"Jesus thus calls on people to live as he lives, in contradistinction to the agonistic, competitive form of life marked by conventional notions of honor and status typical of the larger Roman world. Behaviors that grow out of service in the kingdom of God take a different turn: Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. Extend hospitality to those who cannot reciprocate. Give without expectation for return. Such practices are possible only for those whose dispositions, whose convictions and commitments, have been reshaped by transformative encounter with the goodness of God." - Joel B. Green

Saturday, November 12, 2016

"They Look Like Trees Walking": Did Jesus' Prayer Fail?


 
As a good charismatic, faith is excitingly experiential. We gather weekly to hear about healing through prayer, though it doesn’t stop there; we actually practice it! As a pastor at a charismatic church for many years, one of the toughest challenges was watching the unsuccessful prayer consume the faithful participant. They wondered why their prayer had not been answered. Why did the cancer patient not get better? Why did the broken bone not supernaturally mend back together? A common reprise of pastors in the charismatic movement is, “Well, even Jesus had to pray twice!” (I am also guilty). This suggestion is in reference to Jesus’ healing of a “Blind Man” in Mark 8:22-26. The phrase implies that Jesus, filled with exceedingly more power than his mere followers, didn’t always get it right the first time. In a sense, even Jesus needs round two. Consequently, if Jesus needed a second round then certainly his followers would as well. However, I think this is a misreading of Mark’s narrative; and pastors, and subsequently their congregants, have inappropriately given theological significance to a practice that is otherwise absent in the New Testament. It should be noted that this is not to disavow the supernatural, but to call into question a theological position of some charismatic adherents (myself included). 

Here’s the story in Mark 8:22-26 (Key Text):
22 And they came to Bethsaida. And some people brought to him a blind man and begged him to touch him. 23 And he took the blind man by the hand and led him out of the village, and when he had spit on his eyes and laid his hands on him, he asked him, “Do you see anything?” 24 And he looked up and said, “I see people, but they look like trees, walking.” 25 Then Jesus laid his hands on his eyes again; and he opened his eyes, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly. 26 And he sent him to his home, saying, “Do not even enter the village.”

Mark’s gospel follows the popular Greco-Roman writing genre of “biography” (Gk. bios), and just like other biographies of its day, Mark presents his biography as a narrative, complete with a narrator, setting, plot, themes, and characters. For Mark, the recurrent theme of vision/“seeing” (Gk. blepō) is the determining factor in delineating between believers and unbelievers. In Mark 4:11-12, it is the insiders (i.e. Jesus followers) who are “given the secret of the kingdom of God,” while the outsiders (i.e. unbelievers) “indeed see [Gk. blepō], but do not perceive.”
 Our key text, like any good narrative, builds upon the story preceding it. Mark 8:14-21 describes a scene of worried disciples fearing that the masses (and themselves) will starve since they have “no bread.” Interestingly, this story is a near doublet of Mark 6:30-44 where the disciples again having “no bread” watched as Jesus multiplied the loaves and fish for the five thousand. The narrator is careful to remind his readers of the disciple’s past failure in Mark 6: “Having eyes do you not see (Gk. blepō), and having ears do you not hear? And do you not remember? 19 When I broke the five loaves for the five thousand, how many baskets full of broken pieces did you take up?” They said to him, “Twelve” (Mk 8:18-19). For Mark the disciples are blind (“Having eyes do you not see”) and stand as outsiders like those in Mark 4:12 (see above).
The “Blind Man,” a faceless and nameless character, in our key text is contrasted strongly with the blind disciples of the preceding story. In the end it will be the “Blind Man” who will—quite ironically—“see!” The “Blind Man’s” miracle works in stages purposely: from complete blindness (like the disciples) to partial “sight” (v. 24, “I see people, but they look like trees, walking”), and then finally to full “sight” (v. 25, “his sight was restored”). A major theme of Mark’s narrative is the continued failure of Jesus’ disciples, and this key text affirms what Mark has shown to this point in his gospel…that the disciples continue to miss the reality of Jesus’ power and identity, yet a “Blind Man” gets it. Secondarily, the key text is a turning point in Mark’s gospel. The first eight chapters of Mark show that nearly all the characters—except the otherworldly demons (3:11; 5:7)—cannot perceive Jesus’ true identity. It is only when the “Blind Man” can fully “see” that the narrative changes pace and sight becomes available, even for the blind disciples. For example, in the very next episode Peter can confess Jesus as “the Christ” (8:29) showing his blindness has been lifted. This “full sight” of Jesus’ true identity will now be unveiled through the revelation of Jesus’ teaching and ultimately his death to the end of the book. As a narrative, and more importantly a “biography” (bios), the “Blind Man” plays a significant role for the plot. Jesus’ double prayer, then, is not a nod to his failure as a healer (unlike the disciples in Mark 9:18), but a literary ploy to show the revelation of Jesus’ identity is being disclosed.
So, where does this leave us with prayer and unsuccessful healing? Unfortunately nowhere, since the text itself doesn’t seem to speak to this issue. So, though my reading of this text may not lead us to a helpful answer, we’ve at least eliminated a bad one! Though on a side note, the pastor’s reprise about Jesus having to “pray twice”—with all of its good intentions—attempts to eliminate the tension we feel between the God who acts and the God who is sometimes silent. This is unfortunate as it is in the deepest moments of frustration that the God of the universe becomes tangible. For “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted” (Mt. 5:4). We are not to run from the frustration of prayer, but to embrace it. We are in good company with our frustrated friend Job who laments, “16 My face is red with weeping, and on my eyelids is deep darkness,17 although there is no violence in my hands, and my prayer is pure” (Job 16:16–17).

