The collection of texts which make up the Bible (narrative, poetry, laws, prophecy, letters, parables, apocalyptic literature, etc.) are what we call meaning-making texts. Together, they offer a certain view of the relationship between divinity, humanity, and the cosmos. For hundreds and hundreds of years, people have sought to faithfully discern and follow what the biblical texts teach.
When we are looking for meaning or direction from a text, we come with specific questions. Perhaps we ask, "How should we live?" or more broadly, "What does this have to say to us?" For those of us taught to read the Bible as a guide to personal piety, our questions might focus on laws, behaviours, and avoiding sin. For those needing comfort, the questions might be, "What encouragement or reassurance is being offered?" When we find the biblical stories confusing or disturbing, we might ask, "What does this mean?" or "What am I supposed to do with this?" We might even ask, "Why isn't this easier to understand?"
All of these questions are valid, but not all are equal. Some questions serve to open things up and spark curiosity. Some questions impose presuppositions and limitations on the texts and reveal our biases. I have found that one of the best ways to keep my engagement with the scriptures fresh is to have a variety of good questions to bring to the texts. Below are three questions that I have found helpful when reading the Bible. All of them have caused me to view the texts differently and, as a result, discover insights I had previously overlooked.
1. How is the text critiquing the reader/hearer?
I came across this first question in Walter Brueggemann's inspiring book, The Prophetic Imagination. [1] Brueggemann describes what he identifies as the "royal consciousness" and notes how many of the prophets' messages were directed at critiquing this dominant force in ancient Israel. He identifies three main aspects of the dominant consciousness: a) economic affluence: a focus on being consumers instead of covenant people entering into free and loving relationships with God and others, b) politics of oppression: the exploitation of some for the benefit of others, and c) religion of control: a religion which emphasizes security and order, organized around a leader who is key to the purposes of God and above criticism.
Brueggemann uses the example of the reign of Solomon to unpack the implications of "royal consciousness," but its characteristics resonate with much of our dominant culture today. I was raised in the church and attended four years of Bible college. I don't recall ever being taught that one of the purposes of the Bible is to critique our unjust ways of living as a society. For the most part, we read the texts for evidence of our personal guilt and assurance of our personal salvation. When did we read about judgments or consequences of evildoing, we always seemed to identify with the righteous.
The Western church as a whole has a hard time accepting critique from the biblical texts. We are taught to identify with the chosen ones, the charismatic leaders, the innocent victims, and the prophets who expose evil. We seldom see ourselves in those who are being exposed for their duplicitous acts and their participation in oppressive systems. Most of us are conditioned to avoid critique, but critique simply asks us to imagine another way of being or acting. It is not condemnation; it is an invitation to transformation.
Brueggemann writes: "We ... are children of the royal consciousness. All of us, in one way or another, have deep commitments to it. ... We need to ask if our consciousness and imagination have been so assaulted and co-opted by the royal consciousness that we have been robbed of the courage or power to think an alternative thought." (p. 39)
2. How is the text energizing the reader/hearer?
This question is also from Brueggeman's work, The Prophetic Imagination, and is a corollary to his first point. Most of the time when the biblical prophets brought a stinging critique, they also offered a way to be energized, a way to step into the path of life again. The energizing, life-giving words found in the biblical texts were given to counteract the numbness and despair of the original hearers. The words have continued to serve this purpose for hundreds of years, especially when situations seem overwhelming and suffering is all around us. Words of life can redefine situations and bring hope, offering us ways of reimagining our contexts. Inspired words and stories can cultivate amazement and provide nourishment for our depleted souls.
Brueggemann says, "The language of amazement is against despair just as the language of grief is against the numbness." (p. 68) The prevalence of lament in the scriptures illustrates this. Grief is expressed, often creatively, but it is not suppressed. Lament keeps us from becoming numb to the pain present in our lives and the world. On the other hand, amazement and appreciation of beauty and goodness counteract the despair we can encounter. The biblical texts show us how to engage with grief in a life-giving way. We also find the texts calling us to pay attention to and appreciate the wondrous presence of love, hope, faith, mercy, and goodness in the world around us. The biblical texts energize us by telling stories of redemption, singing songs of hope, recounting the mysteries of creation, and so much more.
3. Who do I relate to in the text?
A few weeks ago, I came across a video that challenged and, to be honest, convicted me. In it, Janice Lagata comments on a recent sermon streamed from a popular megachurch. The preacher in question was a white woman and her talk was entitled, 'The God Who Sees Me." As you may expect, her talk was about the story of Hagar. In the sermon, she says: "Here is a woman at the lowest point in her life, in a wilderness place, feeling invisible and unseen and unimportant to others. ... I wonder today if you can see yourself in Hagar's story."
Janice, a Black woman, responds: "Yeah, I wonder too if you can see yourself in Hagar's story ... You, standing on this platform of this multimillion-dollar conglomerate, try to find any commonality with an enslaved girl of colour from any point in history. ... Imagine you, [a] wealthy white woman reading the story of Hagar and trying to see yourself in Hagar when Sarah is right there." [2]
Ouch. I have preached that sermon. I have asked privileged white people to identify with Hagar and her dire situation. I have taken the promises YHWH made to an enslaved young woman caught between life and death and applied them to myself, a middle-class, educated, property owner.
Janice invites her listeners to engage with the texts more honestly. "Within the story of Hagar is the reality of a woman [Sarah] who has been treated like property [by her husband], traded like property, participating in the treatment and trading of another woman as property. ... If we want to talk about the God who sees me, then we all need to be way more honest about who we actually look like in these stories."
We naturally identify with the hero of a story. We want to be the good guy, the beautiful princess, the brave warrior, the clever problem-solver, the one who saves the day, even the mistreated slave girl who gets special attention from God. But this innate desire to be at the centre of a narrative causes us to ignore our social location and all its implications. Most of us are not enslaved, not impoverished, not outcast, not under constant threat from law enforcement, and yet we identify with those characters in the biblical texts because those are the ones to whom God shows loving compassion. As Janice observes, we are not all enslaved Hebrews looking for freedom, some of us are bad Egyptians.
When I read about the encounters between Jesus and the Pharisees, it is tempting to think that I am team Jesus, but if I consider my social location, I have more in common with the respected, overbearing religious leaders than with a poor ex-carpenter living under an oppressive regime. In the story of Hannah praying and weeping bitterly in the Lord's house (1 Samuel 1), I have more in common with the dismissive and undiscerning priest, Eli, or Peninnah, the wife who considers herself superior to others, than with a barren woman taunted for her condition.
This third question invites us to 1) be aware of and acknowledge our social location and 2) read the biblical stories with more integrity and honesty. It challenges our impulse to automatically identify ourselves with those biblical characters who receive a special grace from God while ignoring all the disturbing factors (such as systems of oppression) which brought them to that point. It invites us to receive critique in a way that leads to transformation. And it invites us into even richer engagements with the biblical narrative.
These are but three of the many questions we can ask when we engage with the biblical texts, but they have proven to be especially helpful to me as I seek to divest myself of colonizing ways of reading the Bible. May they bear much good fruit for you as well.
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[1] Walter Brueggemann. The Prophetic Imagination, 2nd ed. (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2001).
[2] You can see the entirety of Janice's spicy response on her Instagram account: https://www.instagram.com/p/CTJ7dwmg35e/
Image from: goodreads.com
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