Hearing Echoes. . .

When I was a small boy, my parents used to take us to Echo Lake, near Mt. Washington in New Hampshire. We’d stand on the shore and shout. . .then wait for the echo to come back. Endless fascination. I couldn’t get the same result in our back yard, or at a nearby lake.

I’m still hearing echoes, now when someone reads Scripture on Sunday
mornings. Something in Luke sounds like something from Isaiah; the reader speaks and across time the echo comes back. Brian Estelle’s Echoes of Exodus: Tracing a Biblical Motif (www.ivpacademic.com) probes this phenomenon within the Old Testament—begun during the account of the Exodus in Moses and followed in the Psalms, Isaiah, during the exile and return. Then he shows us how echoes of that paradigmatic event are used in the Gospels, Acts, Paul, Peter, and the Apocalypse to tell the good news of the kingdom.

Richard Hays (Echoes of Scripture in the Letters of Paul, 1989) was an early pioneer in noticing
these echoes—not direct quotations, or even a more obvious allusions to another/earlier part of
the big story of Scripture, but brief glimpses or echoes that resonate for a hearer who knows the
broad sweep of the story. He likens it to watching a play with brief snatches of earlier history
projected on a back screen. You just barely see them, but they trigger a response: “This play is
about something else.” He has a big word for this: metalepsis, meaning that the brief snatch brings
the larger original context with it and the hearer senses/remembers that. For instance, how can
you hear “holy, holy, holy” without remembering Isaiah’s vision, or the hymn and when you sang
it on some memorable occasion? As he begins the book, Estelle interacts with Hays for a few
pages, taking what he’s learned into his kit bag.

As Estelle moves into Luke’s writings, especially the gospel, he focuses on a few passages: Luke
3:2-6 that he calls Luke’s framing discourse—clues Luke gives the hearer about how to
listen—and the “End of Exile,” where he establishes the role of the Exodus in the gospel; Luke 4,
the temptation and the sermon at Nazareth about liberation/exodus; Luke 9, the transfiguration;
Luke 9:51–19:44, Luke’s unique travel narrative, the journey to Jerusalem; and Luke 24, hearing
the Old Testament as a story about Jesus. In each of these he develops the ways in which the
exodus theme emerges. I’ll be consulting this chapter as my local church listens to Luke’s gospel
this summer and fall. Estelle’s writing is academic and demanding, but worth the effort and even
re-reading a section to see more deeply into the biblical text.

Estelle notes that Augustine viewed the complexity of Scripture, all those human authors making
intentional and unintentional allusions and echoes, in the light of the divine author behind the
scenes, composing the various books “like an ineffably gifted artist combining movements into a
sung poem.” At one level, Scripture is more like a symphony than a systematic theology.

—Larry Sibley, guest contributor (husband of Lois, he also moonlights as a teacher and writer).

They asked for a paper. . .

With apologies to C. S. Lewis (They Asked for a Paper: Papers and Addresses (London: Geoffrey Bles, 1962), let me tell you about some papers, read at two conferences. I have learned much from papers written for and read at a conference. Including those from Wheaton College Theology Conferences over the years. Each year, a topic is chosen and people invited. They convene and read to each other, discuss endlessly in session and in between; often far into the night.

First up: Come, Let Us Eat Together: Sacraments and Christian Unity , (www.ivpacademic.com), from 2017. A remarkably diverse, baker’s dozen scholars gathered to discuss the Lord’s Supper. Contributions from the Orthodox East, from Rome in the middle (geographically, perhaps theologically), some Anglicans, and various American Protestants. For a sample, let’s listen as Matthew Levering (University of St. Mary of the Lake) reads his paper, “The Eucharist, the Risen Lord, and the Road to Emmaus.” In Luke 24, “By teaching Cleopas and his companion how to read the Old Testament so as to recognize the necessity that the Messiah should suffer and then rise from the dead, the risen Jesus shows later believers one path for comprehending the truth of his resurrection: reading and understanding the Old Testament. In this essay, however, I will focus on a second path to which the risen Jesus directs believers: ‘the breaking of bread.’ ” (Lk 24:35)
After a careful exploration of Luke’s road to Emmaus story, interacting with other writers, as he comes to the conclusion of his essay, Levering turns to Christian unity and reads, “If the unity of Christians is to increase, who better to increase it than the risen Christ himself? And where could it be more fitting for this unity to be increased than in the Lord’s Supper or Eucharist, whose effect is to deepen the baptismal unity of ‘all the faithful in one body—the Church’ “?

One would love to have been in the room as others responded to Levering, eavesdropping on the
conversation. Would they have welcomed his enthusiasm for the unifying effect of the meal? Or,
would some still have reservations, shoring up walls instead of building bridges? A little of both
from what I see in the other essays. Luke 24 has become one of my favorite passages in teaching
about the meal. Levering’s treatment has given me added insights to share with my friends and
students.

In 2018 the gathering turned to Marilynne Robinson and her fiction centered in the fictional Iowa town of Gilead and its pastor, John Ames; along with her essay collections. Including nine other writers, Robinson was there and joined the discussion. The resulting book is Balm in Gilead: A Theological Dialogue with Marilynne Robinson (www.ivpacademic.com).

