by the woman. He also calls the alleged mother-in-

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law. He finds out that the woman is indeed a migrant worker and that the farmer did promise to marry her. Alas, alas, she still is an illegal, hence a candidate for deportation. The matter is brought before the judges. The farmer is passionate in his plea to let her stay and marry him; the woman keeps silent. The mother-in-law testifies that the woman has already, and voluntarily, converted to Judaism. The woman and man marry on the spot, with the magistrates officiating. The woman eventually has a son by the rich farmer. So, end of the court case, a happy end. And the woman is, of course, Ruth, Grandmother of King David (Book of Ruth) and foremother of Jesus (Matt 1). A skit similar to this appeared two years ago in Haaretz, an Israeli secular and leftist newspaper, just before Shavu’ot (Pentecost), when the Ruth megillah is traditionally read in the synagogue. It appeared in the cultural supplement pages. The above narrative, and similar reworkings, is certainly a contemporary midrash. And yet, inasmuch as it and similar half-humorous reworkings expose the society that “updates” its tribal scriptures periodically, according to its current needs, as reflective of its concerns, it is also reflexive of the biblical Ruth Scroll, in the sense that it affords a new look at understanding Ruth as biblical “heroine.”1

W H Y D I D R U T H A C C O M PA N Y N A O M I T O B E T H L E H E M ( R U T H 1 ) ? Commentators are fond of attributing the literary Ruth’s behavior to her love for Naomi, or her commitment, or other ideals. But I have read it differently for some time. A non-idealizing possibility of reading can be entertained. Ruth is a widow or, to be more precise after Naomi Steinberg’s definition2 and as Boaz says, a “dead man’s wife” (Ruth 4:5). The position of a widow, be she penniless or otherwise, is difficult for she has no adult male protector. If she is childless, or to be more precise has no son(s), her position is even more serious (see Gen 38 for Tamar’s story). We can assume that her marriageability, within a patriarchal context, is poor—especially since she is not depicted as good looking or attractive in any way. (This stereotypic element of beauty for Ruth, this romancing, is usually supplied by readers, already from ancient times, but is not in the biblical text.) Thus, going to a foreign country with her former mother-in-law is perhaps for Ruth preferable to staying behind in her own country. Following this line of reasoning, Ruth follows Naomi. And since she seems to have no financial means apart from her ability to work, she becomes a migrant worker—in the fields, for food for her and for her mother-in law. This reading, which appeared in print at least twice,3 was then reinforced by what I knew of migrant (non-Jewish, hence “foreign”) female workers’ situation in Israel from the late 1980s, and

1 In the sense of Esther Fuchs’ definition of biblical heroines and Ruth in particular (Sexual Politics in Biblical Narrative [JSOTsupp 310; Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 2003], especially 73–81). 2 Naomi Steinberg, “Romancing the Widow: The Economic Distinctions between the alma4nâ, the iššâ-alma4nâ and the )e3šet-hamme3t” in J. Harold Ellens et al., eds., God’s Word for Our World, Vol. 1: Biblical Studies in Honor of Simon John de Vries (JSOTsupp 388; London: T & T Clark, 2004), 327–46. 3 Athalya Brenner, “Ruth as a Foreign Worker and the Politics of Exogamy,” in Brenner (ed.), A Feminist Companion to Ruth and Esther (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic, 1999), 158–62 and Athalya Brenner, “Wat, wenn ich Rut bin?,” Bibel und Kirche 54.3 (1999): 117–20, 122.

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in turn reinforced my interest in the legal and social situation of such workers. Let me therefore present the case of migrant workers in Israel as a short case study, then proceed to focus on gender differentials in such workers’ situation and the question of their social integration, then return to Ruth.

MIGRANT WORKERS IN ISRAEL 1. Sources. My sources for the actual and legal aspects of this discussion are official publications. Summaries are available on the Internet, for instance at the official Israel Government site and in Israel’s central Bureau of Statistics, 2006 annual report.4 Here are some facts and figures, released to the press at the end of 2006, part of the “Demographic situation in Israel, 2005: Typical trends” overview.5 It is understood that a work visa for foreign nationals is by definition temporary (currently of seven years’ duration) and subject to regulations. After that period, according to the law, foreign nationals must leave the country. 2. Statistics. In 2005, 29,000 foreign nationals entered Israel with a work visa. In that same period, 24,000 visa holders were registered as leaving Israel. More than half of the workers came from two countries: Thailand (29%) and the Philippines (23%). Formerly, in the years 1990–2005, 98,300 foreign nationals entered Israel with a work permit (visa), without record of leaving, which means that they are still living in Israel. Of these, 30% are from Thailand, 24% from the Philippines, 15% from Romania, and 10% from China. Two-thirds of these entered Israel in the last four years (2002–2005). At the end of 2005, the number of foreign nationals from developing countries who entered Israel on a tourist visa and remained in the country after their visa had expired, was 80,000. This number adds to the upper limit for estimating the number of current workers without a work permit (visa).6 Gender and class data are not supplied by the official statistics. However, my impression is that women are about two-thirds of the workers’ total. They are mostly from disadvantaged urban or rural communities, with no high-tech skills beyond traditional female capabilities. However, the global economy allows them to travel under disadvantaged conditions and to export money back home (for instance: import of money from work is one of the mainstays of Philippine economy); and this truly makes them, and their male counterparts, into “global workers” who uphold the fluidity of global economy. 3. General Regulations. In theory, the rules and procedures for the recruitment of migrant

4 See http://www.gov.il/FirstGov/NewsEng/News_ GuideMigrantWorkers.htm and http://www1.cbs.gov.il/reader/, respectively. 5 The material is translated from the Hebrew version of the Overview (I couldn’t find an English version), as it appears on http://www1.cbs.gov.il/reader/newhodaot/hodaa_template.html?hodaa=200601252. Please note: The official numbers are of legal or formerly legal migrant workers only. 6 At the end of 2004, the estimate was 180,000; it is now lower by about 10,000 or so, probably due to a rigorous deportation policy.

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workers for the Israeli economy are strict and State regulated, based on demand, and regularly revised. Agencies arrange red tape and deal with The Labor Department and social services. Both migrant workers and local employers have rights and obligations. For instance, change of employment type is not legal for the worker; holding of passport from employee is not for the employer; legal binding of employee to employer (by issuing a conditional visa) is no more legal; health insurance for workers is mandatory, at employee’s expense (at special rates); a mandatory weekly rest day (which can be exchanged for money) is dictated, against the possibility of exploitation, especially of live-in [female] help. 4. Malpractices and Complaints. Venues for migrant employees’ complaints are in evidence, but balanced by fear of deportation if a worker is caught without a valid working visa, or in the wake of an employer’s complaint, or criminal action. There is the possibility of legal action through help agencies concerning issues of pregnancy, maternity, and workers’ children born in Israel. The differences between law and law enforcement on the one hand, and legal/social praxis on the other hand, have to be and are acknowledged and acted upon also by Non-Governmental Organizations such as women’s organizations and human rights organizations.7 Hot issues relevant both to the host society and to the migrant worker’s situation are the visas’ quotas; the nature of licenses and work permits; struggle against human trafficking and prostitution; no-permit workers and their deportation, that is, legal procedures; salaries and conditions; and, finally, children born in Israel. 5. Quotas. Quotas are decided upon periodically by government agencies according to need and demand in various economic sectors, with a declared policy to limit numbers as much as possible and exercise control over numbers and types of employment. Priority is given to construction and agriculture (male occupations), health care and domestic help (female occupations; and see below). This leads to strict controls over the type of work allowed in a visa that, widely interpreted, may be considered a violation of human rights, since once the type of employment is decided upon, it cannot be changed. On the other hand, by recent Supreme Court ruling, binding an employee to a single employer is no longer legal. In other words, certain migrant workers’ mobility within an assigned economic sector is now allowed. 6. Prostitution. Human trafficking and prostitution affects mostly women. It is illegal but prevalent and, in Israel, concerns mostly women from European former Eastern bloc countries. Although prostitutes may fall under the description “migrant workers,” their case will not be discussed here, since it is not relevant to the biblical Ruth’s situation (and see below).8

7 Immediate addresses for instances of abuse, fight for rights and personal complaints are inter alia, Kav La-Oved (Heb: Workers’ Line); http://www.kavlaoved.org.il/media.asp; and the Hotline for Migrant Workers, at http://www.hotline.org.il/english/index.htm. Also available are the Physicians For Human Rights, concerning health issues, and Mesila (no website but a telephone number available), concerning child education. 8 Information for Israel can be found, for instance, on the Amnesty site: http://web.amnesty.org/library/Index/ engMDE150. General global information for human trafficking can be found, for instance, on the United Nations website: http://www.unodc.org/unodc/en/trafficking_human_beings.html.

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7. Expiration of permits. Workers without permit (work visa) or whose permit has expired face immediate jailing, then deportation if and when caught, formerly by the Foreign Workers’ Police and currently by the OZ (Hebrew: “strength”) unit of the Interior Ministry. This strictness has to be explained. Israel still has to decide whether it is a Jewish State or a State for all its citizens. At this time, the balance is in favor of a Jewish State with an officially dominant majority of the Jewish religion,9 dictating personal status and the Law of Return. This law allows automatic Israeli citizenship for every incoming Jew, but denies immigration and citizenship rights to nonJews (unless natives, or in proven family reunion cases). Therefore, almost the only possibility of becoming a permanent resident or citizen is by bona fide marriage and/or conversion to Judaism. Otherwise, extension of a working visa is possible through local agencies and assured employers for a limited period only, and is then followed by voluntary leaving or deportation. Public outcry about the necessity and methods of deportation (the police body was first instituted in 2003) does not always help. 8. Salaries. Salaries and conditions are different for live-in jobs (mostly women) and in other sectors. In live-in jobs, higher salaries are paid to veteran workers. By law, salaries to migrant workers should conform at least to the minimum wage requirements. In practice, often this does not occur. Add to these transport costs and commissions to intermediaries and agencies, abroad and local; this is a lucrative industry, and potential exploitation by employers, and migrant workers are not well paid. 9. Children. Children born in Israel to migrant workers are covered by education laws and many of them, especially those born to parents whose stay has long been beyond their permit hence illegal, know no other home country or language. Nevertheless, they may be subject to deportation with their parents. A recent Court decision to allow permanent resident status to children of migrant workers/foreigners born in Israel before 2001 is now being implemented to ameliorate this problem. 10. Gender Differentials. Until now, the situation of migrant workers in Israel has been sketched with only a wink and nod, as the need arose, to gender differentials. As we are getting closer to the biblical Ruth, the time has come for a few words on the clear gender differentials between workers. Adopting the basic sociological distinction, according to which an occupation can be gendered if more than fifty percent of its practitioners belong to one or the other gender, the situation is as follows. The most typical female occupations are health care and domestic help, often combined. Work in the tourist industry and catering, illegal prostitution, and certain agricultural tasks (like flower and fruit picking and sorting) are a minority occupation. For males,

9 There is freedom of religious practice in Israel. However, certain civil and economic rights are reserved for Jews, for Israel is self-defined as the only “homeland” for Jews in the world.

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the typical occupations are building and construction, and agriculture. Health care, work in the tourist industry, and catering are a minority occupation. In other words, migrant jobs in Israel are gendered and typified. In general, they are menial and low paying jobs for both genders, but a differential between domestic and so called productive/industrial obtains. From the viewpoints of age and marital status, there is no great gender difference: workers are from late teens to mid-fifties, with or without spouses. Concerning country of origin, it seems that most females come from the Philippines and from the former Eastern bloc, while a majority of males are from China, Thailand, and the former Eastern bloc. Salary and conditions vary according to occupation, vocation, and duration of stay (veterans earn more), so no gender differentials can be calculated. Living conditions are better for typical female workers, since as care givers they live in. Complaints about employers’ abuse of rights are more often filed by females. The tendency to remain after the visa expires seems more typically female but is difficult to quantify. Formal, long term partnerships and marriages with local (Israeli) partners are extremely rare, but when they occur, they are almost always contracted between local men and foreign/migrant women, with the hope of the women’s naturalization. This is, of course, problematic in view of the State’s foundational rules and the Orthodox religious requirement for Jews to have a Jewish mother through birth or conversion.10 To summarize, just before we return to the Bible and to Ruth: the stay of legal foreign workers in Israel is, at least theoretically, regulated by law, which means that they have basic labor and human rights. However, their stay and ability to earn is curtailed. Duration of stay, conditions, and options are limited, not least by the nature of the Israeli State and Israeli society. A lack of social integration, and possibilities of worker exploitations, are built into the situation. Migrant workers are destined to remain just that, at the bottom of the ladder, temporary, strangers in the host land, for a fixed period. Why, then, do they—especially women, many of them with children and also spouses back home—try to remain in Israel beyond their visa time? The answer can only be because what awaits them back at home is far, far worse. And this leads us back to the biblical Ruth. — Who might have had no choice — Who is always called “Moabite,” that is, a foreigner — Who works in the fields — Who marries a rich local, thus altering her civil and civic status; and has a child, thus altering her social status — But who disappears from her own story at the end; hence, she is not “integrated” but is “assimilated” — And Jewish tradition requires her to convert, although the biblical text contains no hint of that beyond her declaration to Naomi early on, “Your people are my

10 Conversion in Judaism is a lengthy process governed by strict rules, at least as far as the Orthodox rabbinic establishment is concerned, to the extent that this establishment will not accept conversions by liberal Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, and other non-Orthodox Rabbis. For most Israelis, even when they consider themselves secular, being defined as a Jew is important for ideological as well as practical reasons.

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people and your god is my god” (Ruth 1:21). A convert remains a convert, almost never an “in” person—does this ring a bell?

SHORT REFLECTIONS Please regard Modern Israel and its migrant workers as a parable. This is the reality I am familiar with, but Israel is not unique in its attitude toward migrants and immigrants, especially those on the lower social rungs. Look around you and ask yourselves: What do we do concerning migrants? How do we treat them? What are our terms for accepting or for rejecting them? Such questions and the answers given to them may change the way you would read biblical texts if you apply your findings to your reading. You will run the risk of eisegesis, most certainly, of being anachronistic, and of attributing to the past concerns of the present. But never fear: issues of human and social rights have not progressed so far in the last two or three millennia as to make our concerns today much different from past concerns. Human rights are primarily matters of physicalities: eating, sheltering, multiplying, speaking, and breathing. And please note: they should not be confused with civil rights; the latter are something else. Basically, there is nothing romantic about human rights; there is nothing romantic about being a fugitive, or about seeking economic asylum. To conclude: Why so many readers choose to romanticize Ruth’s behavior and motives must be queried. Let us ask ourselves why, in our interpretations of the Bible, we are often biased in favor of finding spiritual motives over practical ones; why, wherever we can, we value imagined sentiments of religiosity over the primary will to survive; why reading as if for today does not encompass today’s lessons as applicable to texts of the past and vice versa; why we have to idealize not only Ruth but the Bible as a whole. The Bible probably does not require all these romantic exercises and ideological idealizations. It is there, a wonderful artifact that does not need further embellishment. So why do we feel the desperate need to gild this golden object? Will it not be beneficial to allow for a two-way traffic, that is, not only to read the Bible as an exemplum for our “reality,” whatever that might be, but also to read our own reality as a guide for reading the Bible?

