The Faithful Witness

The testimony of the Lord is sure, making wise the simple.
-Psalm 19: 7B

The word "testimony" ('aduth) is often a synonym for "law" in the Old Testament. It comes from a Hebrew word that means to repeat or reiterate--a courtroom term that described the repetitions (for emphasis) of a witness's statement about an event. It applies to God's witness to Himself in His character and in His actions. That witness can be His own word as expressed in the law: the Ten Commandments kept in the ark of the covenant were referred to as the "tablets of the testimony." It can be a divine symbol existing on the physical level: the tent in the wilderness was referred to as the "tabernacle of witness." The repetition of the law's witness is also reflected in nature in this same Psalm ("Day to day pours out speech, and night to night reveals knowledge").

This piling up, as it were, of witnesses to God and by God--from God's existence within Himself, to His witness in law and gospel, to the witness of man-made symbols, to the witness of nature--expresses a pleading earnestness spoken over and over again to man, who prefers to close his eyes and put his hands over his ears. It is a cry of grace and a threat of judgment.

The Psalmist calls this testimony "sure" (ne'e-manah--from which we derive amen). At a physical level, the word can mean "steady," "fixed," "confirmed," "supported," "established." At a deeper level, it can be translated "trustworthy" or "faithful." It seems almost redundant to use such an adjective to support God's witness to Himself. And yet there again is this repetitive pressure to convince man that God is, and that He is true, and that He is faithful to what He is, and to His truth. It is the confirmation of what is already confirmed, a shout over the din of the fall.

The Sure Testimony is said to "make wise the simple." How? First, we need to remember that "wisdom" is not just intellectual knowledge, but a type of living learned by repentance, by faith, and often by suffering. The second clue is in the word "simple." The Hebrew pe-thi comes from a root meaning "open." The simple person, then, is open to everything and anything, and has no stability, direction, or inner guard (discernment). Interestingly, the cognate verb form of this noun means to "deceive" or "seduce."

When the serpent in the garden tempted Eve, he called 'aduth ne'emanah into question. First he attacked the witness ("has God said?"), and then God's trustworthiness ("God knows...you will be like God...."). When the foundation crumbled, Eve became the first open-minded person on the planet. Since then human independence has become both a virtue and a bondage.

The tempter is described as cunning, or "subtle" ('arum). This is the same word that is translated "naked" in the previous verse, speaking of Adam and Eve. While Hebrew scholars agree that the two words come from different roots, it is hard to believe that the author of Genesis did not intend a play on words when he placed them in such close proximity. The tempter hid behind his deceit in the same way that Adam and Eve hid behind the trees of the garden. His subtlety was really nakedness. That nakedness was exposed when God prophesied that he would be rendered powerless by One who would crush his head. That one would be the Wisdom of God who would make wise the simple, the Faithful Witness who's faithfulness is proved by the destruction of death, and by his control of human history (Revelation 1: 5).

The Perfect Law: Psalm 19:7a

The law of the LORD is perfect, reviving the soul.


Torah is a broad term to define. While it is usually translated "law," it carries a broader meaning, closer to "instruction." Therefore the Pentateuch is Torah, but the term can include the whole Tanakh (Old Testament), as well as the act of studying it, as in "doing Torah." And doing Torah can be relational as well as intellectual--relational in its interaction with other students (horizontal), and also with God himself (vertical). In that sense Torah is a way of life.

The author of Psalm 19 describes Torah as "perfect"(a derivative of thamam)--another word with multiple meanings, encompassing the idea of "mature," "complete," "full," "reaching a pre-determined end;" as well as "blameless" and "unblemished." One would expect the Septuagint (Greek translation) to use the word teleios, picking up on the idea of completeness. But instead, the translators chose the word amomos: "spotless," "unblemished," a word most readily associated with animal sacrifice.

It is hard for a Christian not to recognize Torah's personification of itself in Christ. He is "the way, the truth, and the life." He is the "end of the law for righteousness to everyone who believes," and "the lamb without blemish or spot."

Furthermore, the unblemished Torah is described as "reviving the soul." The Hebrew word for "revive" is a derivative of shuv, a common verb meaning to"return" or "come back," or, in King James, "convert." The response to unblemished Torah is the restoration of a broken or lost soul.

What, then, is the connection between the perfect Torah and a revived or repentant soul? Keil, in his commentary on the Psalms, points to the attractiveness of Torah, which is "spotless and harmless, absolutely well-meaning, and altogether directed towards the well-being of man." Torah is both beautiful and trustworthy. But does the depraved soul always respond to beauty and faithfulness? The commentator goes on the say (I paraphrase) that Torah "imparts newness of life, and quickens the soul." This is closer to the truth. It is Torah itself that revives. There is within the personified Torah of the new covenant a power to draw a broken soul to itself (himself)--a magnet with the power to work the sought conversion.