Sunday, November 15, 2015

JESUS AND ISIS



“Let’s annihilate Islam!” Quotes similar to this have filled my news feed, only eclipsed by “Could America be next?” I write this while in the UK where the terror threat level has been raised to “severe,” which means, “A terrorist attack is highly likely.”[1] These two responses, expressed in anger and fear, are entirely understandable. Anger for the injustice of the killings in Paris[2] and Beirut,[3] and for those driven into exile from Syria,[4] makes sense. Also understandable is the representation of fear for one’s own life and loved ones. In light of the recent atrocities these are natural human responses. However, only a supernatural response can heal the brokenness of our despairing situation.
Jesus, in his life, showed humanity how love (Mt 5:21-26, 38-48), and not retaliation or domination over one’s enemies (Mt 26:52-54), ultimately conquers injustice. And in his resurrection, he proved this to be true. His life affirmed for us that he did not need to exercise force or violence to stamp out the world’s wrongs. At the same time, the resurrection affirms that Jesus did not stay dead when supposedly eradicated by his enemies. It is in the hope of resurrection that we can act in the present with the integrity of Jesus, who, “When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered, he did not threaten, but continued entrusting himself to him who judges justly” (1 Peter 2:23). Living in light of the resurrection affords us the opportunity to refuse any acts of retaliation based in anger and hatred, and to see beyond it into a future rooted in the hope of God’s restoration and justice. Likewise, resurrection living dismantles the heart of fear by reminding us that God is truly in control.
The buzzing of fear riddled the media’s news feed on Friday. Everyone’s worst fears became reality—ISIS, on a large scale, infiltrated a developed country. Could America be next? Admittedly, I found myself looking at people differently, some with suspicion. I wanted to get home quicker so not to be exposed to any threat. I thought, “Could Edinburgh be next?” Though safety and risk-assessment have its place, I recognize how this new predicament can stifle life. However, the Christian faith was birthed in the face of adversity and Jesus never promised ease. In fact, Jesus not only spoke of his own death (Mk 8:31), but the certain death of any who would follow him and his practices (Mk 8:34). If death, for the sake of love (Mk 10:45), is the outcome of the Christian faith, then why fear in the face of threat? Fear only strips us of our humanity by restricting us from living out our fullest potential—though, God’s fullest potential may look differently than our own conceptions. In fear, our creativity, innovation, and self-giving take a back seat to self-preservation. Consequently, our fear removes the humanity of others by casting judgment carelessly on innocent bystanders. It is the resurrection that calls us to look fear in the face and say, “Whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel’s will save it” (Mark 8:35). The resurrection further confirms that we died once and for all the moment we started following Jesus (Rom 6:4). Where’s death’s sting on someone who has already died and resurrected (1 Cor 15:55)? What can fear conquer that the resurrection hasn’t already? In a world where anger and fear is expected, I pray that Christians present another path, one that views the world through the lens of Jesus’ life and resurrection.


[1] https://www.mi5.gov.uk/home/the-threats/terrorism/threat-levels.html
[2] http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-europe-34818994
[3] http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-34802906
[4] http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-24900116

Saturday, January 17, 2015

How To Read The Gospels As Narrative


             I wanted to follow-up on a recent post I made concerning the Gospels as literary works. Before I move forward in the near future and discuss the nature of inspiration, I want to layout what I mean by “literary.” When I speak about literary works, I mean to evoke the ideas of purposeful narrative and plot. Pre-modern critics (or “Form Critics”) of the New Testament sought to separate out that material, which they believed to be confessional (early church additions) and historical. In the wake of this dissection of texts, Jesus became split. The pre-modern critics believed certain texts either spoke of the “Jesus of faith” (the early church’s fabrication) or the “Historical Jesus” (historical information about Jesus with no embellishments). The Gospels writers (especially Mark) were rendered mere editors, collecting traditions of Jesus and placing them side-by-side. At the center of this methodological approach is an attempt to get to the world behind the text. However, this focus pushed attention away from the Gospel texts themselves. This resulted in speculative historical reconstructions of the Gospel’s function and purpose. For example, scholars were forced to make assumptions about the historical situations of the text without any empirical data according to the Gospel text itself. Speculative historical reconstructions are expected from Form Critics and a recent return to the text itself is much warranted.



            
            The literary approach, often called “narrative criticism,” does not attempt to look at the world behind the text, but instead the world in the text. In this sense, how does the thrust of the narrative move the story forward? How does the narrator position characters to provoke particular responses from his/her readership? For example, one recognizes how the narrator of Mark’s Gospel paints quite a negative picture of Jesus’ family (3:20-35; 6:1-6) while Matthew and Luke are dependent on a positive image of them for their narratives (See the genealogies’ of Jesus; c.f. Mt 1:1-17; Lk 3:23-28). Matthew and Luke leave the reader cheering on the inclusion of Jesus’ family while Mark’s readers may be left with a bad taste in their mouth. We would then be led to ask, as readers, why each narrative chose the path that they did?
            Contrary to Form Critics, narrative criticism believes the Gospels are whole in form and not merely a collection of pieced together stories randomly situated. As a whole composition and coherent narrative, this means employment of setting, plot, rhetoric, and character are purposeful, and therefore require careful examination. I will give one brief example from Mark’s Gospel:

Mark 2:3-7 (NRSV)
Then some people came, bringing to him a paralyzed man, carried by four of them. And when they could not bring him to Jesus because of the crowd, they removed the roof above him; and after having dug through it, they let down the mat on which the paralytic lay. When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, “Son, your sins are forgiven.” Now some of the scribes were sitting there, questioning in their hearts, “Why does this fellow speak in this way? It is blasphemy! Who can forgive sins but God alone?”