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Between Text & Sermon Ruth 1:6–22

JESSICA TATE Fairfax Presbyterian Church Fairfax, Virginia

THIS TEXT FALLS IN THE Revised Common Lectionary on All Saints’ Day and is an appropriate text to explore when we celebrate the faithful in all the ages and, in many of our churches, remember the saints “who from their labors rest.” This is certainly a text that deals with death and grief, as Naomi and her daughters-in-law face life without their husbands/sons. All Saints’ Day is also a reminder that all of us are saints when we live into the alternative reality that is the reign of God, which is so contrary to the reality in which we find ourselves most of the time. The reign of God brings hope to the hopeless, fullness where there is emptiness, and lovingkindness as a way of life. When we meet Naomi in v. 6, she is coping with immense problems. Because Naomi’s husband and sons have died and she is too old to take a new husband and bear more sons, she, too, is barren, in a sense, just as her homeland had been during the grip of the famine that had driven her family to Moab. She has no life to claim for herself or offer her daughters-in-law. She is in the throes of grief. She has lost everything. Naomi sees her situation clearly, recognizes there is not much future for her, and releases her daughters-in-law from her in hopes that they can find a new way for themselves. She blesses Orpah and Ruth in God’s loving-kindness in the midst of her grief and tells them to turn back to their mothers’ houses and begin anew, departing thereby from the bitterness that has befallen her. In the way many families honor a loved one who has died by creating a scholarship or planting a tree, Naomi attempts to find new life in the midst of grief. A few verses later, however, Naomi’s selfless blessing gives way to despair as she returns to Bethlehem. When she arrives, she tells the townswomen no longer to call her Naomi (which means “pleasant”) but to call her Mara (“bitterness”). Her hopefulness turns to bitterness, overwhelming her with emptiness and tragedy. Naomi’s is an honest portrait of how grief enters human life. There are moments of great beauty and hope, when a grieving spouse begins a new and richer relationship with adult children, and there are periods of great despair when that spouse’s broken heart finds God is at best absent and at worst has brought this pain. Orpah kisses Naomi goodbye, and leaves, still weeping. Ruth, however, clings to Naomi. Ruth refuses to abandon Noami, asserting her oft-quoted statement, “Where you go, I will go . . .” (1:16–17). What is lost in the English translations is Ruth’s tone of indignation. She is incensed that she would be asked to leave, or forsake, her mother-in-law (Kathleen A. Robertson Farmer, Ruth, NIB 2, Abingdon, 1998, 907). Except for the literary foreshadowing of events to come in the mention of barley harvest (v. 22), the end of this pericope is utterly unsatisfying. Ruth and Naomi arrive in Bethlehem,

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and Naomi is bitter and empty. At this point in the story, we do not know that Ruth will become Naomi’s savior. We do not yet know that there will be a new family (ancestors of David, even!) or that food will be plenty, even from Naomi’s breast. At the end of ch. 1, we are left with Naomi’s emptiness. This is where we so often find ourselves—with a scary diagnosis, a relationship crumbling, the loss of a job, the death of a loved one. We find ourselves in these empty places, uncertain of the end of the story. We do not know how, or if, our fortunes, our security, our confidence, our hope will be restored. We are left with simply a promise—a promise that we are not alone. It is a promise that finds incarnation in Ruth. Ruth will cling to Naomi no matter what. She will be with her wherever she goes, wherever she lives, wherever she dies. This text leaves us unsure of how the story ends but confident that Naomi does not face her emptiness alone. Ruth clings to her, refusing to let her go. That is God’s promise to us, as well—that God will be with us no matter what. It is the promise of our faith: That nothing in life or in death can separate us from the love of God (Brief Statement of Faith of the Presbyterian Church, [USA]). Jon Berquist argues that the story of Ruth searches for “an expression of correct living, in which the deepest of human needs are addressed. In religious terms this need could be termed redemption, salvation, or blessing” (Judaism in Persia’s Shadow, Wipf and Stock, 2003, 221). Ruth clings to Naomi and does not allow her to bear her pain and despair alone. Because she refuses to leave Naomi, Ruth eventually becomes the vessel through which Naomi finds salvation—in the blessing of a male relative in Boaz and the hope of a son born to Ruth. Naomi’s deepest need was to be restored to hope and fullness, from bitterness to pleasantness, so to speak. The loving-kindness that Ruth shows to Naomi in refusing to leave her is the salvation that Naomi needs. This is how God acts. God clings to us, refusing to allow us to bear our despair and emptiness alone. In so doing, God shows us loving-kindness that sows in us hope and fullness, in short, salvation. The promise made incarnate in Ruth as she clings to Naomi is made incarnate also in us as we cling to one another. Around the time of Halloween, children might resonate with clinging to a friend at a haunted house. “I’ll go in if you go in,” they say, confronting their fear by sticking together. Adults might find loving-kindness incarnate in Margaret Edson’s play Wit, in which renowned poetry scholar Vivian Bearing is dying from ovarian cancer. Professor Bearing, an unsentimental academic, discovers the irony of her life’s work as she endures chemotherapy and begins to confront the realities of living and dying. As she lies withered in her hospital bed, weak, bald, emaciated, and groggy from morphine, Vivian’s eighty-year-old mentor enters the room. E.M.: Vivian? Vivian? It’s Evelyn. Vivian? VIVIAN: (Waking, slurred) Oh, God. (Surprised) Professor Ashford. Oh, God. E.M.: I’m in town visiting my great-grandson, who is celebrating his fifth birthday. I went to see you at your office, and they directed me here. (She lays her jacket, scarf, and parcel on the bed.) I have been walking all over town. I had forgotten how early it gets chilly here.

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VIVIAN: (Weakly) I feel so bad. E.M.: I know you do. I can see. (Vivian cries.) Oh, dear, there, there. There, there. (Vivian cries more, letting the tears flow.) Vivian, Vivian. (E.M. looks toward the hall, then furtively slips off her shoes and swings up on the bed. She puts her arm around Vivian.) There, there. There, there, Vivian. . . . E.M.: Let’s see. Shall I recite to you? Would you like that? I’ll recite something by Donne. VIVIAN: (Moaning) Nooooooo. E.M.: Very well. . . . (Silence. E.M. takes a children’s book out of the paper bag and begins reading. Vivian nestles in, drifting in and out of sleep.) Let’s see. The Runaway Bunny. By Margaret Wise Brown. . . . Now, then. Once there was a little bunny who wanted to run away. So he said to his mother, “I am running away.” “If you run away,” said his mother, “I will run after you. For you are my little bunny.” “If you run after me,” said the little bunny, “I will become a fish in a trout stream and I will swim away from you.” “If you become a fish in a trout stream,” said his mother, “I will become a fisherman and I will fish for you.” (Thinking out loud) Look at that. A little allegory of the soul. No matter where it hides, God will find it. See, Vivian? VIVIAN: (Moaning) Uhhhhhhh. [E.M. continues the story.] “Shucks,” said the little bunny, “I might just as well stay where I am and be your little bunny.” And so he did. “Have a carrot,” said the mother bunny. (To herself) Wonderful. (Vivian is now fast asleep. E.M. slowly gets down and gathers her things. She leans over and kisses her.) It’s time to go. And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest. (She leaves.) (Margaret Edson, Wit, Faber and Faber, 1993, 78–80)

As we celebrate All Saints’ Day, we remember all who have faithfully served the Lord through all the ages, but we are also reminded that God is still acting today, with us and in us, moving us and all of creation toward God’s reign (Peter C. Bower, ed., The Companion to the Book of Common Worship, Geneva, 2003, 151). We become saints to one another as we cling to one another and embody God’s loving-kindness. Perhaps we see in one another a glimpse of salvation.

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MARTHA L. MOORE-KEISH Columbia Theological Seminary Decatur, Georgia

THOSE WHO PREACH THIS TEXT ARE LIKELY to be preaching it as part of a series on the book of Ruth, since this particular chapter does not occur in the Revised Common Lectionary. If this is a sermon series, then the preacher might call attention to the dramatic shift between the first and second chapters of this book. Ruth 1 is marked by tragic losses, culminating in Naomi’s declaration that “the Almighty has dealt bitterly with me” (1:20). Though congregations will be most familiar with Ruth’s vow of loyalty to Naomi in 1:16–17 (“Where you go, I will go . . .”), there is no missing the palpable sense of anguish that pervades the first chapter of Ruth. The two widows, who have lost everything but each other, return from Moab to Bethlehem, where the barley harvest is just beginning. This sets the stage for Ruth 2. The action in this chapter centers on the grain field, where Ruth is gleaning and meets Boaz for the first time. Her interaction with Boaz is framed by two conversations at home with her mother-in-law, both of which focus on the need for Ruth to “find favor” with someone who will protect and provide for the women. Two basic questions emerge in reading this text: “Where is God?” and “Where are we?” WHERE IS GOD? In the book of Ruth, God neither speaks nor appears explicitly. This is not to say that God is altogether absent, but that discerning the presence of God requires an act of interpretation— by the characters in the story, and by those encountering it today. In ch. 2, “the Lord” is named three times: in the exchange of greetings between Boaz and his reapers (v. 4), in Boaz’s blessing of Ruth (v. 12), and in Naomi’s blessing of Boaz (v. 20). When read against the background of ch. 1, the first mention of “the Lord” here is especially striking. The last time we have heard God mentioned is in 1:21, when Naomi asks bitterly, “. . . why call me Naomi when the Lord has dealt harshly with me, and the Almighty has brought calamity upon me?” With this indictment still echoing in our ears, Boaz now strides onto the field singing out, “The Lord be with you!” Congregations who regularly use this as a response in worship will be tempted to answer, “and also with you,” and a preacher may use the familiarity of this exchange to play up the contrast with what we have heard of the Lord’s treatment of Naomi just verses before. Is this a Lord that we call on too lightly, too automatically, in our everyday greetings? Do we need to pause and think about those who, like Naomi, feel the Lord’s presence as bitter judgment in their lives? Boaz is clearly a bearer of God’s presence in this story. We see this reiterated in v. 12, when he says to Ruth “May the Lord reward you for your deeds, and may you have a full reward from

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the Lord, the God of Israel . . . ,” and Ruth responds quickly “May I continue to find favor in your sight, my lord . . .” (emphasis mine). Is this subtle irony in Ruth’s voice, reminding Boaz that it is all very well to wish her God’s blessing, but this does not absolve him of responsibility? Whether or not Ruth’s words are ironic, the story makes clear that Boaz is the provider, the kinsman-redeemer (go3)e3l, as ch. 3 elaborates), who bears divine blessing to Ruth and Naomi, bringing them “reward from the Lord, the God of Israel” (1:12). The last mention of the Lord comes from Naomi. When she hears from Ruth about the generosity of Boaz, she sings out, “Blessed be he by the Lord, whose kindness has not forsaken the living or the dead!” (2:20). Although the referent for “whose” is unclear in the Hebrew (it could refer either to the Lord or to Boaz himself), again there is a clear linkage between the action of the Lord and the actions of Boaz. Naomi interprets the kindness of Boaz to Ruth as the kindness of the God of Israel. Throughout this chapter, God’s activity is visible only through the activity of the characters, especially through Boaz’s generous hospitality to Ruth. It is not independent of human action, but glimpsed in the blessing that comes from a kind man who shows mercy to a vulnerable immigrant woman. This “undercover” activity of God may make it easier for congregations to connect with this story, because many of those listening will likewise affirm that the activity of God is primarily in and through the human acts of others. A preacher may use this as an opportunity to invite people to reflect on ways in which they have received God’s blessing in times of need precisely through the mercy of others. Alternatively, one might reflect on the act of discernment itself: how do we come to recognize God when God comes unannounced? How might we learn from Boaz and Naomi to see the hand of “the Lord” at work in particular acts of human generosity? WHERE ARE WE? Preaching becomes God’s living word to us when there is some flash of recognition, when the hearer suddenly identifies herself with something or someone in the narrative. For this reason, it is worthwhile for the preacher to consider with which of the three main characters people in the congregation are most likely to identify. Is it Ruth, the immigrant laborer, who is utterly dependent on the kindness of strangers? The text portrays Ruth as quite vulnerable; both Boaz and Naomi warn her repeatedly that she might be “bothered”, “reproached”, or “rebuked” by other men (see vv. 9, 15, 16, 22). Who in the congregation is likely to nod her head in recognition of such vulnerability? Who has been prompted to exclaim in disbelief, “Why have I found favor in your sight, that you should take notice of me, when I am a foreigner?” (v. 10). Those who identify with Ruth might well take comfort in the portrait of God’s mercy that extends to foreigners, refugees, those who do not fit the ordinary description of the “people of God”. At the same time, Ruth-identified listeners may need to be challenged not to let vulnerability become passivity; continuing to preach through ch. 3 of Ruth, in which Ruth exhibits extraordinary courage and wit, will help prevent this from becoming a problem.

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Do you have congregational members who will identify with Boaz, the generous landowner, who is attentive to the needs of others, the one who speaks openly about God’s goodness and exhibits that goodness in his own actions? Those who are economically and socially secure may most easily see themselves in this character. A preacher may build on this to encourage listeners to respond to the increasing numbers of those in states of “food insecurity” in the United States and abroad. Or the generosity of Boaz may prompt new reflection on our treatment of immigrants like Ruth, who cross U. S. borders in order to find a new life. Alternatively, Boaz-identified listeners may have new eyes to see how the church enacts God’s generosity at the Lord’s table; a preacher may take this opportunity to reflect on those who need to be welcomed to God’s table of abundance. Yet, those who see themselves in Boaz will benefit from the reminder that even the greatest human generosity is not equal to the self-giving of God; our acts of mercy need to be tempered by humility. The Boazes of the world, perhaps even more than the Ruths, need to hear again the ways in which all people rely not on their own goodness, but on the goodness of divine providence. Finally, who in the congregation will identify with Naomi, the one who has lost children and husband, who has felt her life as a calamity brought about by God, but who now begins to glimpse God’s goodness in this new turn of events? Those who see themselves in Naomi may be particularly open to recognizing the way the Lord redeems sorrow and pain, working even through ordinary events to bring mercy and new life. In addressing these Naomi-identifiers, the preacher has a particular opportunity to make connections with the central Christian story of Christ’s death and resurrection. Such connections need to be handled with care: first of all, not to confuse the story of Naomi’s new life with the radical new life of Christ’s resurrection, and secondly, not to move too quickly past the real anguish that Naomi has voiced in ch.1. The loss of Elimelech, Mahlon, and Chilion is not erased by the arrival of Boaz (and later, Obed). In the experience of Naomi and her heirs, death lingers in the background, even as God grants new life. Ruth 2 invites the preacher to meditate on the relationship between God’s activity and human activity in ordinary life. It affirms that the Lord does not compete with human action, but moves in and through such action to bless those who are most in need. In the end, we do well to remain in the ironic tension of vv. 12–13, offering comfort and nourishment to those who are strangers, even as we place our trust in the providence of the God of Israel, under whose wings we all come for refuge.

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THOMAS W. MANN Winston-Salem, North Carolina

THOSE WHO INCLUDED RUTH IN THE CANONS of both Judaism and Christianity were not as puritanical as the compilers of the Revised Common Lectionary who omitted the “sex scene” in ch. 3. Naomi instructs Ruth how to seduce Boaz (3:1–5), but the lection skips to their marriage and parenthood (4:13–17), omitting also the legalities involving marriage and property. There is neither a court scene nor a bedroom scene, yet both are crucial to the plot. The lectionary also omits vv. 18–22 and ch. 2, but it is difficult to preach on ch. 4 alone. Instead, a four-part sermon series could move from All Saints (1:1–5) to Reign of Christ, tying in the Messianic conclusion and anticipating Thanksgiving (ch. 2) and Advent. Moreover, ch. 4 alone leaves the false impression that men are the chief protagonists, for Ruth never appears or speaks, and Naomi’s role is reduced to that of silent grandma. Yet in the rest of the book, “a man’s world tells a woman’s story” (Phyllis Trible, God and the Rhetoric of Sexuality, Fortress, 1986, 166). The author frequently engages in puns, innuendo, and antiquarian references, resulting in considerable ambiguity, including what really happened in ch. 3. Does “the place of his feet” refer to location or genitals (3:4, 7–8, 14, the same Hebrew; my translation)? Does Ruth propose marriage or solicit sex (3:9)? Obviously, preachers will have to determine the comfort level of their congregation in presenting the text forthrightly, but if the sexual language is not at least alluded to, much will be lost. In ch. 4, the greatest uncertainty concerns the connection between levirate marriage (Deut 25:5–10) and property redemption (Lev 25), elsewhere unrelated. The former involves a man marrying his deceased brother’s wife to maintain the name of the deceased; the latter concerns the protection of family land by the redeemer. Why do Ruth (3:9) and Boaz (4:5) connect them? Why is Naomi a landowner here, but destitute before? As Kathleen Farmer suggests, “none of the solutions suggested by interpreters can make complete sense of the text as it now stands” (“The Book of Ruth,” NIB 2, 933). What does connect both property and progeny in ch. 4 is family loyalty. The thematic keyword—“loyalty,” “kindness,” “fidelity” (h9esed)—is central to the deleted midnight scene (3:10; cf. 1:8; 2:20). Even so, in ch. 4 Boaz acts faithfully as redeemer to his extended family’s needs, both in terms of land and of descendants, preserving their “inheritance” (v. 10) in both the narrow and a broader sense. But Boaz’s redeeming stems from Ruth’s fidelity to Naomi and Mahlon. Redemption comes as much from the redeemed as the redeemer. Redemption, in this story, remains on the legal and moral level, not the theological. For most people, the word triggers thoughts of God, the “Redeemer of Israel” (Isa 49:7). But inter-

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preters must strain throughout to find God at work, even “behind the scenes” (e.g., 1:6). Only in one instance does God act directly—when God “gives pregnancy to” Ruth (4:13b, my translation)—and even that “act” is obviously not unilateral! Indeed, human agents have instigated everything that has happened up to this point. Edward Campbell puts it succinctly: “God is present in this story where responsible human beings act as God to one another” (Ruth, AB 7, 1975, 138). If God is active, it is hidden within (and inseparable from) the actions of the human characters, yet in Ruth there is no authorial affirmation of God’s involvement even as subtle as that, say, of the author of 2 Sam 17:14 (defeating the counsel of Ahithophel). The non-interventional theology, in fact, seems much closer to our everyday world, suggesting something in between deism and supernaturalism. An interesting conversation could arise in response to a scientist in Carl Sagan’s novel, Contact, who complains to a preacher: “If God wanted to send us a message he could have done a better job. . . . Where are the burning bushes, the pillars of fire, the great voice that says ‘I am that I am’ booming down at us out of the sky? Why should God manifest himself in such subtle and debatable ways when he can make his presence completely unambiguous?” (Simon & Schuster, 1985, 162, 164–65). The scientist needs to read Ruth. Reflections on human agency will raise a scandal (if talking about “the place of his feet” has not already). After all, the means to redemption includes Ruth’s brazen solicitation of Boaz, easily confirming suspicions about Ruth’s Moabite background. “Moab” was the product of incest, when Lot’s daughters got their father drunk and had sex with him, seeing no other way to have children (Gen 19:30–38). Later, Moabite women solicited Israelite men into sexual relations as well as heterodox worship (Num 25:1–3). Both stories would raise eyebrows about Ruth. Moreover, Moab was often an enemy of Israel, and Deuteronomy prohibits Moabites from membership in the “assembly” (Deut 23:3). In short, Moabites were the “Samaritans” of the day, a “good” one being an oxymoron, so the intermarriage of an Israelite with a Moabite would not make the society page. The blessing pronounced on Boaz (vv. 11–12) refers to three other women with questionable, if not ignominious, stories—sisters Rachel and Leah, and Tamar. The sisters were wives of Jacob, whose father tricked Jacob into marrying Leah first by sneaking her into the connubial tent in total darkness (cf. Boaz being “in the dark,” 3:9, 14). Competing for the Most Productive Wife Award, the sisters produced Israel’s twelve eponymous ancestors (Gen 29:21–30:24); thus they “built up the house of Israel” (4:11). Even more shocking, the blessing invokes the story of Tamar, a widow who pretended to be a prostitute, soliciting her fatherin-law (Judah) when he excluded her from a levirate marriage, producing Perez (Gen 38). Thus, virtually all of vv. 11–22 concerns the production of offspring. The book that began with death in the family ends with a blossoming family tree. This reversal appears in other themes: emptiness to satiety, bitterness to sweetness, foreigner to family. At the same time, the references to childbirth reveal the ambivalent presentation of women in the story. Naomi and Ruth are assertive, resourceful, and remarkably capable of “working the system.” They are the primary actors, men the re-actors. Ruth herself models “fidelity” (h9esed). On the other hand, they are ultimately dependent on the patriarchal system in which they live.

