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Reading the New Testament as History, Literature, and Church Scripture

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A Review of Joel B. Green, Marianne Meye Thompson, and David J. Downs, Introducing the New Testament

Joel B. Green, Marianne Meye Thompson, and David J. Downs have produced in Introducing the New Testament a substantial and carefully shaped introduction that seeks to hold together three tasks often separated in New Testament studies: reading the New Testament as literature, reading it historically, and reading it as the church’s Scripture.¹ That triadic framework gives the volume both its methodological coherence and its pedagogical strength. Rather than reducing the New Testament to a collection of critical problems or, conversely, flattening it into a devotional anthology, the authors insist that these twenty-seven writings must be heard in their literary particularity, historical situatedness, and canonical function.²

The opening chapter establishes this program with admirable clarity. The New Testament is introduced not simply as a set of ancient Christian documents, but as a collection that, together with the Old Testament, functions normatively within the church’s life.³ At the same time, the authors stress that these writings were not originally composed as a self-conscious anthology called “the New Testament.”⁴ Each text arose as a distinct writing, addressed to concrete communities and historical conditions. That double emphasis is one of the volume’s major virtues. It resists both ecclesial abstraction and historical atomization. The New Testament is neither less than Scripture nor more than first-century writings that must first be understood on their own terms.⁵

The literary angle is handled especially well. The authors rightly stress that the New Testament is not one kind of document but many: Gospels, Acts, letters, and apocalypse.⁶ A reader who approaches Revelation as though it were Philippians, or Romans as though it were Mark, has already begun badly.⁷ Their account of genre as a communicative convention between writers and readers is both theoretically sound and pedagogically effective.⁸ This is not an exercise in literary formalism. It is an exhortation to attend carefully to how texts mean, not merely to what readers want them to say. In this respect, the book aligns with the broader gains of genre criticism and rhetorical criticism while avoiding the excesses of technicality that often burden introductory texts.⁹

That literary attentiveness is not merely asserted in the opening chapter but carried through the book’s structure. Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John are all treated according to narrative shape and theological contour rather than merely source-critical debate.¹⁰ John, for instance, is read in terms of the Prologue, the Book of Signs, the Book of the Passion, and the Postscript, with the central claim that Jesus’ glory is revealed not only in signs but in his death and resurrection.¹¹ That is a familiar but still fruitful reading, and it keeps the Fourth Gospel’s paradox intact. Glory in John is not peripheral to suffering. It is disclosed through it.¹²

Mark is similarly approached as a dramatic narrative in which Jesus’ teaching, healing, and exorcistic ministry all reveal the kingdom of God while also generating misunderstanding and conflict.¹³ The observation that miracle and teaching in Mark are not separate activities but manifestations of the same revelatory reality is particularly perceptive.¹⁴ It guards against the dissection of Jesus into either ethical teacher or thaumaturge and keeps the Gospel’s theological unity before the reader. Luke, likewise, is treated in relation to Luke-Acts, narrative progression, and the divine reversal that lifts up the lowly.¹⁵ Such emphases reflect sound narrative judgment and show that the authors understand introductions to be formative, not merely descriptive.

The historical framing of the New Testament is another major strength. The authors insist, rightly, that no New Testament document was written for a modern English-speaking audience and that historically responsible reading requires sensitivity to language, geography, social structures, political realities, and inherited conventions of communication.¹⁶ Their distinction between history within the text and history behind the text is especially useful.¹⁷ Both matter. New Testament writings arise from particular communities and conflicts, and their meaning is often inseparable from those settings. The illustration from Philemon is instructive. Detached from its world, the letter becomes almost instantly opaque. Read within the realities of household management, patronage, slavery, and mediation, it regains its force and specificity.¹⁸

The chapter on the world of the New Testament deepens this historical orientation by addressing institutional contexts such as patronage and status. The discussion of Roman patronage is especially important. Augustus and the imperial order are presented not simply as political realities but as nodes in a sacralized network of reciprocity, obligation, and benefaction.¹⁹ That is precisely the kind of background necessary for hearing New Testament language about gospel, peace, lordship, grace, and benefaction with fresh acuity. In this respect, the volume stands in fruitful proximity to socio-rhetorical and anti-imperial readings of the New Testament.²⁰ It does not overstate its case, but neither does it leave the Roman world as neutral scenery.

