Wednesday, January 9, 2019

Jesus in a Stable? How We Read the Bible

Obviously this essay comes a little late, as we are now past Christmas entirely.  However, a friend of mine posted this article early in Advent and I think it's worth consideration: Once More Jesus Was Not Born in a Stable.  I do not, though, think it is worth consideration in the same way most others who commented on the article do.  My friend and others thought the article proved a point about Jesus's actual birth arrangements while I said, "Who cares?  The meaning of the story remains the same."  With time to elaborate my position, here's a clarification why I do not think the word and socio-historical study found in the article matters at all.  It is perhaps best that you read the linked article before continuing.

Jesus was born in Bethlehem.  Matthew's version of the good news seems to assume that Mary and Joseph lived in Bethlehem prior to the birth.  In that version of the gospel we have no travel story from Nazareth to Bethlehem and Mary and Joseph are still in Bethlehem a year or two after the birth, when the magi arrive.  Those two pieces of evidence strongly imply that Mary and Joseph lived in Bethlehem and only came to Nazareth after having to flee Herod's wrath.  We're not dealing with Matthew's version here because the word in question is not used in the birth narrative, though it is important to keep in mind the general understanding of the narrative found even in Matthew: the birth of Jesus was not comfortable because his parents became refugees soon after.

Luke's version of the gospel, which does use the word kataluma (traditionally translated 'stable') in the narrative, makes the case of discomfort slightly more pronounced, at least prior to the birth.  While pregnant Mary has to travel quite a ways.  First she visits her cousin and then she travels to Bethlehem.  Often, with the advent of cars, we think of walking sixty to ninety miles as a massive undertaking.  It wasn't then and it isn't now.  Still, even then, there's the obvious understanding in Luke that traveling while pregnant is not exactly ideal.  To then be met with no available room, whether in an inn or in a family's house, would have been no doubt frustrating either way. 

Consider being pregnant near your due date, having traveled to a place just for a census, and then people don't make room for you.  If it's an inn we're talking about, that makes sense: people would have already paid; if it's a family's house we're talking about, it makes no sense, despite the attempt to argue Joseph and Mary surely would have been invited in by family.  Think about how you'd feel if your family, no matter how distant, saw how pregnant your wife is and said, "Oh, sorry, but your cousin Peter already took the guest bed.  You know how it is."  If the socio-historical argument that Joseph and Mary certainly would have been welcomed by family, but the house was already full because others had gotten there first for the census, is considered correct, then that is actually an act of extreme inhospitality for not kicking someone else out to make Mary more comfortable.  The foundations of the argument are actually contradictory.

Besides, the mention of the angels to the shepherds that finding a child lying in a manger will be a sign to them must be considered, too.  Putting a newborn child in a manger must have been surprising.  Otherwise it can't have been a sign.  If something unsurprising were the sign then the shepherds may have searched around the town forever and a day and never found Jesus.  That is especially true when we think again of the socio-historical argument: if everyone's homes were full, then Jesus may not have been the only child lying in a manger.  He may have been the only newborn lying in a manger but he can't possibly have been the only child wrapped snugly in a manger if we're to understand that everyone's homes were bursting due to an excess of hospitality.  Also, if the manger with the animals were inside the house, as Ian Paul argues, then that means the shepherds would have had to look inside every single person's home.  Hospitable society or not that seems a bit strange.  The story's implication is that the shepherds would have easily found the sign.  Essentially the problem is this: the socio-historical argument tries to explain what happened by describing the expected average of society at the time, but the story itself argues that we should dispense with the expected average because it was surprising.  The discomforting surprise is the sign to the shepherds.

(As a footnote, but not knowing how to do footnotes on a blog: Ian Paul, in the article, argues that since animals and therefore mangers were close to or inside the home that "stable" is the wrong translation.  I question that.  There's a reason that the second definition of the Greek word is to 'unloose or untie.'  Whether the word means a place to unloose or untie, or it means a spare room in a private dwelling, either way animals would be there.  In that case, our understanding of the word "stable" as a place where animals are still applies.  The issue, then, is not with the translation but with our understanding of how stables work.  Keeping animals in the stable away from the home is a very recent invention in the ultra-civilized West.  Through the 1800s, as I understand it, "stable" still would have had the appropriate meaning.  The argument is a little strange to me.)