            I have only selected a brief section of a larger textual unit (Mk 2:1-12), but I did so to give at least a little context. I have bolded the scribes who were “questioning in their hearts” the actions of Jesus. How do we as readers become privy to this information? The scribes do not tell us, nor does Jesus reveal it (the latter is what most of us assume). In fact, it is the Markan narrator who stands outside of the limitations of space and time, and in this sense takes an omniscient role revealing even the insights of the hearts of the scribes. The narrator here is not the same as the “author,” for the narrator is embedded within the story by the author for storytelling purposes such as we see in the verse. Here the narrator paints a particular picture of the scribes for the implied readers (us) that nobody within the actual story (characters; i.e. “crowd,” “paralyzed man,” etc.) gets insight to. Here the narrator seeks to elicit a response from us! In fact, he is setting up the character of the scribes for the entire course of the narrative. Notice, how the scribes take a predominately negative role throughout the Gospel of Mark (Mk 2:6, 16; 3:22; 7:1, 5; 9:14; 11:18, 27; 12:28, 32; 14:1, 43, 53; 15:1, 31) except for one instance (Mk 12:34). The scene is set for the implied readers, and is intentionally done so.
            I will add to this discussion further, and continue this fun little journey through reading the Gospels as narrative. I encourage you to comment and question. Recently, I have found no greater joy than reading the Gospels in community and learning from the diversity of everyone’s own experiences and interpretations.

Friday, January 16, 2015

Are The Gospels Historical?


Every week, I lead a small group of ministry leaders and soon-to-be ministry leaders in a seminary-like dosage of biblical interpretation and its many facets. This last week a number of interesting points concerning the nature of the Gospels in relation to the historical Jesus dominated our conversation. Over the course of the class, I have taught the students how to read the Gospels as literary works. Each section/book of the Bible should be read according to the genre it purports to be. We do this with all other literature we read as well. For example, when you read, “Once upon a time,” your mind immediately evokes images of fairytale. Perhaps, you will expect to see dazzling unicorns, magical fairies, or leprechauns. However, this would not be the case if you were to read, “On January 8th four people were killed when…” It is genre that dictates how we understand and read texts (more on this in upcoming posts)—we enter into a type of “contract” with the text and should remain faithful to its terms. This makes understanding genre quite important for studying the Bible.
            Rarely do we probe the question of genre in relation to the Bible, and especially the Gospels. We simply assume that each book in the Bible functions as the one next to it. In this way, people end up reading the Gospels in the same way as the Apostle Paul’s letters (or God forbid, like they would Revelation). Notice, even here I call Paul’s writings “letters” while the Evangelists (Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John) are called “Gospels.” Many of us assume that the Gospels are like Paul’s writings, at times, in that they objectively record historical data. However, as I understand it, the Gospels are best represented as ancient Bios (from where we draw the term biography). Imagine then that you walked into a Barnes and Nobles in the ancient Roman world and were looking for the story of Jesus. Where would it be found? It would likely be placed under the “Bios” section; you know, right next to those other Bios about Emperor Caesar and Oprah (I think she might be eternal).

 
            Ancient biographies were quite unlike modern ones in which the recording of dates, places, source evidence, chronological order, and psychological insight were unimportant. Instead, ancient biographies placed importance on the subject’s character, philosophy of life, and opportunities of emulation. Further, a heavy emphasis was placed on the death of the subject (this is, for example, why the Gospels give little detail concerning Jesus’ birth, but much detail in his death), and the subject’s subsequent legacy. For these reasons, the Gospels tend to look more like modern narrative fiction than hard-lined historical reporting. However, this is not to cast a doubt on the historical reliability of the Gospels. Instead, we recognize that the authors of the Gospels practiced the art of storytelling. In many instances, we see their ability to interweave storylines with irony, symbolism, comedy, retrospection, riddles, and characterization. Each Gospel provides their own storyline consistent with their perspective and purpose in view. Notice, for example, how some storylines in the Gospels are not in chronological order. Whereas in Luke, Jesus’ Nazareth preaching (Lk 4:16-30) is the inauguration of his ministry; Mark (Mk 6:1-6a) and Matthew (Mt 13:53-58) present the narrative far into the storyline after establishing Jesus’ ministry. For those who consider the Gospels objectively historical will find problems with the stories not following chronological order. However, ancient biographies are more concerned with painting a fruitful image of the subject through narrative than mere chronological order. One further example may help. Consider Mark’s story of the Syrophoenician woman and Matthew’s story of the Canaanite woman (See below):

Mark 7:24-30
Matthew 15:21-28

24 From there he set out and went away to the region of Tyre. He entered a house and did not want anyone to know he was there. Yet he could not escape notice, 25 but a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit immediately heard about him, and she came and bowed down at his feet. 26 Now the woman was a Gentile, of Syrophoenician origin. She begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. 27 He said to her, “Let the children be fed first, for it is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” 28 But she answered him, “Sir, even the dogs under the table eat the children’s crumbs.” 29 Then he said to her, “For saying that, you may go—the demon has left your daughter.” 30 So she went home, found the child lying on the bed, and the demon gone.


21 Jesus left that place and went away to the district of Tyre and Sidon. 22 Just then a Canaanite woman from that region came out and started shouting, “Have mercy on me, Lord, Son of David; my daughter is tormented by a demon.” 23 But he did not answer her at all. And his disciples came and urged him, saying, “Send her away, for she keeps shouting after us.” 24 He answered, “I was sent only to the lost sheep of the house of Israel.” 25 But she came and knelt before him, saying, “Lord, help me.” 26 He answered, “It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the dogs.” 27 She said, “Yes, Lord, yet even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their masters’ table.” 28 Then Jesus answered her, “Woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” And her daughter was healed instantly.
           