Paul’s letters are also treated with welcome breadth. Before individual Pauline letters are discussed, the book pauses for chapters on letters in the New Testament and on Paul’s life and mission, including a section on Paul’s apocalyptic worldview.²¹ Structurally, this is a wise decision. It prevents the letters from being reduced to isolated doctrinal units and instead places them within apostolic vocation, mission, and worldview. Ephesians, for example, is read in terms of God’s cosmic purpose, the uniting of Jew and Gentile, and the revelation of divine wisdom to the rulers and authorities.²² That is a strong and properly Pauline reading. The church is not treated as a secondary appendix to salvation but as part of God’s cosmic intention in Christ.²³

Philippians is handled with similar care. The Roman colonial setting, Paul’s imprisonment, the congregation’s internal tensions, and the presence of rival teachers all receive due attention.²⁴ Particularly valuable is the treatment of Euodia and Syntyche as named coworkers whose conflict reveals both the reality of congregational fracture and the active leadership of women in Pauline communities.²⁵ Colossians and Philemon are likewise framed with a commendable eye to both theological breadth and social concreteness. Colossians is praised for its expansive christological vision, while Philemon is interpreted within the harsh realities of Roman slavery and household economics.²⁶ This prevents the letter from becoming sentimental and forces readers to reckon with the social depth of Pauline reconciliation.²⁷

The sections on Hebrews and James are among the most pastorally effective in the volume. Hebrews is rightly identified as something other than a typical Hellenistic letter, more plausibly described as an extended homiletical discourse or “word of exhortation.”²⁸ The discussion of authorship is judicious, rehearsing the older Pauline attribution while acknowledging the stylistic and conceptual reasons most scholars reject it.²⁹ More importantly, Hebrews is not left as an antiquarian puzzle. The authors recognize its strangeness to modern readers, with its tabernacle symbolism, Melchizedek typology, and sacrificial argument, yet they also insist that its portrayal of the people of God as pilgrims on the way to the heavenly city remains enduringly potent wherever discouragement threatens discipleship.³⁰ That is not mere homiletical softening. It is a faithful recognition of Hebrews’ own pastoral burden.

James, for its part, is treated not as Paul’s foil but as a deeply Jewish Christian writing standing near both wisdom tradition and the teaching of Jesus.³¹ The comparison of James with Proverbs, Sirach, Romans, and 1 Peter is pedagogically excellent, and the treatment of “James and Jesus” is especially strong.³² The moral imperatives of James are rightly located in the double commandment of love and in concern for the poor, the impartial use of speech, and resistance to friendship with the world.³³ In an ecclesial climate where faith is often detached from embodied obedience, this section is quietly admonitory in exactly the right way.

Revelation is handled with perhaps the greatest theological precision in the volume. The authors reject sensationalist readings that turn the Apocalypse into a coded chart of modern geopolitical events and instead insist that Revelation must be heard in relation to its genre, first-century setting, and symbolic logic.³⁴ The claim that Revelation is a composite of letter, prophecy, and apocalypse is standard but well stated.³⁵ Their discussion of pseudonymity is also helpful. Jewish apocalypses were often pseudonymous; Revelation is not. John writes under his own name and grounds his authority in his relationship to suffering churches.³⁶

The strongest point in the chapter is the insistence that John’s visions are not encrypted future predictions but disclosures of present reality from the vantage point of God’s sovereignty and the Lamb’s victory.³⁷ Rome is identified as beast and Babylon, not to provide speculative timelines, but to unmask the imperial order as blasphemous, exploitative, and doomed.³⁸ The heavenly throne room scenes rightly function as the theological center of the book, from which all judgment and salvation imagery must be read.³⁹ The emphasis on the Lamb as the slain yet living one through whom God’s purposes in history are enacted is exactly the right center for an introduction to Revelation.⁴⁰

If critique is needed here, it is largely a matter of degree rather than direction. The treatment of Revelation’s Old Testament saturation is sound, especially the observation that John works more by creative reconfiguration than by direct quotation.⁴¹ Yet one could wish for fuller reflection on the theological density of that intertextual practice, especially in relation to temple, exodus, and new creation motifs.⁴² Similarly, although the anti-imperial force of Revelation is well captured, the book could say more about the church’s liturgical participation in the Lamb’s victory as a mode of resistance.⁴³

The final chapter on canon formation is another major contribution. Canon is defined as the body of writings regarded by the Christian community as uniquely normative for its life and thought.⁴⁴ The authors explain that the process of canon formation was lengthy and complex, shaped by both internal and external pressures, by the church’s mission, and by the continued use of Jewish Scripture.⁴⁵ Particularly strong are the sections arguing that the church’s missionary task helped generate stable forms of Jesus tradition and apostolic oversight, and that Christian use of Israel’s Scriptures laid groundwork for the eventual emergence of a distinctively Christian canon.⁴⁶ This is historically responsible and pedagogically clear.

