Tag Archives: exegesis

A Squirrel is Not a Dog

Posted on by

For the record, children are simply the best. I’m pretty sure I provided some evidence for this statement last week when I shared Giselle Graney’s Triduum artwork. Of course, I have ample reasons beyond her demonstration. One of the reasons can be seen in the Lord’s words from Matthew 18:4, which is when Jesus told His disciples that to be great in the Kingdom, one must bear the humble faith of children.

Having revisited the whole chapter this morning, I think what strikes me is that, unlike adults, children receive information differently. Adults tend to reshape information to fit what they already know. For example, if an adult believes baptism is nothing more than a symbolic washing, when that same adult crosses paths with biblical texts describing it as so much more, he or she will find a way to cram those texts into what’s already believed. That’s called eisegesis. When it comes to studying God’s Word, eisegesis is not humble. It’s self-serving. It imposes preconceived meanings upon a text. The opposite of this is called exegesis. Exegesis means to take meaning from the text.

Personally, I think one of Sin’s definable fingerprints is mankind’s tendency toward eisegesis. Indeed, Scripture poorly read or heard resulting in bad interpretation is Sin’s perpetual revenge.

When it comes to information intake, children don’t necessarily do this. At least not until adults show them how. I think Jean Piaget, the infamous child psychologist, more or less proved it. He’s the one who showed children as the truest exegetes. We see it in their attentiveness leading to adaptability—how they’re always on duty with information—how they can take two pieces of information, and when the pieces don’t fit, they adapt. They let the facts change them rather than laboring to change the facts.

I’m sure plenty of parents have seen this happen in real-time. For example, a child sees a dog for the first time. He learns to call it “dog.” He sees a snake. It’s far different from a dog, so he asks what it is. He learns to call it “snake.” But then he sees a squirrel. It looks absolutely nothing like a snake, so he knows it isn’t one. That’s easy. And it’s little more than honest observation. Still, his categories are limited. He has to put the squirrel somewhere into his knowledge base. Therefore, he notices its fur. He sees it has a tail. He watches it run across the yard on four legs. Only knowing dogs and snakes, he points proudly and says, “Momma! Dog!” When the mom clarifies it’s a squirrel, the child creates a new category based on fact. He doesn’t argue with his mom for the squirrel’s dogness. He doesn’t try to convince her that the squirrel is really a dog trapped in a squirrel’s body. It’s simply not a dog. It’s a squirrel. The facts change the child. He adapts. Piaget showed that adaptation is innate to child development, being more so relative to natural law. Every normal human child does it instinctually.

Piaget demonstrated that there are only two reasons a child would deliberately think a squirrel is a dog. The first is if he was completely ignorant of squirrels, and because he is attempting to grow and learn in truth, he adds the animal to the only available categories he knows. The second is if an adult lied to him, interrupting the child’s ordinary course of development and confusing the categories.

Theologically speaking, it’s there you see an essential distinction between the faith Jesus describes and the kind of faith the world promotes. One receives truth. The other bends it. To bend truth is to change facts. To change facts is to lie. As Christians, we know lies are the devil’s offspring (John 8:44). Unfortunately, all of us are often more than willing to be a part of his family.

Apply what I’ve written however you’d like. There certainly are plenty of things happening in the world around us right now that make all of this worth considering. But as you ponder, be aware of your interpretative process. Are you being shaped by truth or opinions? Is God’s Word imposing on you, or are you imposing on God’s Word? For example, if God’s Word plainly says that each of us is biologically male or biologically female—and God Himself is the author of this grand design—could it be true that any of us were born with or in the wrong body? Going a bit further, is God’s Word to be counted truthful when it labels homosexuality a Sin, or is the Bible’s perspective on the topic suddenly pliable because the issue hits close to home? For that matter, is adultery a Sin? Is gossip a Sin? Is theft a Sin? Or are these activities somehow made justifiable when my spouse is inattentive, or I have a juicy scoop on someone else I feel needs airing, or I don’t have enough money?

God calls these behaviors “Sin” because that’s what they are. God’s Word does not lie. It gives you the truth. A squirrel is a squirrel. A dog is a dog.

Of course, the Sin-nature shows itself to be powerfully eisegetical in each of life’s tempting circumstances. It despises truth, and so, it imposes itself during information intake. In my experience, I’d say it doesn’t even want to know the truth. Truth is dangerous to its narrative. And if the truth does arrive on the scene, the Sin-nature will try to manipulate it, doing what it can to fit truth’s facts into its deliberately unadaptable categories. That’s unfortunate because, in the end, and as has been said, a squirrel will never be a dog. A male will never be a female. Adultery will never be Godly. And what’s more, at the divine conclusion of all things, the One who established the truth’s borders won’t be found adjusting any of them for individuals (Romans 2:11). Truth will be truth. Sometimes it will be hard. Other times it will be easy. But either way, it’ll always be what’s best.

