Book Write-Up: Miriam, by Mesu Andrews

Mesu Andrews.  Miriam.  Colorado Springs: WaterBrook, 2015.  See here to buy the book.

Miriam is the second book of Mesu Andrews' "Treasures of the Nile" series, which is about Moses.  The first book of the series was The Pharaoh's Daughter, and it was about Moses in his infancy and young adulthood.  One can probably read and understand Miriam without having read The Pharaoh's Daughter.  Still, Miriam does refer to characters and events of the preceding book.

Miriam focuses on Moses' sister, Miriam.  It goes up to the time immediately after the crossing of the Red Sea.  Miriam is rather elderly in this book.  The Hebrews are still in Egypt, and Miriam is a prophetess to the Israelites and to the Egyptians.  She receives dreams from the Hebrew God, El Shaddai, and she shares those dreams with others.  She is respected in Egypt.  Her nephew, Eleazar, a son of her brother Aaron, works in the court of Egypt.  He is a guide to Prince Ram, one of the sons of Pharaoh Ramesses.

I cannot say that I was particularly drawn to the characters.  Plus, this was a book that I had to read carefully, otherwise I would miss what was going on.

Despite all of that, I liked this book.  I am definitely open to reading other books by Mesu Andrews in the future.

Why?  Because I have never quite seen the Exodus story told in this way. 

For one, Andrews presents flawed characters.  Aaron is rather shallow, selfish, and boorish, and his wife is just like him.  Aaron thinks that Moses has become too hungry for power and notoriety.  Aaron is also dismissive of his son Eleazar, and the two of them do not get along with each other. 

Miriam is insecure after Moses' return to Egypt.  The good old El Shaddai who long comforted her in her spinsterhood is no longer communicating with her, at least to the same extent.  God now goes by a new name, "Yahweh," and he speaks clearly to Moses.  Miriam feels abandoned by God, but she learns to see God's care for her in new ways.

Eleazar does not know what to make of the God of Israel.  He is somewhat gratified that this God is knocking the Egyptian royals off their high horse, while fearing that this God will punish him for his lack of piety.  But he notices the toll that God's plagues have taken on people.  He questions whether this God is a God of compassion, one who deserves worship.  Eleazar also struggles socially, in that he does not always know what to say to people.  This is particularly the case with Taliah, who becomes his wife.  Eleazar is worldly-wise in that he knows and fears what the Egyptians can do.  He realizes that he has a higher status and more freedom than other Israelites, yet sometimes he feels even more enslaved than the others. 

Then there is Moses, who does not even want to be there.  Moses struggles at times with God's activity, especially since the first three plagues not only harmed the Egyptians, but  the Israelites as well.  His own elderly parents died because they were weakened from one of the plagues.  Because the Nile was blood, the water was heavily rationed, and that affected Moses' parents.

Many tellings of the Exodus depict the heroes as somewhat flawed, but Mesu Andrews takes this to a new level.  In this book, all sorts of interests struggle to adjust to new realities, amidst their human foibles.

Second, Andrews highlights details that are often absent from other Moses stories.  There are the many Egyptians who honor Moses because they are seeing the power of his God.  There is the question of their theological views: do they now see Moses' God as the only one, or as one of many?  This question would loom large when the plague of the firstborn was about to take place, and Egyptians were wrestling with whether they should join the community of Israel through circumcision.  The book also depicts the Pharaoh as inconsistent for allowing the Nubians to go off and worship their god, but not the Israelites.

This book is not The Ten Commandments.  It is not The Prince of Egypt.  It is different.  It wrestles with spiritual themes that many other retellings of the Exodus story do not address.  If you are looking for that, especially during this Passover season, then this book is for you.

I received a complimentary Advance Reading Copy for review purposes from the publisher through Blogging for Books, in exchange for an honest review.

Wanderlust: The Parable of the Prodigal Son, Star Trek, and Philo

At church this morning, the pastor preached about the Parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11-32). Earlier in the service, there was a skit about the parable.

The pastor made a point about the parable that overlaps with other themes that I have encountered this week. The themes relate to happiness and struggle.

The pastor was saying that the younger brother of the parable obviously had wanderlust. Granted, the younger brother took that wanderlust in inappropriate directions. Still, his desire to experience new things and to see the world was understandable. In the skit, the younger brother was reading a National Geographic, commenting on how he wanted to see the world. The pastor speculated that the boy’s father may have envied the boy: the father may have wanted to see the world himself, but he could not because he was taking care of the farm.