There are further and more serious issues with the socio-historical argument which underpins the interpretation in the word study.  Already I have hinted at a literary contradiction within the story, if and only if the argument in the article is accepted.  That contradiction grows when we consider the wider context of salvation history as found in our scriptures.

Our story must return all the way back to David.  Appropriate, considering both birth narratives make it a point to connect Jesus to David through his geneaology, albeit in different ways.  Actually, our story must go further back into our salvation history but it's all related to David.  It's possible to use more passages as explanation here but I'll focus on the major ones.

In Judges 19, the people of Benjamin, of which Bethlehem is originally a part depending on which passages we use and how we draw the maps, prove more inhospitable than even the people of Sodom.  The people of Sodom threaten anal rape but do not have the opportunity to follow through.  The people of Benjamin, in Judges 19, do have the opportunity, raping and killing a fellow Israelite's concubine and leaving her dead outside.  What's worse about this act of extreme inhospitality is that the man had originally stopped outside Jebus, a non-Israelite town, and decided to continue on his journey for fear of not being welcomed.  Indeed, he wasn't welcome by the people of Gibeah at first either, with no one offering him a place in their home.  It was only when an older man came back from the fields, offered the man and his concubine a place to stay the night, that the people of Gibeah (of Benjamin) felt the need to make sure the man did not feel welcome by raping someone, either him or his property, his concubine.  Interestingly, the man's concubine is from Bethlehem.  The story ends with the man cutting his concubine into twelve pieces, sending it to the twelve tribes, asking, "Has anything like this ever happened since we came out from Egypt?"  Obviously the answer is, "No, how horrible," so the rest of Israel almost wipes out the tribe of Benjamin.

What Judges 19 teaches us is clear and simple: the rest of Israel did not like the tribe of Benjamin because of this act of inhospitality.  Judah is implicated, too, because the story implies that the concubine and her father, from Bethlehem in Judah, proved testy and difficult.  If we read Genesis well we'll know that the character of Judah was probably only marginally accepted by the rest of Israel, as well, because of his sexual encounter with his sister, Tamar.  The dislike that the rest of Israel definitely had for Benjamin and may have had for Judah would only grow with the coming kingdom.

Before the kingdom if Israel comes to fruition, God through the prophet Samuel tells the people quite clearly in 1 Samuel 8 that His chosen people do not need and should not have a king.  Having a king of Israel, God essentially argues, would mean a spiritual failing among the people of Israel.  Of course, God is not entirely surprised, since the episode in Judges 19 is the basically the story immediately prior to Israel's demanding a king.  Despite God's urging, the people of Israel demand a king anyway.  God gives in. 

We should notice, however, that 'the people of Israel' demanding a king may not have applied to the entirety of Israel.  The first two kings of Israel, before kingship is passed along by blood, Saul and David, are Benjaminites.  How strange is that considering what has so recently transpired with Benjamin?  More than that, Saul is said to reign in Gibeah, the offending town in the Judges story, for thirty-eight years.  Interesting.  Then, when David is first crowned king 'of all Israel' in Hebron, only the tribe of Judah is present (2 Samuel 2).  All the other tribes support Saul's son.  Only after Saul's son dies by assassination do the other eleven tribes claim David as king of 'all Israel.'  It should come as no surprise, then, that when Solomon's son Rehoboam comes to power over the kingdom of Israel that the ten tribes other than Judah and Benjamin come, with Jeroboam as their representative, to complain that they are being mistreated by the king, first by Solomon and now by Rehoboam.  Rehoboam rebuffs the people and the kingdom splits with the northern ten tribes taking the name, "Kingdom of Israel," and with Judah and Benjamin taking the name, "Kingdom of Judah."  Reading this story it is hard not to think it entirely possible that the tribes of Judah and Benjamin, the disliked tribes within Israel, are the ones who wrongly demanded a king, which simply added to the division between Judah/Benjamin and the other ten tribes.  Based on the trajectory of the tribal characters it makes sense that Judah and Benjamin would initiate a kingdom so opposed by God and the other tribes and that the other tribes would then need to rebel against the kingdom of Judah and Benjamin. 

