Category: Books

Forsaken: Did God the Father kill Jesus on the cross?

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

“Never will I leave you; never will I forsake you.”

“I and the Father are one.”

Wondering how these three verses of Scripture fit together? I often have. Cognitive dissonance finally got the better of me, and I decided I should try to think through this one a little more deeply. To that end I read Thomas H. McCall’s Forsaken: The Trinity and the Cross, and Why It Matters (InterVarsity Press, 2012). Here, on Magnificent Monograph Monday, I offer a review of the book. (Thanks to IVP for the free review copy, in exchange for an unbiased review.)

First, the very short summary of my review, if you want to cut to the chase and head off and do something else after this next paragraph.

McCall tackles some difficult questions: “Did God forsake Jesus [on the cross]? Did the Father turn his back on the Son in rage? Was the Trinity ruptured or broken on that day?” His answers and arguments are rooted in Scripture, the history of interpretation of that Scripture, and are consistently compelling. McCall really helped me through my own struggles to grasp some of these questions, leading me to a fuller understanding of the life of the Trinity and the relationship between its persons, particularly in terms of what happened on the cross. And he spells out the implications of his assertions beautifully. God is not divided, he concludes, but God–all of God–is for us. So we can rejoice and rest secure in that. Five stars, no doubt.

McCall writes “not for other scholars…but for pastors, students and friends–indeed, for anyone genuinely interested in moving toward a deeper understanding of God’s being and actions.” Forsaken is heavy theological lifting for a non-scholar (and not lightweight for a scholar, either), but the effort is well worth it. McCall answers some very common questions people ask (or are scared to ask and should ask) about the Trinity, also showing ramifications for our relationship to God.

Forsaken has four chapters. Each asks a theological question, addresses it, then concludes with some theological assertions to avoid, some to affirm, and why it matters.

The first chapter asks, “Was the Trinity Broken?” Here McCall discusses the theological concept of “dereliction,” or the idea that Jesus was abandoned by God on the cross. Recent theology notwithstanding, McCall makes a strong Scriptural case that God the Father did not forsake the Son on the Cross. Understanding Psalm 22 as an “interpretive key” to Jesus’ death, McCall writes:

No, the only text of Scripture that we can understand to address this question directly, Psalm 22:24, says that the Father did not hide his face from his Son. To the contrary, he has “listened to his cry for help.”

Not only that, the author argues, but if God truly had forsaken Jesus, why would Jesus bother–after his cry–to say, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit”? Jesus “prefaces his last words with a sense of deep relational intimacy: Jesus addresses his ‘Father.'”

In chapter two McCall asks, “Just what are we to make of the biblical witness to the wrath of God? Is it opposed to his love? Is it a ‘dark side’ to God that is inconsistent with his holiness or with his mercy?” He makes a pretty hard-to-argue-with case that “the biblical witness does not set love and wrath in opposition to one another.” McCall, I thought, was at his best in this chapter when he highlighted multiple New Testament references to wrath–not only the wrath of God generally, but Jesus’ wrath specifically. So there’s no Old Testament God=wrath, New Testament God=mercy conclusion to be drawn from the Bible. The author utilizes the theological categories of divine impassibility and simplicity to show that “wrath” as God exhibits it is not what we might envision in human anger; rather, it is an expression of holy love.

McCall’s third chapter asks whether God’s divine foreknowledge means that God killed Jesus, since he knew it was going to happen, could have stopped it, but didn’t. “God’s plan was to use the death of Jesus for his purposes and for our good,” but God himself did not cause the death. As Acts so often makes clear, McCall points out, “The apostolic proclamation of the gospel places the fault and blame on the sinners who are responsible for the death of Jesus.”

Chapter four articulates a robust theology of justification (forensic; instantaneous; by which I enter into the life of God) and sanctification (separation unto God; progressive; by which I grow in communion with God). Page 145 and following has a brilliant interpretation of Paul’s famous Romans 7:14-25 passage where he (seemingly) wrestles with sin.

One difficult implication of this book for me as a worship leader (and coach of worship leaders) is that, if McCall is right, we may be singing some not-quite-right theology in two well-known songs. “How Deep the Father’s Love for Us” has a line that says, “The Father turns his face away.” And the song “In Christ Alone” says, “…till on that cross, as Jesus died, the wrath of God was satisfied.” McCall addresses these two claims head on and (in my opinion, successfully) refutes them. The Father did not turn his face away (see the block quote above). And to say that God the Son mollified the wrath of God the Father is to bifurcate the Trinity in some unorthodox ways. (!)