The pastor also commented on the older son, the one who dutifully stayed behind with his father. The older son was expecting to inherit the farm, and he resented the younger son coming back and being welcomed with open arms. According to the pastor, the older son may have had tunnel-vision because he had not seen the world, as the younger son did.

The pastor said that maybe God has given us wanderlust, since that is what motivates us to explore and to discover. The pastor referred to the astronaut who recently returned to earth.

The pastor said other things about the parable, things that are more conventional in sermons about it. But I am focusing on the wanderlust part because it is a topic that has been in my mind over the last few days.

Last night, I saw an episode of Star Trek entitled “This Side of Paradise.” In this episode, there is a planet where there is radiation killing off life, and yet the people there are alive, healthy, and happy. The reason is that spores from certain flowers are giving them that perfect health and happiness. Spock is hit with the spores, and he gets a feeling of happiness and belonging. He can finally love a woman who loved him six years before.

But Captain Kirk thinks that this state of affairs is unnatural and dangerous. Because people are healthy and happy, they are not progressing. They are not discovering, inventing, learning, and growing. They are not struggling, which is what brings about growth and progress. They do not have wanderlust, for they are perfectly content where they are. Kirk does not think that humans are supposed to be in this state of paradise.

It turns out that extreme negative emotions can counter the soothing effects of the flowers. After Spock is returned to his old self, Spock tells the woman who loved him that everyone has a self-imposed purgatory to endure. At the end of the episode, Spock comments about the time when he was under the influence of the spores. Spock says that this time was the first time in his life when he was happy.

Later, I was reading Philo’s Special Laws II. Philo was a first century Jewish exegete. In Special Laws, Philo gives his opinions about the meaning and significance of the laws of the Torah. Special Laws II focuses on the biblical festivals. The first festival that Philo mentions is every day. Philo says that every day is supposed to be a festival. Every day, we are to find joy by contemplating nature and God.

While the “Side of Paradise” Star Trek episode seemed to place joy at odds with struggle and discovery, Philo believed that they coexist. Contemplating the world and God are part of joy, so Philo does not divorce happiness from learning. Yet, because of how we are and how the world is, we often find that attaining and maintaining joy is a struggle. We have to struggle with our passions and our sinfulness, which undermine our joy. We have to deal with a world where things do not always take place as we want. Echoing Stoicism, Philo advocates lowering one’s expectations so that life’s disappointments are not as hurtful. Philo believes that humans can arrive at a state of happiness, but that, ultimately, God is the only one who is perfectly happy.

Speaking for myself, I can identify with the people on the planet in the Star Trek episode. So what if they never built skyscrapers? They were happy and content. Why did Kirk have to take that away from them? At the same time, I have to admit that discontent and internal desolation do get me off my rear end. They motivate me to learn, to try, to grow, to search. And then sometimes, like Spock, I try to make due with my own self-created purgatory. Ultimately, I land where Philo is: I try to be happy, but I seek a happiness that coincides with learning and growth.

A Comparison of Philo's Special Laws I with the Epistle to the Hebrews

I recently finished Philo's Special Laws I for my daily quiet time.  Yesterday, I moved on to Special Laws II.  Philo was a first century C.E. Jewish thinker in Alexandria, Egypt.  He interpreted the Torah in light of Greek philosophy.

Special Laws I largely focuses on the sacrifices within the Torah.  In going through Special Laws I, I thought about the New Testament Epistle to the Hebrews.  In this post, I would like to draw some informal comparisons between the two.

A.  For Philo, the animal sacrifices are largely symbolic of the way that people should be, spiritually-speaking.  The sacrifice is a symbol for the person offering it.  The sacrifice is to be perfect, and that symbolizes how the person offering it is to be perfect: free from the slavery of human passions and appetites and clearly and rationally seeing God in God's beauty.  The offering of the sacrifice represents the worshiper offering himself to God.  Philo even calls a person's righteousness a mediator between that person and God.  Philo also says more than once that people need to approach God in a state of virtue, free from sinful attitudes (i.e., covetousness). 
 
In the Epistle to the Hebrews, by contrast, the focus is more on how the sacrifices prefigure Christ's cleansing of people.  Christ is the fulfillment of Old Testament sacrifices.  Christ also intercedes for believers as a high priest, one who knows their weaknesses because he himself was a human and was tempted as they are.