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Personally, they exhibit a deep self-security, but economically, they must seek security from a man (3:1). Ruth’s marriage is tied to real estate (although she is not mere property; Farmer, Ruth, 938). Women’s value hinges on breeding. Finally, the connections with King David have their own way of demeaning women. A story about women ends with a genealogy listing only men. Indeed, together with the opening reference to the “days when the judges ruled,” the book seems to be framed canonically to point to the story of David’s rise in 1 Samuel (in the Christian canon). The story of Ruth becomes political “spin,” building up the “house (=dynasty) of David,” something like the biographical films at political conventions. Ruth is valued because she is the great-grandmother of the king. Still, the story also resists and even subverts a patriarchal system, if not also David’s reputation. Not only are women the narrative protagonists, but they also assume the traditional roles of a man. Ruth “clings” to Naomi as one does to a spouse (1:14; Gen 2:24). Naomi and Ruth initiate her betrothal, not Boaz or his father. Ruth is worth more than seven sons to Naomi (4:15). Ruth also dispels the loose, “foreign woman” stereotype. She exhibits the fidelity of an infidel, defying numerous cultural prejudices. In fact, the book may intend to subvert such exclusivist views of marriage and community membership as in Ezra 9–10 and Neh 13:23–27, stretching the meaning of “neighbor” to include sojourner and foreigner (Lev 19:17–18; Deut 15:3; 24:17–18). One can even read the “spin” on David upside down: his ancestors include not only the Moabite woman but also the illicit son (Perez). Dirty linen hangs on the Messiah’s family tree (Matt 1:1–17). Similarly, the book’s framework might point not only back to the period of the judges and its lawlessness and violence, but also forward to the unending sword that cuts through David’s reign (2 Sam 12:10–11; cf. Tod Linafelt, Ruth, Berit Olam, Liturgical, 1999, 80–81). Thus Ruth provides an all-too-brief moment in which we see the community of Israel as it could be if kindness were in its heart (Mic 6:8). Furthermore, here family integrity is not merely a personal value but part of the larger story of a covenant community. The family rooted in h9esed “builds up” that community in extraordinary ways that transcend their own ordinary lives, ways that they may never know. A good family contributes to the common good, just as severely dysfunctional families may do the reverse. For all the ambivalence and ambiguity, the book of Ruth presents two remarkable women who are part of our spiritual “inheritance” as well (4:10). Our very use of this story confirms that Ruth’s fidelity can become a blessing for “all the families of the earth” (Gen 12:3).

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Reviews The Sword and the Stylus: An Introduction to Wisdom in the Age of Empires by Leo G. Perdue Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2008. 512 pp. $38.00. ISBN 978-08028-6245-7.

THE LAST TWO DECADES HAVE SEEN A number of publications that take up the topic of empire and the effects of empire on the shaping of biblical literature. Such endeavors maintain that biblical texts developed in and responded to their imperial contexts in various ways, from affirmation to accommodation to overt calls for resistance. Now, with this ambitious volume, Leo Perdue of Brite Divinity School invites us to consider Wisdom literature “as a product of the empires” (p. 1). He insists that wisdom texts—far from collections of timeless truths, “disconnected ideas,” or “eternal thoughts”—cannot be understood apart from their social-historical circumstances, “the cultures in which [they] took root” (p. 1). Accordingly, Perdue organizes his project for the most part chronologically, sweeping from Egyptian wisdom of the third millennium B.C.E. to “rabbinic” wisdom of the first six centuries C.E. and, at every turn, pondering the impact of empires on the sages’ social positions, roles, and worldviews. The first chapter sets Israelite and early Jewish Wisdom literature in its international social-historical context. Perdue discusses an assortment of preliminary issues related to Israelite wisdom, including its definition, key vocabulary and themes, rhetorical features, the roles of sages, and likely instructional settings (i.e., the royal court, households, schools, and temple). And he compares and contrasts the same to other ancient Near Eastern wisdom traditions and texts such as those of Egypt, Mesopotamia, Sumer and Akkad, Ugarit, Aram, and Greece—traditions that he argues strongly influenced that of Israel. Perdue thus highlights the international character of wisdom and the particularities of its expression in Israel and its neighbors. Perdue next devotes a chapter to each biblical and apocryphal wisdom text, moving in chronological order by empire: Proverbs (the monarchies of Israel and Judah), Job (NeoBabylonian), wisdom psalms (Persian), Qoheleth (Ptolemaic), Sirach (Seleucid), and the Wisdom of Solomon (Roman). In each of these chapters, following a brief introduction, Perdue a) argues for a likely date and social-historical context for the book or a significant portion thereof; b) describes the book’s literary structure and general content; c) analyzes its “social features,” namely, what the book suggests about the social positions and roles of the sages; and finally, d) considers the book’s major theological themes. Three final chapters address what Perdue calls “continuing streams” of wisdom: apocalyptic literature (e.g.,

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Daniel, 1–2 Enoch), apocalyptic wisdom at Qumran, and “rabbinic wisdom” (e.g., Mishnah, Midrash). Perdue consistently emphasizes that the sages were people of their times and produced wisdom texts that reflected and responded to their circumstances. He argues, for example, that the sages of Proverbs saw themselves as servants of the king, and thus advanced a socially and politically conservative theology to buttress the monarchy and maintain social stability. In contrast, the poet of Job, whom Perdue thinks was likely among the exiles in Babylon, challenged traditional theology—especially its claims about divine justice—in response to Judah’s disaster and the crisis of faith it provoked. A similar contrast is evident between Qoheleth and Ben Sira. In the late third century B.C.E., Qoheleth, whom Perdue describes as critical of traditional religion and strongly influenced by Greek skepticism, taught his aristocratic students that God is hidden, the cosmos plods along in endless repetition, wisdom affords no real advantage, and the only gift that God grants to some is the capacity for joy. A century later, however, Ben Sira, who was also a teacher in Jerusalem and perhaps a temple scribe, wrote favorably about the temple and priesthood, identified wisdom with Torah, and combined creation theology with the theology of Israel’s election. For Perdue, the impact of empire on both sages is apparent: whereas Qoheleth adopted Greek thought, Ben Sira adapted Greek thought to fit his understanding of Judaism. The scope and complexity of this volume is impressive. Perdue navigates a stunning amount of material, and moves adroitly between texts, cultures, and historical periods. As with any project of such breadth, readers with expertise in any of the literature will surely find points with which they disagree, or about which they would like a more nuanced discussion. Readers will also likely challenge Perdue’s dating of some texts—a task he readily acknowledges throughout is difficult. But Perdue succeeds in showing both the “durative quality of wisdom” (p. 279) and its malleability over millennia. Aspects of the project do give me pause. First, Perdue’s claim that “most research concerning wisdom for the past century” has been characterized by a “stranglehold of idealism,” namely, a disregard of the literature’s historical and social contexts (pp. 1–3), is a considerable overstatement. Indeed, even a cursory review of the research demonstrates the opposite. Interpreters of Proverbs, for example, have long pondered the impact of social-historical context on the personifications of wisdom and folly (Prov 1–9; cf. 31:10–31). Interpreters of Qoheleth continue to wrestle with the possible effects of empire, whether Persian, Ptolemaic, or other, on Qoheleth’s theology. That Perdue does not engage much of this work in his analysis may contribute to the erroneous perception that “too many interpreters have often made the teachings of the wise impervious to history and immune to the roles and institutions of social life” (p. 3). My hope is that Perdue’s volume will motivate interested readers to explore further what is already an ongoing, lively conversation about wisdom in its social-historical contexts. Second, I am far less confident than is Perdue that we can use the language and themes of a text, the institutions it mentions, and its “implicit” claims about the sages, to identify that text with “a specific social group” (p. 100). Such a direct correlation leaves little to no room for the possibility that the producers of a text may have been conversant in a range of genres, themes,

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and points of view. Further, I am uncertain what these “specific social groups” or “communities,” as Perdue calls them (e.g., “sapiential,”“apocalyptic,” and the combined “sapiential-apocalyptic”), would have looked like in the larger community. Were they distinct and recognizable? Finally, although the book’s subtitle indicates that it is an introduction to wisdom, I recommend that anyone beginning a study of the Wisdom literature read The Sword and the Stylus alongside standard introductions. Perdue’s writing is detailed and dense, and his development of the larger argument assumes a certain knowledge on the part of readers. Notwithstanding these concerns, this volume is a welcome contribution to the study of Wisdom literature. Perdue is to be commended for this significant achievement. Christine Roy Yoder COLUMBIA THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY DECATUR, GEORGIA

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Luke by Richard B. Vinson Smyth and Helwys, Macon, 2008. 792 pp. $67.00 (cloth). ISBN 978-1-57312-078-4. TO CALL THIS VOLUME A COMMENTARY so undersells it as to be an inaccurate label. It is that and much more. Like any good commentary, this one begins with a concise introduction to the biblical book. That introduction addresses such issues as historical setting (date, audience, provenance, and sources), literary design or structure, and theological themes of the book as a whole. Richard Vinson does not attempt to break new ground in these explorations, but to bring readers to an understanding of the state of current scholarship and to prepare them for an informed study of the Third Gospel. The commentary itself addresses the entire text of the Gospel according to its logical divisions, whether or not these follow the traditional chapter and verse designations. This distinction is crucial to the critical reading Vinson hopes to foster, which involves an immersion in the Gospel’s own logic and patterns. The “commentary” section examines the language, the history reflected in the text, and the literary forms by which the meaning is conveyed, to the end of exploring the theological issues presented by a particular passage. Each passage is also examined through a set of “connections” that presents approaches and resources useful for teaching or preaching on the passage. Both the “commentary” and the “connections” sections are strengthened through a system of “sidebars”—a hyperlink format that guides readers via appropriate icons to additional information and insights that include drawings, photos, literary quotations (both ancient and modern), maps, charts, and prints of art works that have interpreted a passage. That same format is carried through on the enclosed compact disc in a form that is fully searchable and able to be projected to accompany teaching or as a resource for worship. The format and the multimedia resources provided for each text have moved this commentary from its more traditional forebears into a new genre that is immediately accessible for teaching in the contemporary academic or church setting. Many of the charts, diagrams, and drawings or art reproductions that students take for granted, but that teachers have to spend hours tracking down, are already present in this volume and its companion disc. For that reason alone, this book is worth adding to one’s library. What I find even more important is the author’s sensitivity to the ancient social and cultural world of this Gospel and of the time of Jesus, and his gift of making clear and vivid the impact the proclamation of Jesus would have had on those contexts. Furthermore, he tran-

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scends the bounds of usual academic biblical studies by exploring those implications for the contemporary North American (or Western European) context as well. The commentary is thus at once informative and provocative. While I do not often read commentaries as I do books, from start to finish, this one kept pulling me forward to the next section. In addition to being a valuable reference volume, it is simply a good read. While I will use this commentary in my exegetical courses on Luke, what keeps me from an absolutely unqualified endorsement of this book as a textbook is the careless copyediting. More than a mechanical spell-checking program is necessary to catch the misuse of homonyms and other syntactical errors. While in this case, those errors do not invalidate Vinson’s excellent work, they risk conveying to students the conclusion that such concerns are unimportant in their own work. That is a lesson I do not want to teach, either in itself or as an appropriate response to the elegant and careful scholarship of Luke, and otherwise of Vinson. Sharon H. Ringe WESLEY THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY WASHINGTON, D. C.

Coming next in Interpretation July 2010

Scandalous Particularities: Jews and Christians in Conversation

October 2010

God With Us: Perspectives from the Gospel of Matthew

January 2011

Liturgy and Easter third in the church year series

April 2011

Usury

July 2011

Bicultural Perspectives on Reading the Bible

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Christian Worship: 100,000 Sundays of Symbols and Rituals by Gail Ramshaw Fortress, Minneapolis, 2009. 239 pp. $30.00. ISBN 978-08006-6233-2. GAIL RAMSHAW WEAVES HER way through 2,000 years of Christian practices in search of common elements in order to present Christianity to newcomers, outsiders, and oldtimers alike. The work, conceived as an introductory textbook for college and seminary classrooms, is straightforward, attractive, ecumenically aware, and engaging. Ramshaw crafts the work by drawing on her deep expertise in liturgical language, metaphors, inclusive language, eucharistic prayer, lectionaries, and the church year. Introductory textbooks, by necessity, are forced to present vast arrays of materials in a comprehensive, general way, while endeavoring to avoid the dangers of oversimplifying complex fields of study. For example, the entire first chapter of James White’s classic Introduction to Christian Worship offers a wide variety of contrasting definitions of Christian worship in order to introduce the reader to the complexity of the task, but runs the risk of leaving the reader confused and uncertain about the central theme of the book. What sets Ramshaw’s work apart is the brilliant clarity and simplicity of her approach to basic topics. Even more remarkable, Ramshaw consistently allows space for alternative interpretations and contrasting viewpoints. The book follows an historical trajectory by identifying practices in the early church that continue into the present. Thus, the importance of the book’s subtitle: 100,000 Sundays of Symbols and Rituals. Chapter by chapter, Ramshaw offers a portrait of worship from the early church to contemporary times, while noting the number of Sundays that undergird practices that continue to shape present congregational life. It is a clever and persuasive way of showing continuity and development in Christian practice. At the same time, it generally tends to provide cover for a particular bias and preference for practices that have longer historical precedence. The section on other religious traditions is particularly noteworthy for its demonstration of common interests and distinctions between faith communities. Far too often, scholarship on Christian liturgy has ignored the influences of other faiths on our own religious rituals and practices. In our increasingly pluralistic communities, Ramshaw prepares us for basic conversations with our neighbors of other faith traditions. The concluding chapter on Sunday worship and daily life follows the outline of a widely recognized ecumenical ordo for the Sunday assembly (gathering, word, meal, and sending), suggesting connections between the worship life of our congregations and our daily practices.

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It is precisely at this point, though, that dialogue seems to stop. Rather than making room for conversation between what goes on in the worshipping assembly and multiple perspectives from surrounding cultures, Ramshaw moves unilaterally from the historical foundations of the church’s practice to our present lives. One is left with questions about how church practices might be revitalized by entering into dialogue with those outside the walls of our churches. A brief section on early Greco-Roman practices and influences provides a helpful introduction to these influences on early Christian practices. Unfortunately, Ramshaw fails to capitalize on this foundation when she turns to examine influences on eucharistic gatherings. Even more puzzling is the location of the chapter on baptism (ch. 9), which is separated from the early historical influences. Recent work on baptismal practices in the early church suggests that GrecoRoman practices also played a major role in shaping them. For this reason as well as historical significance, one would expect to find baptism dealt with much earlier in the text. Also surprising is the relative lack of attention given to the Reformation era. The historical information serves mainly as a pre-text to the discussion of current practices that are connected to Reformation changes. Nevertheless, the positives of this book far outweigh any critique that I could offer. This is a book that is at times astonishing in the simplicity with which it lays out its claims and in the broad overview that it provides the reader. It is a much needed gift to teachers, and I will definitely use it in my classes. The glossary alone provides a shared, working vocabulary for classroom conversation. It is also an important addition to any pastor’s library and would work well with adult classes and confirmation classes. Paul Galbreath UNION-PSCE RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

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No Ordinary Angel: Celestial Spirits and Christian Claims about Jesus by Susan R. Garrett Yale University Press, New Haven, 2008. 352 pp. $30.00 (cloth). ISBN 978-0-300-14095-8. I DID NOT EXPECT A BOOK ABOUT angels to include incisive critique of contemporary culture, careful historical investigation, and a powerful affirmation of the Christian faith, but this book brings all those together in a way that makes good scholarship accessible to a fairly broad audience. In each chapter, Susan Garrett examines what present-day writers say about angelic encounters to discern the understandings of reality that underlie those accounts, especially looking for connections between popular spirituality and current talk about angels. She then considers how ancient (mostly Jewish and Christian) texts discuss angels, seeking to discover what those ancient descriptions of angels tell us about the speaker’s understandings of God and the world. Each chapter then looks at how NT writers use attributes of angels to describe the person and work of Jesus. Thus, this book is also a work on Christology. In each of her six central chapters, Garrett discusses a different way angels are presented in various types of modern and ancient literature. Each chapter rejects the metaphysic or ideology of recent accounts of angels by contrasting them with biblical parallels. Garrett’s confessional commitments remain clear throughout, particularly when she describes how biblical writers use angel language to identify Jesus and when she evaluates the tenets of popular spirituality. Garrett first treats presentations of angels as healers and revealers of truth. She finds that the popular literature about such angels presents them as guides to self-actualization and proponents of personal autonomy. By contrast, biblical encounters with the “angel of the LORD” affect the good of the people as a whole rather than individual self-fulfillment. This contrast, she argues, indicates that the descriptions of these angels today are reflections of our culture’s radical individualism. She notes that the NT presents Jesus as healer and revealer, but different from these angels in that he comes in the flesh. Furthermore, his coming does not serve individual wants, but rather demands a reorientation of our desires. In her treatment of angels who bring people into the divine presence, Garrett observes that today’s angels call people to look within for truth, because they assume a monism that identifies the human soul as a piece of the divine. She identifies this New Age understanding of God and self with ancient (and modern) Gnosticism. In such accounts, the human problem is ignorance. Thus, angels tell people to rid themselves of Judeo-Christian values