I’m not sure if it’s generally accepted for a book reviewer to admit to shedding tears when reading a review copy. (Objectivity! Right?) No matter. McCall’s concluding postscript (“A Personal Theological Testimony”) moved me to tears, as he recounted the difference “the trinitarian gospel” made for him and his family as they processed the death of his father.

Getting the theological details of the Trinity right (as best we can!) matters. It matters for our understanding of God, our relationship with him, and for all of life. In the life and truths of the Trinity–properly understood, and I think McCall a good guide here–there is great comfort. We see a God who, as McCall says, is for us. We find a God who has granted us victory over sin and death, making it possible for us to enter into communion with the triune God of love.

You can find Forsaken here at the IVP product page or on Amazon.

Avoid plagiarism like the plague

Charles Halton writes about how one can avoid plagiarism. He links in his post to a set of tutorials from Duke that help students identify (and avoid) plagiarism. Good reading for all. I’m not a professor, but… oh, the stories I could tell!

And as for Bart’s presence above… one good Simpsons/academia piece of media deserves another.

July 2012 Biblical Studies Carnival

Head over to Reading Acts for the July “Biblical Studies Carnival.” It’s a compilation of many, many posts on all things Biblical studies on the blogosphere in July. There is some really good stuff there, and Phil has done a great job gathering some informative links. I’m thankful to have received mention in the carnival (of my July posts here, here, and here).

A Brief History of Old Testament Criticism: From Benedict Spinoza to Brevard Childs, Reviewed

The world of Old Testament interpretation can feel vast and complex, teeming with concepts and terms like “historical-critical,” Sitz im Leben, and documentary hypothesis. Admission into that field of ideas is potentially cost-prohibitive, not to mention time-consuming.

Mark Gignilliat, Associate Professor of Divinity at Beeson, has greatly simplified a student’s entrance into the realm of Old Testament interpretation. His new book, A Brief History of Old Testament Criticism: From Benedict Spinoza to Brevard Childs, explores major Old Testament interpreters and themes in the modern period. Gignilliat begins with Spinoza (b. 1632) and concludes with Childs (d. 2007) in his “picture gallery tour of sorts.” Gignilliat writes, “This is a book for students. …The intended audience of this book is anyone who is interested in the Bible, its history of interpretation, and the particular problems and approaches to Old Testament studies in the modern period.”

The “picture gallery tour” surveys OT criticism through the lens of seven major characters: Spinoza, de Wette, Wellhausen, Gunkel, von Rad, Albright, and Childs. The author makes “no comprehensive attempt at expounding the very complex history of Old Testament interpretation,” but he does go beyond even his seven major subjects in detailing the ideas of other important thinkers, too. Gignilliat gives each interpreter his own chapter, which includes a short biography and a survey of ideas and writings. Chapters end with a “For Further Reading” section that the interested reader can pursue.

Gignilliat in his introduction immediately shows himself to be humble, gracious, and warm in tone, which continues throughout the book. He is aware of the limitations of a “brief history” like this (perhaps overly aware), though his concerns are not warranted, since this book accomplishes what it sets out to do.

One thing the author does particularly well is analyzes major interpreters in their life context. Of Spinoza, for example (to whom he traces the beginning of the denial of Mosaic authorship of the Pentateuch), he writes:

But it is important to understand, even if somewhat minimally, the community values Spinoza was reacting against and the intellectual currents of the day that influenced his thought. Modernity’s most cherished claims–autonomous intellectual pursuits, dismissal of dogmatic tradition, naturalism, and affirmation of the Cartesian “I” (I think therefore I am)–were advanced by Spinoza’s philosophical and hermeneutical outlook.

He notes that Spinoza’s emphasis on rationalism and the knowing self may have been, in part, a reaction to the “religious dogmatism, military might, and political ambition” that “made for a toxic combination throughout the Thirty Years War.”

Gignilliat’s ability to understand thinkers in context helps the reader to better appreciate what led to their contributions. With the above in mind, I could better understand why Spinoza sought to turn “sola scriptura into nuda scriptura, that is, Scripture stripped of any theological or ecclesial context.” (I thought this was a brilliant line.) Gignilliat does not follow Spinoza this far, but he gives a fair shake to the ideas of Spinoza and others throughout the book.