At the same time, one cannot take this observation in the direction of saying that Philo supports people saving themselves by their good works, whereas Hebrews is about God in Christ saving people by grace.  Philo acknowledges that God transforms people, which is an act of divine grace.  Philo realizes that even perfect people are not sinless, for nobody is perfect.  Philo states that there are sacrifices that bring about forgiveness of sin.  Philo knows that the high priest is an intercessor for worshipers, and he believes that the high priest is an intercessor, in part, on account of his virtuous life.

Themes like divine grace and forgiveness are not absent from Special Laws I.  It's just that Philo's focus is on how the sacrifices symbolize how human beings should be, spiritually-speaking.  Hebrews, by contrast, like much of Christianity, tends to focus on how humans are sinful and need a perfect sacrifice to bring them acceptance from God.  The sacrifice is not the human being, so much, as it is something perfect that brings salvation to the sinful human being.

And yet, the Epistle to the Hebrews does not limit its understanding of sacrifices to atonement.  Hebrews 13:16 states that doing good and sharing with others are sacrifices to God.  (I should also note that Romans 12:1 exhorts believers to offer themselves as a living sacrifice.  This can remind one of Philo's belief that many of the sacrifices represent people offering themselves to God.)  Hebrews also has ethical exhortations about doing good and avoiding evil, so Hebrews does believe in trying to be virtuous, as Philo does.

B.  The Epistle to the Hebrews has scary passages about apostasy.  According to Hebrews, one can get to the point where one cannot sincerely repent, even if one wants to do so.  One can sin willfully, which is different from sinning out of weakness.  In Hebrews, willful sin after a person has learned the truth results in there being no more sacrifice for sin for that person.

In Special Laws I, I did not see anything about apostasy.  Philo does talk about God's grace transforming people, and that stood out to me after I read John Piper's comments on Hebrews 12:14-17.  Hebrews 12:14-17 states:

14 Follow peace with all men, and holiness, without which no man shall see the Lord:
15 Looking diligently lest any man fail of the grace of God; lest any root of bitterness springing up trouble you, and thereby many be defiled;
16 Lest there be any fornicator, or profane person, as Esau, who for one morsel of meat sold his birthright.
17 For ye know how that afterward, when he would have inherited the blessing, he was rejected: for he found no place of repentance, though he sought it carefully with tears.
(KJV)

John Piper states regarding this passage in his article, "Has My Sexual Sin Made Me Unsavable?":

There came a point where God withdrew from Esau. This meant that Esau was so hardened in his heart that even his weeping in search of repentance was phony at the root. He sought repentance with tears and they were fake. They weren’t penitent tears. He couldn’t cry real tears of repentance anymore. His tears were not true. He wanted the blessing. He wanted the safety. He wanted the gifts. He wanted the inheritance. He wanted heaven. But he did not want God. He loved this world. He traded something infinitely valuable for a single meal.

When I read Piper's comments here, I wondered why God could not transform Esau in Esau's state of spiritual helplessness.  That is why Philo's statement about God transforming people stood out to me.

At the same time, near the end of Special Laws I, Philo takes a rather exclusivist stance.  Philo states that certain people should not approach the virtuous God.  Deuteronomy 23 excludes certain people from entering the congregation of the LORD: people with crushed testicles, or those born from fornication.  Philo in Special Laws I interprets this spiritually: God excludes people who are so enamored with their senses and their faculties that they forget God.  That attitude somewhat overlaps with what John Piper says Hebrews is saying about Esau.  The question would still be, however, if Philo believes that there is hope for such people, or if he thinks that one can arrive at a state of spiritual hopelessness.

C.  The Epistle to the Hebrews interacts with the concept of intentional and unintentional sin in the Torah.  In the Torah, there is atonement for sins committed unintentionally, but death for sins committed presumptuously (Leviticus 5; Numbers 15:27-31).  The Epistle to the Hebrews seems to draw from this concept: for the author of Hebrews, there are sins committed from weakness or out of ignorance, and these can be atoned for.  But sins committed willfully, and after a person has learned the truth and been enlightened, may not be atoned for.  See here for a post that I wrote on this topic.

Philo, too, interacts with the concept of intentional and unintentional sins.  Like rabbinic Judaism (Babylonian Talmud Yoma 86b; see here for other references), Philo in Special Laws I holds that repentance can convert an intentional sin into an unintentional sin, making the sin forgivable. 
 