            The similarities in this story are too many to deny their shared history—some have explained away the differences by claiming these are two distinctive stories. Importantly, I wanted to point out (sections in BOLD) how in the Markan story he makes the point to show the woman is not only Syrophoenician, but was a “Gentile.” This slight note serves Mark’s story well as he had previously attested to Jesus’ Gentile mission beginning at Mark 5:1-20. Because Mark’s audience (whom I place in Rome) is likely comprised mostly of Gentiles (non-Jewish), such a story would have been comforting in regards to the place of Gentiles in the early church—they too can have “great faith.” Many scholars agree that Mark’s Gospel was likely written first, and Matthew and Luke’s account draw much of their information from him—adding and subtracting those parts of the story that are not pertinent to their storyline. In the particular case of Matthew 15, the Syrophoenician Gentile of Mark’s story is revised to read “Canaanite woman.” Why would Matthew make such a blatant shift of “facts?” Is he lying? Certainly not! For Matthew’s ancient biography is better served by positing a historically notable enemy of Israel (the intended audience of Matthew), namely the Canaanites—he does this to strongly contrast the people of God (Israel) with her notorious enemy. Matthew’s character would provide the shock value needed to make the “great faith” of this woman scandalous to listening Jews. The purpose of Mark and Matthew for accommodation to their audiences differs. Each of the writers is attempting to retell the story of Jesus as it serves their communities. Unlike modern history, which has the tools of video cameras and cell phones, ancient history relied solely upon eyewitness testimony and oral traditions. The biographer had the freedom as well as different standards in defining what it meant to record the “historical” Bios of Jesus. These minor alterations are completely acceptable when we understand the genre of ancient biography. As to the story above, what we do not miss is the full thrust of the narrative, which shares about the possibility of great faith and inclusion from any ethnic corner, including ourselves (“Gentiles” in Mark) or our greatest enemies (“Canaanites” in Matthew). Furthermore, we get the portrait of Jesus, the one who breaks down the cultural barriers setup by his own traditional heritage, as told through two different lenses.
            The Gospels are to be read as an amalgam of theology, history, story, and literature. The Gospel writers believed they were writing accurate portraits of the “historical” (as they understand this terminology) Jesus, as they understood him. It is important that these texts we believe to be “inspired” (I will deal with this in a later post and how it applies to our current topic) by God remain in their crafted state. In this sense, Christians believe God had some doing in allowing ancient biography to be the form preferred for writing the Gospels. Therefore, we should refrain from attempting to turn the Gospels into something they are not—a modern historical biography—and allow the texts, as they are, to speak for themselves. If ancient Christians found this historically reliable enough to paint a profitable image of Jesus for personal and corporate worship, should we not as well?

