An interview with N. T. Wright

During a coffee-break yesterday, Bishop Wright kindly agreed to participate in an interview for Faith and Theology. So I asked him to respond to the question: “Who do you think is the greatest modern New Testament scholar?” Instead of naming just one person, he named four. Here’s what he said (paraphrased slightly):

“Well, I greatly admire Albert Schweitzer. He had feet of clay, of course, but he really saw the big picture, and he got it right on some of the most important issues.

“The Canadian Catholic scholar, Ben Meyer, has been under-appreciated. But he did some very important work, with massive scholarly and philosophical apparatus. His loss was a tremendous blow to the field of New Testament studies. And some of his work is still only being implemented today.

“Then, among contemporary scholars, Richard Bauckham from the University of St Andrews is doing some work that is really unrivalled at the moment. Richard has an absolutely astonishing command of the first-century sources.

“Hmmm, who else? It’s silly that I can’t think of anyone else, since there are so many scholars whom I read every single day, with great appreciation.... Well, yes, there’s Martin Hengel. He’s said some rather intemperate things against the New Perspective, which is unfortunate, really, because he has done as much as anyone to contribute to our understanding of early Judaism.”

At this point, Wright was about to name a fifth person as well, but I insisted that he finish his cup of tea instead.

Some N. T. Wright highlights

Here are some memorable remarks from N. T. Wright’s lectures yesterday:

“The longer you look at Jesus, the more you are led into the mysteries of trinitarian theology.”

“Where Jesus is, there God’s sovereign, saving action is doing new creation—right before your eyes!”

“Part of the point of the New Testament is that we don’t know what the word ‘God’ really means until we look hard and humbly at Jesus of Nazareth.”

“When Jesus wanted to tell his disciples what his death was all about, he didn’t give them a theory—he gave them a meal.”

“Take the resurrection out of [the epistle to the] Romans, and the whole thing will collapse like a human being with the skeleton removed.”

“The resurrection is not an odd ‘blip’ within the old world. It is the prototypical and foundational event of the new world.”

A day with N. T. Wright

Here in Brisbane, I’ve spent a very enjoyable day listening to N. T. Wright lecturing on the historical Jesus. These lectures were a sort of one-day summary of Wright’s great book, Jesus and the Victory of God (1997), along with a closing lecture on the resurrection.

During one of the coffee breaks, Wright also kindly allowed me to interview him for Faith and Theology. I asked him: “Who do you think is the greatest modern New Testament scholar?” (naturally I was hoping he’d choose Bultmann). He had an interesting response, and I’ll post it tomorrow, along with some highlights and quotes from the lectures.

But for now, here’s just one highlight. Wright related the following anecdote about Karl Barth, and the room erupted in laughter:

After a lecture, a woman asked Karl Barth: “Is it true that the serpent really spoke?” And Barth replied: “Madam, it does not matter whether or not the serpent really spoke; all that matters is what the serpent said.”

Hans Küng and divine intervention

Via Pontifications, check out this interview with Hans Küng about theology and science.

When asked about the concept of divine intervention, Küng explains: “The word ‘intervene’ is not very good because it means to come in between. An intervention is usually something violent or aggressive. What I would reject is the idea that God could intervene against the laws of nature. I would even go further and say that for science, God is not a category because God by definition is a reality beyond time and space, and therefore does not belong in the world of our scientific experience.”

What do you think about the concept of “divine intervention”? I hope to post a series on this topic one of these days; so in the meantime, I’d be interested to know what you think about it.

Barth on gratitude

On his always-superb blog, Peter Leithart posts a very nice summary of Karl Barth’s teaching about gratitude. For Barth, gratitude is “the genuine being of the human person”—to be truly human is to be grateful. Moreover: “Radically and basically, all sin is simply ingratitude.”

The title says it all

I spend a lot of time reading old books, especially theological books from the seventeenth century. And one of the most charming things about reading books from this period is the entertaining discovery of long, meandering titles. Here’s an example that I came across yesterday; it’s an anonymous book written against the sect of charismatic Quakers in 1655:

The Quakers fiery beacon: or, The shaking-ranters ghost: being a new relation, and further discovery of their strange and sudden agonies, trances, quakings, shakings, raptures, visions, apparitio[n]s, conflicts with Satan, revelations, illuminations, instructions in new divine mysteries, and seraphicall divinity; their several callings, missions, messages, orders, sects, places, and persons; their inchanted potions, ribbons, and bracelets; their declaration in Westminster-Hall, touching Heaven and Hell: and a narrative of their present actings and extasies, for the sweeping away of our good fundamental laws like so many old cobwebs. (London, 1655)

And here’s one more—this one’s also anonymous, and it’s written against the sect known as Ranters (this title was so long that I actually had to edit out several phrases—but you should get the general idea):

The Ranters declaration, with their new oath and protestation; their strange votes, and a new way to get money; their proclamation and summons; their new way of ranting, never before heard of; their dancing of the hay naked, at the white Lyon in Peticoat-lane; their mad dream…; the mad-ranters further resolution; their Christmas carol, and blaspheming song; their two pretended-abominable keyes to enter heaven, and the worshiping of his little-majesty, the late Bishop of Canterbury: a new and further discovery of their black art, with the names of those that are possest by the devil, having strange and hideous cries heard within them, to the great admiration of all those that shall read and peruse this ensuing subject. (London, 1650)

You can see why they didn’t need publishers’ blurbs in those days: the title says it all.