D.  One can conclude that the Epistle to the Hebrews believes that the physical Temple is null and void after the coming of Christ.  After all, why offer sacrifices at the physical Temple, when its sacrifices could not really take away people's sins in the first place, and the fulfillment of those sacrifices, Christ, has come?  Why go to the Temple when Christ's sacrifice brings about forgiveness of sins?

One may wonder, though, if Philo, too, believes that the physical Temple is superfluous.  Philo, after all, thinks that the Temple rituals symbolize the spiritual life: becoming virtuous and seeing God.  If a person can do these things apart from the physical Temple, is the physical Temple actually needed?

Philo in Special Laws I still seems to believe that the physical Temple plays an important role.  He thinks that the virtuous priests intercede for the people.  He also believes that the Israelites offering sacrifices and giving offerings brings physical and material blessing to the Jewish people: they preserve them and help things to go well in their lives.  For Philo in Special Laws I, the physical rituals are important, even if they symbolize something deeper. 

Book Write-Up: An Amish Market

Amy Clipston, Kathleen Fuller, Kelly Irvin, and Vanetta Chapman. An Amish Market: Four Novellas. Nashville: Thomas Nelson, 2015. See here to buy the book.

An Amish Market is a collection of four novellas about the Amish. The first three of them, at least, relate to the Amish market.

A. The first story is by Amy Clipston. It is entitled “Love Birds.” Its characters and plot intersect with Clipston’s 2015 book, The Forgotten Recipe (see here for my review). Seth Lapp died on the job. Whereas The Forgotten Recipe focused on his fiancée Veronica and his friend and co-worker Jason, “Love Birds” focused on his sister Ellie. Ellie and her mother Margaret are struggling to get by financially after the death of Seth, who was the source of income for the family. Ellie takes a job at an Amish gift shop. But the gift shop itself is struggling because there is really nothing that sets it apart from other Amish stores: they all pretty much sell the same stuff. That only compounds Ellie’s economic insecurity.

Ellie has romantic feelings towards Lloyd, a friend of Seth. Lloyd thinks that he’s too old for her, since he’s later in his twenties than she is. Lloyd carves beautiful wooden birds. His father discourages this hobby and thinks it is prideful. Ellie, by contrast, encourages Lloyd in his hobby and says that Lloyd gives God glory by using his talents. Lloyd gives Ellie one of his birds in a tender moment in which both are mourning the loss of Seth. But Ellie feels tempted to tell her boss about Lloyd’s birds so that the store will sell them and she can still keep her job.

This story was all right. The part about how using one’s talents can glorify God stood out to me. Margaret also trusted in God’s provision, which I had to respect, considering the economic insecurity they had.

B. The second story is “A Bid for Love,” by Kathleen Fuller.

Hannah Lynne sells butter at the local market. She has a crush on Ezra. Ezra buys a lot of butter and likes Hannah. But he comes across as aloof. Hannah herself does not really know how to flirt with Ezra, even though she can be really talkative with her friends. Hannah does not even think Ezra is interested in her. He has been a bachelor for a long time.

Ezra inadvertently donates his late grandmother’s quilt to an auction. Hannah really wants that quilt. The reason is that it reminds her of a quilt of her late aunt. Hannah back when she was a child spilled grape juice on the quilt in a tantrum, yet her aunt continued to love her and to display the quilt, stain and all. Her aunt loved that quilt because it was all she had left of her departed husband.

Well, Hannah loses the bidding war. But Ezra buys the quilt from the person who won it and gives it to Hannah. Hannah works for Ezra at his new house to pay him back. Ezra later learns from his mom that the quilt was valuable to the family, and he tells his mom that he will get the quilt back. That means he will have to break the bad news to Hannah: that he needs the quilt back.

This is a sweet story. I can identify with the part about having feelings of love for someone, but not knowing how to express them. That’s not my situation now, but it has been in the past.

C. The third story is “Sweeter Than Honey,” by Kelly Irvin.

Isabella spills pickled beets at the local store, where Will works. Isabella has romantic feelings for Will. But Will is carrying some emotional baggage. Will loved two women from the same family: the first rejected him, and the second left him to be with his cousin, who left the Amish community. Will is struggling to forgive. His mentor tells Will, though, that it will be difficult for Will to love open-handedly in the future, if his fists are clenched about things that occurred in the past.

