The Hebrew Bible - But in Which Order?

The Hebrew canon, known often as either the Tanakh or as the Old Testament, is a collection of thirty-nine books. The number is somewhat arbitrary, because some books, like I Samuel and II Samuel, were divided into two merely because of the typical length of a scroll.

These books are further grouped into three sets. The first set is called the Torah, or the five books of Moses. Properly speaking, therefore, the Torah is not the same as the Old Testament. The Torah is merely one part of the Old Testament.

The word ‘Torah’ is often (mis)translated into English as ‘law,’ but ‘instructions’ or ‘directions’ might be more accurate. These five books are also called the ‘Pentateuch.’

The second segment of the Tanakh is called the ‘prophets’ or Nevi’m (also transliterated as Nebiim). This group is subdivided into the ‘earlier prophets’ (Joshua, Judges, Samuel, and Kings), and the ‘later prophets’ (Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and the twelve ‘minor’ prophets).

The third segment is the Ketubim (also Ketuvim) or ‘writings.’ This group includes Psalms, Proverbs, Job, Ruth, Esther, Song of Solomon, Lamentations, Ecclesiastes, Daniel, Ezra, and Chronicles.

The order of the books in the Hebrew Bible varies: in the Tanakh the books are presented in the three groups described above. Most English translations of the Old Testament follow a different order, a pattern first found in the Septuagint, a translation of the Hebrew Bible into Greek, made by the Jewish communities in Egypt sometime between 300 BC and 100 BC.

Franz Delitzsch and Johann Friedrich Karl Keil coauthored an exhaustive analysis of the Tanakh. They write:

The prophetic histories are followed in the Old Testament canon by the prophetic books of prediction. The two together form the middle portion of the threefold canon.

Delitzsch and Keil note that definition of the words ‘prophet’ and ‘prophecy’ need to be examined. The middle third of the Tanakh is called the ‘prophets,’ but isn’t Moses a prophet, too? Yet he and his words are recorded in the first third. Arguably, some texts in the final third are also prophetic.

The Torah is indeed also a prophetic work, since Moses, the mediator through whom the law was revealed, was for that very reason a prophet without an equal (Deu. 34:10); and even the final codification of the great historical law-book possessed a prophetic character (Ezr. 9:11). But it would not have been right to include the Torah (Pentateuch) in that portion of the canon which is designated as “the prophets” (Nebiim), inasmuch as, although similar in character, it is not similar in rank to the other prophetic books. It stands by itself as perfectly unique — the original record which regulated on all sides the being and life of Israel as the chosen nation, and to which all other prophecy in Israel stood in a derivative relation. And this applies not to prophecy alone, but to all the later writings. The Torah was not only the type of the prophetic histories, but of the non-prophetic, the priestly, political, and popular histories also. The former followed the Jehovistic or Deuteronomic type, and the latter the Elohistic. The Torah unites the prophetic and (so to speak) hagiographical styles of historical composition in a manner which is peculiar to itself.

Comparing the groupings and orderings found in the Hebrew Tankah with those found in the English Old Testament is a worthwhile and thought-provoking task.

Finding the Eternal

As followers of Jesus organize those aspects of their life which are corporate, they ask, “how should we live?” (Luke 3:10, II Peter 3:11).

Because people have been following Jesus for around 2,000 years, there’s a wealth of patterns and examples to study. How do we make the best use of a previous generation’s experience?

In this context, the question of tradition is hotly debated. Those who find worthy examples in the past are accused of being woodenly and slavishly bound to tradition. Those who depart from patterns of the past are accused of blindly rejecting experience’s wisdom.

With a couple of millennia behind them, the followers of Jesus have experimented with, rejected, and accepted a diverse assortment of models. What might be called traditional in a North American Pentecostal church would be seen as a break with tradition in the Armenian Orthodox church, and vice-versa.

But God asks each generation of Jesus followers to reexamine these matters and sort them out again. Why? Perhaps He wants them understand, and engage with, whichever order they inhabit. He doesn’t want them to merely go through the motions of some organization.

How do we distinguish, in tradition, between what is valuable and what should be cast aside? How do we determine which innovations are salutary and which are wasteful? Noted scholar Jaroslav Pelikan writes:

Tradition is the living faith of the dead, traditionalism is the dead faith of the living. And, I suppose I should add, it is traditionalism that gives tradition such a bad name. The reformers of every age, whether political or religious or literary, have protested against the tyranny of the dead, and in doing so have called for innovation and insight.

