Not only a Father: Talk of God as Mother in the Bible and Christian Tradition, by Tim Bulkeley.
Last year I took a paper on the book of Isaiah taught by Tim Bulkeley, formerly of Carey Bible College in Auckland, and now retired. As is normal with lecturers, he took the opportunity to promote his most recent book, the result of reworking his doctrinal thesis. I like these occasions because it gives me the opportunity to read books that I might not normally come across. Not only a Father is very thin (only 120 pages) which is a bonus when studying as reading quickly piles up. But also when Tim detailed what he was trying to do in it, it sounded really interesting. I had already come across some of the motherly language for God in the Bible, but when I sat down a few weeks ago to read Not only a Father, I was surprised to discover how much I had missed and how subtle some of the language was.
Tim argues that the language used for God in the Bible is not exclusively male, but includes numerous motherly images, which enable God to be described as caring and nurturing towards his creation, particularly humans. These references are particularly common in the Old Testament where they are so subtle that they are often overlooked. However, they are not exclusive to the Old Testament even though the mainstream fatherly language of God stems from Jesus’ use of “Father” for God in the Gospels. Matthew 23:37-39 (paralleled by Luke 13:34-35) is a clear example of motherly language where Jesus describes himself as a mother hen gathering her chicks. As Jesus is part of the Godhead this must be taken into account alongside his use of “Father”.
Even though in both testaments the masculine pronoun is used for God (there is no neuter gender in Hebrew, and it would seem weird to us to refer to God as “it”), this does not mean that he is male. As Tim points out, if God is considered to be purely male, then we are casting him in our own image and detracting from who he is as our creator and saviour. While it may seem weird to refer to God as “mother”, thinking of God as not exclusively male allows us to gain a broader understanding of the God we worship. It allows him not to be constrained by our own stereotypical notions of what it means to be a man or indeed a woman. And although our notions of what God is like will never be completely accurate, I believe that the inclusion of these motherly images of God moves our ideas about God closer to what he really is like.
The best thing about this book though, is that it is all available online. Tim has put the whole text up on his website (bigbible.org/mothergod/) so that people will be able to post comments and engage in discussions with each other about it. So, don’t just take my word for it that it is a good read. Check it out for yourselves.
The Translation of Diathēkē in Hebrews 9:16-17.
Last year I did an exegetical study of Hebrews 9:15-22 for one of my courses at Laidlaw College. I choose this passage because there is considerable debate in Hebrews scholarship around the translation of the Greek word diathēkē in verses 16-17: should it be translated ‘will/testament’ or ‘covenant’? A majority of Bibles have adopted ‘will’ or its synonym ‘testament’ as the best translation, leaving the NASB alone in its use of ‘covenant.’ An example of this is the NRSV’s translation of verses 15-17, which reads: “15 For this reason he is the mediator of a new covenant, so that those who are called may receive the promised eternal inheritance, because a death has occurred that redeems them from the transgressions under the first covenant. 16 Where a will is involved, the death of the one who made it must be established. 17 For a will takes effect only at death, since it is not in force as long as the one who made it is alive.”
By contrast, when I examined and translated the Greek text, my translation read like this: “15 And through this he is the mediator of a new covenant, so that a death having happened to redeem of the transgressions under the first covenant, those who are called might receive the promise of eternal inheritance. 16 Because where (there is) a covenant, it is necessary the death of the one who ratified it be borne; 17 for a covenant is valid on the basis of dead bodies, since it is never in force when the one who ratified it is alive.” Even though it is a quite literal and clunky translation, I think that it makes much better sense both of the Greek text itself and within the argument of this section of Hebrews.
Throughout Heb 7:1-10:18 the author is hammering home his point repeatedly; that Jesus’ self-offering has inaugurated a new and better covenant, fulfilling the Old Testament priestly (Levitical) system of sacrifices instituted under the first (or Sinai) covenant and writing the law on people’s hearts. This is confirmed in 9:15 where the author of Hebrews states that the new covenant was inaugurated by the death of its mediator. This mediator is Jesus, and his death on the cross has redeemed the sins (transgressions) under the first covenant of “those who are called to receive the promise of eternal inheritance.”