I’ve read several of her books, both fiction and essays. The fiction embodies ideas that she finds important as she contemplates our culture; much like Wendell Berry’s fiction embodies his concerns for the environment. Since the book arrived, I’ve been reading the essays. Here’s what I found.

Robinson has been clear about her appreciation for John Calvin—a rarity among mainstream writers (a Pulitzer for her novel Gilead). So, of course this attracted some attention in Wheaton; a 22 page essay by Timothy George (Beeson Divinity School), a brief interchange in Robinson’s interview with Wheaton president Philip Ryken, and scattered comments in several other essays.

George focuses his essay on Robinson’s project of rescuing Calvin’s reputation. Robinson discovered Calvinism when she was assigned one of Jonathan Edwards’ writings in college. That turned her around and she started digging further into the tradition, back to Calvin, discovering along the way that the Geneva reformer is often slandered by scholars who haven’t read enough Calvin to know him. Now, Calvin shows up not only in her essays and lectures, but also in the protagonist in her fiction, the Rev. John Ames.

For instance, George quotes from Pastor Ames: “I fell to thinking of the passage in the Institutes
where it says the image of the Lord in anyone is more than reason enough to love him, and that
the Lord stands ready to take our enemies’ sins upon Himself It is a rejection of grace to hold our
enemy at fault. . . .I have probably preached on that a hundred times.” (Gilead, 189) George notes
that Robinson “acknowledges that Calvin teaches both. . .an exalted view of human beings made
in the image of God and the radicality of sin. Still, she concludes, ‘it is a grander thing altogether
to be a Calvinist sinner than a Freudian neurotic.’ ” (Balm in Gilead, 57)

Well, I’d better get back to reading the rest of the essays: “Thinking about preaching with
Marilynne Robinson” by Lauren Winter (Duke Divinity School); “Beyond Goodness: Gilead and
the Discovery of the Connections of Grace,” by Rowan Williams (Magdalen College, Cambridge)
among them.

—Larry Sibley, guest writer

Luther, Cranmer, Calvin, and much more

Thomas Cranmer wanted to get the major reformers of his today together in one room to form a consensus about doctrine and worship. It never happened. But when you’re a couple of 21st century editors, you can do it. Just get their liturgies—17 of them from the 16th century—together between two covers, freshly translated into contemporary English; add some introductory comments to each—including charts showing the shape of each—and some general essays and it’s done! It’s called Reformation Worship: Liturgies from the Past for the Present edited by Jonathan Gibson and Mark Earngey (www.newgrowthpress.com ). Although you can see some differences (ones Cranmer hoped to resolve), you mostly notice the similarities. Lots of examples here for the 21st century church.

When Lois and I opened the package from the mail, we sat around and discussed it as we read. Listen in.

Lois: Wow, this is a heavy book (688 pages)! It begins with a Foreword by Sinclair Ferguson, who calls the reader to return to the Bible and the Reformation. The liturgies were written and shared by religious leaders from many countries and theologians, and Ferguson calls readers to use this collection “wisely and well,” even as a “benediction to the church.”

Larry: One of my favorites is John Calvin’s Form of Prayers that he used as a pastor in Geneva from 1542 until he died in 1664. The translation here is accessible for public reading of the exhortations, prayers, etc. Calvin’s sentences and paragraphs can be long and complex, but I think the average congregation would not get lost, especially if they had the text—adapted to fit the contemporary situation—in front of them and became familiar with it, almost memorize it from use. This is what gets the words “into the bone,” as they say, so that they can form the spiritual life of the believer. Calvin’s extended paraphrase of the Lord’s Prayer is especially good for shaping the prayer life of the worshiper. With Martin Luther’s Form of the Mass (1523) and German Mass (1526), the editors have included the music for chanting the Gospel and other standard texts, like the Sursum Corda; a definite plus!

Lois: I liked seeing Thomas Cranmer’s Book of Common Prayer (1549 and 1552) and comparing it with the 1979 revision that I often use. In 1979, some people were eager for a contemporary version and others wanted to keep the 1928 form. I like to imagine what it would have been like in 1549 when the first BCP was introduced. How would the people have adjusted to the prayers in English, instead of Latin? How long would it have taken for them to relax and enjoy the service?

Larry: I think it needs one more chapter. It’s great to have all these resources, but I wonder about how useful it would be for a busy pastor or a worship committee of lay folks without some hints about how to use it. For instance, if you’re Presbyterian, I’d take “what we’ve always done” and compare it with Calvin’s Form of Prayers. I’d look at the shape, the sequence of items, and notice how they fit together, play off each other to make a powerful and helpful guide for the congregation. Why did he place the intercessory prayer after the reading and preaching of the Word? What would happen if we did that instead of our usual placement earlier in the service? Would it be better as a response to the Word? Go one by one through the elements and ask similar questions compared to what you’re doing. Move slowly so that people can adjust and understand why. One congregation I know took 20 years to revamp their liturgy along Calvin’s lines. A chapter that leads the reader through this process step by step would be very helpful.

—Lois and Larry Sibley