Isabella is actually new to town.  She is shy and quiet, so she did not really fit in at her previous town, even though it was small and people knew each other.  Her dad asks her if she misses her friends from her previous town.  She remembers that they were really best friends with each other and just let her tag along.  She replies to her dad that she is glad to be starting anew.  

I had some difficulty getting into this story. But it had good lessons, particularly about forgiveness.  I also identified with Isabella's shyness.

D. The fourth story is “Love in Store,” by Vannetta Chapman.

Stella and David both work at the same mill. Both are older than many of the characters of the previous stories. David is a widower. Stella is single and is known for her sarcastic mouth. Stella is a little put off by David’s cheerfulness. Stella herself carries baggage: she cannot have children, so she embraced a life of being alone (though she lives with a friend who has empty nest syndrome).

A series of unfortunate events are occurring at the mill, disrupting its business. At first, they are pranks. Later, arson enters the picture. David gets a letter from the prankster/arsonist about the Year of Jubilee in the Book of Leviticus. What is going on there? Stella and David try to solve this mystery.

This story was all right. My favorite part was David’s interaction with I John 4:18: there is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. David wanted to love Stella so that she would no longer be afraid. He also hoped that she would find that kind of love from God.

Overall, I liked the stories. I can see myself reading books by these authors in the future.

Philo, the Torah, and the Invention of the Cities of Refuge

I have been reading Philo's Special Laws I for my daily quiet time.  Philo of Alexandria was a first century C.E. Jewish thinker in Alexandria, Egypt.  He interpreted the Torah in light of Greek philosophy.

Sometimes when I read ancient interpreters, I wonder if their insights can inform modern biblical scholarship.  I was thinking this when I was reading Philo's comments in Special Laws I:159 about the cities of refuge. 

The cities of refuge were places where a person fled after committing manslaughter (which is unintentional).  There, he would be safe from any avengers of blood who were from the victim's family and wanted to kill him.  These were cities that were given to the Levites for their habitation.  In P, Levites were assistants to the Aaronide priests.  In Deuteronomy, the Levites were priests themselves.  The cities of refuge are discussed in Numbers 35 and Deuteronomy 19.

Philo states the following about the cities of refuge in Special Laws I:159:

"For as it was not consistent with holiness for one who had by any means whatever become the cause of death to any human being to come within the sacred precincts, using the temple as a place of refuge and as an asylum, Moses gave a sort of inferior sanctity to the cities above mentioned, allowing them to give great security, by reason of the privileges and honours conferred upon the inhabitants, who were to be justified in protecting their suppliants if any superior power endeavoured to bring force against them, not by warlike preparations, but by rank, and dignity, and honour, which they had from the laws by reason of the venerable character of the priesthood."  (C.D. Yonge's translation.)

In the ancient world, Temples were often a place of asylum and refuge.  A person could flee there and be safe from apprehension.  We see such a situation in II Kings 2:28.  General Joab supported Adonijah rather than Solomon to become king of Israel.  Solomon becomes king, and Joab is afraid that Solomon will kill him.  Joab, therefore, runs to the sanctuary and clings to the horns of the altar.

Philo, however, seems to have problems with this practice.  For Philo, the Temple or sanctuary is too holy of a place to be a place of refuge, even for someone who took a person's life unintentionally.  That, for Philo, is why there are cities of refuge for people who did that.  The cities of refuge could still be a shadow, in some sense, of the ancient practice of fleeing to a sanctuary for refuge.  After all, the cities of refuge are Levitical cities.  Philo says that these cities have inferior sanctity, which implies that they still have some sanctity.  And Philo believes that their priestly or Levitical association is significant: priests are using their status and position within the community to protect those seeking refuge from assailants.  Under the laws in the Torah about the cities of refuge, people can flee to somewhat holy cities for protection.  But they cannot go to the sanctuary for protection, for the sanctuary is too holy of a place for that.

That's Philo's opinion, but here's a question: Could this be the reason that authors of the Torah came up with the cities of refuge in the first place?  The priestly author wanted to protect the sanctuary from ritual contamination.  Contact with a human corpse was a major source of such contamination (see Leviticus 21; Numbers 19).  Those closest to the sanctuary, the priests, were to be especially insulated from corpse contamination: they were subjected to heavier restrictions on touching a corpse than the average Israelite.  The idea could have been to affirm that God was a God of life, and thus his realm was to be kept separate from death.