Any man who approaches Torah runs the risk of being apprehended by it. Any man who beholds the face of Christ, no matter how faintly, is in danger of being swept away into the whirlpool of conversion. It is also true that every Christian man knows the power of Christ to shatter old images of Himself and bring the believer into deeper waters. It is because "the law of the lord is perfect, reviving the soul."

Faith and Fury

Christianity got over the difficulty of combining furious opposites, by keeping them both, and keeping them both furious.
G.K. Chesterton

A few days ago I attended a funeral at a home for a 6 months old child who died unexpectedly in his sleep. It was an intense experience. There was mourning and crying, evangelism and repentance, love and embracing. There was none of the distant “I’m here to pay my respects” atmosphere of a lot of American funerals. It was, well, real.

One of the things that struck me was that no one questioned that God was responsible for the death of this child. At the same time, those present were seeking God for comfort. The Taker of life was appealed to as the Giver of comfort. There was peace in that house. But don’t misunderstand me: the peace in that home was not an easy peace, but a peace that came from the imponderable balance of God as King, and God as Father. There was a certain fury in it. And that reminded me of Chesterton’s words.

Christianity has always had vigorous contradictions in its deepest mysteries, and the poles of each contradiction are heresies. God is three Persons in one Essence. But He is neither three Gods nor one Person in three modes. The truth is in the wonder that is neither. The Son of God is two natures in one Person. But He is neither an amalgam of two natures, nor two Persons in one body. The truth is in the wonder that is neither.

The fact is that the great mysteries invoke not understanding, but a confession of faith. The early creeds do not begin with “I comprehend,” but with credo (“I believe”). And I like to think that the church of those days did not mumble the credo, but spoke it with profundity and energy.

I remember teaching a discipleship class years ago in Guatemala. Somehow we got on the subject of the attributes of God. I went to the board, and at one end wrote Sobierno (sovereignty), and at the other Bondad (goodness), and asked if the students could reconcile the two, or if they had a favorite. There ensued the usual heated argument that arises over these two poles. One side accused the other of believing in an arbitrary tyrant, and, conversely, of believing in a weak and confused God controlled by chance and the will of man. We finally concluded that one could not stand without the other, and both needed to be confessed furiously.

I have now lapsed into theology, and from theology into abstraction. But what I saw the other night was not abstract. It was the reality being lived out. I think I understand better now what Jesus meant when he said, “Until now the kingdom of God suffers violence, and the violent take it by force.”

Athens and Jerusalem

I recently read John Joseph's Collins’ Between Athens and Jerusalem, in preparation for a New Testament course I'll be teaching in a few weeks. Collin's book is a study of the attempts of the Jewish Diaspora to offer an apologetic for their faith in a Greek environment during the inter-testament period (@200 BC to 100 AD), particularly in Alexandria. He analyses a number of pseudo-graphical and apocryphal texts from the period, with some references to Philo.

Let me try to summarize, though I run the risk of over-simplifying: the Greek thinking class in Egypt during the Ptolemaic period was philosophical and in pursuit of the good life based on reason. Many of them leaned towards monotheism and were fairly moral. Jewish thinkers, who were driven by a need to be accepted in the culture, assumed Greek categories and attempted to mold their own tradition into those. Therefore the Torah was presented as a superior philosophy, and obedience to the commandments was a means to discovering the “good, the true, and the beautiful.” Traditions that made the Jews unique, such as circumcision and dietary laws, were played down or not mentioned at all.

How successful Jewish apologetic writings actually were is debatable. Collins believes that much of the attempt involved preaching to the choir. There was always the issue of whether Jews should be included in the Greek upper and middle classes, or in the Egyptian lower class. The former was generally true under the Ptolemies, the latter under Roman rule. While there were notable conversions to Judaism during the period, most apologetic literature was designed to help the Jew define his own place in the society while holding to his traditions.

This is a fascinating period of history that has led me up a number of rabbit trails that may or may not be relevant. Follow if you wish.

First, it is easy in hindsight to condemn the Jewish writers of this period for blatant syncretism. The Hasidim and the Pharisees in Palestine certainly thought so. We see a result of this in the conflict between Greek and Aramaic speaking Christians in the early church. But syncretism is always easier to spot from outside a culture than within it. Consider the overlap of the “American Way of Life” and Christianity in our own time. We are far too close to both to untangle them. Perhaps we need African and Asian eyes to gain perspective.