In making a distinction between ‘tradition’ and ‘traditionalism,’ Pelikan is giving us a bit of advice. A truly beneficial tradition is part of a living faith: it engages with the lives of the believers, and with the lives of the rest of the world; it brings the eternal into the present. Mere formulaic activity is not a living faith. Merely replicating a pattern, with little thought to its meaning or purpose or its points of contact with current life, is not a meaningful tradition, but rather a dead traditionalism.

Bound, as humans are, by living inside time, humans tend to make a great distinction between the past, the present, and the future. This difference may not be so great for God, because He lives outside time.

In 1979, when the Episcopalian church in the United States experienced animated debate about the adoption of a revised prayer book, a comment was made to the effect that God is neither old nor new, but eternal. (The reader is advised to search the periodicals of that time for an exact quote.)

The danger in a discussion about tradition is that one can be easily sidetracked into a consideration of concrete external symbols, which are not as important as the eternal meanings which such symbols are supposed to carry into contemporary daily life.

Phrasings, wordings, types of music, architectural and garment are, of themselves, of little value. They are the “jars of clay” (II Corinthians 4:7) which carry the wisdom of God into our hearts, minds, and hands. Richard Rohr writes:

Many religious people seem to think that God, for some utterly unexplainable reason, loves the human past (usually their own group’s recent past) instead of the present or the future of this creation.

Whether one maintains tradition or departs from it, in either case this choice should be a means to an end, not an end in itself. The goal is neither to preserve tradition nor to violate it. But such preservation or violation can be a step toward a goal. Rohr continues:

We can do much better than substituting mere traditionalism for actual God experience.

Obviously, the locus classicus for this theme is Mark 7:8, as Jesus says, “You leave the commandment of God and hold to the tradition of men.”

Another relevant text is found in John’s Revelation (3:2): “Wake up, and strengthen what remains and is about to die, for I have not found your works complete in the sight of my God.”

If the goal is to “strengthen,” then we choose to follow, or depart from, tradition as that goal dictates. Richard Lenski explains that this passage

means to take strong, immediate, effective measures. “To make decisively firm” all that is ready to die completely conveys the idea of establishing it with new life and vitality so that it may be able to shake off this creeping death and to stand solidly against its inroads.

The stakes here become apparent: if we become sidetracked, then spiritual death will ensue.

Inevitably, we will become sidetracked. We will embrace tradition when we should depart from it, and we will violate tradition when we should preserve it. We are sinners and we are sinful.

Jesus reaches into our blind and confused fumbling, and He directs us. Despite our best efforts, not because of them, He will lead us according to His will.

He will forgive us for our bad corporate choices as well as for our bad individual choices. His Holy Spirit, not our squabbling among ourselves, will call, gather, enlighten, and sanctify the followers of Jesus on earth.

James Writes about Grace

In James’s letter to the early followers of Jesus, written around 50 AD, he writes that God “gives generously to all without reproach.” James is using the concept called ‘grace’ - the concept of unearned, unmerited, freely-given gifts.

God is in the habit of giving people something better than what they deserve. George Stulac writes:

By instructing his readers to ask for wisdom, James is pointed them to God’s grace. This is one example of what underlies the whole epistle - James’s confidence in the grace of God and his intense desire for his readers to place their own reliance there.

To be human means to be flawed and imperfect. It means even to be sinful and corrupt. Human beings are born into a bad situation, a situation out of which they cannot get themselves.

The abstract concept of grace take a specific and concrete form in the person of Jesus. The core of His message is to tell people that they can’t earn their way into heaven, and should stop trying to do so.

Jesus presents Himself as offering, freely and equally to all, admission into heaven. That which we can’t earn for ourselves, He gives as a gift. George Stulac continues:

James then leads his readers into God’s grace by calling attention to four facets. As they come in the Greek word order, first God is the one who “is giving.” The word is didontos, a present active participle; it is God’s constant nature to be gracious and giving. Second, God gives to all (pasin). The call to live by faith is extended to everyone, and no one is left without an invitation to trust in God. Third, God gives generously (haplos), emphasizing that God gives freely and without reserve. Fourth, God gives without finding fault, or without reproaching.

The ability to display grace - to be gracious - is not only ethically good, but is also a display of power. Only a powerful being can give gifts which are so good and so many.