Perhaps the authors of the Torah, such as P or H, believed, like Philo, that the sanctuary was too holy of a place for one who committed manslaughter to flee.  Therefore, they invented the cities of refuge.  The cities of refuge were a shadow of the ancient concept, but they were not identical with the ancient concept.  P or H would be transforming the ancient concept to protect the sanctity of the sanctuary.

I think that we may see similar trends in the Torah.  In my post here, I quote a passage from The Able Bodied: Rethinking Disabilities in Biblical Studies, by atheist biblical scholar Hector Avalos, Sarah Melcher, and Jeremy Schipper: "According to Johannes Renger, in ancient Mesopotamia people afflicted with a disease or a disability would often end up working at the temple, because their immediate family could no longer take care of them" (page 81).  In ancient Mesopotamia, people with disabilities or diseases worked at the Temple.  Such a practice would arguably be abhorrent to certain authors of the Torah.  Leviticus 21:17-24 prohibits people with certain disabilities to approach the altar of God, while allowing them to eat the bread of God.

Certain authors of the Torah believed that God's sanctuary needed to be associated with perfection (at least as much as possible).  Due to this conviction, they may have consciously rejected the practice at Mesopotamian Temples of allowing people with disabilities to work there.  Could we be seeing something similar with the cities of refuge: the Torah authors are rejecting the common ancient idea that Temples could be a place of refuge, out of their convictions about the holiness of the sanctuary?

I should be careful, though.  As I talk about in my post here, we do see examples outside of Judaism or ancient Israelite religion of people trying to protect their Temples from corpse contamination.  I do not have an encyclopedic knowledge of ancient rituals.  Plus, maybe the idea that I am shooting around here has already been discussed within biblical scholarship.  It's still a question to ask, though.

Book Write-Up: Understanding Dispensationalists, by Vern Poythress

Vern Sheridan Poythress.  Understanding Dispensationalists.  1986.  Here is the version of the book that I will be engaging.

Understanding Dispensationalists is Vern Poythress' critique of dispensationalism.  Not long ago, I blogged about a pro-dispensationalist book released by Moody Press in 2015: Dispensationalism and the History of Redemption.  One of the contributors to that book said that Poythress' critique of dispensationalism was fair.

A key feature of classic dispensationalism is a literal interpretation of the Old Testament, specifically the eschatological prophecies.  In the Old Testament, there are prophecies about Israel's future restoration, which will accompany a time of earthly paradise.  There are prophecies about God delivering Israel from her enemies, and the Gentiles becoming attracted to Israel's God after seeing God's work on behalf of Israel.  Ezekiel 40-48 depicts the building of a new Temple in that time.   There, animal sacrifices will be offered.  Jeremiah 33:17-18 predicts the restoration of Davidic rule over Israel as well as the restoration of Levites to offer sacrifice.

Classic dispensationalists interpret these prophecies literally.  For them, God made a promise to Abraham that his descendants, specifically the Israelites, would inherit the Promised Land.  God will one day fulfill that promise to Abraham by restoring Israel to her land, under paradisaical conditions. (Many dispensationalists may believe that some stage of the fulfillment of this occurred in 1948, when Israel returned to her land.  But the fulfillment there would be only partial.  After all, the Davidic monarchy is not ruling in Israel, a new Temple does not stand, and peace and paradise are not on the earth.)

But many Christians, understandably, have problems with interpreting these Old Testament prophecies literally.  Some believe that the Christian church is the new Israel and that God's promises to Israel in the Old Testament are now for the church.  They tend to interpret the Old Testament prophecies spiritually, or symbolically, rather than literally.  Christians and the church are now the Temple.  Christians are the seed of Abraham.  The promise that the Israelites will inherit the Promised Land is fulfilled when Christians go to heaven, or when they inherit a new paradisaical earth after Christ returns.  Rather than believing that a literal Temple will be rebuilt in Israel after Christ returns, they think that the Temple in Ezekiel 40-48 is symbolic of the atoning work of Christ.  After all, they ask, why would God restore animal sacrifices for atonement, after Christ has died on the cross for atonement and has fulfilled the animal sacrifices of the Old Testament?

Poythress holds more to the latter position, roughly-speaking.  He may quibble with some of my conceptualization of it, or elaborate on some points.  But he is more in the latter camp than the former. 
In Understanding Dispensationalism, Poythress critiques classic dispensationalists' literal interpretation of the Old Testament, mainly the prophecies.

