"The grammatical-historical method of interpretation."
To many, the phrase speaks of the proper method to a correct interpretation of Scripture. To others, the phrase reeks of scholarly elitism, misguided knowledge, unfounded assumptions, or unnecessary language games. With every move by some to establish an historical approach to reading and understanding Scripture there has been a counter-move to challenge such an historical approach and to replace it with something seen as more palatable. During the reign of historical approaches to biblical reading, throughout the whole period since the Renaissance and Reformation, there have been devout Christians who have countered such historical moves with a sort of devotional checkmate, seeking simply to "meet God" in the text. These pious folk have unlikely allies in much of the philosophical world, where the whole historical enterprise, even the notion of "history" itself, is often questioned as the groundless outworking of an overconfident modernist epistemology, leaving historical study stuck in the quagmire of epistemological anxiety.
It seems that the best way to read Scripture is to go to my own private room, close the door, and simply allow God to speak to me through the text—a private meeting between me, God and the text.
Yet there is a real irony to this sort of sentiment. The only reason we have the luxury of saying, "me, God, and the text," is because the textual critic has worked to produce the most likely original reading of the text and the translator has worked to bring the text from an ancient language to our own modern one—both thoroughly historical, even "modernist" endeavors. In the end we simply cannot escape an historical approach to Scripture—the "pastness" of Scripture remains. We may strive for a simple, personal encounter with the God who speaks apart from any historical toil, or we may stumble over the epistemological stumbling stone and deny the possibility or adequacy of historical knowledge, but in the end we are still confronted by an utterly alien text—an historically reconstructed text from an ancient time in a foreign language.
So what you thought was just "me, God, and the text" turns out to be you, God, the text—and the textual critic, the translator, and the many "interpretive optometrists" past and present who have directly or indirectly shaped the lenses through which you view the text. You've wanted a simple, private meeting with God—but the room turns out to be more crowded than you thought.
Attempting to deny the reality of the others in the room is a lot like my one-year old son closing his eyes and thinking everyone else has disappeared. And there's no point in trying to show them the door, or to find another room to meet with God—these people will always be with you whenever and wherever you open the text of Scripture.
Yet there is still hope for a personal encounter with God in the reading of Scripture, if not a private one. You may not be able to shoo all these hermeneutical helpers away, but you can help choose your companions in the room with you. You can come to grips with the reality of your own epistemological assumptions and theological lenses, and at least to a certain extent self-critique them to find the best fit—which means learning what the philosophical and theological options are. You can admit the truth of the "pastness" of Scripture and step into the vast, uncertain, changing, yet crucial world of the historical study of Scripture—which means studying the history, languages, and theology of its authors, and relying on others who do such study. Other people before you have sought to shut out the other voices in the room, or have chosen ill-equipped companions, and thus heard a garbled text, a distorted voice, and spawned dangerous heresies or at least crippling aberrations of Scriptural truth. Ultimately, whether you like it or not, whether you even admit it or not, you can only hear the text of Scripture through the recitation of those in the room with you—so be sure to choose your companions well, to ensure as faithful a recitation as possible.
You may notice that the only constant in the crowded room is God. You will change. The reconstructed text has changed in the past and may change again in the future. The others in the room will come and go, though in leaving they will always ensure a replacement in the room. Yet God remains the same. And the God who said, "My word will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it," the God whose word is "living and active, sharper than any double-edged sword, penetrating even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow, judging the thoughts and attitudes of the heart"—this God will ensure that when you hear your chorus of well-chosen voices in the room with a receptive and submissive heart, you will hear the very voice of God. And you will indeed meet God in a very crowded room.
Labels: new testament, scripture