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that burden them and to recognize the divine within themselves. Biblical accounts of the glory of God, however, convey a sense of human frailty and sinfulness in the face of the divine, even as they offer access to divine grace. Garrett argues that early Christians identified Christ with manifestations of the glory of God when they spoke of Jesus’ exaltation to the right hand of God. Thus, while he is described with language used of angels, this position makes him superior to all angel-like beings. The popular media portrays angels who leave the heavenly world to participate in the earthly realm as beings who overcome the spirit/matter divide and find fulfillment in acceding to desire. Ancient depictions of angels crossing that boundary condemn such actions as rebellion against the divinely ordained cosmic order. This difference shows that popular spirituality teaches that things of the world bring fulfillment, while the biblical stories warn of terrible consequences that follow unrestrained desire. Like movie angels, Jesus becomes human; unlike them, Jesus gives up his desires in order to accept God’s will. Such an image of Jesus indicates that being open to God’s love, rather than fulfilling desires, constitutes the way to salvation. Through the first half of the book, Garrett seems to assume the correctness of the biblical position on the issues she addresses. When she turns to her discussion of Satan and the powers of evil, however, she grounds the correctness of her views in their correspondence with human experience and the nature of the world, as well as in Scripture. Here she directs her attention to the widely divergent views within Christianity rather than surveying how spiritual powers are discussed in other forms of spirituality. She contrasts Tim LaHaye’s image of the devil launching an attack against humans with Walter Wink’s demythologized view of the powers as institutional structures. She argues for a middle ground that recognizes both the systemic evil of institutional structures and the “out there” (p. 131) aspect of evil. Following a brief history of the development of the figure of Satan, Garrett cites NT texts that identify Jesus as the ruler of angels whom the powers oppose. She argues that Christ’s lordship over the powers becomes visible in the believer’s ability to endure suffering, not in being free of it. Garrett’s chapter on guardian angels traces their history from Socrates’ daimonion through the Shepherd of Hermas and Pseudo-Dionysius’ influence on the medieval period. She sketches the differences between Catholic and Protestant ideas about them from the beginning of the Reformation through the twentieth century. She finds two types of guardian angels in today’s literature: “search-and-rescue angels” and “therapist angels” (p. 162). Her analysis of experiences of the former finds that their actions create questions about divine providence. The therapist type, she says, are most popular among those disaffected with organized religion. They usually stress the divinity of the person to whom they appear. Thus, she argues, such messages show that a core disagreement between Christianity and such popular spirituality involves their understandings of human nature. This chapter identifies Jesus as the guardian of humanity— as the guardian angel par excellence. But this angel does not spare his charges from suffering; rather, he suffers with them. The final chapter traces the history of ideas about the angel of death, concluding that two primary images are dominant today: the grim reaper and the kindly guide of souls. Garrett

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faults near-death experience authors and other purveyors of pop spirituality for diminishing the reality of the pain of death when they assert that at death people merely move from the bodily phase of existence to a place not far removed. The dead remain close enough to communicate and to assure us that the immortal spirit triumphs over bodily existence. She asserts that it can be proper to speak of the angelification of Jesus only if it metaphorically means that he reflects God’s glory. Readers of this discussion may wish Garrett had been more forthcoming about whether she thinks angels from the heavenly realm genuinely break into this world. She does assert that the miraculous is possible, basing that claim on the reality of the incarnation, but she goes no further. This book begins as an investigation of angels that works from an explicit confessional base. Then, each chapter devotes more attention to proper Christian understanding of the issues raised by a particular type of angelic manifestation, until the final pages become a manifesto of a vibrant Christian faith. This faith seeks to offer a credible interpretation of the world that is consistent with the realities of suffering, evil, and death on the one hand, and the hope and promise of the gospel on the other. The interpretation Garrett offers relies upon good biblical exegesis and a broad knowledge of Christian history. This book does not attempt values-neutral study, but it is good historical and analytical scholarship. Some readers will find Garrett’s theological stance impossible to affirm. Those who find Bultmann and Wink on the right track when they fully demythologize the powers, for example, will find the theological outlook Garrett proffers untenable. Those who see a world more like that of LaHaye will be equally dissatisfied. Overall, she rejects the empiricism of modernism, as well as the narcissism of our culture’s dominant individualism and tendency to divinize humanity, in favor of a faith that leaves more of an opening for divine activity in the world. This stance demands a recognition of the distinction and distance between God and humanity. Whether or not readers accept Garrett’s theological stance, she provides a careful and convincing analysis of the theological issues that accounts of angelic encounters raise and address. This excellent book, then, provides all readers with solid analysis of New Age and popular spirituality. Garrett helps Christians recognize what is at stake in the theologies of those movements. Those who own the theological stance she advances will find powerful affirmation of its consistency with Scripture and its ability to interpret the world and our present experience of God. Jerry L. Sumney LEXINGTON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY LEXINGTON, KENTUCKY

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The Child in the Bible Edited by Marcia Bunge, Terence E. Fretheim & Beverly Roberts Gaventa Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2008. 493 pp. $30.00. ISBN 978-08028-4835-2. The Vocation of the Child Edited by Patrick McKinley Brennan Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2008. 461 pp. $36.00. ISBN 978-08028-6240-2. THE ACADEMIC FIELD OF childhood studies and religion is relatively new, and as such, scholars are still creating a literature that defines the field’s interests and perspectives and explains why these concerns should matter to pastors and religious educators. These two edited volumes make significant contributions to these tasks; the first, by gathering insights into what the Scriptures might be saying about childhood and children, and the second, by asking what God expects childhood to be and calls children to do as faithful followers of Christ. Each assembles an impressive set of authors as commentators, many of whom are newcomers to the field but well-recognized in the broader arenas of biblical studies, theology, law, and medicine. The Child in the Bible is organized in three parts: commentaries on Hebrew Scripture texts, interpretations of NT texts (with special attention to the Pauline Epistles), and explorations of themes (e.g., imago Dei, the kingdom of God, and adoption). General editor Marcia Bunge, who pioneered this discussion, explains in her introduction that six general questions guided the development of the eighteen essays: 1) How do the Scriptures refer to young people? 2) What assumptions do the Scriptures make about the nature and value of children? 3) What obligations do parents and other adults have toward children? 4) What is the nature of particular adultchild relationships, especially in relation to teaching the faith? 5) What roles do children play in biblical cultures and the interpretation of God’s presence and action in the world? and 6) Does a child-centered interpretative strategy add insight to our overall understanding of the Scriptures? (pp. xx–xxi). The fifteen chapters in The Vocation of the Child progress from essays focused on the meaning of terms such as “vocation,” “call,” and “office” in relation to childhood (chs. 1–4), to reflections on childhood innocence or depravity (chs. 5–8), explorations of children’s rights

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and obligations (chs. 9–11), and considerations of what shapes children’s futures as mature persons in faith (chs. 12–15). Editor Patrick Brennan contends that children, like all God’s people, are not victims of fate, but persons for whom God wills a way of being and calls that way of being into that life. He writes that Christians “affirm that every person is called by name, that every person has a vocation” (p. 2). This claim undergirds each essay and leads to two central questions that lend urgency to the authors’ discussion: 1) “Does the child with impoverished skills for seeking the good . . . necessarily suffer a ‘vocation’ to moral mediocrity or tragedy?” and 2) “Is the ill-instructed, untutored child—the child who does not know the first thing about the faith—destined . . . to end up with a ‘vocation’ to damnation?” (p. 11). While scholars will find grist for conversation and debate regardless of where they begin in the books, the beauty and usefulness of these two texts for congregational leaders lies first in reading the biblical studies and then the theological reflections. The Child in the Bible covers more familiar territory and employs interpretative strategies that pastors and teachers can easily translate into sermons, lesson content, and parenting advice. Jacqueline Lapsley’s exploration of Isaiah offers new insights into well-known Advent texts, such as the prophecy of a newborn child who will become ruler in Isa 9:5 (p. 89). Terence Fretheim’s essay on Genesis and Claire McGinnis’ work on Exodus provide a provocative comparison of God’s care for the boy Isaac in the face of domestic violence and God’s relinquishment of care for the firstborn of the Egyptians in the plagues that precede the Israelites’ departure for the promised land. Joel Green invites exploration of the Acts of the Apostles in terms of “how Acts might shape the church’s theology and practices regarding children” (p. 218), thus overcoming the near absence of children from that text and offering contemporary congregations a new way of engaging familiar stories. The biblical studies of The Child in the Bible also lay helpful groundwork for the concepts of the child’s “vocation” and “call” so central to the second book. Esther Menn considers the “vocation of a shepherd boy” and “shepherding as identity forming” in her discussion of David (pp. 339–42). Patrick Miller explores Deuteronomy’s teachings about how children should learn the faith, a theme picked up directly by Elmer John Theissen in The Vocation of the Child and several other essays in that book. Reidar Aasgaard’s discussion of Paul’s rhetoric regarding childhood provides biblical background for the arguments developed by various theologians of the church cited throughout the second volume. Walter Brueggemann’s reminder of God’s biblical embrace of children in their vulnerability lends credence to multiple arguments in the second book for adult assumption of the responsibility to care for and educate all children in their divinely given vocation. Without a biblical framework through which to interpret and assess the claims of The Vocation of the Child, pastors and educators may be tempted to reject the often dense theological discussions as too far removed from the spiritual interests and questions of their parishioners. To succumb to this temptation, however, would be a mistake. What The Vocation of the Child offers is a wide-ranging and yet carefully nuanced theological conversation about what it means to be human in terms of those generally considered among “the least” of humanity. For instance, William Werpehowski’s argument that one aspect of a child’s vocation is “becoming

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and being a self in Christ” (p. 65) so that “who one is may be rooted graciously in projects of fidelity and service that are one’s own” (p. 70) speaks to the vocation of all Christians, not just children. In a similar fashion, John Coons’ distinction between primary obedience, which he characterizes as a child’s “first act of cooperation with grace,” and secondary obedience, which involves submission to an authority figure, is a reminder that Christians of all ages owe primary obedience to God (pp. 88–89). Also, the emphasis on the child’s vocation as a learner that appears in several essays serves to call adult readers back to that divinely expected role as well. Thus, the implicit theme of this volume is lifelong Christian vocation, a subject that should be of significant interest to the faith community. One popular topic that receives attention in both books is children’s relationships with their parents. In The Child in the Bible, Margaret MacDonald notes that the references to parentchild relationships in the deuteropauline letters to the Colossians and Ephesians echo conventional practices of obedience and discipline for their time. Bill Brown’s discussion of Proverbs reminds the reader that disciplinary practices in most biblical texts convey “the basic meaning of correction aimed at the avoidance of moral fault and the acquisition of moral insight” (p. 69). In The Vocation of the Child, Werpehowski and Bunge both include honoring and obeying one’s parents as a specific vocational task of childhood, although Bunge also argues that children have a “corresponding responsibility . . . not to obey their parents if their parents or other adult authorities would cause them to sin or to carry out acts of injustice” (p. 42). John Witte and Heather Good suggest that a reciprocal relationship develops between children and parents on this basis: “The child’s duty to honor and obey his or her parents also defines the parents’ duty to nurture and educate their child” (p. 290). These discussions and others in the two volumes would provide much good food for thought in a Christian parenting class or adult study of discipleship as obedience to Christ. The Child in the Bible and The Vocation of the Child are not books one reads quickly or as part of a short morning meditation. Nor are they volumes one must read as a whole before the significance of the work is revealed. They are what one might call “sabbatical texts”: books so rich in information and full of thoughtful discussion that one wants to read one chapter at a time, with plenty of space for personal reflection on the interesting and oftentimes provocative ideas presented. Alternatively, they are excellent “shared texts”: books that one reads over time with others as a form of continuing education in the themes and concerns of Christian faith. In either case, they are books that will challenge and change one’s thinking about children, Christian faith, and the life and mission of the church, and thus are well worth the time readers invest in them. Karen-Marie Yust UNION-PSCE RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

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Reviews

Barrenness and Blessing: Abraham, Sarah, and the Journey of Faith by Hemchand Gossai Cascade, Eugene, Ore., 2008. 122 pp. $17.00. ISBN 97855635-292-8.

IN THIS BRIEF VOLUME, Hemchand Gossai presents an in-depth look at Abraham and Sarah and their extended family. His aim is to analyze “the human drama and the divine involvement in all aspects of the human journey” (p. xi). He divides the book into two sections, each with three chapters. The first section concerns the challenges in the drama of barrenness, wilderness, and wrestling with God and self. In the second section, he turns to the hope seen in the drama of promise, blessing, and fulfillment. The most powerful perspective in the book is Gossai’s close and careful reading of well-known texts in conjunction with the lesser-known ones. In these readings, he highlights connections that heretofore have gone unnoticed. For example, he sees “barrenness” not only as a physical reality but also as a spiritual reality. Thus, Abraham demonstrates his own “personal ‘barrenness’ in his view of the ‘other’” (p. 19) evident in his actions in Gerar (Gen 20). In a second example, Gossai notes that the theme of wrestling with God is usually confined to the story in Gen 32, but that Abraham also “wrestles” with God for others in the case of Sodom and Gomorrah (Gen 18). Another unique aspect of the book is Gossai’s discussion of Lot’s daughters. His careful reading of the story notes that the daughters were experiencing their own “barrenness” because of their situation. As a result, they act just as Sarah does to assure a future for themselves. The chapters on hope stress the way God continues to work in and with humans to provide hope and blessing. This book is unflinching in its articulation of questions about the text and subsequently about God. At one point Gossai writes, “One of the lingering questions that this particular text raises for me centers on the issue of whether God initiates and creates intentionally conflictual situations” (p. 30). The questions are appropriate and fascinating, but some of his questions and theological

conclusions may be troubling to persons unaccustomed to deep and critical investigation of biblical texts. The book is well suited for seminary or graduate religious study and possibly even for a church class of well-educated people. It also offers new possibilities for preaching by presenting fresh understandings of well-worn texts.

BETH TANNER NEW BRUNSWICK THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY NEW BRUNSWICK, NEW JERSEY

Genesis by James McKeown Two Horizons Old Testament Commentary. Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2008. 408 pp. $25.00. ISBN 978-0-8028-2705-0.

JAMES MCKEOWN’S COMMENTARY on Genesis is the first volume to appear in Eerdmans’ Two Horizons Old Testament Commentary Series. The main purpose of this new series is to provide a comprehensive interpretation of OT books in two steps: the first is a chapter-by-chapter interpretation of the text, following the traditional commentary format; the second offers a theological and hermeneutical approach to central themes and interpretative issues. In the case of McKeown’s book, the first two hundred pages include the commentary on Genesis. It goes without saying that the sections devoted to each biblical passage needed to be brief, but sometimes turned out to be too brief; thus, a text as significant and controversial as the creation of Eve in Gen 2:18–25 is dealt with in little more than half a page. However, as one reads through the commentary sections of the book, one does a get a sense of the flow and theological relief of the Genesis narratives. It is consistent with the purpose of the Two Horizons series that questions related to the transmission history of Genesis as well as to the cultural, social, and religious background of the texts play a less significant role. What makes this book a welcome addition to teaching materials on Genesis is its second part: McKeown offers clear, informative, and well-balanced accounts of key themes and motifs that make for the unique texture of Genesis and also of recent

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interpretative approaches to the texts. The latter include discussions of feminist hermeneutics, ecology, theology and science, and modern mission studies. McKeown characterizes Genesis as a book that, despite its many layers, establishes a reasonably coherent “systematic” framework with regard to the character of God and his relationship to humankind. Unavoidably, finding “the” theology of a book as complex as Genesis involves a number of preferences and choices on the part of the author. McKeown’s own theological standpoint expresses itself most pointedly in statements like the following: “In conclusion, Genesis presents God as unassailable and utterly transcendent, but it also shows that for the sake of humans God is willing to make himself known. In this self-revelation God becomes vulnerable to suffering and disappointment. Long before the NT was written, Genesis reveals a God who is able to share our sorrows” (pp. 276–77).

ANDREAS SCHUELE UNION-PSCE RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

Leviticus and Numbers by Richard N. Boyce Westminster Bible Companion. Westminster John Knox, Louisville, 2008. 296 pp. $24.95 (cloth). ISBN 978-0-66425525-1.

