Verbs Have Voices?: Greek Geekery, Part 2

**Warning: Linguistic nerdiness to follow. Proceed at your own risk.

It's been a few months since I've posted, but this post is continuing the Greek Geekery commenting on how knowing some biblical (Koine) Greek can sometimes illuminate new and otherwise unknown avenues of meaning.

For many who love the Bible, the inevitable ambiguity with interpreting, understanding, and applying it in daily life brings frustration and sometimes the temptation to find whatever one wants to in its pages. Indeed, we come to any text with assumptions and expectations, but that primed preconception can too easily lead down the slippery slope of making the Bible mean whatever we want it to mean. Even the most well-intentioned and careful interpreters lapse into unconsciously creating the text in their own image. This projection is a ubiquitous roadblock that serious Bible students and people of faith know about and avoid as much as possible.

One way to check our personal preferences and projections is to ground our interpretation of the texts in their historical and cultural context, which partly means language study. In the case of the New Testament, this means Greek. While historical and linguistic study is not a guarantee of objective or perfect understanding of biblical texts (that ideal isn't truly viable), but it at least provides a variety of expertly informed perspectives with the common interest of discovering "what really happened" using the best investigative tools available today. 

What follows is simply an appropriately edited email correspondence between myself and a new student who was interested in Greek but had never taken a course. It is an example of how linguistics and semantics place logical limitations on what the text can mean.

Query from student:

Dr. Jesse,

In Matthew 7:7 it is written: "Ask, and it will be given to you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened for you" (NRSV). Usually, the for is translated as to. What puzzled me was it seemed that 'given to' and 'opened to' would indicate that there’s something active outside of the Self.  

I dug a little deeper. In the Greek original the words for 'to give' and 'to open' are 'dothesetai' and 'anoigesetai'. What's interesting is the form that both conjugations take, which is called the 'middle voice'. The 'middle voice', according to the description in the Strong's Concordance, indicates the subject performing an action upon himself (reflexive action) or for his own benefit. Furthermore, the word for 'you', humin, comes from 'humeis' which is translated to 'to (with or by) you or yourselves'.

So, taking these realizations into account, the passage would more likely be understood as: "Ask, and you'll give it upon yourself, search, and you will find, knock, and you will open the door for yourself." What do you think?

Thanks,

Student

Here was my answer to the student:

Dear Student,

The issue you bring up is a delightfully interesting and observant one, but answering it requires drawing on a lot of nuance and complexity of Koine Greek grammar and syntax to give a sound response. Here goes...

You rightly point out that the verbs used in Mt.7:7 are dothesetai and anoigesetai. And, yes, they are expressed here in what is known as the middle voice. (Aiteite kai dothesetai humin, zeteite kai euresete, krouete kai anoigesetai humin.) More specifically, they are both third person singular future middle perfect indicative. And voice simply refers to the relationship between the subject and verb in the sentence. With the active voice the subject does the action of the verb, while with the passive voice the subject receives the action of the verb. 

The classical definition of middle voice is that the action of a verb in some way affects the subject (often called the 'self-interested nuance of the middle’). Every primer on Classical and Koine Greek I know about and have consulted claims that the middle voice doesn't precisely and solely express the reflexive idea. If the subject of the verb performs an action to his/her/itself (in this instance: 'it will be given' and 'the door will be opened', 'it' and 'door' are the subjects), Greek usually requires the reflexive pronoun (hautou), which is not used here in Mt. 7:7. Rather, in the middle voice, the subject ('it', 'the door') does the action of the verb ('will be given', 'will be opened') to the direct object (both verbs use humin, the second person dative plural = 'to you all'), yet it is implied that the verb action somehow affects the subject ('it', 'the door').

Therefore, in one sense you are correct that there is a 'self-interested' or 'reflexive' sense to the middle voice, but this would not be applied to the direct object (humin, 'to you all'), but rather to the subject of the sentence ('it', 'the door'). So, if you wanted to explicitly render this element of reflexivity into this passage it would read: 'Ask, and it itself will be given to you. . .knock and the door itself will be open to you.' 