I ask the Lord daily for a faith that knows and accepts this. Thankfully, He accomplished everything necessary to answer my prayer before I even asked the question. It was a strange truth He gave. Through mortal eyes, it appeared to be a criminal’s death. But God’s Word defined it differently. The Word imposed itself upon me, establishing an entirely new category. The man hanging on that cross was no ordinary man. He was God’s Son. He was not being punished for His own crimes but mine. And by this brutal event drenched in everything dreadful, I have been given that which is most wonderful: eternal life. By the power of the Holy Spirit given through this imposing Word of God, He continues to make me His trusting child—a Christian adult desiring to be in complete alignment with everything His loving Savior says is true.

It’s Jesus’ Story to Tell

Posted on by

I was thinking about a social media exchange regarding the theological abilities of our nation’s new President that I participated in this past Saturday after our congregation’s annual “Getting Organized” meeting. But before I share its importance with you, I should probably start with a different conversation that occurred earlier in the week. I hope you’ll bear with me. I think it fits.

I had an interesting conversation with a group of students in my 7th and 8th grade religion class last Wednesday. Knowing that far too many folks these days appear to interpret the Bible according to some pretty messed up criteria, my goal this semester has been to walk the students through the process of completing an exegetical study.

Essentially, I’ve divided the class into two groups. One group is wrestling with Mark 10:46-52 (the healing of Bartimaeus, the blind beggar), and the other is handling Luke 10:25-37 (the Parable of the Good Samaritan). Both groups are tasked with studying from at least four different English translations of their assigned text (I’m helping with the Greek if they discover the need to dig deeper). They are to be concerned with discerning keywords, studying context (genre, writer, major and immediate sections, and the like), exploring parallel texts (which includes non-canonical resources), and so much more, all with the hope of exposing the primary purpose and meaning of the portion of God’s Word they are to be handling.

Pedagogically speaking, I’m not a big fan of small groups in an academic setting. I’m not convinced it’s the best way to learn. Still, I went against my own rule and gathered the students into groups according to their respective texts in order for them to discuss with one another the particular keywords they’d each discovered and were considering for his or her exposition. I hovered closely among the two groups.

For the most part, and interestingly, the students gravitated toward many of the same words. On occasion, however, one or two students would suggest the importance of a word that none of the others had considered. I was glad for that. I could go into greater detail as to why, but rest assured from their discussion, it was proof to me that they were really digging in and taking the assignment seriously.

At one point along the way, I suggested to both groups that they try to imagine themselves as onlookers to the situation, paying close attention with the mind’s eye to the visual flow of events. When they took time to do this, other aspects became visible.

With respect to keywords, an example of an obvious one from the Luke 10 text was the NIV’s term “expert in the Law” in comparison to the ESV’s rather simple descriptor “lawyer.” That’s an easy one. Does the difference matter? Maybe, maybe not. Either way, the students are going to figure that out. But when they placed themselves as observers of the conversation unfolding between Jesus and the expert in the Law, a few of the students noticed almost immediately a very strange shift. On the surface, Jesus seemingly commended the lawyer in verse 28 for giving the right answer to his question. “You have answered correctly,” Jesus said. “Do this and you will live.”

That’s great, right? Who wouldn’t want to be commended by the Lord? But in the very next verse, the lawyer appears to cop an attitude, feeling the need to justify himself, as if he’d somehow been insulted.

So, what happened?

One student in the bunch took the lead in the hunt for an answer. Eventually, he circled back around to the Lord’s reply to the lawyer, guessing that it was either the way the Lord said what He did (which we can’t necessarily determine His tone), or something wasn’t quite getting through in the English translation. Ultimately, he focused on the Lord’s words, “Do this and you will live,” because that seemed to be the critical moment of engagement in the Lord’s commendation. After a little more discussion, “Do this” became the student’s sole focus.

And that was it. In the Greek, the verb reveals the Lord’s insinuation that the lawyer, a man who thought he was keeping the Law of God perfectly, hadn’t been performing in the way he believed himself to be. “Do this” meant that if perhaps he actually got started right then and there, he might discover eternal life. Of course, that was a short, but loaded, reply to the lawyer’s self-righteous answer. To gain eternal life by way of keeping the Law is impossible. No one will pave their way to heaven with deeds. Jesus knows this. That’s why He came. But the lawyer was under the impression that he, an expert in the Law, was doing a pretty good job at actually accomplishing it. Jesus pointed out in front of the massive crowd that the show-off’s expertise in this regard was clearly lacking.