Monday, April 28, 2014

Redaction And The Power Of Silence


           No book in the Bible has caused more controversy, uproar, and fiery conversation than Esther. The book is an important feature for Jews as it provides etiological purpose to the festival of Purim. Without the festival the book retains little significance for Jews, and likewise, Purim without Esther limits the festival to a social party.[1] The Masoretic Text (MT) of Esther presents a number of problems for the interpreter. The greatest of these problems is how the MT-Esther never reveals an explicit mention of Israel’s God, or any devotion to that God, on behalf of its key characters. Moreover, there is a striking lack of typical Old Testament (OT) themes, such as law, kingship, and national identity.[2] For this reason, Esther, in the early Christian church and Judaic traditions,[3] struggled to command a secure place in the canon.[4] The missing elements in the MT-Esther provided difficulties for the popularization of Esther in Jewish traditions, especially as Jews stopped using the Septuagint (LXX) as an authoritative text once the early Christians relied heavily on the LXX as their key OT text.[5] These problems are further complicated by the presence of the two Greek translations of Esther. The two Greek forms of Esther are presented in the LXX and Alpha Text (AT), and provide further challenges to the historical and traditional view of Esther.  In this paper, I will explore the nature and history of the three[6] Esther editions. Moreover, I will provide evidence that each edition most likely stems from a prototypical Esther,[7] and that the absence of God is explained through attributing a redactor to the MT-Esther. It is at this juncture that I will argue for an original inclusion of God’s presence in the proto-Esther text, but conclude God’s removal in R-MT for purposes of the redactor. Lastly, I will argue for the author’s intent to create a literary device that seeks to bring about propositions in the reader—therefore placing the reader into the text itself.[8]  
            The MT of Esther, as we have it, is located in the Leningrad Codex 19A.[9] A Jewish businessman, Abraham Virkovich, while doing business in Cairo, obtained the manuscript in 1863. The Leningrad Codex remains the earliest copy of the complete Hebrew Scriptures dating back to 1008-1009 CE. The scribal marks and apparatus attests to the strength of integrity this edition demands.[10]
            The LXX is easily accessible and can be found in thirty-six manuscripts. The oldest complete manuscripts come from the third and fourth centuries. However, one must understand that any consideration of Esther in the LXX must consider its beginnings stemming from Origen. Origen sought to correct the popular OT Greek text of his day including Symmachus, Theodotion, and Aquila.[11] Origen’s translation—The Hexapla—became the standard Greek text for the OT, and influenced the field of translation from that point on. That Origen saw lack in Esther’s Hebrew version is of no surprise as he states, “Of the Book of Esther neither the prayer of Mardochaios nor that of Esther, both fitted to edify the reader, is found in the Hebrew.”[12] Some scholars have attempted to find an earlier Greek version of Esther, not influenced by Origen, but without success.[13] It is therefore important to remember that any LXX reading has a strong influence from Origen, and his distaste towards the incompleteness of the MT.
            The second Greek text, known as the Alpha Text,[14] can only be found in four medieval manuscripts.[15] The first print of the AT appeared in 1655 by James Ussher. It was a long-standing assumption by scholars that the AT was a revision of the LXX, rendering the text of secondary importance to the LXX. However, since Carey Moore’s work in 1965, where he shows major differences between common Lucianic texts and the AT, there has been a scholarly consensus to reject Lucianic origin, and therefore reject AT recension of the LXX.[16] The AT has since then become of central importance for scholars as it now stands alone, and must give answers to its discrepancies with the MT and LXX.
            The LXX and AT differ from the Masoretic text in a number of significant ways, but none is greater than the Additions (ADD). In both the LXX and AT there are six ADD.[17] There is no manuscript evidence for any of the ADD ever existing in the MT. The ADD are highly consistent throughout the LXX and AT. However, throughout the reading of the LXX and AT, a number of major differences occur within the body of the texts. This raises a number of questions as to how the ADD became adopted into the LXX and AT. Which ADD were original, if any at all? Do the ADD stem from an earlier Hebraic Vorlage or stand-alone in there respective Greek sources, and later added? The scope and range of the examinations needing to be compiled is obviously too large a field to disseminate in this small paper alone, and this author will be referring to the 1996 dissertation work of Karen H. Jobes, The Alpha-Text of Esther: Its Character and Relationship to the Masoretic Text, as a reference point. Her work is thorough and carefully executed in determining relations between the semantic field of the MT, LXX, and AT. Jobes concludes that, outside of the ADD, the LXX and AT “almost never agree against the MT.”[18] Examined in this light there should be an increased suspicion that the ADD were interpolated into both texts (AT and LXX) at a later date.[19] Had there been agreement throughout the LXX and AT in the main body it would pause the reader to possibly consider a similar source in the ADD, but their disagreements in the body of LXX and AT are too strong to consider.
            On the surface, the AT and LXX appear to have more in common than the AT and the MT, but this is only true because of the ADD. However, once the ADD are removed there is strong formal and semantic agreement between the AT and MT.[20] The AT preserves the Hebrew idioms closer than the LXX, and 77% of the time adequately interprets the MT text.[21] Again, this all suggests that the AT was not a recension of the LXX, and that the ADD were interpolated into the text at a later date rendering the two Greek versions as independent sources. Moreover, Jobes concludes, “Where the AT has text corresponding to the MT, the AT agrees with MT about as often as does the LXX of Esther.”[22] Jobes continues, “Eighty-five percent of the syntactic units of the AT for which there is corresponding Hebrew text (500 units out of 590) are Greek equivalents of the MT.”[23]  Jobes puts forth a strong linguistic case for three separate Esther texts with the LXX largely representing a Greek linguistic field whereas the AT—because of its close relationship to MT—most likely indicates a Hebrew Vorlage similar to the MT. However, there are enough differences between the MT and AT to suggest a separate and similar original source, but these differences are common between Hebrew and Greek versions of the OT.[24]  Therefore the AT draws its source from a common text to the MT, and the LXX is, simply, a Greek interpretation of the MT material.
            The MT’s history presents problems for the reader as well. Michael V. Fox questions the “unity” of the MT latter chapters.[25] Up to chapters 9 and 10—and possibly 8—the AT and MT follows closely, but in these later chapters they appear to bifurcate.[26] Fox concludes from these divergences that the MT and AT represent texts from an earlier Hebraic Vorlage—the dismissal of a Purim etiology clearly points to a later dating of the AT.[27] However, Chapters 1-7 in the MT, and the correlating chapters in the AT, represent a close relation to the AT and is suggestive that each probably came from a related document—some have called this / these document(s) “cousins.”[28] However, at Chapter 8 the writer begins to take his or her own route in development. Chapters 8-10 were not later “added” to the text; however, they had always existed as the “MT”. There appears to be a redactor who was in possession of the “Proto-Esther” text.[29] One can see this emerge in these last chapters of the MT as the redactor, in chapters 8-10, provides extended material. The 201 words that appear in the last chapters of the AT are expounded upon into 942 words in the MT. Furthermore, chapters 1-7 in the MT, and the corresponding text in AT, are nearly word-for-word, and closely related both formally and semantically. The material added in the MT, and also the LXX, informs the reader of (1) the inalterability of the laws; (2) battle reports; (3) Purim etiology; (4) second day of fighting; (5) and the epilogue.[30] These conclusions add to the consensus that the MT is a redacted version of an earlier source of which the AT also drew.
            It is apparent that there also existed a proto-AT text as well. This is seen in supplementation of the ADD from the same LXX source ADD—I will not argue, where the ADD originated, but the ADD close relationship between the AT and LXX show a common source. This means the AT also has a redacted version (R-AT), from which it drew on a “Proto-AT” text—The proto-AT and proto-MT are taken from proto-Esther. In addition, the AT text cannot be a gleaning from the LXX for in the places that the LXX and AT parallel the LXX lacks the proper Hebraisms picked up by the AT.[31] Fox further argues that the proto-AT, “demonstrated by an examination of its Greek syntax,” is a translation of a Hebrew text and cannot be a reiteration of the MT.[32] From these conclusions, the proto-AT probably represents an earlier version than that of the MT. Had there been a festival established prior to the proto-AT, no faithful Jewish author would have left it out in the proto-AT or redacted version. It appears that the MT is supplementing this information for a development that came later in the history of Israel. I have adapted my own graph, created with the influence of both David Clines and Fox,[33] to explain how the tradition of Esther was handed down (See Figure 1).
             So what to make of our conclusions? There appears to have been a number of separate texts of Esther, all stemming from a common text of Hebrew Vorlage known as “Proto-Esther.” Redactors of both the MT and AT expanded this original text (or texts). The redacted texts were further added to (and possibly subtracted from)[34] for purposes of the author. It is suggestive then that the proto-AT and MT provided information in their respective texts for the inclusion of particular interests.[35] It will become clear in this next section that the interest of the MT redactor differs from that of the proto-AT, specifically in regard to the name and mention of God.           
           