To translate the passage the way you suggest ('Ask, and you'll give it upon yourself. . .knock, and you will open the door for yourself) would be to completely disregard not only the implications of the middle voice of both verbs but, more importantly, the correct declension and syntactic position of the pronoun (humin), which in this sentence is clearly the direct object (not the subject) and which is second person dative plural (‘to you all’). 

Now, that's Koine Greek grammar and translation. Then there's the issue of exegesis, which is the next step and is a rather different enterprise. How we interpret, theologize, and make meaning from this proper translation from the Greek is a distinct, though very much related, matter. It's totally possible to understand all of this subject-verb-object activity as symbolically happening within one's own consciousness , without an external agent involved (depending on one’s theological assumptions and orientation). It's also equally possible to view it as happening in the realm of relationships between individuals and God inter-personally. That's the exciting, beautiful, and frustratingly ambiguous nature of language and interpretation. 

Yet, here’s the point I want to emphasize:  If we are really intent on taking the Bible seriously, that is, interested in what it communicates to us, then we must begin with its (original) languages and historical context.  This means starting with the attitude of opening ourselves up to what the Bible has to say on its own terms first, rather than conforming it to what we want it to mean according to our own personal tastes.

Responsible biblical interpretation lays a firm foundation for constructing theological interpretations that are not only attuned to our own place in life, but also soundly grounded historically and linguistically in the actual text itself. Otherwise, why even use the scriptures unless it's simply for proof-texting and amassing support for one's own interests and aims? 

I hope the Greek explanation wasn't too terribly tedious, but the nature of the question begged a rather technical answer. I encourage you to continue furthering your interest in Greek language of the Bible. It's intellectually satisfying and spiritually enriching!

Grace and peace to you,

Dr. Jesse

What's with an Article?: Greek Geekery, Part 1

**Warning: Linguistic nerdiness to follow. Proceed at your own risk.

This term I've been teaching a seminary elective course called "Biblical Greek for Ministry". In it we are taking a look at ambiguous, interesting, and/or controversial passages in the New Testament and exploring the ways in which the Greek illuminates new avenues of interpretive possibility that simply isn't apparent in the English translation. It's a challenging but very rewarding endeavor, and one that I'll be sharing here in a couple posts. 

The great Protestant Reformer, Martin Luther, saw study of the original scriptural languages as crucial to understanding and experiencing the Gospel of Jesus Christ: 

Let us be sure of this: we will not long preserve the gospel without the languages. The languages are the sheath in which this sword of the Spirit [Eph. 6:17] is contained; they are the casket in which this jewel is enshrined; they are the vessel in which this wine is held; they are the larder in which this food is stored. . . . If through our neglect we let the languages go (which God forbid!), we shall . . . lose the gospel. ("To the Councilmen of All Cities in Germany That They Establish and Maintain Christian Schools," 1525)

Should every single Christian clergy, scholar, and layperson endure the rigor of learning these languages? Probably not. However, there is a directness to reading any text in the language in which it was originally written that reading a translation simply doesn't convey. As one of my past biblical Greek professors used to say, "Reading a translation is like kissing your lover through a screen door; it's the same act but a very different sensation." Having some Bible nerds around who have done the hard work of language study provides a valuable resource for other clergy, scholars, and laity in the creative process of discovering new, practical understanding and meaning for today.

I'd like to share an example to get the ball rolling. One principle that you learn when studying biblical Greek is the significance of the presence or absence of the article. In English, we have both a definite ("the") and indefinite ("a/an") article. In Greek, there's only the article, which is like our definite article (the indefinite is implied when the article is absent). 

The basic function of the Greek article is to point out a definite, particular, known something, to call attention to it, or to emphasize it. When the article is present it means that the writer wants to distinguish that individual something from other things like it. And when the Greek article isn't present that's equally important. It means that the emphasis is more on the general quality or character of the noun. If the author wants to talk about "what something's like" s/he would usually not use the article. 

Let's look at Matthew 5:3, which of course is the very beginning of Jesus' Sermon on the Mount, the "Beatitudes." The text says,

Makarioi hoi ptōchoi tō pneumati, hoti autōn estin hē basileia tōn ouranōn.