AS ONE OF THE LAST published volumes in the Westminster Bible Companion series, Richard Boyce’s book provides a way for pastors and laypersons to read the often neglected books of Leviticus and Numbers as a “guide to Christian faith and practice.” Utilizing the theme of “journey,” Boyce suggests reading the narrative of Israel’s travels from Mount Sinai to the edge of the promised land as a word not only for the first generations of wilderness wanderers, but also for Israelites in the “wilderness” of exile and for Christians (ancient and modern) who recognize these books as authoritative Scripture. The narrative is broken down into preachable or teachable sections, and each section is placed in the larger context of travelogue and preparation for the final destination. A true preacher at heart, Boyce moves seamlessly between the three suggested journeys, tying passages freely to other biblical material and contemporary Christian issues. Readers of his com-

mentary are not merely given suggestions for preaching or teaching the text; they are shown his way of doing so. For Boyce, the journey is not so much about the destination as it is about the relationship between God and Israel that is being developed along the way. While I appreciated this display of homiletical creativity and the frequent pleas for more attention to these OT books in the life of the church, I found it difficult at times to correlate the historical and social context of Leviticus and Numbers with Boyce’s applications to contemporary Christian life. He seems to begin with the contemporary and moves from there to find points of continuity with the text, rather than allowing the text to speak from its original setting. Given the stated purpose of the series, ties to contemporary concerns are understandable. Yet it is all too possible for readers of this commentary to miss the original intent of Leviticus and Numbers in the midst of Boyce’s modern-day critique. I would recommend this book only to those who have already gained a basic understanding of the historical and cultural context of the Pentateuch. Boyce’s homiletical exercises may then be appreciated for what they are.

MELINDA THOMPSON UNIVERSITY OF DUBUQUE THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY DUBUQUE, IOWA

Deuteronomy by Teleford Work Brazos Commentary. Brazos, Grand Rapids, 2009. 336 pp. $29.99 (cloth). ISBN 978-1-58743-098-5.

THE BRAZOS COMMENTARY Series grows out of the indisputable truth that biblical interpretation is too important to be left to biblical scholars. The appropriate context for reading Scripture in the church is the dynamic and rich faith of the baptized community as expressed in the ecumenical creeds. The proper subject of Scripture is God’s work in the world through Jesus Christ. Teleford Work embodies these principles through a four-fold approach to the exposition of Deuteronomy. Paragraphs (or more rarely single verses) adapted from the World English Bible are discussed according to four senses or directions of meaning. These are termed plain (the plain sense),

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faith, hope (eschatological concerns), and love (guidance for life and behavior). These of course relate to the old pre-Reformation pattern of literal, allegorical, anagogical, and moral senses. Not every text unit receives comment about all four senses, and there can be multiple observations concerning a given sense on a text unit. Deuteronomy 12 can serve as an example of this procedure. There is only one comment on the plain sense, involving the interplay of “life-force,” blood, and eating meat in ancient culture. Readers must reference other sources for matters such as cult centralization in biblical history or the relationship between sacrifice and eating. Observations in the faith category touch on the first commandment’s opposition to false faiths and on respect for the realm of the profane along with the sacred. The so-called “canonical principle” of v. 32 is illuminated simply by quoting Rev 2:23, 25. Observations on hope point to the understanding of “rest” in Hebrews, worship in the contrasting realms of promise and fulfillment, and the clean and unclean at God’s table. Under love, we are warned against the dangers of syncretism and ideology, urged to engage in moral purification, and admonished to practice inclusivity. There is also an intriguing discussion about the theological value and danger of paid clergy. For the most part, this commentary will prove helpful to those who come to grips with the Bible professionally as preachers and teachers. The individual observations tend to be fragmented and unconnected, but this should not be a problem for readers who are using the commentary as an aid to understanding a text they have already worked through. These short, concentrated thematic comments seem to be intended to provide catalysts for a reader’s further theological consideration. However, sometimes they are so undeveloped as to be nearly cryptic. Some readers will find the distance between the plain sense of the text and the other senses difficult to bridge. There are helpful topical and Scripture indexes included.

RICHARD D. NELSON PERKINS SCHOOL OF THEOLOGY SOUTHERN METHODIST UNIVERSITY DALLAS, TEXAS

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The Psalms Through the Centuries. Vol. 1 by Susan Gillingham Blackwell Bible Commentaries. Blackwell, Malden, Mass., 2008. 382 pp. $100.00 (cloth). ISBN 978-0-631-21855-5.

LIKE EACH VOLUME in the Blackwell Bible Commentaries series, this one starts “where most commentaries end” (p. 5), in that it treats exclusively the reception history of the Psalms. Unlike other volumes in this series, however, this one does not proceed text by text. Rather, it deals with the reception history of the Psalter as a whole, and is to be followed by a second volume that will proceed psalm by psalm. Each of the six chapters deals with one period of the reception history of the Psalter, from the eleventh century B.C.E. to the present day. Within each chapter, Gillingham examines five categories of reception: exposition (mostly Psalms commentaries), instruction (largely sermons and devotional works), liturgy (including prayer books, metrical Psalters, and the like), translations, and aesthetic representations (poetry based on psalms, art, music, and architecture). The attempt to cover over 3,000 years of the use of the Psalms by Jews and Christians in only 312 pages is an imposing—some might say impossible—task. But Susan Gillingham is up to the challenge. Obviously, she had to be selective; and from the very outset, she reveals her principle of selectivity as “an intentional bias towards psalmody in the English-speaking world, and from the fifteenth century onwards, in Britain in particular” (p. 1). In any case, Gillingham has gathered an extraordinary amount of material. Her treatment of individual commentators, preachers, poets, artists, and translations is, by necessity, brief (John Calvin gets as much attention as anyone with five pages); but she includes nearly thirty pages of bibliographical references (and more references are available on-line), and the footnotes frequently point to pertinent websites. Thus, there is plenty of help and direction for those who want to pursue more depth. Readers are also helped by an Index of Psalms, Index of Names, and Subject Index. While the sheer amount of material amassed by Gillingham is impressive, so are her incisive analyses of trends and developments in the reception history of Psalms. For instance, consider her assessment of the current situation: “In a century dominated . . . by, for example, international war-

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fare, economic uncertainty, threats of nuclear destruction, terrorism, and ecological disasters, causing suffering at the individual, national, and international level, the psalms (of all the books in Scripture) have been able to address issues which have a relevance for all humankind” (pp. 244–45). A Psalms scholar like myself can only add “Amen,” as I enthusiastically commend this volume to other readers and eagerly await Volume 2.

J. CLINTON MCCANN, JR. EDEN THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY WEBSTER GROVES, MISSOURI

The Bible and the People by Lori Anne Ferrell Yale University Press, New Haven, 2008. 320 pp. $32.50 (cloth). ISBN 978-0-300-11424-9.

THE FIRST FIVE CHAPTERS of this book make it well worth the read for layperson and clergy alike. Birthed by a Huntington Library exhibition by the same name, The Bible and the People offers a fascinating analysis of the distinctive features of successive incarnations of the Christian holy writ from the Middle Ages to the present in the English-speaking world. Writing in an engaging style, Lori Anne Ferrell unfolds the religious, political, and social motivations behind ever new incarnations and translations of the Scriptures, the theological intent of their layout, marginalia, graphics, and personal interlinear commentary, and, perhaps most intriguing of all, their impact on the authority of the Bible itself. The medieval Catholic Church stalled further translation of the Christian Bible with the Latin Vulgate and buttressed a singular interpretation of its message by reserving it for the clergy and circumscribing their interpretation with a prescribed list of church-approved interpreters from the tradition. And yet even with these strictures, the people’s interplay with the Scriptures could not be entirely stymied as it burst forth in medieval mystery plays. The Reformation, of course, broke the stranglehold of the Vulgate. Translation followed translation with brief periods of stasis as translations like the King James Authorized Version acquired for a time sacrosanct status, particularly on the American scene. What is most enlightening about Ferrell’s

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account, however, is her discussion of the consequences of the Reformers’ reliance on the Scripture alone and their assumption that the plain meaning of Scripture is available to anyone who seriously reads the Bible. This propelled Reformers to translate the Bible into the vernacular and yet, at one and the same time, to surround the text with printed commentary in the margins or as companion volumes. Despite this effort to forestall misinterpretations, the general populace’s growing familiarity with complex and sometimes confusing Scriptures opened the door for widespread amateur interpretation or what Ferrell calls “biblical unknowing”— “unprecedented and sometimes wildly imaginative” perspectives not pleasing to clergy or government officials. So much was this the case that Ferrell notes “it is intriguing . . . to consider why any biblically literate reformer would actually want to throw open scripture’s stores to all men and women” (p. 131). The answer, of course, was that contact with the Word brought salvation. But while bringing some to belief, unmediated reading of the Bible could generate all manner of intellectual and political speculation, including in time—though not discussed in depth in Ferrell’s book—a questioning of the Scripture’s own veracity.

MILTON J. COALTER UNION-PSCE RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

Reading the Hebrew Bible After the Shoah: Engaging Holocaust Theology by Marvin A. Sweeney Fortress, Minneapolis, 2008. 287 pp. $29.00. ISBN 9780-8006-3849-8.

MARVIN SWEENEY IS one of the most prolific authors writing on the HB today, and one of the most careful as well. This is no easy combination. In this recent book, Sweeney reads major sections of the HB in canonical order, with the Shoah or Holocaust always between his eyes and the text. He notes that the HB as we know it today crystallized around Shoah-like events, namely, the Assyrian destruction of the northern kingdom of Israel, and especially the Babylonian destruction of the southern kingdom of Judah. His principal claim is that “the Hebrew Bible is in dialogue concerning the issue of calamitous evil in the world much as modern theology is

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currently in dialogue concerning the theological significance of the Shoah” (p. 2). Though the dominant strain of thought in the HB is that God is righteous and Israel is accountable for its own destruction, Sweeney demonstrates that this is by no means the only position articulated; the HB is often willing to put God in question in various ways. In ten chapters of roughly equal length (approximately twenty pages), all containing illuminating insights, Sweeney is able to show time and again that the HB is already engaged in asking the very same theological questions that are being asked in the wake of the Shoah. He makes the argument, and one well worth attending to, that the Ketuvim (Writings), and specifically the wisdom texts therein, though often neglected in theological treatments of the HB, are especially fruitful for post-Shoah theological readings. The book also contains an introductory discussion of “The Shoah and Biblical Theology,” and a conclusion that briefly addresses the responses of the gospel writers to 70 C.E. and those of the Rabbis to 70 C.E., 116– 117 C.E., and 132–135 C.E.. Readers should note that this book has the character of a survey and is not intended to provide extended, detailed analysis of discrete texts. Sweeney’s task, rather, is to demonstrate how pervasively the HB wrestles with the haunting questions of divine and human accountability in the face of evil and catastrophic suffering, and to attune readerly orientation accordingly. I enthusiastically recommend the book to scholars, educators, and students alike as we await the publication of Sweeney’s forthcoming canonically-based Jewish Bible Theology (Fortress, 2011).

BROOKS SCHRAMM LUTHERAN THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA

Early Narrative Christology: The Lord in the Gospel of Luke by C. Kavin Rowe Baker Academic, Grand Rapids, 2009. 304 pp. $39.99. ISBN 978-0-8010-3591-3.

C. KAVIN ROWE’S STUDY OF the use of the word kyrios (“Lord”) in Luke’s Gospel (a revised form of his Duke dissertation, first published by De Gruyter in the BZNW series [2006]) participates in a recent revival of interest in NT Christology. A peculiarity

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of Luke is that kyrios designates both God and Jesus; indeed, the narrator and characters in the story often refer to Jesus as kyrios—with meanings that range from “sir” through “master” to “Lord”— prior to the resurrection. Aware of the critique of describing Christology by way of a focus on titles (classic expression, e.g., in Oscar Cullmann, The Christology of the New Testament, rev. ed., Westminster, 1963; and critique, e.g., in Leander E. Keck, “Toward the Renewal of New Testament Christology,” NTS 32 [1986]: 362– 77), Rowe nevertheless affirms the signal importance of the title kyrios (Lord) in Luke’s Gospel. Yet he insists that one can discern its meaning and import only by attending to its use within the narrative. Jesus’ identity—including this key descriptor—cannot be abstracted from the narrative that presents it. Rowe’s analysis turns up a narrative construction of Jesus’ identity, focused on the term “Lord,” that is remarkably coherent and sophisticated. There is deliberate ambiguity, with the title being employed first of the God of Israel (1:6 and nearly two dozen other times in chs. 1–2) but then also of Jesus (e.g., 1:43; 2:11) and, in some cases, with possible reference to either (e.g., 3:4). After an exhaustive survey of the approximately one hundred uses of “Lord” in Luke’s narrative, Rowe concludes that Luke binds the identity of Jesus to that of God as Lord. The ministry of Jesus embodies and delivers God’s work of salvation. Rowe contends that the uses of the vocative case must be read in the light of the other uses of kyrios—though, to be sure, the characters who use the term may not fully understand or believe what Luke means with the word. Rowe helpfully insists that the use of the title “Lord” for Jesus before Easter does not nullify the authentic, profound threat to Jesus’ identity posed by his crucifixion and death. The book betrays its origin in a doctoral dissertation, with extensive footnotes, frequent use of phrases and quotations in Greek and German that are typically left untranslated, and a penchant for sparring with other scholars in the tone and manner of one who needs to demonstrate his own scholarly capability. Moreover, Rowe likely overestimates the coherence and literary sophistication of the gospel’s narrative and author, perhaps also registering excessive confidence in his own ability to read Luke’s intentions and convictions—including a “high Christology”—from the narrative.

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Despite these critical concerns, Rowe offers a suggestive reading of Luke’s narrative, well worth engaging and pondering. JOHN T. CARROLL UNION-PSCE RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

Hebrews by James W. Thompson Padeia Commentary. Baker Academic, Grand Rapids, 2008. 336 pp. $24.99. ISBN 978-0-8010-3191-5.

LIKE ALL VOLUMES IN the Paideia Commentary series, this book employs cultural, literary, and theological considerations in order to explain the meaning of the final form of the text for students who wish to explore its theological significance. James Thompson agrees with the recent scholarly consensus that Hebrews was written by a secondgeneration Christian who combines the traditions of the Jewish synagogue and Platonic philosophy to “reorient a community that has been disoriented by the chasm between the Christian confession of triumph and the reality of suffering that it has experienced” (p. 20). Consequently, the writer of Hebrews presents the theological argument of Christ’s superiority over the first covenant not in order to offer an abstract Christology nor to warn against the dangers of regression into Judaism, but rather to urge the readers to be faithful to the Christian gospel, which in spite of Christians’ persecutions and suffering is the one supreme reality. Thompson carefully traces the flow of the argument and meticulously relates passages to the broader context of the book. He also discusses in detail the rhetorical and cultural background of passages, and consistently explores the relevance of the writer’s argument for the situation of the original readers. While Thompson’s interpretation is generally compelling, he offers little in the way of new insights into Hebrews. Perhaps this is to be expected, since he writes for students and not for the guild. But he includes a great deal of material that is of interest to academicians and does not assist students in understanding the theological message of the book. He repeatedly cites at length Jewish and GrecoRoman parallels without drawing out their interpretive significance. He discusses rhetorical cate-

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gories and features, but these discussions often provide little insight beyond what could be gleaned by a careful reading of the text itself. Moreover, the discussion of theological issues is always brief and usually offers suggestions regarding contemporary application rather than robust theological reflection. Finally, the emphasis upon the community’s situation and its need to embrace faithfulness leads to a reduction of the function of Jesus in Hebrews, largely to that of an example of faithfulness rather than the object of faith. This is a truncated construal of the Christology of Hebrews, which presents Jesus not only as the great example of obedience but also as the agent of God’s eschatological salvation; and thus Christians are called to place their confidence in Christ’s work. In Hebrews, faithfulness is the expression of faith in God’s salvation through Christ. In spite of these shortcomings, this commentary offers students a helpful introduction to the Hebrews, for it provides a clear and generally compelling interpretation of the thought of this difficult and complex book.

DAVID R. BAUER ASBURY THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY WILMORE, KENTUCKY

Behold the Man: Jesus and Greco-Roman Masculinity by Colleen M. Conway Oxford University Press, New York. 2008. 254 pp. $65.00 (cloth). ISBN 978-0-19-532532-4.

COLLEEN M. CONWAY’S monograph offers a fresh and profound examination of how the manliness of Jesus is deliberately affirmed in the NT, in dialogue with the cultural expectations of the GrecoRoman Mediterranean world of the first century. The book’s organization flows naturally, establishing the main virtues praised in the perfect man and then considering examples of how they function in the propaganda about great men “divinized” in the biographies dedicated to their memory: Caesar Augustus, Philo’s Moses and Philostratus’ Apollonius of Tyana. With this foundation in place, Conway then pointedly draws out the specific places where the issue of Jesus’ manliness is challenged and finds its resolution in the writings of Paul, the Gospels, the Acts of the Apostles, and Revelation. Conway does not intend the book as a rebuttal

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to feminists. She takes the study along different lines, focusing on how Jesus’ portraiture as an admirable manly person is achieved, despite his public repudiation by persons in power, his brutalization, and his emasculating death on a cross. Two examples of these analyses will have to suffice. Conway demonstrates that Paul’s rhetoric employs paradox to argue that Christ’s weakness on the cross is his unshakeable strength of will in facing adversity and death so that others might be saved. In Luke-Acts, the evangelist offsets the cross with a Christ who carries something of an imperial authority, a world awareness that reflects the highest ideals for a ruler. Jesus’ kingdom, rather than the cross, is central for those who wish to experience it. Conway’s study integrates the latest and best scholarship in her investigation. Expert choices of the most pertinent examples from primary sources in translation fit smoothly into her discussions so that her arguments and illustrations develop gracefully, succinctly, and convincingly. The result of this erudite work is a new appreciation for the manliness of Jesus in a variety of roles, not only as Royal Messiah, but also as “Manly Martyr.” Conway illustrates how early Christians understood Jesus’ challenges to ideals of manliness that demanded that the successful man be a victor over others, an undefeated man of war, and an overlord who commands and receives total obedience. The manliness of Jesus calls for service, as well as meekness, which Conway clarifies as a kind and gentle response when one is in a position to be harsh. As a result, Conway’s work reveals the degree of difficulty that membership in the Christian circle would have presented for new converts whose criteria for manliness, dependent on society’s criteria, were not those emulated by Jesus.