            (Figure 1) 

         The proto-AT tells a story of God’s salvation towards God’s people, while the MT seeks to keep God hidden. If the proto-AT is an earlier document, then why does the author of the MT choose to keep God veiled?  The presence, or name, of God shows up seven times[36] throughout the redacted writing of the AT (minus any of the ADD).[37] As I have shown above, it is my belief that the proto-AT represents an earlier form of the MT, and that the author of the MT changes the story to fit his or her own motives.
            The R-MT, as is evidenced by chapters 8-10, attempts to give an etiological meaning to the festival of Purim.[38] Therefore, the influence of this overarching intention must claim a meaningful place in interpretation throughout the book, for without its additions the meaning of chapter 8-10[39] would be lost. Tracing God through the R-AT provides background into the changes offered by the R-MT.
            AT 4:5 is the first time the name of God is mentioned. Mordecai has just informed the eunuch of the grave situation Haman has just incited, and is reciting to him what he is to speak to Esther. Mordecai encourages Esther to “Call upon God and speak on our behalf to the king, and deliver us from death.” This verse is paralleled at MT 4:8-9, and merely suggests that Mordecai gave a message to the head eunuch, Hathach, and he is to “explain” to Esther what Mordecai had said. Suspicion is raised as to the legitimacy of this in the R-AT as it appears that the close relationship between these verses in the R-AT and LXX is unavoidable. The R-AT is, most likely a recension, at this point, of the LXX; it hopes to bring a further religious dimension to God’s involvement in 4:9 and 4:11. See the comparisons in the R-AT and LXX on Figure 2 below.[40]
            Furthermore, AT 7:1 refers to God as ὁ δυνατὸς, a term used only in the LXX in Zephaniah 3:17 and Odes 11:49; the only other usage is in Luke 1:49. The LXX interprets “God’s name” here as ὁ κύριος. Although there is a divergence from the LXX here, the mention of ὁ δυνατὸς in the ADD (R-AT 1:9) provides a case to question the originality of its Semitic Vorlage. This verse appears, like other verses throughout the AT, to be either a recension or interpolation of the LXX from a later date.
LXX – 4:8
R-AT – 4:5
Ἁμὰν ὁ δευτερεύων τῷ βασιλεῖ ἐλάλησεν καθʼ ἡμῶν εἰς θάνατον· ἐπικάλεσαι τὸν κύριον καὶ λὰλησον τῷ βασιλεῖ περὶ ἡμῶν καὶ ῥῦσαι ἡμᾶς ἐκ θανάτου.[41]

Ἁμὰν ὁ δευτερεύων λελάληκε τῷ βασιλεῖ καθʼ ἡμῶν εἰς θάνατον· ἐπικάλεσαμένη οὖν τὸν θεὸν λὰλησον περὶ ἡμῶν τῷ βασιλεῖ, καὶ ῥῦσαι ἡμᾶς ἐκ θανάτου (Emphasis mine).[42]  
            (Figure 2)
            A continued examination also shows R-AT 6:22 to fumble in its assembly of Greek syntax. In R-AT 6:22 the author explains the conversation between Haman and his wife. She tells Haman, “From the point you spoke evil concerning him (Haman), evil has been advancing upon you; quiet, because God is with them (emphasis mine).”[43] Notice the switch from the singular pronoun,[44] speaking of Mordecai, to the plural pronoun[45] when still speaking of Mordecai. The LXX does not make this mistake, and may represent a corruption in the R-AT.     Now that we have eliminated verses that are incongruent with a Hebrew Vorlage, we can now examine those verses that reference God.[46] It would be easy to make sense of these verses had the AT been a recension of the LXX, but the thesis of this paper argues otherwise—for one could simply attest to the AT changing its language to adapt a language more coherent with God.     The first mention of God is in R-AT 4:9, which the LXX does not match in Greek either semantically or formally with the AT. The R-AT (4:9) and MT (4:14) are closely related, but without the mention of God in the MT. However, it appears that the author is purposely choosing to gloss over the same information given to the R-AT that was available through a Hebrew Vorlage. The R-AT picks up Semitic language that carries over into the MT. Notice the R-AT uses σωτηρία to explicate the nature of the deliverance.[47] Had the R-AT been rendered through Greek Vorlage, why did he or she not follow the language similar to the LXX, and instead use Semitic language?[48] At this juncture the MT and R-AT contain compatible language and probably draw from a similar source, indicating that God’s presence was most likely active in the Hebrew Vorlage, and removed for purposes of the author. Furthermore, the Hebrew syntax in MT-Esther 4:14 seems to suggest that Mordecai is not threatening his relative with judgment from Jews, or God, but rather that he is attempting to motivate her answer in the positive by asking a rhetorical question.[49] Notice the author of the MT provides the reader with a question and not an answer. The author elicits a response, not only from Esther, but also from the readers. What will “you” do in the midst of such options? However, God is axiomatic in the text. The author need not mention where one receives deliverance.[50]
            AT 4:11 also evades Greek compatibility with the LXX, and stands alone. The MT adds to the simple statement from the R-AT, “Proclaim a service of worship and pray earnestly to God,” into a section about fasting. The MT redactor is taking from Hebrew sources to compile an account more in line with ancient Jewish traditions.[51] AT 6:17 is another quick, and undeveloped,[52] mention of God. There are no LXX or MT parallels. In the AT, the story is one of thankfulness towards “the Lord” after Mordecai is paraded around in the town, at the king’s request. Clines concludes, “For at no point is the religious language of the AT at all unnatural or forced.”[53] It appears that the MT attempts to remove God rather than the AT trying to add God, as Clines continues, “The MT has very frequently seemed to commentators unnatural or at least due to a deliberate avoidance of usual Hebrew manners of speech.”[54] AT 7:2 is the last mention of God. This again is an authorial side-note as to Esther’s emotions, and God’s help in a time of need—a note too easily bypassed by the redactor. The redactor of the MT removed this section alone leaving a similar semantic and formal field of syntax and Hebraisms in the verses directly above and below it (MT 7:2 and AT 7:1; MT 7:5 and AT 7:3). An important question should now be lingering in the minds of readers, namely, why, if the original Vorlage included God, remove God?
            The removal of God is an important feature of the MT, as it purposely veils God to elicit a response from the reader to form a multiplicity of interpretations through personal inclusion into the text. For example, MT-Esther 4:14 cannot, but stimulate the reader to question what they might do if they were in Esther’s position. Will I act in the face of fear and tragedy? Where will I draw my strength? MT-Esther 4:16 also calls to mind the connection between fasting and deliverance of God in Judges 20:26. Is God good or not? Will God remain faithful in the midst of tragedy, or fail? How will my devotion to this God, through fasting and prayer, change this situation? In other words, the author intends to elicit propositions from his or her readers. For this reason, a number of “propositions” of Esther have been set forth, but without much avail in finding consensus as to genre, structure, characteristics, or overall purpose. It is within the three different Esther’s that one finds a path forward in understanding each as a representation of stages in the process of “Esther’s” formulation. Throughout this process the shape of Esther has taken many forms, but in its final MT-Esther that the book intends to conceal God as to illuminate God through absence,[55] while strongly supplying an old courtier tale, and providing the history of an important festival.[56]
            In conclusion, this paper has shown the history of multiple Esthers, namely the MT, LXX, and AT texts. Furthermore this paper has sought to argue for AT priority over and against the LXX. The AT is not a recension of the LXX, but rather a stand-alone text from Hebrew Vorlage similar to that of the MT. Moreover, the purpose of the MT redactor was to veil God in such a way as to elicit propositions from his or her readers, and to allow them to enter into the text as a volunteer and not a bystander. For this reason a number of varying interpretations have been produced by scholars, yet none as satisfactory or universally accepted by scholars.
           




