This is where, I believe, most Bible translators go wrong. They focus on the presence of the word “inheritance” at the end of verse 15 and it colours their interpretation of 16-17. The inheritance mentioned in verse 15 implies that diathēkē in verse 16 could be translated “will” as a will involves passing on an inheritance from one person to another. Diathēkē was a legal term referring to the last will and testament of a person, whereby they divide their possessions between their heirs. It is often assumed that this took place after their death, as it does today, but this wasn’t always the case. There were cases where a will was acted on before its maker had died. Instead, verse 16 does not continue the discussion of the inheritance mentioned in verse 15, but explains why the death mentioned in verse 15 was necessary.
The meaning of diathēkē underwent a considerable change when the Hebrew Old Testament was translated into Greek for those Jews outside Israel who no longer spoke Hebrew. In the Hebrew Bible the word for covenant is berit. This is translated in the Greek translation (Septuagint or LXX) as diathēkē to refer to the covenants between God and his people. The book of Hebrews is filled with the language of the Jewish context. It discusses the tabernacle, its animal sacrifices, and the role of priests, all of which indicate that the author is speaking from a Jewish context rather than a Roman one.
Throughout all other uses of diathēkē in the New Testament, it is translated as ‘covenant,’ but at first glance in Hebrews 9:16-17 it sounds as though ‘will’ would make more sense, as the death of its maker is required. But as pointed out above, the maker of a will didn’t have to die in order for it to be acted on. It was legal and binding from the time it was written and witnessed, similar to today.
A (suzerain-vassal treaty) covenant in the Old Testament was made between two parties who were not equal. The party promising obedience to the other would swear a self-maledictory oath, by which they called down punishment on themselves if they violated the covenant. This punishment was usually death, and was represented by animal sacrifices. The Sinai covenant is a prime example of this type of covenant, as seen in Exodus 24:1-8.
In both verses 15 and 16 the word covenant is used, but they refer to different covenants. In verse 15 the new covenant is the one inaugurated at Jesus’ death. The second one could be talking about covenants in general, but not all covenants required a death in order to be ratified. For example, the Davidic covenant was a promise that God made to David that his line would continue forever. No animal sacrifices were involved.
If the covenant of verses 16-17 is seen as broken, like the Sinai covenant was many times, then the passage starts to make sense. Because when a covenant was broken, the ratifier’s death is required because of the oath sworn. A broken covenant where the oath is not enforced has no power and is useless. In this case the ratifier is the Israelites, because they are the ones to swear the oath to obey the law in Exodus.
Interestingly, verse 16 states that the death of the ratifier has to “be borne” (as how I translate it, because it has never been found to mean “to establish” in the literature of the ancient world). This means that one can die on behalf of the whole group, instead of all those who swore the oath having to die themselves. This is a radical shift from the NRSV’s “be established”, which means there has to be proof of the death(s) before the will can have effect. And it is in sharp contrast with the Greek verb pheresthai which in its most basic form actually means “to bear”. This is exactly what Hebrews describes Christ doing on the cross, thus being able to provide redemption for all, freeing them from their sins. So, when there is a broken covenant, the death of the ratifier is required, but this death can be borne by one member of the community on behalf of all the others.
The discussion of the broken covenant continues in verse 17. The Sinai covenant was made valid on the basis of sacrificed animals whose death was a symbol of what would happen to the Israelites if they broke the covenant. The Greek word I have translated “(a covenant is valid on the basis of) dead bodies” is the plural of the noun nekros, which means “one who is no longer physically alive.” It could speak of the animals sacrificed when the covenant was inaugurated or the Israelites deaths required by the broken nature of the covenant. I think that the animal sacrifices make more sense because up until this point the ratifier (Israel) has been referred to in the singular, but the bodies mentioned in 17 are in the plural, making it more likely that they refer to different objects than the same. These animal corpses give the broken Sinai covenant the power to demand death, making it valid.
Considering that the following verses (18-21) go on to describe the inauguration of the Sinai covenant with the blood of animals, the translation of diathēkē as “covenant” in verses 16-17 gives the passage more coherence. The idea of the death of Jesus fulfilling the broken Sinai covenant is consistent with the author of Hebrews’ arguments that Jesus’ death fulfilled the old covenant and removed the cultic ritual that had been a central part of it. Christ’s death did away with the sacrifices of the old covenant and inaugurated the new covenant where the laws of God would be written on believers’ hearts. This is a source of hope for the original audience and should give readers today the same hope. The sacrifice of Jesus at Easter is able to change people in a more powerful way that the old temple sacrifices that were fulfilled on the cross.