WENDY COTTER, C.S.J. LOYOLA UNIVERSITY CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

King and Messiah as Son of God: Divine, Human, and Angelic Messianic Figures in Biblical and Related Literature by Adela Yarbro Collins and John J. Collins Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2008. 261 pp. $28.00. ISBN 978-0-8028-0772-4.

THIS USEFUL SURVEY IS exactly what the biblical studies guild has come to expect from the Collinses:

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solid historical-critical scholarship, comprehensive in scope and judicious in its conclusions. Beginning with ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia, John Collins investigates whether and in what ways kings were considered divine. He concludes that while kings were sometimes given divine prerogatives and functions, they were generally not considered divine in any essential sense, a state of affairs that remains largely true in the societies that produced the Deuteronomistic and Prophetic literature. The picture changes in the Hellenistic age, where messianic figures start to acquire divine attributes, as with the “Son of Man” figure in Dan 7 and the “Son of God” in the Aramaic Apocalypse (4Q246). This latter text undermines Wilhelm Bousset’s claims that “Son of God” was essentially a Gentile innovation; it also qualifies the claims of Joseph Fitzmyer that Jews expected only an earthly king figure, not a transcendent, heavenly redeemer. The question at stake is this: whether the first Jewish followers of Jesus would have had precedents for thinking of their messiah as divine. In this respect, King and Messiah bears comparison with Larry Hurtado’s works, Lord Jesus Christ (Eerdmans, 2003) and How on Earth Did Jesus Become a God? (Eerdmans, 2006). Both Hurtado and the Collinses maintain that divine attributes were assigned to Jesus very early and by his Jewish followers; the Collinses, however, believe that the components of such worship were already present in Jewish messianic thought. Adela Collins pursues the theme of Jesus’ divinity, attributes, and labels in NT literature. She begins with the letters of Paul, proceeds to the Synoptic Gospels, and concludes with a chapter treating both John’s Gospel and Revelation. One claim is of particular interest: “The hypothesis that Jesus alluded to the fulfillment of Dan 7:13–14 in his teaching makes it easier to understand how and why his disciples identified him, in his exalted state, with the one like a son of man depicted in that passage” (p. 172). In other words, Jesus’ own preaching about the coming Son of Man led his disciples to identify him with this figure. This contrasts with the views of Norman Perrin and Phillipp Vielhauer, who do not assign such beliefs to Jesus, but to his followers. The volume refers to much useful bibliography, situates itself nicely within the spectrum of other offerings on the subject, and is very easy to

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use, thanks to the concluding sections that end every chapter.

H. GREGORY SNYDER DAVIDSON COLLEGE DAVIDSON, NORTH CAROLINA

Christology: A Guide for the Perplexed by Alan Spence T & T Clark, New York, 2008. 174 pp. $24.95. ISBN 9780-567-03195-2.

MODERN CHRISTOLOGY IS the story of theology distancing itself from the heritage of classical Christology, which understood Christ to exist “perfect both in deity and also in humanness . . . in two natures without confusion [or] transmutation . . . the distinctiveness of each nature is not nullified by the union,” as the definition of Chalcedon has it. In this book, Alan Spence introduces the reader to the trajectories of both classical and modern Christology, with an equal part devoted to both. He presents his role as that of a host who is required to introduce a late arrival (the reader) to two groups of distinguished guests (church fathers and modern theologians) at a dinner party. His role is to connect the newcomer to the conversation that has been going on between the two groups. Spence is a good guide to both groups, although he seems on surer footing in describing classical Christology. In reality, though, Spence is more than a host, for he has his own contribution to make. Spence points out that many classical theologians not only held that Jesus was fully human and fully divine, but also that Christ’s nature was spiritually perfected at conception and therefore in no need of divine grace. This latter idea flies in the face of the biblical narrative, which presents a Jesus who is not perfect at birth, but who has to grow in knowledge and wisdom, who suffers and cries, and who throughout a life of intense prayer leans on the support of Father and Spirit. Spence’s point is that the second idea of the classical theologians is not implied by the first, nor is it implied by the creedal positions. The creeds say that Christ is fully human and fully divine, but also that these two natures were without confusion or change. Therefore, there is no theological or confessional reason to conceive of Christ’s human nature as beefed-up beyond the normal baseline.

In this important observation, Spence is completely correct. My only critique is that he does not develop his thesis to its full potential. For instance, his account of modern Christology lacks any discussion of liberation Christology or the contemporary Quest for the Historical Jesus, which is in itself regrettable; but his thesis could in fact open an interesting dialogue with those in these traditions who see the creedal Jesus as in opposition to the human Jesus of flesh-and-blood whom we meet in the Gospels. If Spence is right—and I think he is—that opposition rests on a mistake.

EDWIN CHR. VAN DRIEL PITTSBURGH THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA

Tell It Slant: A Conversation on the Language of Jesus in His Stories and Prayers by Eugene H. Peterson Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2008. 297 pp. $24.00 (cloth). ISBN 978-0-8028-2954-2.

IN THIS BOOK, EUGENE PETERSON, spiritual theologian, pastor, and prolific author, best known for his Bible paraphrase The Message, continues his series of conversations in spiritual theology. Earlier works in the series include Christ Plays in Ten Thousand Places: A Conversation in Spiritual Theology, Eat This Book: A Conversation in Spiritual Reading, and The Jesus Way: A Conversation on the Ways that Jesus is the Way. Peterson states his focus for Tell it Slant in its Introduction: “language and the way we use it in the Christian community is the focus of this conversation on the spirituality of language” (p. 2). Peterson challenges the “bilingualism” that causes us to use one type of language, abstract and removed from daily life, when speaking of God, and another type, practical, concrete, and earthy, when navigating daily life. Peterson wants us to use God’s gift of language in a way that is in keeping with the character of the God who speaks and with the character of Jesus as God’s Word (p. 1). Thus, Tell it Slant, which derives its title from a poem by Emily Dickinson, looks to the parables and prayers of Jesus as models for the use of language that is “slant”—concrete rather than abstract, personal yet universal, invitational rather than informational, and evocative rather than purely

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prescriptive. Such language, Peterson is convinced, is capable of conveying profound religious ideas in our preaching, our teaching, and our everyday “small talk.” Following Jesus through Luke’s travel narrative (9:51–19:27) as he journeys from Samaria to Jerusalem, Peterson first engages the ten parables unique to Luke. He gives the parables earthy, personalized nametags in place of traditional labels. Notable examples include “The Barn Builder” (12:13–21), “Manure” (13:6–9), “The Invisible Man” (16:19–31), and “The Minimalist” (19:11– 27). Combining exegetical flair with cultural critique and his own life experiences, Peterson restores the pointedness, the offense, the particularity, in a word, the “slant” to Jesus’ parables, which are too often viewed as earthly stories with one heavenly point. Peterson then moves to the prayers of Jesus across the Gospels, seeing them as a primer for how we can pray. He takes us “to language school with Jesus.” He explores six prayers in the Gospels that are models of Jesus at prayer: Jesus praying with us, praying in thanksgiving, praying in anticipation of the end, praying for us, praying out of the depths of agony in Gethsemane, and praying from the cross. Tell it Slant is nourishment for the mind and spirit. It shows us, rather than simply tells us, how language, by being down to earth, respectful of the images, metaphors, and quirky details of daily life, can evoke the gift of God's presence. This journey into the conversational genius of Jesus in his parables and prayers will inspire readers to “go and do likewise.”

ALYCE M. MCKENZIE PERKINS SCHOOL OF THEOLOGY SOUTHERN METHODIST UNIVERSITY DALLAS, TEXAS

Apostle to the Conquered: Reimagining Paul’s Mission by Davina C. Lopez Fortress, Minneapolis, 2008. 248 pp. $29.00. ISBN 9780-8006-6281-3.

DAVINA C. LOPEZ “REIMAGINES” Paul’s mission as deeply political in a book that combines gendercritical and empire-critical perspectives. Lopez’s central argument is that “Gentile,” as Paul uses the

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term, refers to all the nations conquered by Rome, including Judea. In the book of Galatians, in which Lopez centers her work, “Gentile” does not mean “non-Jewish” but rather “non-Roman.” The key to unlocking this meaning, according to Lopez, is found in studying visual representations in Roman art that portray conquered nations as women or womanly and their Roman conquerors as manly men. This, in combination with Paul’s occasional portrayal of himself as a woman (e.g., Gal 4:19), leads to a new vision of Paul’s mission as one of solidarity with all conquered nations, encouraging them to be in solidarity with one another, united against a common, enslaving enemy. There is no question that Lopez’s thesis is an interesting one, but there are several problems with her argument that evoke skepticism. First, Lopez bases her argument solely on the book of Galatians. To reimagine Paul’s entire mission, it would seem necessary to engage Paul’s work more thoroughly. Second, Lopez often makes assertions about Paul’s perspective and consciousness without grounding her assertions in detailed analysis of specific texts. Third, if the central issue in Galatians is “nations versus empire” rather than Gentile-Jewish disputes, Lopez does not do an adequate job of explaining why Paul spends so much time on the issues of circumcision and keeping the law. While Lopez is accurate in her critique that traditional Pauline scholarship has focused too much on theology and too little on Paul’s political and social context, she has gone too far in the opposite direction, creating a Paul who seems to have little interest in faith and in Christ. Additionally, Lopez’s writing style makes for difficult reading. However, the book does serve as a reminder of the need to focus on the social and political context of Paul’s world, and the book’s use of visual as well as literary primary sources makes an important contribution. Lopez uncovers the empire-critical edge to Paul’s writings and, where traditional scholarship would allow us to remain on lofty theological heights, calls us, with Paul, to confront injustice and stand with those who have been pushed to the margins.

JENNIFER HOUSTON MCNEEL UNION-PSCE RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

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Participatory Biblical Exegesis: A Theology of Biblical Interpretation by Matthew Levering University of Notre Dame Press, Notre Dame, Ind., 2008. 328 pp. $25.00. ISBN 978-0-268-03408-5.

MIDWAY THROUGH THE book, Matthew Levering asks a key question: “What happens to the text of Scripture when read through the lens of the synagogue or the Church, rather than solely through the perspective of the academy?” (p. 90). This gets to the very heart of his argument, which is about the “framing” problem. Briefly stated, we come to the text with an initial frame, and this determines what we “see” in the text. Each frame is based on philosophical or theological presuppositions, so that we only “see” the results of our existing theology. Thus, the problem of interpretation is a problem of circularity. To address this issue, Levering notes that the author and interpreter are already embedded in reality, which is God’s reality. He writes: “Human history is never separate from these divine . . . realities, which are constitutive of human history” (p. 34). Thus, to interpret from within this framebias is not eisegesis, but genuine exegesis. Eisegesis occurs when the interpreter attempts to be “neutral”, and so ignores the realities in which he or she already participates. At core, this is Levering’s notion of the participatory framework: we interpret out of the broader notion of God’s participation in human history, including God’s involvement in biblical revelation. This means that the text has certain non-temporal components. The text is not solely a linear unfolding of different moments in cultural time, as the historical-critical method supposes, but has the universal component of God’s love and salvation history undergirding all its events. To the degree that the church has recognized these components in their traditions and confessions, these constitute a guide to right reading. But several critiques are in order. First, this method requires one to select an initial frame. But should one start with a theological or interpretive frame, a Protestant or Catholic frame? Second, such rigid framing risks turning the text into an allegory of one’s theology. Can one discard the ornamental text and simply hold to the more central theology? Third, Levering doesn’t resolve the linear/universal

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time issues, but only privileges the universal over the linear. Does this turn history into the servant of theology? Indeed, how is salvation history different from ordinary history? While this text is firmly written from the Roman Catholic perspective, its insights are well documented and have definite application to Protestant exegesis. It is well worth including in our broader dialogue on interpretation.

ERIC DOUGLASS RANDOLPH-MACON COLLEGE RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

A Brief History of Theology: From the New Testament to Feminist Theology by Derek Johnston Continuum, London, 2008. 290 pp. $16.95. ISBN 978-18470-6091-9.

ACCESSIBLE AND RELIABLE introductions to theological reflection across the centuries are hard to come by, and for good reason. The field is complex, and there is no entirely satisfying way to map it. Derek Johnston’s “brief history,” intended for the beginner, takes a kaleidoscopic approach, focusing far less on broader movements within the discipline than on some of its more interesting practitioners. Following two chapters on the NT, each chapter of the book examines the life and thought of one or two prominent theologians, drawing equally from Protestant and Roman Catholic traditions. Primary weight is given to recent perspectives: approximately half of the book is devoted to theologians in the modern period, from Friedrich Schleiermacher to such contemporary luminaries as Rosemary Radford Ruether, Walter Brueggemann, and Don Cupitt. Generally, each chapter provides summaries of a particular theologian’s major works, along with an abbreviated account of her or his life and an “appraisal,” often in the form of a series of critical questions. As already indicated, this is not a book for established scholars or for advanced students in theology. It is written with beginners in mind, and for the most part it is well-suited for the purpose. Johnston avoids difficult theological jargon, and his quick and efficient movement across traditions and perspectives maintains interest and gives one a sense of the interminably conversational nature of theology.

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The book has its shortcomings. Inevitably in a volume of this kind, the author’s choices among possible candidates for treatment may be questioned. There are no Greek church fathers, for example, nor more recent Eastern Orthodox theologians represented here. The inclusion of Walter Brueggemann is also puzzling, for while he is a formidable and influential thinker, he is not a theologian per se, and a number of contemporary theologians are not considered. More seriously, the compressed character of Johnston’s analyses at times yields caricatures, glossing over important subtleties. To cite just one example, Johnston simplistically attributes a vaguely-expressed universalism to Barth, when in fact Barth rejects universalism for the same reason he rejects Calvin’s double-predestinarian standpoint: a refusal to engage in speculation. The book has a lot to offer beginning students, but their teachers will need to provide some complexity at points.

THOMAS A. JAMES UNION-PSCE RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

Introducing Asian American Theologies by Jonathan Y. Tan Orbis, Maryknoll, N.Y., 2008. 210 pp. $24.00. ISBN 9781-57075-768-6.

THE UNITED STATES IS a country of immigrants, and it is important to understand immigrants’ situations, contexts, and religious experiences. Jonathan Y. Tan attempts to understand Asian immigrants and their historical and theological issues in Introducing Asian American Theologies. Tan analyzes the historical points, principle themes, sources, practices, trends, and challenges in Asian American theologies. Chapter 1 identifies Asian Americans and provides a good snapshot of Asian American demographics. Tan includes excellent data, charts, and statistics that give concise information at a quick glance. Chapter 2 charts Asian immigration to the United States and the rise of prejudice against Asians. It provides historical evidence of racism against Asian Americans, tracing discrimination from exclusion to internment. The third chapter describes Asian Americans’ experiences in the present context of the United States. Chapters 4–9

discuss Asian American theology by introducing many theologians, describing how they interpret Scripture, addressing the issue of race and race relations in developing theology, and identifying emerging trends within Asian American theologies. Tan includes a useful discussion on Asian Americans as a model minority; however, this tends to glamorize a small number within the wider Asian American community and essentializes their success stories as normative and applicable to all Asian Americans. It also excludes alternative perspectives on contemporary Asian American identities and experience that fall short of the model minority image. All need to be aware of the image’s negative consequences. One important item that the book does not include is the rich history of Asian religions. This is consequential as it is impossible to understand Asian American theologies without understanding their religious roots. Overall, this book is a helpful guide to Asian American theologies, a diverse and growing area of theology, and to the historical and present contexts that shape them. It provides a good list of resources for further study and plenty of helpful data and charts. It is crucial to be aware of and to understand this quickly developing arena of theological reflection, for without it, we lose creative, insightful theologies that strive to understand God in the midst of immigration, racism, globalization, and postcolonialism. I highly recommend this book to students, church members, professors, and anyone curious about the topic.

GRACE JI-SUN KIM MORAVIAN THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY BETHLEHEM, PENNSYLVANIA

Theology Brewed in an African Pot by Agbonkhianmeghe E. Orobator Orbis, Maryknoll, N.Y., 2008. 162 pp. $20.00. ISBN 9781-57075-795-2.

AGBONKHIANMEGHE OROBATOR, a Jesuit from Nigeria and the rector of the Institute of Peace Studies at the Hekima College Jesuit School of Theology in Kenya, has produced a short but masterful treatment of highlights of African theology. Using the foundational themes of Christian doctrine and pertinent portions of Chinua Achebe’s all-time bestseller Things Fall Apart, Orobator con-

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structs a theology from an African perspective that is rich in symbolism, proverbs, prayers, and poetry. Orobator demonstrates the strength of both of his identities—African and Christian—and establishes areas where Christ transcends culture and other areas where an African religious worldview is a better medium for understanding Christ. With a grounding in Scripture, church tradition, and African experience, and in particular the wealth of written and oral materials available, Orobator examines afresh the doctrine of God, especially as seen in an African context. God, per se, is not new to Africa, but the understanding of God as Jesus Christ was first brought to Africa by missionaries. Additionally, Orobator treats the doctrines of creation, Trinity, mercy, and grace, as well as the church as family, Mary, ancestor veneration, inculturation, and lastly, African spirituality. His intended audience includes non-professional Christians and non-Africans, both of whom he engages effectively. Orobator, a convert to Catholicism, who has studied theology and is now a seminary professor, combines the pre-conversion deep-seated skepticism of an outsider with the fervor of an initiate in a refreshingly new way. Coming from West Africa and working in East Africa, Orabator is able to utilize materials from the entire continent as he engages aspects of Christianity. As a Protestant student of African Christianity, I found his treatment of Mariology and the African approach to ancestors extremely helpful. Orobator’s book can yield much fruit for Western preachers who need to hear the gospel from a different perspective. Students of Christianity in the non-Western world will also benefit from this accessible study of an increasingly significant part of world Christianity today. Pentecostalism in Africa is one area that could have benefited from a more positive engagement. Given the dramatic growth of Pentecostal Christianity in Africa and elsewhere, any reflection on African Christianity that fails to address the doctrine of the Holy Spirit, and related aspects of healing and deliverance in Africa today, has limited its audience. Orobator’s choice of Achebe’s book and Kwaw Ansah’s movie, Love Brewed in an African Pot, as backdrop and title for his book reflects his understanding of the continuing relevance of the Gospel and Culture debate in Africa—an area that Pentecostals do not particularly emphasize. Orobator’s slim but significant and accessible

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book adds a great deal to the ongoing self-discovery of African Christians.