Blessed     the poor      in the spirit,  for  theirs   is   the kingdom of the heavens. 

Looking for the articles in the text, I've noted them in red. Let's just focus on the first two: "Blessed (are) the poor in the spirit." There are Greek articles present before "poor" and "spirit." At first this may not seem significant, but remember that the presence of the article in Greek has a very particular emphasis. 

"The poor" means that the writer isn't talking about "poverty" in general. If this is what he wanted to say then the article would've most likely been omitted to focus on the quality or character of "poorness." Instead, the article is present, so the reference is specifically to "the poor," a particular known group of people that the writer has in mind and assumes the audience recognizes. What is being called blessed is not poverty itself as a socio-economic condition, but rather the human beings, the individual persons who happen to find themselves oppressed by a system of injustice and domination. 

"The spirit" carries a similar kind of meaning. The writer isn't talking about some general, abstract, unknown spirit. It's the spirit - the Spirit of God that the writer and audience know about, the presence of God's Spirit at work in the people. Those considered "nobodies" by those in power, those squeezed out of society as human "junk" are blessed and find blessing through the Spirit of God always moving in and among them. 

This is simply one example of how looking at the Greek original can open different dimensions of understanding that would either be missed or unavailable otherwise. May the illumination of this kind of reflection help us further experience the presence of God in Christ, uplifting and transforming us in new powerful ways. 

The New Life of Easter

"So if anyone is in Christ, there is a new creation: everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!" (2 Corinthians 5:17)

There's an old story, found in different versions, about a monastery that had fallen upon hard times. It was once a great order, but because of persecutions and general disinterest it had dwindled to the extent that there were only five monks left in the decaying main house: the abbot and four others, all over seventy in age. It seemed to be a dying order.

In the deep woods surrounding the monastery there was a little hut that was often used as a hermitage by a rabbi from a nearby town. Through their years of prayer and contemplation the old monks had become intuitive enough to be able to sense when the rabbi was in his hermitage. "The rabbi is in the woods. He's in the hut again," they would whisper to each other. 

In his distress at the thought of his dying order, it dawned on the abbot that he might visit the hermitage and ask the rabbi if he could offer any advice that might save the monastery. The rabbi welcomed the abbot into his hut, but when the abbot explained the purpose of his visit, the rabbi could only commiserate with him. "I know what you're going through," he said. "The people have no more spirit. It is the same in my town. Almost no one comes to the synagogue anymore." So the old abbot and the old rabbi wept together, read some of the Torah, and bonded in conversation. When the time came for the abbot had to leave he said, "It has been a wonderful thing that we should meet after all these years, but I have still not asked what I came here to ask you. Is there anything at all you can tell me, any advice you can give me that would help save my order?"

"No, I am sorry," the rabbi replied. "I have no advice to give. The only thing I can tell you is that the Messiah is one of you."

When the abbot returned to the monastery his fellow monks gathered around him to ask about what the rabbi said. The abbot answered, "Well, he couldn't help. We just cried and read the Torah together. He did say one thing just as I was leaving -- something very strange and cryptic. He told me that the Messiah is one of us. But I have no idea what he meant by that."

In the days and weeks that followed, the old monks pondered this and wondered whether there was any significance to the rabbi's words. "The Messiah is one of us? Could he possibly have meant one of us monks here? If so, who? Do you suppose he meant the abbot? Yeah, if he meant anyone, it was probably Father Abbot. He has been our leader for more than 30 years. Yet, he might have meant Brother Thomas. Brother Thomas is a holy man, and everyone knows he's a man of light. Well, he couldn't have meant Brother Stephen! Stephen gets cantankerous and crotchety at times. But come to think of it, even though he's a pain sometimes, when you look at it, he's pretty much always right. Often very right. Maybe the rabbi did mean Brother Stephen. But surely not Phillip. Brother Phillip is so quiet, a real nobody. Yet, almost mysteriously, he has a gift for somehow always being there when you need him. He just magically appears by your side. Maybe Phillip is the Messiah. Of course, the rabbi couldn't have meant me. No way, I'm just an ordinary person. Yet supposing he did?... Suppose I am the Messiah? O God, not me. I couldn't be that much for You, could I?"