The theological force of canon formation appears most clearly, however, in the earlier section on “The New Testament as the Church’s Scripture.” There the authors insist that the New Testament cannot be read apart from the Old Testament, that its witness is rooted in God’s dealings with Israel, and that its primary significance lies not merely in the historical information it preserves but in its function as Scripture within the church.⁴⁷ That judgment is decisive. It keeps the New Testament from being reduced either to a raw archive for historians or to a collection of proof texts for modern doctrinal combat. It also includes a welcome warning about the misuse of Scripture in the history of the church, including slavery, the persecution of Jews, and other forms of injustice.⁴⁸ That acknowledgment gives the book moral seriousness.

In the end, Introducing the New Testament succeeds because it teaches readers how to read before it teaches them how to take sides. It honors literary form without becoming aestheticist, history without becoming reductionist, and ecclesial normativity without retreating from scholarly responsibility. Its shortcomings are real. One could wish for a fuller integration of apocalyptic theology across Pauline and canonical discussions, a more robust engagement with Second Temple currents at certain points, and a somewhat thicker theological synthesis in a few chapters.⁴⁹ Yet these are critiques made of a strong book whose best instincts deserve to be pressed even further. As an introduction, it is learned, balanced, and deeply serviceable. More importantly, it quietly exhorts the reader to approach the New Testament with patience, humility, and obedience. In a time when the church is tempted either to weaponize Scripture or to neglect it, that is no small achievement.

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Notes

  1. Joel B. Green, Marianne Meye Thompson, and David J. Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2020), 1–11.
  2. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 1–10.
  3. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 1, 8–10.
  4. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 1–2.
  5. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 2–10.
  6. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 2–4.
  7. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 3.
  8. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 4.
  9. Richard A. Burridge, What Are the Gospels? 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2004), 239–67.
  10. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, v–ix.
  11. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 163.
  12. Marianne Meye Thompson, John: A Commentary (Louisville: Westminster John Knox, 2015), 1–21.
  13. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 121.
  14. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 121.
  15. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, vi.
  16. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 5–6.
  17. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 5–7.
  18. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 6; 403–7.
  19. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 48.
  20. Ben Witherington III, New Testament History (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2001), 33–58; Michael J. Gorman, Reading Revelation Responsibly (Eugene, OR: Cascade, 2011), 15–35.
  21. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, vii–viii.
  22. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 367.
  23. Michael J. Gorman, Inhabiting the Cruciform God (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 1–27.
  24. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 375, 389.
  25. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 389.
  26. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 393, 407.
  27. Jennifer A. Glancy, Slavery in Early Christianity (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002), 78–103.
  28. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 450.
  29. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 451.
  30. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 449.
  31. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, ix, 481, 488–91.
  32. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 479, 501.
  33. Scot McKnight, The Letter of James (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011), 34–59.
  34. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 531, 536–37.
  35. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 532.
  36. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 533–34.
  37. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 536–37.
  38. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 534, 539–41.
  39. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 548–49.
  40. Richard Bauckham, The Theology of the Book of Revelation (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 1–20.
  41. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 537.
  42. G. K. Beale, The Book of Revelation (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999), 108–52.
  43. Gorman, Reading Revelation Responsibly, 37–64.
  44. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 561.
  45. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 561–65.
  46. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 562–63.
  47. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 8–10.
  48. Green, Thompson, and Downs, Introducing the New Testament, 9–10.
  49. N. T. Wright, The New Testament and the People of God (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1992), 147–338; John H. Walton, The Lost World of Scripture (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2013), 165–94.

Rest, Hesed, and the Collapse of Babel: A Critical Review of The Sabbath Gospel

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G. P. Wagenfuhr and Amy J. Erickson

Introduction

In The Sabbath Gospel, G. P. Wagenfuhr and Amy Erickson offer a constructive and, at points, disruptive proposal: that Sabbath is not merely an ethical category within Scripture but the hermeneutical and ontological center of the gospel itself. Their work situates Sabbath within a broader narrative framework that reorders time, reframes divine sovereignty, and reconfigures the nature of salvation. In doing so, they join a growing chorus of scholars who resist reductionist soteriologies and seek to recover the relational, covenantal, and cosmic dimensions of biblical theology.¹