CASELY B. ESSAMUAH BAY AREA COMMUNITY CHURCH ANNAPOLIS, MARYLAND

On the Mystery: Discerning God in Process by Catherine Keller Fortress, Minneapolis, 2008. 224 pp. $17.00. ISBN 9780-8006-6276-9.

IN A STYLE THAT IS BOTH erudite and personal, scholarly and confessional, Catherine Keller offers us a theological thunderstorm that uproots deadwood divisions and overthrows dilapidated certainties, thus clearing spaces for new clarities of thought and conviction, which she produces with startling regularity. This book delivers what every reader should hope for from theology: a critical and original reading of some of Christianity’s fundamental texts (among them Gen 1, Job, several parables, and Acts 2) and its major doctrines (God, creation, Christ, salvation, the Spirit, and humanity), in conversation with significant historical and contemporary theologies and theologians (including Wesley, Calvin, and Barth). Keller gives a critical reading of both church tradition and contemporary culture as caught in the dualism of “the absolute” versus “the dissolute,” or authoritarianism versus relativism. Keller’s constructive proposal is for a third way, a “resolute” affirmation of life lived within the mystery of God in process and Christ as process, without a denial of the irreducible complexity, interdependence, and even chaos that attends existence. In the course of developing her proposal, she introduces and interprets process philosophy and theology. (Keller wrote her dissertation at Claremont under the direction of John Cobb.) Theologically, for Keller, process refers to an open-ended interactivity between God, creation, and humanity, a relationality whose mystery is never exhausted, but which nevertheless grounds our becoming. Though she remains deeply engaged with post-foundationalist conversations, these remain mostly in the background of this book. Instead, here Keller moves forward with constructive reinterpretations of the fundamental conceptions of truth, love, justice, sin, and grace. Especially illuminating is her reformulation of divine power, no longer as coercive and absolute,

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but as resilient love that both lures us to fulfill the best possibilities of the moment and also graciously receives our ever incomplete realizations. Remaining resolute amid the ever-fluid process of becoming is so central to this book that it could have been titled “The Courage to Become.” There are so many parallels to Tillich’s “The Courage to Be” that one wonders how it is possible that there is no engagement with it. From a Reformed perspective, one may ask whether Keller’s mystery is ever a mysterium tremendum and whether the much discussed spirit is ever holy. But with such a rich and suggestive yet brief text, it is perhaps inevitable that the reader will be left wishing not just for more, but for more fully developed proposals. Our consolation is that Keller is such a productive author that we can no doubt anticipate many more opportunities to see the world through her eyes. This volume is highly recommended for all who are interested in contemporary theology, feminist theology, or process thought.

CRAIG C. STEIN EAGLE CREEK PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH PORTLAND, OREGON

Politics and the Order of Love: An Augustinian Ethic of Democratic Citizenship by Eric Gregory University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 2008. 384 pp. $45.00 (cloth). ISBN 978-0-226-30751-0.

ERIC GREGORY BELIEVES THAT Augustinian thought has a great deal to contribute to understandings of democratic citizenship. Thus, he proposes an “Augustinian civic virtue that might . . . encourage a more ambitious political practice,” one which not only extends justice and equality but is also “more charitable” (p. 8). Against prominent types of Augustinian liberalism marked by a focus on sin or justice, Gregory proposes a third type marked by a humble perfectionism. The reality of sin should deter any utopian fantasies and restrain paternalism, but it need not immobilize efforts to better society. To nurture civic virtue, Gregory turns to Augustine’s understanding of love. Gregory’s argument is careful and nuanced. He is keenly aware of potential objections from both theological and secular commentators. He differentiates himself from Niebuhrian realists and

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Rawlsian liberals. The objections of Radical Orthodoxy are met head-on. Gregory recognizes the thought of Hannah Arendt as a potent threat to his project and addresses it in detail. Feminist ethics of care also receive lengthy treatment, but as an ally for encouraging human flourishing. Gregory is particularly effective in answering charges that Augustine’s understanding of love is otherworldly, focused on God to the exclusion of the neighbor. Augustine believes love is natural for humans. Problems arise not so much because of what we love but how we love; disordered, grasping love is at the heart of sin. This understanding of love enables Gregory to offer convincing alternatives to accepted interpretations of Augustine. In Confessions, Augustine famously regrets how he mourned the death of an unnamed friend. The problem for Augustine, contends Gregory, is not that he loved a person who could be lost instead of the eternal God, but that his love was possessive. Augustine loved his friend as if he “were [his] not to lose” (p. 286). Similarly, Gregory demonstrates that Augustine’s controversial language about love as “using the neighbor” and “enjoying God” is concerned with avoiding the disorders of love that devalue and dominate the neighbor. Only when human love is ordered to God are we able to love our neighbors rightly and do them good. Such interpretations both support Gregory’s case for a political ethic informed by love and contribute greatly to historical and theological scholarship. This challenging and erudite book has much to offer both to those concerned with the relationship of Christianity to liberal democracy and those seeking to understand the Christian imperatives to love God and neighbor.

CHRISTOPHER R. HELTON UNION-PSCE RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

Global Neighbors: Christian Faith and Moral Obligation in Today's Economy edited by Douglas A. Hicks and Mark Valeri Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2008. 276 pp. $28.00. ISBN 978-0-8028-6033-0.

THE FRUIT OF A YEARLONG consultation convened under the auspices of the Institute of Reformed Theology at Union Theological Seminary (Richmond, Virginia), this book asks what difference

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Christian ethics should make to the theory and practice of economy, especially as economy in its current global form affects the poor. Though the essays are quite diverse in content and approach, and though they employ ethical and economic methods familiar to most readers, this is a most welcome book because it stresses a theme largely missing in discussions of the global economy: What is our Christian responsibility to our neighbors both near and far, in our localities and in the global economy? In almost all of the chapters, written by ethicists and economists, the question consistently plied is why we should be involved with the poor when in fact our Enlightenment sciences and ideologies seem designed to treat the problems of the poor by manipulation of programs at a safe remove. Though the contributors do not treat extensively the long (including Christian) history of the hatred of the poor, they do effectively press the issue of whether poverty can in any significant way be ameliorated without intimacy with the poor. Otherwise, economics conceived as enforcing tragic choices imposed by the finitude of nature and human nature, and ethics conceived as judgments based on the limits imposed by what is “real,” will not even recognize the poor, much less know their suffering or encounter the “non-economic” reasons for their poverty. The ethics employed are primarily Niebuhrian, but both the critique of neo-classical economics and the proposed scope of Christian involvement in society go beyond the usual Niebuhrian environment. The writers argue that the way Christian persons and communities concretely relate to the poor is decisive for their political and economic engagement. Thus, criticism of orthodox economics focuses on the absence of any moral framework that could include the poor. Furthermore, the arguments for why Christians, qua Christians, should value the intervention of government in the economy (as in the excellent essay by Rebecca Blank) expand the terms of the current debate. Not surprisingly, the book focuses, quite creatively, on the parable of the Good Samaritan. However, as in the case of many ethical studies, it is missing a thoroughly developed Christology and eschatology that would open us up to a view of the church in whose worship God can actually transform us into people capable of intimacy with the poor. But this book is not to be missed by those

who long to be a part of God’s friendship with the poor.

DOUGLAS MEEKS VANDERBILT UNIVERSITY DIVINITY SCHOOL NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE

Living Beyond the “End of the World”: A Spirituality of Hope by Margaret Swedish Orbis, Maryknoll, N.Y., 2008. 222 pp. $20.00. ISBN 9781-57075-767-9.

MARGARET SWEDISH AIMS TO provide hope in the face of alarming trends predicting the end of life as we know it. Her book brings together a mountain of data showing that we are dwelling in the “dark night of the world” (p. 168). The litany includes global warming, coastal flooding, depletion of sources for energy and fresh water, overpopulation, pollution of air, soil, and water, and a growing gap between rich and poor. These crises will more and more exacerbate global tensions and escalate geopolitical violence. The question is no longer how to avoid the global crisis, but rather how to survive the end of the world as we know it. To that end, Swedish charts the beginnings of a new spirituality that offers hope rather than paralysis or despair. She draws on Teilhard de Chardin, Thomas Merton, Rosemary Radford Ruether, Sallie McFague, and others to craft new stories and an earth-affirming sensibility that will help humanity survive the crisis and build the foundations for a new world. The strengths of this book are its sense of urgency and the mountain of data it gathers into one place. Though not an expert in any one of the grim fields she covers, Swedish is a careful surveyor of both journalistic and professional literatures on her topics. The book is extraordinarily forceful about the scope of the challenge and the importance of facing it. It is weaker on theological and spiritual resources. Themes and texts the book briefly develops will likely be familiar to most religious leaders reading Interpretation. Swedish intends to be suggestive and to make a beginning in this important area. The suggestions she offers do provide a stimulating basis on which to build an adult education class or college course. The data on the crisis and the call for a new spirituality provide valuable resources for sermon prepa-

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ration. Although Swedish provides grounds for hope, the trends she describes are so disturbing that one cannot but wonder whether human beings can or will ever change, and whether we will survive the judgment that the Great Law of Returns might finally bring upon us for the havoc we have wreaked upon God’s good and glorious creation.

DOUGLAS J. SCHUURMAN ST. OLAF COLLEGE NORTHFIELD, MINNESOTA

GloboChrist: The Great Commission Takes a Postmodern Turn by Carl Raschke Baker Academic, Grand Rapids, 2008. 176 pp. $17.99. ISBN 978-0-8010-3261-5.

CARL RASCHKE’S SLIM volume is the third book in Baker Academic’s Church and Postmodern Culture series edited by James K. A. Smith. Smith himself offered the inaugural book in the series, Who’s Afraid of Postmodernism?: Taking Derrida, Foucault and Lyotard to Church. The series is a welcome attempt to chart theological thinking in light of postmodern thinkers and trends. Raschke tackles the question of how the church can be truly missional in light of globalization, postmodernism, information technology, and the challenge posed by Islam. From the vantage point of having read and appreciated a variety of postmodern thinkers, Raschke challenges Western Christians, especially evangelicals, to eschew their narrow, modernist, and materialistic tendencies. Raschke links postmodernism and globalization, citing a number of observers who see globalization as a “world community” and as a “highly uneven network of cross-border flows” (p. 27). He cites approvingly the French philosopher Gilles Deleuze, who recognized globalizing processes early on and his concept of “deterritorialization” and “reterritorialization.” Raschke also appreciates Deleuze’s notion of “rhizomic patterns of growth” marking the “mobility and metaphoricity of all human expression” (p. 69). So what do these observations gleaned from postmodern thinkers (global, postmodern, rhizomic, semiotic) have to do with the Great Commission? Raschke believes that such perspectives are both fruitful and necessary for authentic Christian mission in the twenty-first cen-

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tury. He rightly insists that the gospel must be indigenized or contextualized as it enters non-Christian corners of the globe. Raschke is helpful in boldly concluding that the Christian witness must confront both non-Christian faiths and anti-Christian prejudices. He rightly holds up Islam as the giant challenge to GloboChristianity and insightfully calls for incarnational presence as the proper missionary posture. The book whets the appetite to read postmodern thinkers like Derrida and Deleuze appreciatively rather than apprehensively. Readers do have to determine, however, not to let the strange world of the author’s breezy terminology distract them. GloboChrist and globopomo sound too much like Robocop to me. Raschke also is blunt in places: he likens Brian McLaren’s inclusivity to Burger King Christianity and chides John MacArthur’s purist exclusivity. Raschke prefers Dietrich Bonhoeffer as one who hinted at a “genuine postmodern and global catholicity” (p. 168). This provocative take on the Great Commission deserves its place in this fine series and will challenge Christians to think missionally and philosophically at the same time.

RICHARD HANEY GRACE COVENANT PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

That All May Believe: A Theology of the Gospel and the Mission of the Church by Carl E. Braaten Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2008. 188 pp. $20.00. ISBN 978-0-8028-6239-6.

THIS IS THE LATEST compilation by Carl Braaten, Professor Emeritus of Theology of the Lutheran School of Theology in Chicago. This work draws together nine previously published articles, along with three newly crafted ones, and is divided into three sections dealing with the topics of “Theology,” the “Gospel,” and “Mission.” The prominent theological issues with which Braaten is working are related to the role of the Church in doing theology (ecclesiology), Lutheran-Catholic relationships (ecumenism), and the issue of the universality and exclusivity of Christ (pluralism). While the title of the book is intriguing and inviting, non-Lutheran pastors and theologians

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may find the work puzzling, if not frustrating. Braaten has spent a great deal of his energy in recent years addressing what he calls the movement of the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America (ELCA) toward being a “liberal Protestant church” without confessional and theological foundations. (The most recent sexuality social statement passed by the ELCA Churchwide Assembly in August 2009 will certainly have convinced Braaten of this!) Thus, the underlining concerns of the book are related to Lutheran theological discourse. The chapters of the work are appealing and tackle attractive theological topics that Braaten has addressed in other works and venues. Unfortunately, the work does not hang together well. One wonders what purpose the book is attempting to achieve. There is no preface or conclusion that might guide the reader through an intended thesis or argument. Rather, one senses that the chapters were previously written works that have been thrown together for a new publication. For example, the chapter on “The Christian Mission Among Muslims” is from a 1986 inner denominational paper presented at a symposium on Christian-Muslim dialog. Braaten has updated it and added a final paragraph for this publication. However, it is unclear how this fits with the concern for Lutheran-Catholic relationships discussed earlier in the book. The wide assortment of topics in this book provides Braaten with the opportunity for continued subtle commentary on major confessional and theological issues related to what he feels is the Lutheran Church in North America’s abandonment of its center to become a “liberal” church.

DAVID D. GRAFTON THE LUTHERAN THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY AT PHILADELPHIA PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA

Determining the Form: Structures of Preaching

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it allows several voices to render the homiletical field from various cultural perspectives. In this fine volume, O. Wesley Allen focuses on sermon form. Students often want to know immediately what their sermons are supposed to look like, and Allen gets to the heart of the matter quickly. Sermons need unity, movement, and climax. Unity comes from saying one thing and saying it well. It needs to be hinted at early in the sermon, unpacked in the middle, and fully connected to congregational lives by the end. Movement must be natural, flowing from beginning to end. The climax, at the end of the sermon, takes the listeners to a different place from where they began, “from guilt to grace, from apathy to action, from confusion to clarity” (p. 11). The climax need not be earth-shattering each week, yet it needs to be significant and not simplistic. Allen’s concern is with organic form and content and with conversational preaching that has dominated homiletical discussions in recent decades. Separate chapters are devoted to each of the following six forms: propositional lesson; exegesis/interpretation/application; verse-by-verse; the four pages; valley; new hearing (A, not A, B); and negative to positive (not A, not B, not C, but D). Each form is interpreted, evaluated, and demonstrated in a quick sketch using 1 Kgs 19:1–15. I like the compact nature of this book and will use it with my students as a reminder of homiletical options. The last four chapters may not be necessary, since they focus on forms that hinge from an itch to a scratch, a key difference being the location of the hinge. Combining some options might have simplified matters and provided room for a concluding theological chapter to raise important questions. For instance, is sermon excellence to be determined by conformity to certain forms, or are there theological issues that need to come into play, like what is the gospel and what enables it to be heard? In a very accessible manner, Allen nonetheless covers the essential basics well.

by O. Wesley Allen

PAUL SCOTT WILSON

Elements of Preaching. Fortress, Minneapolis, 2008. 84 pp.

EMMANUEL COLLEGE

$12.00. ISBN 978-0-8006-0444-8.

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO TORONTO, ONTARIO

THIS BOOK BELONGS to a new Elements of Preaching series that devotes individual small volumes to the needs of several preaching tasks. The advantage of this approach over an introductory textbook is that

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Nature’s Witness: How Evolution Can Inspire Faith by Daniel M. Harrell Abingdon, Nashville, 2008. 165 pp. $18.00. ISBN 978-0687-64235-9.

