The Changing Scene in Biblical Theology

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Last summer I returned to Heidelberg, Germany, for the first time in over thirty years. Sitting in an outdoor cafe on the Hauptstrasse, I mused on the great changes that had taken place. Trolleys and automobiles are now banned from central Heidelberg, and the “old city” is a vast shopping mall. I reflected on other, even more significant changes. Back in 1958, when I spent a sabbatical sojourn at the University of Heidelberg, the great theologian Gerhard von Rad was lecturing on “Old Testament Theology.” Students came from all over the world, even from fields like law and medicine, to hear his engaging lectures. Murray Newman (now teaching at Virginia Theological Seminary) and I would retire afterwards to a Bierstube on Main Street to discuss von Rad’s revolutionary approach to Old Testament Theology.

But now the whole scene has changed. The great theological giant von Rad is gone, along with the cars and streetcars. Some maintain that in this new generation we must go beyond his theology to something else. A psalmist reminds us that all human achievements are soon “gone with the wind”:

“As for mortals, their days are like grass, they flourish like a flower of the field, for the wind passes over it, and it is gone, and its place knows it no more” (Psalm 103:15–16, NRSV).

It occurs to me, however, that some aspects of von Rad’s monumental achievement will continue to make an impact on this generation of biblical interpreters and on generations to come.¹

Gerhard von Rad emphasized the narrative character of biblical theology, in contrast to a “systematic” theology that deals with doctrines. The ancient Israelite people, he reminded us, characteristically expressed their faith by telling and retelling a story. To be sure, the storytelling approach got him into difficulty. He maintained that there are two approaches to the Bible that must be kept distinct: the approach of the modern critical historian who searches for a “critically assured minimum” and the other the approach of the interpreters of Israel’s faith who lean toward an imaginatively construed “maximum.” The historical critic deals with history; the biblical theologian deals with story.

Admittedly, the historical-critical approach is inadequate theologically because the presence of God in history cannot be proved (or, for that matter, disproved) by “scientific” method limited strictly to human or natural phenomena. Nevertheless, the theologian can hardly be indifferent to the results of historical research and archaeology, even though they provide only a minimum. What difference would it make, for instance, if one of Israel’s “root experiences,” the Exodus from Egypt, were only a story spun out of religious imagination and had no relation whatever to concrete history?² The story/history polarity introduce by von Rad’s Old Testament Theology is here to stay.

Von Rad also emphasized the importance of tradition in biblical interpretation, that is, the process of handing down materials, such as legends, stories and epics, until eventually they receive their present written form. The book of Genesis, for example, cannot be read “on a flat surface,” just as we read it today, for this scripture has “a dimension of depth.” A long history of traditions lies behind the final form of Genesis, including the old epic tradition or The Book of J, to cite the title of a recent work by Harold Bloom, professor of English literature at Yale.³ Moreover, Genesis includes several streams of tradition, as the unfolding story was told in various circles—priests of the temple, prophets, royal courts and Israelite sages. Thus a rich diversity is embraced in the dynamic development that led to the composition of a book such as Genesis.

A new generation of interpreters is interested in reading a biblical book in its final form, rather than going behind the text into a history of traditions. That is all to the good if one wants to understand the theological message of the canonical texts. Von Rad should have given more attention to the text that he said, quoting Franz Rosenzweig, we have received from R[edactor], R standing for Rabbenu, “our teacher.”⁴ Yet even when we concentrate on the canonical text, it is important to listen to voices of past traditions that may still be heard. This is the case with the story of Paradise Lost (Genesis 2–3), which is preserved as a supplement to the Priestly story of creation (Genesis 1:1–2:3). And those strange voices in the story of the marriage of heavenly beings with fair human maidens (Genesis 6:1–4), and in the tale of Yahweh’s attempt to slay Moses in the wilderness (Exodus 4:24–26), must be heard.

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Finally, von Rad’s great work is a forceful—even an extreme—reminder that Old Testament Theology is a Christian discipline. That should come as no surprise, since “Old Testament” is a Christian designation for Jewish Scriptures or Tanakh (Law, Prophets, Writings). There could be a corresponding theological approach to Jewish Scriptures; indeed, a prolegomenon has already been offered in Jon Levenson’s book, Sinai and Zion.⁵

Today I see more clearly than in my days at the University of Heidelberg the weakness, indeed, the danger, of von Rad’s approach. He says that the Christian appropriation of Israel’s scriptural traditions, in the light of God’s revelation in Jesus Christ, was such a bold and radical reinterpretation that the New Testament really outshines the Old. In his final analysis, the New holds the key to understanding the theological unity of the Old Testament. If one considers the Old Testament apart from the New, he says, then “no matter how devotedly the work is done, the more appropriate term is ‘history of the religion of the Old Testament.’”⁶

This is an unnecessary an unwarranted extreme. The Hebrew Bible/Old Testament is the Bible that the Jewish and Christian communities hold in common. From the confessional perspective of each community, the endeavor should be to try to understand this common Bible. The Old Testament/Hebrew Bible has a relative independence, an independence that should not be compromised by either Christianizing or Judaizing it. Both communities of faith need to study this body of common scripture together and to discuss what it says about God and God’s relationship to human beings and the world. In short, biblical theology should be the province of both Jews and Christians. Perhaps I should add Muslims too, for three great religions—Judaism, Christianity and Islam—trace their spiritual ancestry to Abraham, “the friend of God” (Isaiah 41:8).

Last summer I returned to Heidelberg, Germany, for the first time in over thirty years. Sitting in an outdoor cafe on the Hauptstrasse, I mused on the great changes that had taken place. Trolleys and automobiles are now banned from central Heidelberg, and the “old city” is a vast shopping mall. I reflected on other, even more significant changes. Back in 1958, when I spent a sabbatical sojourn at the University of Heidelberg, the great theologian Gerhard von Rad was lecturing on “Old Testament Theology.” Students came from all over the world, even from fields like law and medicine, […]