Bibliography
Berlin, Adele. Esther: The Traditional Hebrew Text with the New JPS Translation. Philadephia, Pa: Jewish Publication Society, 2001.
Bush, Frederic William. Ruth, Esther. Waco, TX: Word Books, 1996.
Clines, David J. A. The Esther Scroll: The Story of the Story. Sheffield: JSOT, 1984.
De Troyer, Kristin. The End of the Alpha Text of Esther: Translation and Narrative Technique in MT 8:1-17, LXX 8:1-17, and AT 7:14-41. Atlanta: Society of Biblical Literature, 2000.
Feldman, Louis H. "Hellenizations in Josephus' Version of Esther." Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association 101 (1970): 143-70.
Fox, Michael V. Character and Ideology in the Book of Esther. Second ed. Columbia, SC:        University of South Carolina Press, 2001.
Fox, Michael V. The Redaction of the Books of Esther. Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1991.
Freedman, David Noel, Astrid B. Beck, and James A. Sanders. The Leningrad Codex: A           Facsimile Edition. Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans, 1998.
Jobes, Karen H. The Alpha-text of Esther: Its Character and Relationship to the Masoretic Text. Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1996.
Josephus, Flavius, and William Whiston. The Works of Josephus: Complete and Unabridged.     Peabody: Hendrickson, 1987.
Pietersma, Albert, and Benjamin G. Wright. A New English Translation of the Septuagint: And the Other Greek Translations Traditionally Included under That Title. New York: Oxford University Press, 2007.
Rubenstein, Jeffrey L. "Purim, liminality, and communitas." AJS Review 17, no. 2 (September           1, 1992): 247-277. ATLASerials, Religion Collection, EBSCOhost (accessed August 27, 2013).
Stern, Elsie R. "Esther and the Politics of Diaspora." The Jewish Quarterly Review 100, no. 1  (Winter 2010): 25-53.