Second, those centuries are in some ways a microcosm of western civilization (even down to our day) which can be defined in terms of the relationship of Hellenism and Hebraism. In an essay by that name in Culture and Anarchy, Matthew Arnold defined both: “The uppermost idea of Hellenism is to see things as they really are; the uppermost idea of Hebraism is conduct and obedience.” Both seek to attain salvation, one by right thinking, the other by right action.

Arnold saw the Renaissance of the 14th and 15th Centuries as the rediscovery of Hellenism in what was a Hebraic culture, followed by a Hebraic reaction in the Reformation, followed by the twin antagonists--the Enlightenment and Puritanism, both of which influenced our American founding documents. We’ve never quite settled whether our founding fathers were Christians or humanists. I’ve read books assigning them to both categories, written with great conviction and copious footnotes. My favorite was the tongue-in-cheek wag who gave up and described them as “Evangelical, Bible-believing deists.” My point here is not to discredit one or the other, but to suggest that both are alive and well with us, and are still intertwined in our culture, mirrored in our “conservative” and “liberal” terminology.

Third: “Morph” is an interesting new word in the American vocabulary. It has a more sinister tone than “metamorphasize.” One thinks of shape changers and zombies. It conveys the idea of change, not usually for the better. It also conveys the notion that that which “morphs” contains within itself the seed of its own change, usually for the worse, though I suppose something can morph “up.” It has a fatalistic tone. Anyway--after that digression--I was struck in Collins’ book with how both Hellenism and Hebraism morph into other forms through history.

For instance, Collins spends a good deal of time on the transition in Greek thought from rationalism to mysticism, how even in Plato there is a personification of philosophy that leads to the exaltation of the logos or sophia. There is a steady progression from the pursuit of pure Forms to the chain of being that leads to Light in later Gnosticism. Some Jewish writers of the period capitalized on this “ascent” and equated the Light with the Giver of Torah. This “morphing” from reason to secret revelation of the divine (from science to alchemy) reoccurs in history. Consider modern rationalistic evolutionists whose description of the life force (elan vital) is loaded with so much awe that it borders on worship. Whew. I’m not sure I can go any further with that.

But having gone there, I suppose it’s necessary to ask if Hebraism can morph. Pure Hebraism, in my mind, was never really meant to be a religion of salvation by law, but of love and grace, as the believer was forced by his failures in his duties to seek for supernatural intervention. Consider that while Psalm 119 is packed with synonyms for “commandment,” it is equally packed with imperatives like “teach me.” “revive me,” “open my eyes.” Without this craving for grace, Hebraism becomes self-righteous legalism, which is exactly what it morphs into. The church is certainly no stranger to it.

So, I suppose, as Hellenism and Hebraism morph into their mature forms, thinking westerners will be confronted with either mysticism or legalism, a poor choice.

Fourth: Let me at this point speak as a Christian, since we are dealing with world-views that deal with salvation. The problem with Hellenism and Hebraism, rationalism and action, mysticism and legalism, is that they all involve human effort in the attainment of whatever “salvation” might mean, whether it be eternal life or a peaceful existence in this one. Even Matthew Arnold, whose bias is definitely towards Hellenism, admits that both views ignore the sinfulness of sin. Reason is both finite and twisted. Dutiful action before God is always tainted with subtle self-centeredness. Both fail to deliver what they promise.

I would like to be able to say that Christianity offers a way out. But the fact is that Christianity has been as influenced by Hellenism and Hebraism as any institution in western culture. The Alexandrian school of Christianity continued the allegorical method of Philo, and I am not sure whether the Roman Church has yet decided whether Origen was a heretic. Synergistic legalism has created long lists of do’s and don’ts that rival the Pharisaic code of Jesus’ day. Christianity can almost be defined by its relationship to Hellenism and Hebraism (or their conflict) in any point of its history.

So instead of considering Christianity, let‘s consider its Head. There we begin to get some light. At that point the issue becomes one of soteriology. If my reason is flawed, how do I find wisdom? If I am cursed with pride and selfishness, where do I find the power to fulfill my duty? And here we move from ideas to direction--Hellenism and Hebraism both call me up. But the glory of the Gospel is that God comes down. Wisdom comes to me. Power to obey comes to me. God takes the initiative in a world that has exhausted its own. The embodiment of all that Hellenism and Hebraism ever wished to be becomes incarnate in a world that cannot find up. The truth is backwards.

“Where is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, it pleased God by the foolishness of preaching to save those who believe. For Jews demand signs and Greeks seek after wisdom, but we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For the foolishness of God is wiser than men, and the weakness of God is stronger than men.”

-1 Corinthians 1:20-25 (ESV)