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 A Matter of Interpretation |
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16 July 2006 Many of you are familiar with the story of the pastor who makes an unannounced visit to one of his parishoners. He is sure the parishoner is home–the car is parked in the driveway, and he is certain he hears water running inside. But no matter how many times he knocks, there is no answer. Finally he gives up, and leaves his calling card, with “Revelations 3.20" penned on the back. He arrives home to find this message on his answering machine. “Genesis 3.10.” I can see several of you flipping to the passages in the Bible, but to help you along, Revelations 3.20 reads, “Listen! I am standing at the door, knocking; if you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in to you and eat with you, and you with me.” The answering machine message? Genesis 3.10: “I heard the sound of you in the garden, and I was afraid, because I was naked; and I hid myself.” That, my friends, is biblical interpretation. It is making the text our own, applying human understanding and experience to the printed word–admittedly in ways that pull it completely out of context. And as long as we recognize that our purposes are entirely humorous, there is no problem. That’s part of what makes it fun. But when we don’t recognize that pulling scripture from one entirely alien social and cultural context, one entirely alien political and economic system into an entirely different historical, cultural, social, political, and economic system–and then assume that we can understand its meaning simply because we are intelligent, literate beings, we are in deep trouble. Consider today’s reading from the gospel according to John. It includes the story of Jesus feeding the multitude–a story that is found in all four gospels. But there is at least one notable difference in the story as John tells it. In the other gospel accounts, it is the disciples who distribute the bread. In this gospel it is Jesus. Big deal, we think. But if we fail to look at that difference, we may fail to recognize John’s theological claim–that it is Jesus who feeds his followers at the Last Supper; it is Jesus who is our host, who feeds us in communion. Because that’s another element of this story. Every time we share communion, the “miracle” of this feeding of the multitudes takes place. Every time we come to the table, we each are fed; no one is left out. There is plenty for all, there is food to spare. In other words, the feeding of the multitudes works as a miracle story, but it works equally well as an extended metaphor for communion. In John’s gospel, Jesus is the host because Jesus is always the host at communion. John underscores this point with his references to the feast of the Passover. In the gospel according to Mark, chronologically the first of our gospels, the Passover isn’t even mentioned. Mark doesn’t share John’s theological agenda. In Mark, Jesus is still host–the multitudes will not be fed without his presence–but the disciples are equally empowered to minister. The disciples are told to feed the crowds; they serve the bread; they serve the fish. In Mark’s gospel, these disciples are given the authority to minister in the same way that they are sent out to teach and to heal just a few paragraphs before. In his profound and thought-provoking The Good Book, Peter Gomes asserts that biblical interpretation is impossible to avoid.[1,29] Consider Ephesians 5.22: Wives be subject to your husbands as you are to the Lord. Or again in Colossians 3.18, Wives, be subject to your husbands, as is fitting in the Lord. Or 1 Corinthians 7.21: Were you a slave when called? Do not be concerned about it. Even if you gain your freedom, make use of your present condition now more than ever. Who in this gathering would want to tackle any one of those apparently straight-forward and unambiguous passages without interpreting their historical and social context? Who here would want to weigh in on one of those passages without acknowledging our current historical and social context? In fact, who here really wants to weigh in on those passages at all? Do we really see them as absolute commands from God? Or are we far more likely to understand these texts as reflecting the perspectives and practices of a particular faith community in a particular era of time. We live in a time fraught with tensions around scripture and its interpretation. We recognize that for us, the practice of supposedly interpreting the Bible literally simply doesn’t work. For starters, there are too many contradictions within the biblical stories themselves. The old axiom, “not to decide is to decide” has a corollary: “not to interpret is to leave interpretation to others.” Gomes is clear: “interpretation is the fuel that drives understanding.”[1,33] But as Shakespeare would say, therein lies the rub. How can we understand–how can we have the joy even of playing with the text–as our preacher and intentionally-hidden parishoner do? How can we enter into the discussions raging about creationism or intelligent design or evolution if we do not also know our scripture so that we can interpret it? Or to look at another contemporary–and heartbreaking–issue, how can we hope to understand the passions behind the claims to Jerusalem and Palestine and Israel unless we know more about the Bible than that Jerusalem was the place where Jesus was crucified? Do we recognize, for example, the political and military expediency of David’s choice of that troubled capital city?...an expediency dramatized in today’s story from 2 Samuel. And in a move sure to raise the eyebrows of cynics, brings the key symbol of tribal unity–the Ark of the Covenant–to rest there. Civil religion has long roots. The apostle Paul says, “when I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child.”[2] A child’s knowledge of the scriptures serves a child well. But we don’t feed our children up to the age of 6 or 10 or 16, then say, “OK. I’ve fed you enough; you’ve eaten enough to last a lifetime.” It’s equally silly to commit ourselves to grow in the Christian faith–one of the affirmations we make at the time we join the church–and then fail to nurture it. I first joined the church on 27 February 1960. At the time, my minister told me: Christian faith is not something that stays still–but it moves. It demands maturity. So grow. Use (the scriptures) prayerfully. Work at your faith. Read (the scriptures); make (them) a part of you. Let God speak to you through (the scriptures) and you’ll find God speaking through you.[3] This is yet another layer of meaning in any one of the four gospels. Feeding the multitudes is both a physical and a spiritual necessity. The study of scripture and its interpretation is as urgent a task for people of faith as making sure we have food to eat. It’s vital–essential–that we make them a part of us. And that’s the gospel truth. *** [1] Peter J. Gomes, The Good Book, Avon Books, Inc., ©1996. |