In short, here was a man whose trust for eternal life was located in himself, and the Rabbi he was challenging in that moment believed he was failing desperately at it. Like everyone else in the crowd, the lawyer needed a Savior.

This offended him. It embarrassed him, too. That meant he needed to do something to justify himself in order to regain his previous standing before the onlookers.

Knowing this particular detail in the exchange completely changes the trajectory for the Parable of the Good Samaritan. My guess is that most interpret the parable apart from this introductory text, and when they do, it becomes little more than a Sunday School story about how Jesus wants us to be good to others. But if we’re going to handle it honestly, that’s not why Jesus told the parable. The purpose of the parable is to point out how we fail, and by doing this, He’s putting before us the opportunity to admit we actually need a Savior. The astonishing part to this is that when we actually know the Lord’s real reason for teaching the parable, and then we dig into the parable itself, we may actually see the Gospel woven into its fabric. In other words, Jesus laid some gut-wrenching Law on us, but He didn’t leave us without hope. For the expert in the Law, Jesus foreshadowed the work of the Messiah—Jesus’ approaching work to accomplish our rescue—which is to say that He told the story of us and Himself.

He described someone who’d been pummeled and left for dead, and unless the wretch received help, his permanent end would be inevitable. That’s us. Sin has more than seen to this. Fascinatingly, the well-known animosity between the Jews and Samaritans is a hint to the vastness of the chasm that separates Man from God. And yet, the fact that the dying man’s chief enemy, a Samaritan, is the one who helped him is a glimpse of our Lord’s crossing over that divide in order to save us. As the story unfolded further, the scene became even clearer. The One who would be our enemy, rather than leaving us in our predicament, came down into the valley of our sorrow to be with us, to reach to us in love. He bandaged up our wounds, took us to a place where He arranged for our care, and then He promised to return to settle all accounts.

Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? It’s an image of the Lord’s incarnation all the way through to His return at the Last Day, with the in-between time being His wonderful work to rescue, forgive, and sustain us as His people.

I expect that the students assigned to this text, with a little more recalibrating of their exegetical lenses, are going to discover these gems in the text for themselves. But as I mentioned at the beginning of this note, I suppose the reason I was moved to share this particular moment from my 7th and 8th grade religion class with you is because of a conversation I had on Saturday with a Christian who felt the need to defend Joe Biden’s supposed “devout” Catholicism. One tritely employed phrase that was used during the conversation (and I say “tritely” because far too many Christians believe this): “Well, you interpret the Bible one way, and Biden interprets it another way. Maybe he doesn’t accept parts that you do. That doesn’t necessarily make him wrong.”

Puke.

God didn’t give us His Word so we could do whatever the heck we want with it, picking and choosing this or that portion, ultimately making it say whatever we feel like making it say. It is divinely inspired, inerrant, and immutable—and with that, there are intentions behind every single Word. If you don’t believe this, not only will you never be able to secure a faithful interpretation, but in the end, you’ll see it as having very little value to begin with. When this happens, you’ll have become no different than the self-righteous lawyer in Luke 10 who felt he had no need for Jesus, because after all, Jesus is the very Word made flesh (John 1:14). If you reject the Lord’s Word, by default you reject Him. That leads to big trouble. Eternal trouble.

I doubt our new President will ever allow a faithful pastor thirty or forty minutes of his time to exegize alongside him some of the Biblical texts he believes give license for murdering babies in (and out of) the womb, for allowing men who think they’re women to compete in women’s sports, or so many other ungodly ideologies. In fact, I know he won’t do this. He’s already verbally condemned the catholic bishops who’ve said he should be excommunicated for his radical handling of God’s Word in these particular arenas.

In the end, I guess I’m just going to continue to work with what I have—which means doing what I can to teach the students in the 7th and 8th grade at Our Savior Evangelical Lutheran School in Hartland, Michigan, the powerful contents of God’s Word. And as I do this, I’m going to do what I can to help carry them into a love for Biblical study, one that continues into adulthood. God willing, it’ll be a love that sees the value in taking time to wrestle with what God’s Word actually teaches, rather than relegating it to a thin scan and the shallow realm of “What does this mean to me?” as so many Christians are in the unfortunate habit of doing.