Law and Narrative
A writer recently protested against using
narrative as law. He sees a clear distinction between "law" and
"narrative" and in many respects he can hardly be faulted, for everyone
should know that the simple record of what happened is no proof that it should have happened or that if it should have happened that it should always happen.
[A rich young man came to Jesus and wanted to know how
he should continue his life under God. Christ finally told him to sell
all he had and give the money to the poor and come and follow him. That
happened and it should have happened but in its historical reality not
many of us would believe it should always happen. Not every rich person
should be told that Jesus wants him to sell all he/she has and give it
away and become an itinerant something.]
If the protester came across something (even imbedded in
a narrative section) that had a universal, enduring and binding nature
he would see that as "what should always happen" (apart from truly
exceptional circumstances—which is another discussion). He is rightly
opposed to making narrative into a "code of laws"; that's legalistic.
But legalism is sneaky and shoved out the front door in public it can
dress itself in a different suit and get invited in at the back door by
the very people that kicked it out.
This much is clear, the idea that narrative doesn't
carry permanent binding authority can easily be overstated. Narrative
can reflect and mean to reflect what is normative and
required from all of us (should we then call it "law"?). It can show how
the church of God (OT and NT) expressed its faithfulness to its
Master's will. It can show the author's intention, what he means to teach his addressees and not just what they can "draw from it."
Certainly working with narrative in this area is a more
difficult task than isolating some command but that doesn't exempt us
from the responsibility of discovering what it means to teach. And if
indeed it's an author's intention to show what is normative (as well as
what happened) then the distinction between "law" and "narrative" is
fluid, not at all fixed. So while it is true that we shouldn't simply
gather up stories and pretend they are commands, much less permanent
commands, we're not to dismiss narrative as though we know the author
did not intend to teach us what is permanently required of us.
We can call people to obedience in more ways than one. We tell stories and mean to call to obedience, mean
to make it "law" (only so to speak). That we teach "law" (so the speak)
in the form of stories doesn't alter the fact that we mean to call
someone to obedience.
To divide the Bible up into various genre and forms and
dispensational categories is the right thing to do but it's another
thing to know what to do after we've done that and it's equally
perplexing, at times, to know why we're doing it. We can be like people
gathering thousands of bricks but who have no idea what they're meaning
to build.
We find people who warn us against turning narrative
into law while they ceaselessly go to narrative to find "principles"
that are binding. They seem to think that "laws" and "principles" are
really distinct—and they're not. When you dig down a little, principles
are big laws that lesser laws are built on. "Here's Barnabas, he was
extremely generous and encouraging and we should be." We should be generous because Barnabas was. Narrative becomes "law".
While that "exemplary" move should not be discouraged it
should keep us from being smug in our delicate slicing of scripture. If
we confine the call to permanent obedience to a "law" category and
setting we are being legalistic. "The only thing I recognise as permanently binding is what is written in a 'law' segment." This is legalism.
That I should be like Barnabas is not based on a law
that says I should be like Barnabas. I should be like Barnabas because
he is like his Master. I should be like his Master not because his
Master is a "law code" or teaches "laws" but because he is like his Holy
Father who in a very profound sense is "lawless". That is, God doesn't
obey some moral law outside himself—he is moral law
(and even that phrase needs to be nuanced carefully). The final aim is
not to find his laws and principles and line our lives up with them—the
aim is to become like him.
We're too good, sometimes, at slicing up scripture;
something like a careful butcher, delicately separating this part of the
animal from that. I'm happy that butchers are able to do that but
butchering an animal on the basis of established cultural norms is
easier than work in scripture.
(Even the way to butcher is affected by
where we live and our customs.)
Everyone knows (don't they?) that the OT was only for
the Jews (well, also so that Christian preachers can get "biblical
illustrations"—not those bad ole secular ones). Isn't that true? Well,
hardly! Anyone reading the NT knows that it's saturated with OT teaching
that is meant to shape Christians (just look at Romans 13:8-10 and ask
yourself what the Torah has to do with us).
If a Christian can read Ruth's stunning response to
Naomi when the bereaved older woman tries to get her to leave—if
Christians can read that and not know that the OT is "binding" on us,
God help us.
Ruth said, "Intreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God: Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried: the LORD do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and me."
"Ah, yes, bits of the OT are binding on us." Hmmm. True
and false; but that's another discussion for another time perhaps.
Approaching the Bible with, "Now, let's see what is 'law' for me" has something
of legitimacy in it but all in all it's legalistic. Among other things
it reduces the valuable and relevant stuff of the Bible to legal
categories—the rest is padding and upholstery. This is a great error of
approach.
So, maybe, in the end, it isn't wise to rebuke people
for being legalistic in a crass way if we're legalistic in a more subtle
and therefore perhaps a more dangerous way.