Helping ordinary people learn to study the Bible
Jenny Marcelene shared with her kids some of her own insights from studying Revelation. And in this piece she also shares them with us. Revelation is such an important book to be studying when times are tough. Here are four teachings from the book to help our children in the days to come:
Ryan recently encouraged us to read across the chapter breaks in the book of Nehemiah. Those chapter divisions are not original to the text. Sometimes they helpfully follow the literary divisions, but sometimes they do not.
Here is another example from the New Testament, in 2 Timothy. Reading across the chapter break helps us to avoid speculative (and thereby incorrect) interpretation.
In 2 Tim 2:20, Paul introduces the metaphor of a great house with a variety of vessels: some for honorable use, some for dishonorable. Much could be said about the metaphor, its role in Paul’s argument, and its connection to Numbers 16, which Paul alludes to right before in 2 Tim 2:19. For now, I would like to highlight only that the metaphor involves a contrast between honorable vessels and dishonorable ones. A contrast between those that are useless and those who are ready for “every good work” (2 Tim 2:21).
The next paragraph describes what Timothy ought to cleanse himself from, in order for his conduct to be honorable and useful to his master. And though the chapter ends there, the thought continues right into chapter 3, where useless and dishonorable influencers are described. Paul then returns to the topic of Timothy’s usefulness as a minister (“complete, equipped for every good work” – 2 Tim 3:17).
So the metaphor introduced in 2 Tim 2:20-21 governs this entire section of the letter.
If I were leading a small group or teaching the passage, I might still separate 2 Tim 3:10-17 as a unit. But I would be sure to keep all of 2 Tim 2:20-3:9 together lest we lose the explicit contrast Paul develops.
Please make good use of the chapter divisions in your Bible. Often they are quite useful! But be alert that times of difficulty will come, when those chapter division will hinder your understanding rather than help it. The solution is to observe well and make sure you follow the author’s train of thought. Sensitivity to literary markers and transitions will serve you well.
Tommy Keene exaggerates only slightly: “Everything I need to know about Revelation I learned in the first eight verses.”
Different types of literature work in different ways. So as Bible students, we ought to have some idea of what we’re looking for when we begin to observe a text. And since epistles are logical literature, clearly presenting arguments, with premises and conclusions, we should look for such things. The conclusions are the main ideas of which the author wishes to persuade his audience. They can come in a variety of flavors.
Sometimes, conclusions come in the form of thesis statements that summarize the main argument of an entire letter.
For example, Eph 4:1 summarizes the letter’s entire argument in two parts: “I therefore, a prisoner for the Lord, urge you to [Part 2] walk in a manner worthy of [Part 1] the calling to which you have been called.”
Another example is Hebrews 1:1-3, which states the letter’s thesis up front: “…God…has spoken to us by his Son…who sat down…”
John does the same thing in his first epistle: “I write these things to you who believe in the name of the Son of God, that you may know that you have eternal life” (1 John 5:13).
Alternatively, thesis statements can come at the beginning of a section, to introduce the topic of the next division.
Hebrews does this all through the letter, weaving the topic statement of each new portion into the transitional paragraphs between sections. For example, see Heb 2:17: “Therefore he had to be made like his brothers in every respect, so that he might become a merciful and faithful high priest in the service of God, to make propitiation for the sins of the people.” This conclusion to the first section introduce the next section, which explains how Jesus is both a faithful high priest (Heb 3:1-4:14) and a merciful high priest (Heb 4:15-5:10).
Another example is 2 Timothy 2:1-2: “You then, my child, be strengthened by the grace that is in Christ Jesus, and what you have heard from me in the presence of many witnesses entrust to faithful men, who will be able to teach others also.” This thesis introduces the section, which expands on the how to entrust the message to faithful men (2 Tim 2:3-7) before also expanding on how to be strengthened by grace (2 Tim 2:8-13).
One more example: 1 Peter 2:11-12 is the thesis for the entire section that goes from 1 Peter 2:11 to 1 Peter 4:11. Everything contained in the thesis statement gets expanded on throughout the section: abstaining from passions (1 Pet 4:1-6), honorable conduct among Gentiles (1 Pet 2:13-3:7), being spoken against (1 Pet 3:8-22), and glorifying God (1 Pet 4:7-11).
Sometimes, the thesis comes at the end of a section, summing up the argument in that part of the letter.