The author treats the documentary hypothesis and its development, beginning with Wellhausen. Though many evangelicals bristle at J, E, D, and P, Gignilliat does a good job showing how Wellhausen and those after him developed the notion that the Pentateuch has a complex redaction history. One key implication of the hypothesis is that someone like von Rad can conclude (in Gignilliat’s words):

The Hexateuchal [Pentateuch+Joshua] traditions do not give us a historical account of Israel that will satisfy modern attempts at history making. What these traditions do give is insight into Israel’s ancient faith and how that faith was continually actualized in Israel’s history of salvation.

Childs is the climax of the book: He is both “confessional and critical.” That is, he integrates historical-critical insights that have preceded him, yet with a confessional understanding of the Bible as Scripture. The canon matters to Childs, and his belief in the Bible as God’s Word–not just an object of historical study–influences his approach.

Gignilliat finally stands with Childs. For Gignilliat, “[A] confession of faith shapes, if not determines, the way we go about reading the Old Testament as Holy Scripture.” Readers who are nervous about some of the tendencies of Old Testament criticism to minimize (or ridicule) this view of the Bible as Scripture can rest assured with Gignilliat as their tour guide. Readers who are nervous about a Zondervan author writing a history of a field that has not exactly been dominated by evangelicals can also be rest assured by Gignilliat’s fair treatment of ideas and interpreters.

One great strength of A Brief History of Old Testament Criticism is Gignilliat’s consistent use of primary source materials. He does what every good philosopher should do: examines thinkers’ own writings, not just others’ writings about their writings. In this way he is able to describe his subjects in their own terms.

As I read I found myself occasionally distracted by what came across as an overly conversational tone. Although this is not present in all parts of the book, some sections overused, I thought, phrases like “all to say,” or, “it will be remembered that,” or, “at the end of the day.” The writing would have been stronger without that kind of verbal filler–and the author certainly had no need of hedging anything he said in such ways, since his brief history is a cogent, readable, and enjoyable one.

An evangelical doing Old Testament criticism may often feel how de Wette did–“lost in the middle” and in “a theological no-man’s land,” as Gignilliat describes it. But evangelicals should also know that Gignilliat is in that same territory, honoring the insights of those who have gone before, yet holding a high view of the Bible as God’s words to humanity, for then and for now. He quotes Herman Bavinck: “[Holy Scripture] was not only ‘God-breathed’ at the time it was written; it is ‘God-breathing.'”

A Brief History of Old Testament Criticism has its Zondervan product page (including sample pdf) here. It’s on Amazon here.

I received a review copy of this book from Zondervan in exchange for an unbiased review.

Always read the conclusion first: More about how to speed read


I’ve learned a few more things about speed reading since I first started. In addition to what I already posted here, here are a few more methods I’ve found to be effective. I have always thought of myself as a slow reader and serial book non-finisher. If I can do these things, just about any other reader can. The below observations have come with further practice.

I read the conclusion before I read the book. I wrote before, “I glance through the entire book I’m about to read before diving in.” I’ve fine-tuned this process a bit. I still look at the table of contents and try to find the thesis of the book (if there is one) in the introduction and first chapter. Now–spoiler alerts be danged–I also read the conclusion or last chapter before reading the book. This way I know where the author is trying to go, and I can better evaluate along the way how he or she is doing in getting there. This is particularly useful for writing book reviews.

Along similar lines, I read the beginning and end of each chapter before I read that chapter. This works especially well for well-written books. I can then head into a chapter with a better idea of its thesis and conclusion. This applies only to non-fiction, which is all I’ve been reading as of late. Of course it would be a bad way to read a mystery novel!

I especially push myself to read faster with familiar subject content. Speed reading is all about consistently pushing oneself to read faster than is comfortable. I seek to really take advantage of this when I’m already familiar with the subject a book treats. For example, I can read a book on ethnic identity much faster than I could read a book on how to repair a car.

I read the first and last line of a given paragraph the most slowly. This presupposes good writing, but who of us is going to deliberately read a poorly written book? I slow down just a bit at the beginning and end of each paragraph to make sure I’m tracking well with the author.

I read chunks of words, not single words at a time. I actually saw one Website refer to this as “chunking.” (No, I thought, chunking is what my baby daughter does on my shoulder when I burp her.) HT to Brian Davidson for his comment in my last post about this. This goes along with the idea I mentioned earlier of “silencing the inner narrator’s voice” you may hear as you read. One thing I’m working on now–which may prove impossible–is reading whole clauses at a time. This is difficult to do when reading something for the first time (identifying what constitutes a clause takes a little work). But reading at least three or four words at a time helps speed things along.

In speed reading, “practice makes perfect” applies. Or, in this case, practice makes faster.