First of all, Poythress maintains that a number of classic dispensationalism's proponents are not exactly consistent in their literal interpretation.  Because the New Testament seems to apply prophecies about Israel to the church, or treats some of those prophecies as symbolic, many classic dispensationalists try to find some way to deal with that.  They may say that the prophecies are about Israel, but principles from those prophecies can be applied to the church.  They may say that Old Testament stories can foreshadow Christ, in some manner.  Poythress also says that some classic dispensationalists have stretched their interpretation of the Bible, specifically the New Testament, to accommodate these problems and to uphold classic dispensationalism.  For Poythress, this is not consistent with the plain-sense, literal interpretation that they purport to practice.

Second, Poythress asks what exactly a literal sense of Scripture is.  Is it interpreting each word according to the first meaning that comes to our mind when we hear it?  But that does not work, for, once words come together into sentences, the words may depart somewhat from any wooden definition.  There is also figurative language in the Old Testament, which even dispensationalists acknowledge.  When Isaiah 27:6 says that Israel shall blossom and bud, that is to be taken metaphorically, not literally, since Israel is not literally a plant.

Third, Poythress raises the possibility that the authors and original audience of the Old Testament prophecies may have interpreted them less than literally.  When Isaiah 40 says that every valley shall be exalted and mountain and hill made low, did they understand that literally?  Poythress does not think so.  Poythress also proposes that the ancient Israelite authors and audience may have recognized that the eschaton would change the rules of the game: that the old system of Temple and sacrifices would be superseded, as God inaugurated a new era, which the old system would be inadequate to contain.  Poythress believes that there are passages in the Old Testament that point in this direction: for example, Zechariah 14:21 portrays God's holiness extending beyond the Temple in the eschatological future.  Poythress notes that even the Old Testament acknowledged that the Tabernacle was a pattern of heavenly realities (Exodus 25:9, 40), meaning that it pointed to something beyond itself.  For Poythress, God's promises to Israel are fulfilled in Christ (II Corinthians 1:20), the true Israelite, and Christ brings those promises to the church.  Poythress states that elements of the Old Testament are consistent with this: the suffering servant of Isaiah, whom Christians interpret as Christ, is portrayed in the Book of Isaiah as ideal Israel.

In my opinion, Poythress does raise important hermeneutical questions.  Defining a literal approach to interpretation is difficult.  The problems are compounded when we have an Old and a New Testament, and the two seem to contradict each other.  A non-Christian Jew could just say that the New Testament is misinterpreting the Hebrew Bible, or is not faithful to what the Hebrew Bible says.  A Christian, by contrast, may feel a need to reconcile the two, or at least to say that the same God is the author of both. Dispensationalists do this one way.  Covenant theologians do it another way.

Poythress perhaps should have attempted to define the boundaries to his symbolic, spiritual interpretation of the Hebrew Bible; otherwise, the approach can become pretty arbitrary.  Poythress' specific goal in this book, however, was to critique dispensationalism, and he may have gone more deeply into such hermeneutical questions elsewhere.  While Poythress does well to ask what literal means, there were times when I thought that he was making the issue more difficult than it needs to be.  Yes, there is figurative language in the Hebrew Bible.  But when do we get to the point where we are stretching the text beyond what it actually says?  If prophecies in the Hebrew Bible specifically mention Israel, for example, how can one, in the name of symbolism, say that they are actually about something else?  Does that open God to the charge that God is unclear in God's communication?

The definition of a literal interpretation loomed large in this book.  But Poythress' book got into other issues, as well.

----Poythress mentions a classic dispensationalist claim that classic dispensationalism is actually more optimistic than its alternatives.  Classic dispensationalism depicts God administering God's kingdom in various ways throughout history, and this will culminate in Christ's rule on earth during the millennium.  Amillennialism, by contrast, thinks that Christ will return, end the present world, and create a new heavens and a new earth.  Which view is more positive about the world?  Poythress critiques this argument, but I found the argument itself to be interesting.

----Poythress critiques what he considers to be antinomianism in classic dispensationalism.  For Poythress, there have always been law and grace (presumably after the Fall); the two are not in opposition to one another.  Classic dispensationalism, however, believes we are in an age of grace right now, and that one can be saved apart from works.  For Poythress, good works have always been an expression of faith, so one cannot enter the good afterlife without them.