For example, Romans 3:19-20 condenses the argument of Rom 1:18-3:20. 1 Cor 14:39-40 states the argument of that chapter (though that argument was also introduced in 1 Cor 14:1). Philippians 4:1 states the thesis of Paul’s argument that he presented all the way from Phil 1:12 to that point.
Whether you are studying a lengthy or brief amount of text, don’t forget that the authors of epistles generally wanted to persuade their readers to believe or do something. They knew as well as writers do today, that one key to persuasion is to explicitly inform your audience what it is you would like to persuade them of. Therefore—here is my thesis statement at the end—we ought to look for thesis statements in the Bible’s logical literature, especially epistles.
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Last week, I cautioned care when we debate doctrines that cannot be found as the main points of particular passages of Scripture. To be clear, I am not saying that such doctrines are false; they very well may be true and worth believing! My point is simply that we ought to spend most of our time debating the main points, lest we lose sight of those main points in favor of issues, however true they may be, of lesser importance (Matt 23:1-36, especially Matt 23:23-24). In other words, the focus of our debates ought to be the focus of the Scriptures themselves.
Perhaps you might agree in theory, but what would this look like in practice? This principle can feel quite threatening when it gets personal.
For example, is there any passage whose main point is the timing of a rapture? Is there any passage whose main point is to spell out a specific millennial view?
While the book of Galatians and the latter half of Romans 3 clearly teach the doctrine of justification by faith alone as a main point, the particular mechanism for how that justification takes place is not given the same level of attention. For example, is the primary mechanism for justification the righteousness of Christ being credited to believers (imputation), or is it the attachment of believers to Christ through union with him (incorporation)? Perhaps there are other options as well, but such finer points occupy much theological debate.
What about the various denominational positions on baptism or the Lord’s Supper? Church membership? Styles of worship? Church government?
Again, I am not saying that such things don’t matter. Nor that we can’t or shouldn’t hold positions on them (and discuss or debate said positions). All I am saying is: Does the gravity and emphasis of such debates correspond to the gravity and emphasis of such matters in the Scriptures themselves?
To highlight the problem: If you can argue for predestination from Ephesians 1, or you can present a case regarding gender roles from Ephesians 5, but you cannot articulate the main idea of the letter of Ephesians (God uniting all things together in Christ) or explain how chapters 1 and 5 advance that argument—you may be spending too much time on matters of lesser importance.
Systematic theology has much importance. But if the majority of your theological reflection or debate involves systematic doctrines with proof texts, perhaps some shifting of attention is in order.
A crucial presupposition we must make when studying the Bible is that, while it was written for believers in all ages (1 Cor 10:11), it was not written directly to us. We are reading someone else’s mail.
That means that we must be aware of and alert for idioms. Those turns of phrase that have a unique meaning in a particular culture but would make no sense when translated to another language. For example, if I describe my child’s theater performance as having “knocked it out of the park,” people in another time and place might presume something got broken or that the play was performed in an outdoor venue.
With the Bible, this issue works in both directions. Ancient authors used idioms, for which word studies will be no help. (Imagine looking up “knocked” and “park” up in a dictionary.) And at the same time, we cannot read modern day idioms back into the text, even if the words are the same.
For example, Alan Shlemon explains the fact that when Jesus told Lazarus to “Come out” (John 11:43), he was not inviting him to publicly identify as gay. This may be self-evident to some, but such basic principles bear repeating. We must seek to understand the Bible the way the original audience would have understood it. Only then can we draw legitimate applications in our day.
Shlemon’s piece skillfully draws out this principle with respect to some of the ways people read the text today.
I’ve written before that the truths of the Bible that are most worth fighting for are the main points. This does not mean that we can’t or shouldn’t fight for secondary or implied points. It means only that we ought to reserve greatest vehemence—and the greatest market share of air space—to the main points.
The next time you enter a theological disagreement or debate, I dare you to consider: Can I identify a single passage (not merely a verse) of Scripture that has as its main point the thing I’m arguing for? Please note: I am not asking if you can proof text your perspective. I am asking whether a living and breathing author of Scripture (as they will be once again in the resurrection) would concur that the conclusion you wish to fight for was, in fact, a main point of a particular passage in one of his books.