One last story we should consider is that of Ruth.  In the Christian Bible, the book of Ruth is placed before the books of Samuel (the story of David) as if to propagandize David's lineage.  In the Hebrew Bible, however, the book of Ruth is placed in the section called Writings.  Many scholars argue that Ruth was written around the time of Ezra and Nehemiah when the prophets were advocating a cleansing of the Israel, meaning that foreigners be kept separate from true Israelites so that Israel could again be holy.  The prophets believed that the dissolution of Israel's character was due, in part, to taking non-Israelites as wives.  By placing the book in Writings, the Jewish people understood that the story is a fictional attempt to counter the prophets' argument--foreign wives, like Ruth, can actually have the character of the people of Israel.  It is the character of Israel most at stake in the book of Ruth.  Ruth's famed loyalty is actually not the point of the story except as one indication of what Israel's character can and should look like.  More importantly to the story's attempt to recapture the true nature of Israel's character, whether embodied by a foreigner like Ruth or not, is Boaz's hospitality shown to Ruth and Naomi.  Note well that Naomi and Ruth come home to... Bethlehem, a town of Judah (and, again, possibly Bethlehem according to a select few).  Bethlehem was known to be David's city, so connecting Ruth to David makes sense; but connecting the call to hospitality to Bethlehem, a town of one of the tribes the rest of Israel had come to know as inhospitable, is far more significant.  The writer of Ruth is arguing that even the two southern tribes of Judah and Benjamin can reclaim the character of Israel, and that doing so is more important than removing foreigners from Israel.

If we are going to understand the birth narrative we should first understand the above.  The issue is what true believers in God, those who want to be righteous according to the law and according to the true character of Israel, think of Benjamin and Judah, the southern kingdom, and David's reign.  Based on the literature of our salvation history written prior to Jesus's birth, it would appear that anyone wanting to be a true Israelite would probably stay away from the tribal lands of Judah and Benjamin and the sites of royalty, including Jerusalem and the temple, even while acknowledging those sites as important.  Perhaps Joseph and Mary, whom we read are both righteous, have purposely left their familial lands--at least according to Luke's version.  Perhaps Mary and Joseph acknowledge that their family's character, at least historically, will not positively influence their relationship with God.

More to the point, we must ask if Mary and Joseph would have been welcome by family, no matter how close, in Bethlehem, in a land in which the people of Israel have made clear in the accounts of our salvation history are not, actually, hospitable.  The assumption, socio-historically, is yes.  Maybe so.  But the assumption of our text in which we learn of our salvation history is probably not.  Indeed, Joseph and Mary may not have wanted to be welcome by a family whose lands they have left.  Whatever Mary and Joseph may have wanted, though, the text of our salvation history affirms Luke and Matthew's perspectives that the birth was probably uncomfortable and, then, the standard interpretation that Mary was more or less alone except for Joseph and some animals may be more appropriate.

A further indication that Mary and Joseph may not have wanted to, or at least may have expected not to, receive hospitality from Bethlehemites is Mary's own declaration of what was happening in her Magnificat.  Praise and glory be to God for looking on the lowliness of her servant and for uplifting the lowly, feeding the hungry, and sending the rich empty away.  The entire gospel according to Luke paints Jesus as comfortable with the lowly, as amongst the lowly (footnote: Take, for instance, the lawful offering noted by Luke in 2:22-24, the alternative offering for the poor), and serving the lowly and poor.  Personally I would also argue that the passages most difficult to read for those who value family are emphasized in Luke's version of the gospel, as in, "my brothers and sisters are the ones who follow my Word," and "you must hate father and mother, brother and sister, etc. to be my disciple."  If I'm right about that, then the other story of Jesus's childhood in Luke's version, that of his being left behind in the temple, fits right in: Jesus himself may consider himself a loner (footnote: Again, personally, I'd argue that Luke emphasizes how often Jesus goes off by himself to pray more than other versions of the gospel.).  We're focusing here more on Luke's version because of its role in the stable debate but if we combine the refugee story in Matthew, again, the picture we get from the narrative is that of lowliness and separateness, perhaps to the point of loneliness, for Jesus's parents and possibly Jesus himself.  What that means is that the story would be arguing for Jesus's birth to occur in near solitude, away from family, because, as Mary herself acknowledges, the child to be born will redeem such humiliations.  According to the story of salvation history, we should assume inhospitality and discomfort before we assume anything else, and not be afraid of such readings because Jesus has taken on that loneliness, discomfort, and disgrace.  At no point does the story support a reading in which Jesus and his parents are welcomed during the birth.