As they reflected on it like this, the old monks began to actually live differently. They started to treat each other with great respect and kindness on the off chance that one among them might be the Messiah. And on the off off chance that each monk himself might be the Messiah, they began to treat themselves with great respect and kindness, as well.

Because of the beautiful forest surrounding the place, people still occasionally came to visit the monastery to picnic, to walk the paths, and even sometimes to go into the dilapidated chapel to meditate. Without really being aware, they sensed the aura of great respect and kindness that now began to surround the five old monks and radiated out from them to permeate the whole place. People began to come back to the monastery more frequently to picnic, play, and pray. They began to bring their friends to show them this special place. And their friends brought their friends. And so on...

Some of the younger men who came to visit started talking more frequently with the old monks. Eventually, one asked if he could join them. Then another. And another... Within a few years the monastery had once again become a thriving order and a vibrant center of light, life, and love -- all thanks to the rabbi's gift. 

*****

This Holy Week, as we approach Easter, the crux of the church calendar and Christian faith, let us consider the many ways by which the resurrection into new life comes. Let us reflect on the plurality of forms by which new life in Christ shows up in our own lives. Sometimes Easter appears in the most unlikely of places and through the most improbable of means. 

There’s a post-resurrection account of Jesus in the Gospel of Luke that really speaks to me. It’s often called the Road to Emmaus. These two guys, Jesus’ followers, are walking to Emmaus, just outside of Jerusalem on the third day after the crucifixion. Jesus appears and begins walking and talking with them. But these guys don't recognize him as Jesus. Along the way Jesus kind of chides them about not understanding that the Messiah is supposed to suffer before entering into glory.  

The men urge Jesus to stay with them for the evening because it's getting late. So he goes in to stay with them. Now, here’s the climax, and the part that really touches me: 

“When he was at he table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then, their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight.” (Lk. 24:30-31)

These men didn’t see the risen Jesus, right away. They didn’t see him until -- table fellowship, the breaking of bread with one another. Isn’t this true also in our lives today?


In times of building community, in giving-and-receiving, in finding ways to embrace each other with respect and kindness -- even when it's difficult -- we experience the perfect pattern of God’s Love, just as Jesus Christ demonstrated. When we break bread with each other and support one another in fellowship (warts and all), when we are really present with each other in joys and sorrows, we rise into a new awareness of Christ's presence within and among us. This is resurrection. 

All of this is possible because we are, at the core, blessed and beloved children of God, created with inherent dignity and worth as imago dei, encoded in our spiritual DNA. We are living presences embodying Jesus Christ in the world, writing new possibilities for humanity, individually and communally as the Body of Christ. 


As we remember and celebrate the risen Christ this Easter, may we also envision the many avenues -- great and small -- by which this Easter experience brings the gift of new life.

Limits to Our Love? (Lent 2016)

"And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these you did it to me.’" (Matthew 25:40)

Here is a parable adapted from The Orthodox Heretic (Paraclete, 2009) by philosopher and theologian Peter Rollins. which invites us into deeper reflection on our Lenten journey:

In the center of a great city there was a spectacular cathedral cared for by a gentle old priest who spent all his time praying and caring for the poor. Because of the priest's tireless work, the cathedral became known throughout the land as a real sanctuary -- a place where all who come find a true welcome. To the priest, every stranger who visited was a neighbor in need and therefore the presence of Christ. His hospitality was notorious and everyone experienced the purity of his heart.

Early one winter evening, during a great snow storm, while the priest was in prayer, there was a loud and ominous knock on the cathedral door. "Boom, boom, boom..." it echoed throughout the corridors. The priest got to his feet and quickly walked to the entrance, since he knew it was a blizzard out there and thought this visitor would be in need of shelter. 

When the priest opened the door he witnessed before him a terrifying demon, towering over him with huge, black dead eyes and stinking, rotting flesh. "Old man," hissed the demon, "I have traveled a thousand miles to seek your shelter. Will you welcome me in?" 