Thus we see that Jesus is not only generous, but is in control. The title ‘Lord’ indicates that Jesus is powerful as well as graceful. Ed Potoczak writes:

Our Lord’s nature is entirely about forgiveness. He loved us and forgave us before we even knew him. He even died for us before we were born. We can be brave and strong, but we are also called as knights of the King’s court to forgive those we live with, work with, and meet on a daily basis. By relying on Jesus and his strength and peace we can work out our differences and if the other party will not reconcile with us, we can forgive him or her as a follower of Christ and move on. The God of mercy expects his knights to be sincerely merciful.

Grace, then, is not a product of weakness, but rather flows from strength. God’s omnipotence is the source of His grace.

The ability to give many and great gifts belongs only to a most powerful Being. The vassal can be gracious, but the king much more so, and the vassal's graciousness is empower by the king’s.

James Describes God's Character

The letter written by James to early followers of Jesus, around 50 AD, contains, among other things, a sketch of God’s character. Who is God? What does He do all day long? What is His personality like?

Early in the text, James tells the reader that God “gives generously to all without reproach.”

Parsing this phrase, we note that God “gives,” i.e., He does not ‘pay,’ and it is not a quid pro quo, but rather an unearned, unmerited, freely-given gift or present. This is the meaning of the word grace.

God gives “generously,” giving more than is necessary or usual or expected. This is kindness. If God gave us merely our physical bodies and enough sustenance to keep us alive, that would already be a gift. But He gives more than that.

He gives “to all,” emphasizing that God cares for each person. Every human being is the object of God’s affection. George Stulac writes that, as James formulated his letter, one

fact of God’s character was his grace. He gives good gifts. We imitate God in this trait by graciously giving good gifts to others - even to those who are causing the trials in our lives, for we will give “generously to all without finding fault” (1:5). When we are treated unjustly and hurtfully, we will take our stand here: to rely on God to provide good gifts for us while we persevere in loving our enemies, doing good to those who hate us, blessing those who curse us and praying for those who mistreat us (Lk 6:27-28).

James continues by saying that “every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights.” Not only is a God a generous giver, but everything which is given or received finds its original and ultimate source in Him.

Not only does grace characterize God, but He is the unique initiator of grace in the universe. God is gracious, but He is also merciful. Ed Potoczak offers a familiar formula for defining ‘mercy’:

Justice is when someone receives what he or she deserves. Mercy is when they do not get what they deserve, but instead, they receive forgiveness.

Because all humans are imperfect, we all need forgiveness; God shows mercy to all. One aspect of God’s character, as described by James, is that He is a wellspring of both grace and mercy.

Dust, Breath, Soul

Jesus presented, among other ideas, a conception of what it means to be a human. After 2,000 years, that idea continues to stand in tension with competing conceptions, notably, with versions of Platonism and Neoplatonism.

The Hebraic worldview refuses to fit neatly into either a Cartesian dualism or some type of monism. In Deuteronomy, we see heart, soul, and might listed as different aspects of a human being. We must not, however, picture these as separate components which are capable of isolated examination:

You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might.

The human being is more than the sum of her or his parts. The Semitic thought of Holy Scripture rejects the Cartesian view of the human who is a mind and has a body. Instead, the Hebraic conceptual framework offers a human who is the intersection, or union, of soul and body.

The Greek text of the New Testament adds a fourth noun to the total, substituting ‘mind’ and ‘strength’ for ‘might’:

And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.

Perhaps it is best not to regard these substantives as clearly distinguished modules of a human being, but rather to conceive of them as varying aspects or facets of single indivisible entity. These four traits are therefore perhaps not completely separable from each other.

Like the proverbial two sides of a coin, a human can’t be disassembled into parts. Author Wendell Berry offers his analysis:

The formula given in Genesis 2:7 is not man = body + soul; the formula is soul = dust + breath. According to this verse, God did not make a body and put a soul into it, like a letter into an envelope.

To be sure, it is operating at a disadvantage to discuss these matters in English. A study of Hebrew and Greek are indispensable. The name ‘Adam’ is simply a linguistic variation of the word for dirt. The text tells us that with the breath of God, Adam ‘became a living soul,’ which begs the question, what exactly is a non-living soul?