This is how I believe this section of Hebrews should be understood. Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross did two things. He fulfilled the sacrificial system of the old covenant, freeing all believers from the sins and transgressions of the old covenant, allowing them to be part of God’s kingdom. To do this he had to die in the place of the Israelites, taking their punishment on himself. He also inaugurated the new and better covenant, which no longer requires the imperfect animal sacrifices and where the law is now inside a person. My hope is that more people will discover this alternative understanding of these verses and that as it becomes more prevalent, more Bible translators will incorporate it into their translations. Thus those who read them will be able to engage with the meaning of these verses in a way that is better understood and gives more respect to the text itself.
The Seven Basic Plots: Why We Tell Stories by Christopher Booker (2005).
Several years ago, this book was recommended to me by one of my pastors because he claimed it demonstrated how all stories have their basis in the Bible. It took me several years to actually get around to reading it. But after it had sat and collected dust on my bookshelf for a few years I finally accepted the challenge (it is a 500+ page book) and spent several weeks working my way through it at about a chapter a day.
The premise of the book is simple. Booker sets out to explain the seven basic plots that underlie all the stories ever written. They are in their most basic archetypal forms:
Overcoming the Monster – the hero* has the task of overcoming a monster threatening the land in a fight to the death.
* By this I mean the lead character in the story, regardless of whether they are male or female. Please don’t take the use of masculine language to mean I am excluding all female leads.
Rags to Riches – tells of the hero’s rise from a lowly position to a high one.
The Quest – the hero and a band of companions go on a quest to achieve a particular task and face many perils and obstacles along the way.
Voyage and Return – the hero goes on a journey into a world very different from his normal life, where his experiences can either change him or not when he returns to his normal life.
Comedy – this is a story where the baddies undergo a change of heart, where hidden identities are revealed, family divisions repaired and couples fall in love and overcome the obstacles to their union. The story centers on all the characters becoming in harmony with each other.
Tragedy – the choices of the hero begin a downward spiral of events, which leads to them being isolated from all around them and ultimately leads to their premature or violent death.
Rebirth – the hero is trapped in a state of living death and has to be saved from it by their love interest.
Each plot is usually more complicated than this and any story can have elements of several of these plots within it and some even have all seven. Examining each through numerous examples of stories that follow a particular plot allows Booker to delve deep into story telling to understand why we tell stories. He examines the set of features and characters that allow each plot to develop while still allowing the story to take its own path and not just be a copy of the plot archetype. Variations of these features are common in each plot, giving endless variation in storytelling. He also examines how stories have changed in the last 200 years as sex and violence have become more common and more extreme in both books and movies.
The major flaw of this book is that it can be rather repetitive. Booker uses numerous stories to illustrate each plot and even each point he is trying to make within each plot. However, if you are like me and like reading lots of stories, then this is not too much of a problem. The detailing of so many plots can ruin several of the stories if you were planning on reading then. I was reading War and Peace at the same time, and found out numerous important plot points before I reached them in the book itself which did encourage me to read it faster.
The ultimate question Booker is trying to answer is “Why do we tell stories?” This is the most fascinating part of the book. Stories are the medium through which we are taught the basics about life, about its perils and challenges, the struggle between good and evil, and exemplars of ideal human behaviour resulting in living happily ever after (although some stories, such as tragedies, achieve this by showing the exact opposite). Stories are not an escape from the real world. They inspire the story of our own life, shaping how we live and interact with others, as well as who we look up to and how we choose to spend our time and money. In the end, we have seven basic plots for a reason. These are the types of stories which both entertain us and teach us. They mirror what we do and don’t want in life and how we would like life to be. This is also why stories that stray too far from these archetypes seem strange and uninteresting a lot of the time.
One of the things Booker didn’t set out to do was show that all stories are based on those in the Bible. Each type of plot did have biblical stories that fell within its parameters but the origin of each plot archetype is rather obscure.
I found that The Seven Basis Plots really expanded my understanding of stories without ruining all the books I read and films I watch. More than anything it made me aware of the power that these stories have over how we live, and that they should not simply be thought of as a place to escape to. Despite its length and repetition, I recommend it to anyone who wants to know more about the stories in the world around them.