Promptly, the priest intently welcomed the demon into the church. The hideous demon stooped down and stepped across the threshold, spitting venom onto to floor as he walked. Right in front of the priest, the demon began tearing down the various icons and fine linens adorning the sanctuary, all the while shouting blasphemies and curses. The priest simply prayed silently on the floor continuing his devotions until it was time to retire for the night.

"Old man, where are you going?," growled the demon.

"I'm going home to rest," said the priest.

"May I come with you? I too am tired and need a place to lay my head for the night," spat the demon.

"Of course," replied the priest. "Come over and I'll fix us some dinner."

The priest cooked them a simple meal while the demon mocked him and trashed all the religious artifacts in his humble abode. After dinner the demon turned to the priest, "Old man, you welcomed me first into your church and then into your home. Now, will you welcome me into your own heart?" 

Of course," said the priest, "what I have is yours and what I am is yours." 

The honesty and warmth of these words stopped the demon cold, since by giving everything the priest had kept the very thing the demon wanted to take: his compassion and hospitality. So the demon fled with defeat, never to return.

No one knows what actually happened to the demon after this encounter. But, the priest? Well, he just got into bed, drifted off to sleep, pondering what form his Christ would take next.

At first glance, this seems to be a simple story about the moral importance of kindness. Yet, the more I dig deeper and continue reflecting on this parable the more it transforms into a call pushing me to the very edges of my Christian faith. It beckons my gaze to the limits and conditions of love and hospitality.

Many speak about the "unconditional love of God," which surely seems to be demonstrated allegorically here in this parable, the kindly priest embodying the limitless, unconditional compassion and welcome of God's Kin-dom, even in the face of the worst in this world. Yet, this story brings to our attention the many ways in which we simply don't (or simply aren't able yet) live out the radical love of God as imaged in the life of Jesus Christ. What or who are the "demons" in our lives, those things, events, people, etc. that are so hard to love and welcome into our lives as Jesus did?

At the same time we know that the Kin-dom love of Jesus isn't about agreeing with everything and everyone we encounter. This love isn't even really about being nice all the time. Jesus recognized times when he needed to wake people up to God and the way of the Kin-dom by being rather biting in his critique of people and the systems of oppression in which they were complicit (e.g., overturning tables of money-changers and those buying and selling doves -  Mk. 11:15–19, Mt. 21:12–17, Lk. 19:45–48; Jn. 2:13–16). There were times he even came to the point of calling them names to roust them out of their complacent slumber -- "fools" (Mt. 23:17), "hypocrites" (Lk. 11:44), "vipers" (Mt. 23:33), "whitewashed tombs" (Mt. 23:27). It is possible to love people without always agreeing with them or condoning morally reprehensible behavior and activity. 

Even so, this parable stetches us beyond our comfort zones and beyond the fuzzy warm feelings of what it means to live inclusively. None of this is easy. Love is not always easy. 

The question remains for me: To what extent am I personally and are we as the church (the Body of Christ) collectively able to welcome those who are different from and maybe even have views that are hateful or contemptible to us? What are the limits and conditions of our inclusivity and welcome?

The apostle Paul tells us, "For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 8:38-39)

Jesus Christ shows us that God's Spirit calls and empowers us to continually find new ways of loving others, enacting God's love, even when we dislike their views or conduct. Indeed, we are not called to ignore inequality and injustice, but rather advocate for equality and justice in the name of Jesus. And, the love of God in Christ refocuses our vision to see through these realities into the core truth of imago dei -- that each and every one of us as a human being is a beloved child of God with integrity and self-worth.

May we more fully live into this spiritual insight during our Lenten walk.

Attuning to Our Treasure (Lent 2016)

There was once a thief who used to hang around the precious stones district in the marketplace to see who was purchasing gems so that he could pickpocket them. One day, a well-known diamond merchant bought the largest, most beautiful stone, and the thief followed him onto a train. During their 3-day journey, the thief tried to pick the merchant’s pocket to obtain the diamond; yet, at the end of their journey, he hadn’t been able to find this rare, precious jewel.