We must note, in passing, that Wendell Berry is not a trained philosopher or theologian, although his engagement with spiritual matters seems to be informed and sincere. His analysis of what it means to be human continues:

The dust, formed as man and made to live, did not embody a soul; it became a soul. “Soul” here refers to the whole creature.

There might lurk, however, a danger in the honorable attempt to do justice to the Hebraic anthropology. In trying to do justice to the text and its Semitic vision of human nature, and in trying to avoid Neoplatonism, it is possible to veer too far in the opposite direction, and lapse into something akin to materialism, which could unwittingly deny the immortality of the soul.

There is a paradox in the fact that soul and body are not simply detachable from one another, and yet eternal life is possible even when the body has returned to the state of scattered dust.

Paradoxes are, however, exactly what we should expect when trying to understand a design produced by the mind of God, who says

For my thoughts are not your thoughts,
neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord.
For as the heavens are higher than the earth,
so are my ways higher than your ways
and my thoughts than your thoughts.

On the one hand, we wish to reject a Platonic view that an immaterial soul and a physical body are essentially separate and distinct, and merely happen to coincide for a segment of time. But on the other hand, we must be careful not to identify the human being too closely with the physical body, because that body does eventually end up as dust.

Among some followers of Jesus, the Cartesian formula, “I am a mind and I have a body” has become too influential and nudged them away from the ontology of the text. The Hebraic metaphysic of Scripture might be closer to something like “a human being is a mind and a body.”

A document written by the CTCR correctly moves away from Neoplatonic dualism, but does it, in citing Wendell Berry, embrace too materialistic a worldview? If, as Berry writes, “body + breath = soul / living creature,” then what becomes of the person when the breath stops and the body disintegrates? Has Berry gotten rid of Plato at the expense of eternal life?

Platonism has often been associated with the immortality of the soul, while materialism has been associated with a concept of personhood which ends at death. How do we conceptualize an eternal soul which is somehow inherently bound to a material body? The CTCR writes:

Not only did God form us from the ground but He made us “nephesh.” Nephesh has often been translated in the past as “soul,” but it is often more accurate to render it as “living creature.” Again, we start with Genesis 2:7, “Then the Lord God formed the man of dust from the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living creature [nephesh].” This is an important text for it describes our nature as human beings. Wendell Berry rightly observes that this text does not support a dichotomous view of the human creature that consists of two discrete parts glued together. He notes that the formula is not: body + soul = human creature. Instead, the formula is body + breath = soul / living creature. “He [God] formed man of dust; then, by breathing His breath into it, He made the dust come alive ... Humanity is thus presented to us, in Adam, not as a creature of two discrete parts temporarily glued together but as a single mystery.” The theme continues. “When his breath departs, he returns to the earth” (Ps 146:4; Ps 104:29).

By embracing Berry’s formulation, does the CTCR somehow open the door to an interpretation which has no room for life beyond the death of my current physical body?

The challenge of articulating the Semitic worldview of Scripture is compounded by the fact that Scripture itself seems, at some points, to drift toward some type of dualism. Consider the book of Ecclesiastes:

The dust returns to the earth as it was, and the spirit returns to God who gave it.

One starting point for this investigation would be a word study of ‘body’ and ‘bodies’ - and their Greek equivalents - in the New Testament. The human being seems to be intrinsically linked to the notion of having a material body. This would do away with the Platonic image of heaven as an afterlife of disembodied souls.

But while the human being seems necessarily to have a body, it may not necessarily need any one particular body. Hence the New Testament’s image of souls receiving new bodies (II Corinthians 5).

Jesus Alerts Us to Dangers

We humans have bad spiritual eyesight, and are not capable of seeing the dangers around us. For this reason, God enlightens us.

God advises us, in the same way as traveller’s information, offered through your GPS, warns you of road construction, accidents, and traffic jams.

God’s enlightenment functions like the radar which helps a pilot avoid mountains while flying in zero-visibility conditions. As Webb Johnson writes,

In the same way, Jesus came to reveal the truth to us, to show us how things truly operate in the world. He came to remind us of the powers that run things behind the scenes, and expose their lies. His vision for us was not to condemn the sinners among us and offer them threats, but to expose the dark forces that seek to cloud men’s minds and mock God.

God offers us His guidance through His written word; through the study, preaching, and discussion of that word; and through the regular consumption of His body and blood, which is found in, with, and under the bread and wine.

Eventually, He will clear our spiritual vision, when He remakes the universe with a new heaven and a new earth, and gives us new bodies.