The volume is ambitious. It attempts to relocate theological discourse away from abstract metaphysical starting points and toward the lived, narrative reality of God’s engagement with creation. The authors’ central contention—that Scripture presents a “Sabbath gospel” in contrast to humanly constructed “gospels of rest”—places their work in conversation with Walter Brueggemann’s socio-theological readings of Sabbath, John Walton’s functional ontology of creation, and Gregory Boyd’s cruciform account of divine action.²

Time, Narrative, and the Two Ages

Wagenfuhr and Erickson’s framing of Scripture as a “tale of two times” is one of the book’s most generative contributions. Time, they argue, is not a neutral container but a theologically charged medium shaped by competing sovereignties.³ This resonates strongly with Second Temple Jewish conceptions of “this age” and “the age to come,” as well as with Pauline apocalyptic categories in which time itself is enslaved under hostile powers.⁴

Their claim that time is qualitative rather than merely quantitative aligns with Brueggemann’s insistence that Israel’s calendar reflects a counter-imagination to imperial temporality, particularly in its resistance to endless production and accumulation.⁵ Likewise, their emphasis on time as relational and formative finds support in biblical narrative theology, where identity is shaped not by abstraction but by participation in God’s story.⁶

The authors’ reading of Genesis 1–11 through this lens is particularly compelling. They interpret the movement from Eden to Babel as a transition from divinely ordered time to humanly constructed temporality, a shift marked by increasing autonomy and fragmentation.⁷ This trajectory mirrors Walton’s argument that Genesis is concerned with functional order and sacred space, suggesting that Babel represents not merely disobedience but a misdirected attempt to establish sacred order apart from God’s presence.⁸

Babel, Empire, and the Illusion of Unity

The treatment of Babel stands as one of the book’s strongest exegetical and theological achievements. Rather than reducing the narrative to moralism, Wagenfuhr and Erickson situate it within a broader ANE context of temple-building, cosmic geography, and political consolidation.⁹ The tower is not simply a monument but a symbolic center of power, an attempt to mediate divine presence through human construction.¹⁰

This reading aligns with ancient Near Eastern evidence regarding ziggurats as cosmic axes and with Mircea Eliade’s observations concerning sacred space as the “navel of the world.”¹¹ Yet the authors extend this insight by framing Babel as an archetype of empire—an enduring pattern in which human societies seek unity through uniformity and control.¹²

Here the influence of Jacques Ellul is evident, particularly in the critique of technological and political systems that claim autonomy and inevitability.¹³ The authors’ suggestion that modern appeals to diversity can function as mechanisms of homogenization is both provocative and worthy of further exploration.¹⁴

Importantly, God’s response to Babel is interpreted not as arbitrary punishment but as a redemptive disruption of false unity. The confusion of languages introduces diversity as a safeguard against totalizing systems, anticipating the reconciled plurality of Pentecost.¹⁵ This reading coheres with Acts 2, where linguistic diversity is not abolished but transformed into a medium of communion.¹⁶

Sabbath as Gift and Gospel

At the heart of the book lies its redefinition of the gospel. Against what the authors describe as the “dream-home gospel”—the human impulse to construct environments of stability and control—they present Sabbath as a gift that cannot be produced or possessed.¹⁷ This reframing challenges both secular and ecclesial assumptions, calling into question the ways in which Christian practice can mirror the very systems it seeks to resist.

This emphasis on gift resonates with the broader biblical theme of grace as unmerited favor, as well as with theological traditions that emphasize participation over transaction.¹⁸ The authors’ insistence that the gospel reforms desire rather than merely behavior echoes Augustine’s account of disordered loves and aligns with contemporary discussions of formation and discipleship.¹⁹

Moreover, their portrayal of Sabbath as liberation from systems of exploitation reflects Brueggemann’s characterization of Sabbath as an act of resistance against Pharaoh-like economies.²⁰ In this sense, Sabbath becomes not only a theological concept but a political and social reality, challenging structures that perpetuate inequality and oppression.

Sin as Power and Household

The book’s hamartiology further strengthens its argument. By framing sin as a power that organizes entire “households” of existence, Wagenfuhr and Erickson move beyond individualistic accounts and recover a more holistic biblical perspective.²¹ This approach finds strong support in Pauline theology, where sin is depicted as a reigning force that enslaves humanity.²²

Their description of sin as an economy of death, exploitation, and corruption aligns with Second Temple Jewish literature and with modern theological accounts of systemic evil.²³ It also provides a coherent framework for understanding the relationship between personal sin and structural injustice, a connection often neglected in traditional theology.