Frustrated, he finally confronted the merchant and confessed, “I’ve used all the skills of my art. How did you hide it from me?”

“Well,” said the merchant, “I saw you watching and suspected your intention, so I hid the diamond in a place you’d be least likely to look … your own pocket!”

Now in our second week after Ash Wednesday this Lent, I've been ruminating on this little parable. The treasure we seek is closer than we might imagine. It’s not out there somewhere; it’s not based on outer circumstances; it’s not about looking for validation in someone else’s treasure:  It’s in the heart, in the core of our being, in the awareness of God’s presence, always there and available to us as God’s precious beloved.

“See, I am making all things new.” (Revelation 21:5) 

As we continue further into the Lenten journey, we might ask ourselves: What am I ready to bring into fruition? How is my inner treasure going to come forth? How am I becoming more alive, awake, and attuned in my faith and spirituality?

Lent doesn't have to be all about dwelling on the weaknesses of our mortal condition, even though we do often fall short of our potential as God's beloved creatures. Rather, Lent can be an opportunity to open up more fully to the treasure of God's love in Jesus Christ, a love that is within and among us. May we find ways to explore new avenues of embodying this Divine treasure on our unfolding Lenten journey.

Grace and peace in Christ.

Re-launching the Blog with Brother Andrew

This blog has been dormant for a couple years now, and for no other reason than laziness and busy-ness. In an effort to revitalize my creativity and provide an avenue to share ideas, I'm starting again. 

To kick off this venture, I've decided to share a rather well-known story I often tell in my Bible classes at Unity Institute and Seminary, especially when we discuss textual criticism. Textual criticism is the important and rigorous work of critically comparing and analyzing all ancient manuscripts of a particular text in order to reconstruct the most probable wording of the original document. A very significant task!

So, without further adieu, here's the story about the good Brother Andrew:

Brother Andrew lived in Ireland in the 8th Century and he had studied at what was the equivalent of a seminary back then. And when he got done studying, the president of the seminary sent him on to a monastery where he was to spend the rest of his days as a monk.

Now, Brother Andrew was the sort of guy who was very detail-minded, and he wasn’t given to teamwork or socializing. In other words, he was really anal.

Andrew met the abbot of the monastery who knew of his education, and said, "I have just the job for you, young man. You’re going to be copying out the bylaws of our monastery. We’ll put you in the scriptorium. We’ve got a couple copies. Nobody’s done this work in decades. So you just kind of compare the manuscripts and copy them accurately as you can."

Andrew was excited to go and do this work. He goes to the scriptorium, starts copying out these manuscripts, and then about 45 minutes later… [knocking] The abbot hears a knock on his door.

Brother Andrew opens the door and says, "Holy Father, I think there’s a discrepancy between these documents. Have you got some older ones that I can look at?" The abbot said, "Yes, we do. We haven’t seen these in a long, long time. But we have some that are a couple hundred years older than the ones you’re working with."

The abbot showed him where those manuscripts were, Brother Andrew started copying those out. Again, 45 minutes later… [knocking] Another knock at the door.

"Holy Father, there’s still some discrepancies. Have you got anything older that I could look at?" And the Holy Father sized him up and said, "Man, this guy really is meticulous." And so he said, "I’m going to let you do something that I’ve never let a new monk ever do in the history of this monastery. I’m going to take you into the bowels of the library, down a winding path, to the subterranean archives room where we have the original documents. Nobody has seen these in centuries."

So he took him down there and said, "Go ahead and start copying out the original bylaws of the monastery." And the abbot went back to his office.

About 30 minutes later, all of the sudden, his door was pounded on by many fists. All the rest of the monks were at his door and they said, "Holy Father, this new monk has gone berserk. You’ve got to come see what’s going on."

They all run down into the bowels of the library, and they see Andrew in there shaking his fist, weeping and wailing.

The abbot asked, “What’s the matter young man?”

"They left out the letter ‘r.’"

The abbot thought, "Man, this guy really is particular."

Brother Andrew cried, "The word is supposed to be ‘celebrate.’"