----Classic dispensationalism believes that there are two people of God: Israel and the church.  God's plan for Israel includes her earthly possession of the Promised Land.  God's plan for the church is heavenly.  Poythress questions this division.  For one, he believes that there has always been one people of God, not two (again, presumably after the Fall).  The people of God are those who believe in Christ: in the Old Testament, they believed in the Christ to come; in the New Testament, they believed in the Christ who came.  They were all justified by their faith in God's promise.  (Classic dispensationalists, by contrast, have questioned the extent to which the Old Testament saints had a clear knowledge about God's plan regarding Christ.)  Second, Poythress notes that Abraham in Hebrews 11:16 desired a heavenly city.  For Poythress, Revelation 21-22 brings heaven and earth together with the new heavens and the new earth; that, for Poythress, collapses the classic dispensationalist distinction between an earthly destiny for Israel and a heavenly destiny for the church, for heaven will be on earth.  Third, Poythress doubts that God will give physical Israelites blessings that are not also for the Gentiles.  

Book Write-Up: The Myth of the Non-Christian, by Luke Cawley

Luke Cawley.  The Myth of the Non-Christian: Engaging Atheists, Nominal Christians, and the Spiritual But Not Religious.  Downers Grove: IVP Books, 2016.  See here to buy the book.

Evangelical Christians believe in sharing the Gospel with non-Christians, in hope that they will believe in Jesus Christ.  According to Luke Cawley, there are a variety of ways to do this because there are many kinds of non-Christians.  Some are receptive to classic apologetics because they want to know if Christianity can answer tough questions and has a solid evidential foundation.  But some non-Christians are not really asking those kinds of questions and may be more receptive to an approach that appeals to their heart.  For Cawley, Christians who want to share the Gospel should try to identify where people are and to engage them in dialogue (provided they want to dialogue with Christians).

Cawley makes a lot of excellent points in this book.  For example, he talks about the importance of Christian community.  This can allow non-believers to observe that Christianity does not just work in books but is a lifestyle that people practice in real life.  Cawley also talks about how faith in Christ can be a journey rather than a moment of decision.  Cawley notes that this was even the case for Billy Graham (on some level), one who emphasizes making a decision for Christ.

The reason that I am giving this book five stars is that Cawley does not demonize or stereotype atheists, nominal Christians, or the Spiritual But Not Religious.  He realizes that people in these groups are not all the same, and he tries to understand where people are coming from.  He seeks to build bridges, not walls.  He wants to hear people's stories.  A person could look at the title of this book and think that Cawley regards non-believers as witnessing projects in need of evangelical pat-answers.  But Cawley rightly distances himself from that approach.

One evangelical view that has long upset me is the belief that atheists actually believe in God deep-down, but they choose not to believe because they do not want to submit to God.  According to this view, the atheists' problem is really spiritual, not intellectual.  A lot of times, apologists seem to use this as a "Gotcha!"  Cawley does not do that, though.  He acknowledges that there are atheists who are angry with the God in whom they do not believe, for understandable reasons.  But he also acknowledges that there are many atheists who are not angry and may actually be open to engaging in dialogue.  Some atheists may even want to believe but find that they cannot.  And what about those who don't want for the Christian God to exist?  Cawley does not judge them.  He astutely notes that many of us cannot help how we feel.  Instead of dismissing them, Cawley asks where the dialogue can go from there. For that alone, this book deserves five stars.

I rolled my eyes at some of Cawley's apologetic arguments, while finding some of his arguments intriguing.  But his approach is far from authoritarian.  Cawley comes across as someone giving people things to think about rather than telling them what to think.

The book has a lot of interesting stories.  I believe that things can work out constructively, from a Christian standpoint, as Cawley presents.  But I have difficulty envisioning all situations working out that neatly.  Atheists and other non-Christians have their own set of answers to the apologetic arguments of Cawley and others.  It's as not as if they haven't thought through those issues.  And, as Cawley knows, there are many Christian communities that are not healing places, or places that model how to follow Christ.

I cannot recommend this book enough.  It is my favorite IVP book that I have read thus far.  Perhaps the reason is that it exemplifies how I wished that Christians had treated me, when I had doubts, questions, and downright hostility towards Christianity.

I received a complimentary review copy of this book from the publisher, in exchange for an honest review.