Until then, our groggy state makes us incapable of spiritual progress on our own. It is not we, but God who brings us forward (cf. Galatians 2:20). In salvation, man is passive and God is active. As Jeremiah writes:

Behold, I will restore the fortunes of the tents of Jacob
and have compassion on his dwellings;
the city shall be rebuilt on its mound,
and the palace shall stand where it used to be.
Out of them shall come songs of thanksgiving,
and the voices of those who celebrate.
I will multiply them, and they shall not be few;
I will make them honored, and they shall not be small.
Their children shall be as they were of old,
and their congregation shall be established before me,
and I will punish all who oppress them.
Their prince shall be one of themselves;
their ruler shall come out from their midst;
I will make him draw near, and he shall approach me,
for who would dare of himself to approach me?
declares The Lord.
And you shall be my people,
and I will be your God.”

This same divine action which wrought corporate and physical salvation, described in Jeremiah’s text, also works individual and spiritual salvation, for which Jeremiah’s text is an intentional metaphor.

Tempests in Teacups

The publishing industry gushes forth a seemingly infinite stream of spiritual books. Some of these attract both passionate fans and animated detractors.

Authors like N.T. Wright, Rob Bell, Charles Spurgeon, Joel Osteen, Carl Medearis, Gene Veith, Max Lucado, Beth Moore, Philip Yancey, Rick Warren, Karl Barth, R.C. Sproul, Francis Schaeffer, and many others keep the Christian book business profitable.

In many cases, each book which falls from the pen of these writers has been both praised and condemned by various reviewers. A single book may instigate articles and more books in response. If one critic finds fault with a publication, another rushes to its defense.

Huge amounts of time and ink are spent in the process of responding to responses. At which point does this effort become a waste of resources?

In Paul’s first letter to the Thessalonians, he writes:

Do not quench the Spirit. Do not despise prophecies, but test everything; hold fast what is good. Abstain from every form of evil.

We may conclude that Paul is asking us sort through those writings which come to our attention: “test everything.” This is an imperative toward careful examination and close reading. When we find something “good,” we are to retain it.

Paul does not, however, explicitly indicate what we should do with something which is not “good” - what do we do with something that is bad?

Paul does not tell us to carry on an extended polemic against those things which we find to be bad. The cottage industry which produces printed vitriol against items in the continuous flood of books which falls from the presses of the Christian book industry is not instituted by Scripture.

One might instead conjecture that Paul wants us to devote thought and attention to that which is good. In written analysis, so with ethical behavior: it is more important and valuable to do good than to condemn evil. He writes in his letter to the Philippians:

Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me — practice these things.

It might be that Paul would instruct us, when we find something which is not good, to ignore it, discard it, or pass over it in silence.

To produce endless reams of verbiage identifying and condemning the heresies may not be the most productive or constructive use of one’s time and ink. Merely because heresies are printed does not mean that followers of Jesus are required to catalogue and explain each error.

Building the Kingdom of Heaven is a constructive, not destructive, activity. Speaking the truth is not synonymous with refuting error, and sometimes the best refutation is to simply assert a truth without specifically explaining the error.

One may unwittingly or unintentionally assist an error by dwelling on it too long. Paul speaks of “the ability to distinguish between spirits” in his letter to the Corinthians, but he does not instruct us to dwell on the details of error at length.

It is true that it is occasionally necessary to identify heresy as heresy. But having so diagnosed it, let us then move on to other, more edifying matters.

Theological disputes and debates can make valuable contributions to the knowledge-base of Jesus followers. But when these discussions morph into a continuous stream of articles and books which endlessly parse the sentences of one’s opponents, and which are motivated by an unhealthy passion which verges on hatred, then they have ceased to be productive.

Those who write, or habitually read, such Streitschriften are likely to overestimate the importance of their squabbles, likely not to see that they have eventually become irrelevant, and likely not to understand that the rest of the reading public has simply moved on to something else. They have reduced themselves to trivia, and look foolish as they fight battles which manifest themselves as exercises in nitpicking and oblivious misunderstanding.

There is no need for animus in the analysis of texts; we are obliged to view their authors, even authors of heresy, with compassion. There is no need for fear; in the long run, heresies never triumph, and truth always does. We may proceed with calm assurance, a “peace which passes all understanding,” which allows us to not remain stuck in the endless cycle of verbal retaliations and repeated clarifications.