Systems Thinking and Gentrification: Review of The New Urban Renewal

How do neighborhoods change? How does a forgotten ghetto become an urban hotspot?

Derek S. Hyra answers these questions in The New Urban Renewal: The Economic Transformation of Harlem and Bronzeville (published by University of Chicago Press, 2008).

Hyra presents a careful comparative study between two economically gentrifying communities: Harlem (New York) and Bronzeville (Chicago). He takes a “systems thinking” approach (though he does not call it that) to see how global and national forces interact with municipal political structures, which interact with community organizational structures, which all work together to affect local conditions. These are the lenses through which he views gentrification in those two communities.

He notes that while Bronzeville and Harlem are gentrifying economically, their racial composition is not changing–they both remain primarily African American neighborhoods. So Hyra also analyzes intraracial, cross-class conflict.

Hyra’s interest is especially in displaced, non-home-owning residents of each community. He keeps this population in mind throughout the book and makes recommendations at the end for how to minimize resident displacement in gentrifying communities.

The New Urban Renewal is not very concise–typographical errors and run-on sentences are surprisingly common for a University of Chicago Press Book. But this can be overlooked. The concepts in Hyra’s book are well worth understanding and exploring.

“Septuagint” is the wrong word to use


“Septuagint” is perhaps the wrong word to use to describe the Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures. Just about every author I’ve read so far on the Septuagint is quick to point this out. In the mail the other day I was happy to receive my review copy of Tessa Rajak’s Translation & Survival: The Greek Bible of the Ancient Jewish Diaspora (Oxford University Press, 2009). She puts it this way:

The term “Septuagint” does not appear in the title of this book, and that is no accident. It is in fact an inappropriate description for the Jewish Bible in Greek. The problem is that “Septuagint” is a term which evolved in the usage of the early Church and refers to the corpus created there as we find it in the great biblical codices of the fourth century CE. It is precisely these layers of reception that we shall need to strip away, at any rate until the last chapter of this book. But even were we to resolve to stick with the name, as one of convenience, we would soon find that the ambiguities and complications of its usage outweighed that convenience. (14-15)

Larry Hurtado recommends the book here. Keep checking back here–I’ll have a full review up some time next month.

How to Speed Read (Or, at least, how I am learning to speed read)

I have often watched in awe as my wife sped through the book she was reading while I slogged through mine. But I have been teaching myself to speed read lately. The number of books I’ve been able to review for Words on the Word in the last month is perhaps evidence that what I’m trying is working.

Here’s what I’m doing to increase my reading speed:

  • I am pushing myself to read faster than is comfortable for me. This may sound like an obvious thing to do; it is. And it works great. I am still at the stages of sacrificing a bit of comprehension for the sake of speed, but my comprehension is already increasing as I practice more.
  • I try to discipline myself not to go back over words I’ve already read. It’s a temptation to go back, especially since I’m pushing myself to read faster, but it defeats the purpose. Keep moving forward.
  • I “silence the inner voice” that I hear when I read. I got this idea from the speed-reading site Spreeder (as well as the above two thoughts). At first I thought it just sounded cheesy, but then I realized they were right. Spreeder makes the point that when many of us first learned to read, we read out loud. With time we could read silently, but still with an inner voice pacing us. This means we will only ever read as fast as we can speak. But I want to be able to read faster than that. So far, so good.
  • I read as fast as I possibly can for less essential reading. If I’m reading a theology book for class or reviewing a commentary for this site, I can’t generally afford to lose comprehension. But if I’m reading a newspaper or magazine article, or something online, or a book for fun, I try to really push myself.
  • I glance through the entire book I’m about to read before diving in. I actually learned this from one of my college philosophy professors. Even 10 minutes glancing through the book, looking carefully at the table of contents, and poking around for the thesis in the introduction or first chapter helps me frame the book in such a way that I can better read it quickly.
  • I try to speed read when I’m well-rested. Ha. We just had our third child. “Well-rested” is relative here. But I do find that I speed read much better in the morning or early afternoon than at, say, 10:00 at night.
  • I don’t beat myself up if I decide to slow down for a section. Especially when comprehension and eventual recall is important, I let myself slow down if I need to. No need to stress.

As an encouragement, let me say that if a previously slow reader like me can learn to speed read, you can too! I had to demystify the process by just trying… and then trying some more. It’s not as hard or magical as it seems. But it sure makes reading more enjoyable, and I get to read more of what I want.

UPDATE: More lessons learned on speed reading here.