Hesed and the Reorientation of Theology

Perhaps the most controversial aspect of the work is its critique of classical theological starting points, particularly the emphasis on aseity. Wagenfuhr and Erickson argue that Scripture does not begin with abstract descriptions of God’s essence but with covenantal relationship, encapsulated in the concept of hesed.²⁴

This claim is not without merit. The Hebrew Bible consistently portrays God in terms of faithful action within history, and the repeated covenant formula underscores the relational nature of divine identity.²⁵ Their reading of Exodus 3:14 as a statement of reliability rather than metaphysical being is provocative and finds some support in narrative interpretations of the text.²⁶

Nevertheless, their critique risks oversimplifying the theological tradition. Classical doctrines of divine attributes were developed not to replace relational theology but to articulate it within a coherent metaphysical framework.²⁷ As scholars such as N. T. Wright have argued, the task is not to abandon ontology but to integrate it within the biblical narrative.²⁸

Sovereignty, History, and Divine Action

The authors’ treatment of divine sovereignty reflects a desire to avoid determinism and to preserve the integrity of human agency. Their depiction of God as “invading” history with Sabbath suggests a dynamic interaction between divine and human action.²⁹

While this approach has pastoral and theological appeal, it raises questions regarding the nature of providence and the extent of divine control. The tension between sovereignty and freedom remains unresolved, and further engagement with classical and contemporary discussions would strengthen the argument.³⁰

Christological and Eschatological Considerations

Although Christ is present throughout the work, the book’s primary focus remains on structural and thematic elements. A more explicit integration of Christology would enhance the authors’ proposal, particularly in relation to:

  • the cross as the dismantling of Babel-like systems
  • the resurrection as the inauguration of Sabbath rest
  • the Spirit as the agent of Sabbath participation

These themes are implicit but could be developed more fully in dialogue with New Testament scholarship.³¹

Conclusion

The Sabbath Gospel represents a significant contribution to contemporary theological discourse. Its strengths lie in its:

  • narrative coherence
  • exegetical depth
  • and willingness to challenge entrenched assumptions

By centering Sabbath within the gospel, Wagenfuhr and Erickson invite readers to reconsider not only their theology but their way of life. Their work calls the church to embody a form of existence that resists the logic of Babel and participates in the rest of God.

In an age marked by restlessness, fragmentation, and control, this vision is both timely and necessary. It reminds us that the gospel is not a system to be mastered but a gift to be received—a Sabbath into which we are invited to dwell.

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Notes

  1. Wagenfuhr and Erickson, The Sabbath Gospel, 1–10.
  2. Walter Brueggemann, Sabbath as Resistance (Louisville: WJK, 2014), 1–20.
  3. Wagenfuhr and Erickson, 85–89.
  4. Gal 1:4; Rom 12:2.
  5. Brueggemann, Sabbath as Resistance, 25–40.
  6. Craig G. Bartholomew and Michael W. Goheen, The Drama of Scripture (Grand Rapids: Baker, 2004).
  7. Wagenfuhr and Erickson, 83–86.
  8. John H. Walton, The Lost World of Genesis One (Downers Grove: IVP, 2009).
  9. Wagenfuhr and Erickson, 83–84.
  10. Ibid.
  11. Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane (New York: Harcourt, 1959).
  12. Wagenfuhr and Erickson, 84–86.
  13. Jacques Ellul, The Technological Society (New York: Vintage, 1964).
  14. Wagenfuhr and Erickson, 84.
  15. Ibid., 86–87.
  16. Acts 2:1–13.
  17. Wagenfuhr and Erickson, 27–30.
  18. Eph 2:8–9.
  19. Augustine, Confessions, trans. Henry Chadwick (Oxford: OUP, 1991).
  20. Brueggemann, Sabbath as Resistance, 44–60.
  21. Wagenfuhr and Erickson, 87–88.
  22. Rom 5:12–21.
  23. 1 Enoch; Jubilees.
  24. Wagenfuhr and Erickson, 27–28.
  25. Exod 6:7; Lev 26:12.
  26. Exod 3:14.
  27. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae.
  28. N. T. Wright, How God Became King (New York: HarperOne, 2012).
  29. Wagenfuhr and Erickson, 28.
  30. Kevin J. Vanhoozer, Remythologizing Theology (Cambridge: CUP, 2010).
  31. Ben Witherington III, Jesus the Sage (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1994).