            [1] Adele Berlin, Esther, JPS Bible Commentary (Philadephia: Jewish Publication Society, 2001), xv.
            [2] See Stern 2010: 34-45.
            [3] These debates are most noted in B. Megillah 7a and B. Sanhedrin 100a.  Moreover, it is of interest that, at Qumran, Esther is the only canonized text not to be found among the discovery. However, it is still a debatable subject, as is witnessed by White’s study. See White Crawford, Sidnie. 1996. "Has Esther Been Found at Qumran? 4QProto-Esther and the Esther Corpus". Revue De Qumran. 17 (14): 307-325.
            [4] For example, both Amphilochius and Gregory Theologus challenge Esther’s place within the canon actually calling for its content to be omitted. See Aphilochius of Iconium, From the Iambics of St. Amphilochius the Bishop to Seleucus, on the Same Subject, ed. Philip Schaff and Henry Wace, trans. Henry R. Percival, A Select Library of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, Second Series, Volume XIV: The Seven Ecumenical Councils (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1900), 612
            [5] Kahana 2005, xix.
            [6] However, Josephus, in Antiquities 11.184 – 296, provides a full summary account of Esther, and could provide a helpful fourth translation—although, outside of the scope of this paper. However, Josephus provides a view of Esther that is adapted for his Greek audience. His summary helps provide a fuller understanding of how Jews during his time read and understood Esther.  For a fuller discussion of Josephus’s Esther version, his changes, and implications, see Feldman 1970; Furthermore, in regards to the issue of controversy about Esther’s canonicity during Josephus times, he provides a 22-book canon, but does not disseminate which books are included. However, one could presume that Esther would be included in his list as he provides at length a summary of Esther.
            [7] “Proto-Esther” is a term employed by Michael V. Fox to clarify and distinguish the many “texts” of Esther. For more information see Fox 1991, 8.
            [8] Fox 2001, 247. Fox refers to this as a “theology of possibility.”
            [9] This manuscript is the oldest complete Bible manuscript to date.
            [10]Freedman 1998, x-xi.  Beck remarks, “These notations are invaluable today… They and the vowel and accent pointings added to the consonantal text follow the tradition of the Masoretes, in particular, the school of Masoretic scholars centered in Tiberias near the Sea of Galilee. The aim of these scholars was to ensure correct transmission and understanding of the text.” For this reason, the mss is important for the current study.
            [11] It is these texts, which individuals such as Jerome used to create the Latin Vulgate. Moreover, the Codex Sinaticus comes from Origen’s Hexapla. For more information on the texts that Origen was hoping to correct see Origen’s Letter to Africanus 2.
            [12] Alexander Roberts, James Donaldson, and A. Cleveland Coxe, eds., A Letter from Origen to Africanus, The Ante-Nicene Fathers, Volume IV: Fathers of the Third Century: Tertullian, Part Fourth; Minucius Felix; Commodian; Origen, Parts First and Second (Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Company, 1885), 386–387.
            [13] Any attempt to discover writings among the early Fathers has limited the study to only chapters 8 and 9 of Esther. For further investigation see Kristin De Troyer 2000, 4-5.
            [14] In this study I will be using the Gottingen edition and its numbering system when referring to chapters or verses in the AT text.
            [15] These four manuscripts include: Chigi R. vi. 38 (12th Century); Royal I.D.2 (13th Century); Vat. Gr. 330 (13th Century); Vatop. 600 (1021 CE).
            [16] Moore, Carey A. 1965. The Greek text of Esther.
            [17] These “additions” are labeled respectively as A, B, C, D, E, and F.
            [18] Jobes 1996, 193.
            [19] Pietersma 2007, 424.
            [20] See Jobes 1996, 49-94. Specifically see her work, 86-94, on the lexical consistency between the MT, LXX, and AT.
            [21] Ibid, 84.
            [22] Ibid, 85.
            [23] Ibid, 73.
            [24] Most notably, the book of Daniel—another text from Persian influence. For comparison see “Daniel and Esther,” John Joseph Collins and Adela Yarbro Collins, Daniel: a Commentary on the Book of Daniel, ed. Frank Moore Cross, Hermeneia—a Critical and Historical Commentary on the Bible (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 1993), 40. Also see Jobes 1996, 235-249.
            [25] Fox 2001, 263-264.
            [26] The AT and MT disagree, or the AT ignores, major pieces of the story. For example, (1) Mordecai’s counter-edict is missing; (2) MT suggests salvation goes out to the Gentiles, but the AT has no such reports; (3) The AT has no understanding or establishment of the festival of Purim; (4) and the MT records Mordecai’s future successes whereas this suggestion is missing in the AT.
            [27] Fox 1991, 6.
            [28] Fox 2001, 260.
            [29] This is not necessarily the same source that proto-AT had, but similar in Hebraisms and Semitic language.
            [30] Fox 1991, 118.
            [31] See ibid, I §2 fn. 36 for exact differences between the Greek and Hebrew in the LXX and AT.
            [32] Fox 2001, 258. Fox argues on the basis that no Jewish editor would ever take the MT and change it into the proto-AT with having full knowledge of the Purim festival or battle history.
            [33] Clines 1984, 140 ; Fox 1991, 9.
            [34] This is a case that cannot be made from the text, but should be open as possibility.
            [35] For example, the MT provides the explanations of Purim and the successful future of Mordecai whereas the proto-AT traces only the under-exaggerated tale of a Persian courtier.
            [36] God’s name is only explicitly mentioned six times, but AT 6:1 refers to God as “the Mighty One” (ὁ δυνατός). There are two other cases of God being called by this name throughout the LXX. See Zephaniah 3:17 and Odes 11:49.
            [37] References are made from the Gottingen edition of the AT text as mentioned above. These chapter and verses include: AT 4:5, 9, 11; 6:1, 17, 22; 7:2. In addition, the author makes mention of Haman casting lots to the “gods” (AT 6:23) and his wife warning that “God is with them” (7:22)—these verses will be dealt with shortly.
            [38] For a full explanation, and sociological implications of Purim see Rubenstein 1992.
            [39] Also, see 3:7, where the redactor includes a further allusion of the Purim festival.
            [40] Notice, I have emphasized the small changes, such as λελάληκε taking the perfect form and ἐπικάλεσαμένη taking the aorist middle. These are subtle changes and preference from each redactor. See the close relationship between these two versions; it is apparent that the R-AT is either a recension of the LXX or an interpolation.
            [41] Randall K. Tan, David A. De Silva, and Isaiah Hoogendyk, The Lexham Greek-English Interlinear Septuagint: H.B. Swete Edition, vol. 2 (Bellingham, WA: Logos Bible Software, 2012), 764.
            [42] Jobes 1996, Chapter 4 (AT 4:5). Jobes follows the numbering system of the Göttingen version.
            [43] My translation.
            [44] αὐτοῦ
            [45] αὐτοῖς
            [46] This author recognizes that the MT removes even references to pagan gods, and although this may mean something significant, the author is unsure what to make of it. Mention of pagan gods would continue the satirical theme of a powerless kingdom with powerless gods. However, their removal remains a mystery.
            [47] This language is always picked up under the auspicious of God’s action within covenant life. See specifically 1 and 2nd Samuel, Psalms, Isaiah, and Ezekiel. There are around 110 uses in the LXX. These verses clearly relate deliverance back to God.
            [48] LXX uses σκέπη. Moreover, Daniel 3:29 states, “Therefore I make a decree: Any people, nation, or language that speaks anything against the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego shall be torn limb from limb, and their houses laid in ruins, for there is no other god who is able to rescue in this way, (emphasis added)”. The usage here is the same Hebrew term הַצָּלָה as Esther and retains a strong sense of the word’s usage throughout its Greek counterpart.
            [49] Bush 1998, 396-397.
            [50] See fn. 42.
            [51] See specifically Judges 20:26, and the language of deliverance. See the note on שְׁלָמִ֖ים in Ludwig Koehler, Walter Baumgartner, et al., The Hebrew and Aramaic Lexicon of the Old Testament (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1999), 1537.
            [52] Attesting to an earlier edition. Redaction generally builds upon previous work.
            [53] Clines 1984, 112.
            [54] Ibid.
            [55] Fox 2001, 246. Fox concludes that it is through this absence that we ask ourselves if God is really at work? The author brings the readers into the story, and asks for each to make up their own mind about this God.
            [56] Purim.