DANIEL HARRELL INTENDS THAT, “If the evidence for evolution is accurate, as science attests, and nature bears witness to the handiwork of God, then rejecting evolution becomes, in effect, a rejection of God. This is my worry. More than [that], I worry that rejecting evolution truncates Christian faith” (p. 132). Harrell is a pastor in the Conservative Congregational Evangelical Conference, a denomination that strives to make room for widely divergent viewpoints among its member congregations. Harrell’s book is written with an audience like that in mind, attempting to draw into conversation those who may feel that accepting evolution is somehow disloyal to God, yet find themselves attracted to the depth and breadth of scientific insight. Harrell’s thesis is reflected in the quotation in the first paragraph above: a faith that fails to interpret the real world cannot be a real faith. Science provides us with the lens “to see nature’s complexity and elegance, and faith then helps us to see [that] . . . as creation” (p. 109). Nature’s Witness seems written for the ear, with many nice lines and quotable turns-of-phrase. But at times, the writing falls into unhelpful quirkiness. Cute titles (what is “Peach Pie in the Sky” about?) and conversation with “Aunt Bernice” and “Dave” are intended to inject a lighter tone, but instead annoy, interrupting the reader’s dialogue with the author. The notes and bibliography are solid and useful. The book’s strength is in Harrell’s consistency of theme and breadth of consideration. Evolution poses problems not limited to biblical interpretation. Harrell raises elemental conflicts where the randomness, lack of direction, death and waste of evolution “challenge the view that God highly values purpose, life, and economy” (p. 14). Chapter 6 is a stand-alone chapter presenting a long personal meditation in the poetic tradition of Job. The final chapter (“Peach Pie in the Sky”) is worth the price of the book—a consideration of death and eschatology, with a really nice picture of the new creation

“breaking backward” into the present, pulling experience toward it (p. 126). There are some missed points. The reader may be puzzled by the too-easy, literal treatment of miracles. Also, Harrell seems to miss the most troubling challenge that evolution suggests: we humans may not be the pinnacle of God’s creation, but a throwaway step along the way. After humans destroy their environment, would the stage then be set for a truly wise species to emerge upon the ruins of the old?

O. MORTON HARRIS, JR. THE FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH OF HOWARD COUNTY COLUMBIA, MARYLAND

Changing the Conversation: A Third Way for Congregations by Anthony B. Robinson Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2008. 198 pp. $18.00. ISBN 978-0-8028-0759-5.

ANTHONY ROBINSON is an experienced pastor who now spends his days as an author and church consultant. His passion is to help congregations get moving—to help them name their God-given purpose and direction and then get on with it. His is a kind of “reality therapy” for the church. Though there is much theology and prayer behind his writing, most of it takes a very step-by-step practical approach. In Changing the Conversation, Robinson offers concrete examples of the kinds of issues that a church must face if it is to offer a viable ministry in our quite secular society. His special interest is in helping mainline Protestants discover new vitality for worship and mission in the twenty-first century (rather than mourn the good old days when our pews were full and our leaders were on the cover of Time magazine). There are ten chapters, or ten conversations, in this book. Though they may be engaged individually, they clearly build one upon the other. Robinson’s goal is to help readers move beyond the civic faith of twentieth-century mainline Protestantism into a living faith that thrives in our multicultural communities. He addresses worship, Christian formation, and the shaping of church boards as means by which to open the doors to the Spirit. Drawing on authors like Diana Butler Bass and Ronald

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Heifetz, Robinson seeks to stir up a sense of urgency among those who want to lead the church forward. I have used Robinson’s previous works in my congregation, especially in helping church leaders to focus on clarity in mission and purpose. This book continues in that line, offering a guide to conversations for church leaders and members. A great deal is packed into a few pages. I am sure that material from this book will show up in my sermons, in officer training, and in other efforts to help leaders grow in their sense of seeking Christ’s purpose for the church in the world in which we live.

CHARLIE SUMMERS FIRST PRESBYTERIAN CHURCH RICHMOND, VIRGINIA

First Be Reconciled: Challenging Christians in Court by Richard P. Church Herald, Scottsdale, Arizona, 2008. 232 pp. $19.99. ISBN 978-0-8361-9410-4.

PROFESSOR H. JEFFERSON Powell has observed that individuals living in community are united as much by “the problems they think important as the answers they think correct” (The Moral Tradition of American Constitutionalism: A Theological Interpretation [1993], p. 30). It is in this spirit of shared questions, rather than shared answers, that Richard Church has written his valuable and thought-provoking book, First Be Reconciled: Challenging Christians in the Courts. Although the book is not without answers, it is primarily about questions that Christians in our society, and not just Christian lawyers, should be discussing about their reliance on the secular legal system. The obvious question that presents itself in First Be Reconciled is whether Christians have any business seeking justice in American secular courts. Given the plethora of American lawsuits involving not only Christians but also churches themselves, one might assume that the undeniable answer to this question is “yes” and that Christians are beyond having to ask themselves this question. Yet Church draws on Scripture, tradition, theology, and current experience to show that this question should still be animating

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Christian thought in America. He begins by noting Paul’s admonition in 1 Cor. 6:1, “When any of you has a grievance against another, do you dare to take it to court before the unrighteous, instead of taking it before the saints?” Church demonstrates that only the Mennonites continue to be challenged by this question, for other Christian traditions seem to have moved past it—not because there is convincing justification for answering “yes,” but simply because they have stopped asking the question. Church also uses people’s stories, both real and fictional, to demonstrate that a Christian should not ask whether he should sue in secular court without first asking questions about his own goals in the matter and about the implications of taking the suit to court. For example, if we are the body of Christ, called to love one another as Christ loved us, is it enough that we believe our lawsuit has the potential to make us whole? Before bringing our neighbor to court, should we not ask whether this action will help that neighbor get to heaven? Should we seek through litigation merely to get what we want? Is it enough that we seek to receive what we deserve? Or, before relying on litigation, should we not require that it be a means to restore relationships both with God and between neighbors? When we sue as Christians, relying on the secular courts, should we not worry about the message we are sending the broader community about our faith and our church? Ultimately, the most haunting question in Church’s fine book challenges neither our theology nor our attitudes toward secular law as much as it challenges our hearts and personal faith. One cannot read First Be Reconciled without being confronted by this question: Do I believe, as a Christian, that I have the option of relying on the American legal system because there are irrefutable reasons why litigation is permissible for Christians, or because I have insisted that the resolution of my disputes is an area of my life over which I can withhold dominion from God?

RANDY LEE WIDENER UNIVERSITY SCHOOL OF LAW HARRISBURG, PENNSYLVANIA

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Receiving the Gift of Friendship: Profound Disability, Theological Anthropology, and Ethics by Hans S. Reinders Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2008. 404 pp. $36.00. ISBN 978-0-8028-6232-7.

IN RECENT YEARS, conversations about disability have often been grounded in the claim (stated or unstated) that people with disabilities are just “as good” (as capable, as productive, as smart) as people without disabilities. From this standpoint, disability is somewhat of a social construction, where certain limits are seen as “normal” (e.g., some of us need eyeglasses) while others are labeled as “disabilities” (e.g., some of us walk with a limp or do not respond to visual stimuli). People with disabilities, according to this model, can be seen as a minority group, often more handicapped by prejudice and exclusion than by any physical limits. While affirming the benefits of the social model, Hans Reinders challenges faith communities to look more closely at the example of profound intellectual disability. Here we cannot make the “as good” argument: for those who lack language and other cognitive abilities, there is no leveling of the playing field. This poses an unavoidable challenge for theological anthropology: do we define what it is to be human in ways that include, or that exclude, people who lack specific cognitive skills? Reinders powerfully argues—not as an abstract philosophical discussion, but one grounded instead in his relationships with individuals with profound intellectual disabilities— that we must let go of the idea that rationality is what makes us human. Instead, he proposes that our humanity comes from being loved: loved profoundly by God, as well as by family, friends, caregivers, and communities. More than a simple or idealized expression of affection, this love appears in the struggles, complexities, and richness of true friendship. Consistent with the starting point of this book, Reinders also claims friendship as something we receive, not as something that we do. It is the gift of friendship, embodied first in God’s love for us, that makes us who we are. Those interested in disability theology will appreciate Reinders’ work for being unapologeti-

cally theological as he challenges existing paradigms, offering possibilities far beyond the language of justice and rights. Perhaps the true significance of this work comes from his invitation to move beyond using rationality, capability, and achievement to define ourselves. This is a move many will find profoundly counterintuitive, yet it is also consistent with the Christian story. The world of being (rather than of doing) proposed here by Reinders is by no means an easy one, and yet to live here would be gift indeed.

DEBBIE CREAMER ILIFF SCHOOL OF THEOLOGY DENVER, COLORADO

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Notes

An Unsettling God: The Heart of the Hebrew Bible by Walter Brueggemann Fortress, Minneapolis, 2009. 212 pp. $22.00. ISBN 9780-8006-6363-6.

Tailored especially for the beginning student, this revision distilled from the magisterial Theology of the Old Testament (Abingdon, 1997), addresses the core message of the HB: that the God of ancient Israel is in relationship, engaging four “partners”— Israel, the nations, creation, and the human being—in the divine purpose. The defining category for faith in the OT is thus dialogue, whereby all parties—including God—participate in an exchange that is potentially transformative for all.

Animosity, the Bible, and Us: Some European, North American, and South African Perspectives

and Christian ethicist, MacCammon engages in a biblical rescue mission with three central goals. The first is to make the Bible less intimidating and more accessible to all the Bible-curious, regardless of their spirituality or religious affiliation; second, to liberate the Bible from Christian interpretive traditions that limit and distort its revelatory message; and, third, to free the Bible from its reputation and use as a divinely sanctioned rulebook. The book’s thesis is that the Bible does not promote a rule-oriented ethic of obedience or an exclusionary, supersessionist theology; rather, God’s intention is to transform human beings into spiritual and moral discerners who think critically about their faith and who have the ability to construct moralities that are relevant to their own time and place. The book is accessible to a broad audience and appropriate for undergraduates as well as adult study groups.

Jesus and the Miracle Tradition

edited by John T. Fitzgerald, Fika J. van Rensburg, and Herrie F. van Rooy

by Paul J. Achtemeier

Global Perspectives on Biblical Scholarship. Society of

1-59752-364-6.

Biblical Literature, Atlanta, 2009. 380 pp. $45.95. ISBN 978-1-58983-401-9.

Animosity’s many forms, including enmity, war, homicide, domestic violence, religious hostility, and retaliation, has plagued every form of interpersonal and international relationship since the dawn of human existence. The essays in this volume examine how animosity is understood and presented in the biblical text and its historical and literary contexts. Contributors recognize that the Bible itself and its use have sometimes contributed to animosity, and they seek to glean insights to address this problem in the contemporary world.

Cascade, Eugene, Ore., 2008. 255 pp. $30.00. ISBN 978-

This collection of essays seeks to determine the meaning the recorded miracles of Jesus had for the earliest Christian traditions, both in their canonical and pre-canonical forms. Eight of the nine essays have previously been published. A final essay, in print for the first time, surveys literature dealing with wondrous acts in the NT as well as the GrecoRoman world. The evidence assembled in these essays and conclusions drawn from them indicate that stories of the mighty acts of Jesus of Nazareth may have played a larger role in the earliest traditions about him than often assumed, and that Jesus as worker of miracles may need to be reconsidered in any attempt at a historical portrait.

Liberating the Bible: A Guide for the Curious and Perplexed

Contemporary Studies in Acts

by Linda M. MacCammon

edited by Thomas E. Phillips

Orbis, Maryknoll, N.Y., 2008. 269 pp. $24.00. ISBN 978-

Mercer University Press, Macon, Ga., 2009. 280 pp. $35.00.

1-57075-775-4.

ISBN 978-0-88146-145-9.

From her experience as a religious studies professor

Originally presented at meetings of the Society of

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Biblical Literature section on Acts (2006 and 2007), these essays provide snapshots of the most pressing questions in contemporary Acts scholarship. Contributors pay particular attention to the origin and reception of Acts as a pivotal document within early Christian thought and call for a reconsideration of many widely held, but not well-defended, truisms in Acts scholarship.

The Letters of Paul, Fifth Edition: Conversations in Context by Calvin Roetzel Westminster John Knox, Louisville, 2009. 240 pp. $29.95. ISBN 978-0-664-23392-1.

Previous editions of this widely-used and highlyregarded textbook addressed gaps and issues in need of explication, but this latest one is a thorough, line-by-line revision. Roetzel reworks his treatment of the Corinthian correspondence, notes how his mind has changed or remained the same since the first edition, heightens awareness of ways Paul’s theology emerged in and through conflict, and includes new scholarship developed after the fourth edition’s release in 1998.

The Epistle to the Hebrews and Christian Theology edited by Richard Bauckham, Daniel R. Driver, Trevor A. Hart, and Nathan MacDonald Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2009. 473 pp. $36.00. ISBN 978-0-8028-2588-9.

Twenty-seven biblical scholars and systematic theologians engage in conversation about the Epistle to the Hebrews to bridge the gap between these two disciplines. They examine key theological themes, such as the person and nature of the Son, his high-priestly work, cosmology, the epistle’s theology of Scripture, supersessionism, and the call to faith. This substantial volume considers Hebrews in its ancient context and against our modern backdrop. Contributors include Loveday Alexander, Harold Attridge, Richard Bauckham, Richard Hays, Morna Hooker, Walter Moberly, and John Polkinghorne.

Theology and Ethics in Paul by Victor Paul Furnish; new introduction by Richard B. Hays New Testament Library. Westminster John Knox, Louisville, 2009. $39.95. ISBN 978-0-664-23336-5.

This new edition reintroduces Furnish’s classic work to a new generation of scholars. Forty years after its 1968 publication, this work has remained—until recently—the best full-length general study of Pauline ethics. Richard B. Hays provides an insightful introduction that identifies currents of Pauline study in the first half of the twentieth century, into which the book was born, considers how it reads in the light of more recent interpretations of Paul’s thought, and the contribution it still has to make.

The Power to Comprehend with All the Saints: The Formation and Practice of a Pastor-Theologian edited by Wallace M. Alston Jr. and Cynthia A. Jarvis Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2009. 397 pp. $34.00. ISBN 978-0-8028-6472-7.

How does a theologically substantive ministry come into being? And how does a theological orientation to the vocation make a difference in pastoral practice? Eighteen pastor-theologians engage these and other key questions, convinced that the recovery of a substantive doctrine of the ordained ministry as a theological vocation, as well as a strategy for the formation and support of the pastor as theologian, are crucial for the revitalization of contemporary Christian communities.

The Pastoral Luther: Essays on Martin Luther’s Practical Theology edited by Timothy J. Wengert Lutheran Quarterly Books. Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2009. 391 pp. $45.00. ISBN 978-0-8028-6351-5.

Sixteen church historians examine Martin Luther not as Reformer or theologian but as pastor. After introducing the pastoral Luther, including his theology of the cross, other chapters discuss Luther’s preaching and use of language (including humor); his teaching ministry, especially in light of the catechism; his views on such things as the role of

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women, the Virgin Mary, and music; and his sentiments on monasticism and secular authority.

Proclaiming the Gospel: Preaching for the Life of the Church edited by Brian K. Peterson Fortress, Minneapolis, 2009. 229 pp. $20.00. ISBN 9780-8006-6331-5.

Working from a variety of disciplines (biblical, theological, historical, and practical), faculty members of Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary reflect on central emphases of the Lutheran tradition that bear on the art of preaching, especially its distinctive use of the Bible, its theological insights, and its notion of preaching’s place within the larger liturgical and societal setting.

The Legacy of Billy Graham: Critical Reflections on America’s Greatest Evangelist edited by Michael G. Long Westminster John Knox, Louisville, 2008. 229 pp. $19.95. ISBN 978-0-664-23138-5.

This critical but appreciative volume assesses the legacy of renowned evangelist Billy Graham and the impact of his ministry on mainline Christianity and American civil religion. Fourteen prominent mainline to progressive scholars, refusing to lionize or demonize him, reflect on Graham’s theology and preaching; his influential perspectives on politics and economics, feminism and sex, war and peace, and race and power; and his engagement with powerful contemporaries, including Martin Luther King, Jr. and Reinhold Niebuhr. Contributors include Thomas G. Long, John B. Cobb, Harvey Cox, Gary Dorrien, Karen Lebacqz, and J. Philip Wogaman.

What is Justification About? Reformed Contributions to an Ecumenical Theme edited by Michael Weinrich and John P. Burgess Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2009. 281 pp. $30.00. ISBN 978-0-8028-6249-5.

This book offers a Reformed perspective on contemporary ecumenical discussion by carefully exploring the biblical message of justification

APRIL 2010

and then demonstrating how justification as a doctrine functions as an integrative theological principle. Written by an international group of eleven Reformed scholars, with the support of the World Alliance of Reformed Churches, the volume also considers the relevance of justification for social ethics and contemporary cultural issues.

World Religions in America, Fourth Edition edited by Jacob Neusner Westminster John Knox, Louisville, 2009. 449 pp. $34.95. ISBN 978-0-664-23320-4.

This entirely reorganized new edition of a widelyused textbook provides a reliable and nuanced introduction to America’s religious diversity. It includes three new chapters on the Unification Church, New Thought, and Women and Religion in America. Other added features include timelines of key events and people for each religious tradition; sidebars on major religious movements or controversies; personal stories from members of various faiths; and suggested websites, books, and topics for further study. All of the previously existing chapters have been revised and updated to take account of recent developments and trends.

The Eighth Day of Creation: An Anthology of Christian Scripture selected, arranged, and introduced by C. Clifton Black Eerdmans, Grand Rapids, 2008. 441 pp. $24.00. ISBN 978-0-8023-6272-3.

This unusual biblical anthology, designed for the “common reader” as a “friendly introduction to Christian Scripture,” presents 568 carefully selected excerpts from the King James Version. A skillful “Scripture interpreting Scripture” arrangement of the passages, following the opening chapter of Genesis, takes up recurring ideas and frames them complementarily, providing a moderated conversation among the Bible’s different voices.