According to my reading, then, it is far more appropriate to still think of Jesus's birth occurring in a stable than not to.  I do not argue that the reason is because Jesus no doubt was born in a stable, whether it's how we currently understand a stable or not, nor do I argue that the reason is because it is easier to accept our traditions as they are.  Rather, I argue that the meaning of the story of Jesus's birth and how the story tells us who Jesus is and will be, as understood by the text itself, is best understood by modern minds by thinking of Jesus as born in a stable.

My reading of the birth narrative clearly depends on a wider, literary reading of the Bible itself, trying to understand the full context of the story in salvation terms as told to us by God Himself through our scripture.  The other reading, in Ian Paul's article, assumes a socio-historical approach: what were the times like, what did this word most often mean and how does it apply to my approach?  The tricky part about interpretation is that we often can't assume one approach is right and the other is wrong.  Without question Ian Paul's word study and socio-historical rendering of the story is interesting.  Interesting, certainly, but to reprise my former and original question, should we care?

The way I see it, Paul's socio-historical approach assumes that historical generalities apply even when something as surprising and shocking as the birth of our Savior occurs.  If we agree with such an assumption, then perhaps we should care about his argument that Jesus was not (despite the contradictions in the argument itself) born in a stable or anything approaching a stable.  My literary approach, however, assumes that God speaks to us about the meaning and means of salvation through scripture.  And in so assuming, I am more concerned with the meaning that the stories have to speak to us (footnote: By the way, part of Paul's defense is that other scholars have been making the argument for a long time.  He goes back to, you guessed it, the time when the socio-historical approach first starting gaining serious tracking.  I bring it up because without knowing it he argues my point, that before that people were less concerned with his approach and more concerned with the overall meaning of the story and of salvation history.).  Paul's general question of whether it is good to challenge assumptions and traditions is absolutely correct.  But to further imply that one's challenge is actually 'right' is not at all correct.  There are different ways of reading the Bible.  Of course, in this particular case I think the socio-historical approach is out of place and fairly weak, especially compared to my literary-contextual approach which takes into account the character and history of the people of Israel through God's lens.  At the end of the day, though, even I have to admit that it is up to each of us individually how to "get it right." 

So who cares whether Jesus was born in a stable or not?  Not I, because with or without that fact I can read quite clearly the meaning of salvation history through Jesus's birth: he comes to live amongst and as the lowly and outcast, the poor and alone, so as to bring salvation to all of God's children.

(And as a tangent added on to this essay: Those most interested in challenging traditions and assumptions through a socio-historical approach and the related word study concerned with Jesus's birth seem, to me, to not know how to read the Bible in other ways.  Not only that, but they seem hell-bent on limiting the surprise, shock, and pure awesomeness of Christmas in an attempt to make it only about what historically is assumed to have happened.  Another example is the recent attack on the song, "Mary, Did You Know?"  Based on a cursory reading of Luke 1, people say, "Yes, of course she knew, so let's stop singing this song which is about the mystery of salvation through Christ."  Other than pointing out that there are questions in that song that Mary almost certainly did not know, it's critical to point out that the meaning of the words/phrases "ponder" and "treasured in her heart" used so frequently in relation to Mary and Joseph before Jesus's adulthood suggest that Mary did not know.  Mary heard, yes, but did not know.  Over and over again Mary seems taken aback by who her child is going to be and is.  Herein lies faith.  Like if someone came and told you that your son will be a famous singer one day because of how he cries in infancy, you may hear that but not fully grasp how it could be possible.  Salvation in hindsight is still too much for us to fully grasp, let alone know; so prophesied salvation through an as-yet unborn child, or an as-yet not adult child, especially when it is your own, would surely be too much to fully grasp.  Taking the text in an historical sense, yes, Mary knew.  But I am sad for those who take such a limited approach.  They are missing the joyful response of faith, that believes even when we don't understand, that hopes even when we don't know, that rejoices even when we don't see, that follows even when the destination is only promised.  Mary did all of that in her faith, not in her knowledge.  We should do the same.)

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