If the answer is “no,” I am not saying you shouldn’t fight for it. I am only asking, are you fighting for that conclusion without conceding the fight for the actual main points of Scripture? If you are not sure what this might look like in actual dialogue in the 21st century, have no fear. I expect to take up this matter further in the coming weeks. And you might want to consider my argument for why this matters.
Professor Tommy Keene offers sage advice that ought to be stated over and over again: Stop doing word studies.
Word studies are a favorite tool of Biblical exegetes, but usually aren’t worth the time. Why not? Because either (1) the work has already been done for you, or (2) what you are trying to “find” can’t be found using a word study.
In the article, he explains how the work has already been refined over generations—and you have access to the fruit of that work! Then he goes on to explain how word studies can’t give you what you are looking for:
Word studies as described above are not the best tool for this kind of hermeneutical task. There often (but not always) is a depth in the usage of particular words and phrases, but that depth is not a function of the dictionary definition or “meaning” of the word. It is a function of how the word triggers particular cultural moments and concepts and stories and ideas. The best tool for that kind of analysis is cultural engagement. It is to live in and within the historical “intertext” of the word. That’s obviously hard when it comes to interpreting Scripture. For an outdated 80s reference I just need to find dad’s old VHS collection, or figure out which streaming service owns the rights these days. But the Bible is much older. How do we study the “intertext” of Biblical words?
Word studies can be a part of that process, but it’s really just the first step, and an inefficient one at that. They don’t really help you find what you’re looking for because what you are looking for is a function of culture and theology and the inter-connectedness of texts, not word meaning.
Some might wonder, “If I don’t do word studies, then what should I actually do when studying the Bible? I would suggest working on straightforward OIA of the text at hand. Don’t jump to cross-references until you have first grasped the main point of the text at hand. But in addition, as Keene concludes:
So free up your time. Stop doing word studies. What should you do instead? The absolute best thing you can do is immerse yourself in Scripture. Stop picking the Bible apart into little bits and start reading comprehensively. Second, start developing your facility with exegetical tools like Biblical Theology and typology. Third, start reading “around” the Bible. Language is a function of culture and history as well as syntax and grammar; upgrade your understanding of the ancient world and how it works.
Such counsel is extraordinarily wise and ought to be repeated frequently until we start listening. Check it out!
This year, I have the honor of teaching a course on logic for our local homeschool co-op. Learning logic is a great opportunity for studying the Bible, and studying the Bible is a great opportunity for learning logic. So with my twenty 7th-12th graders, a part of every class period is spent working our way through the book of Hebrews.
I chose Hebrews because it marks with explicit clarity its theses and transitions. (If you’re not sure what I mean, check out my interpretive overview of the book.) So even a group of schoolchildren can spot the chief arguments with much confidence.
In this venue, we are not doing a thorough Bible study. We’re not observing everything that could be observed, and I’m not teaching them to look for literary devices. We’re not spending much time on asking or answering interpretive questions. We’re not looking up the Old Testament quotes in their original context. And we’re not (yet) spending much time in application.
Our goal is simply to identify the skeletal structure of the book’s arguments. This requires careful observation of the grammar, sentence structure, and transitional words and phrases. We want to nail down conclusions and premises, and that’s about it. But even that is helping these kids realize that they are not too young for incredibly satisfying and God-delighting Bible study.
On week 1, we spent about 5 minutes looking at Heb 1:1-3. I asked the students to use their knowledge of grammar to identify the run-on sentence’s main clause. Easy peasy: “God [formerly] spoke by the prophets, but [now] he has spoken by his Son.” Clearly, the weight of the sentence falls on the second half: “God has spoken by his Son.” In no time at all, we had a thesis statement for the entire book.
The following week, we worked through the next few verses of chapter 1 to grasp the first argument in support of the main thesis.
For homework, I asked them to complete the list by figuring out the remaining premises in the rest of chapter 1.
Now, we could spend much more time here. We could look up the OT quotes to make sure we’re getting the nuances right (that Psalm 2 reference in Heb 1:5 is about far more than just the title “Son”!). We could spend more time on historical background and first-century Jewish beliefs (why is it such a big deal, after all, to prove that the Son is superior to angels?). A more precise and thorough Bible study would require such work. But since, with this class, I’m seeking only to develop the skill of following an argument, what we have here is a great start.
How are you doing in your ability to follow a book’s argument?
