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This article examines what can be learned from teaching Luther to American college students. It reviews several ways in which college students benefit from studying Luther. The article suggests that identifying the “operating principles” in Luther's thought can help students more carefully discern the contemporary significance of his thought. After discussing some challenges encountered when teaching Luther to college students, the article ends with reflections on the theological significance of the college context. While Luther's discovery of a gracious God remains central, the college setting promotes a retrieval of several broader themes in Luther's thinking that have often been neglected by Lutherans: ongoing creation, wisdom, the Bible as “torah,” the suffering of God, and societal reform.

The first meeting of the official Lutheran-Pentecostal Dialogue took place in September 2016 and focused on introductions and our identity in Christ. This article sets out a narrative of a Russian Pentecostal with Lutheran roots, a specialization in Jewish studies, and an interest in cognitive studies. A basic challenge for the dialogue partners lies in understanding the crucial role of experience to our knowledge of the divine and the formulation of theology.

The ideology and culture of modern nations and nationalism have been profoundly influenced by two traditions that reach back into the ancient world, the biblical and the classical. Here, the focus is on the particular contribution of the Hebrew Bible to the political ideals of modern nationhood. Modern Western nations, unlike non-Western and ancient nations, are distinguished by their quest for territorial integrity and sovereignty, citizenship, legal standardisation, cultural homogeneity and secular education, while modern nationalism is a pro-active, ideological movement that seeks to �build� autonomous, unified, distinctive and �authentic� nations out of ethnic populations deemed by some members to constitute actual or potential �nations�. While modern European nations emerged out of the matrix of Christianity, as Adrian Hastings argued, it was the political model and ideals of community found in the Hebrew Bible, which Christianity adopted (while rejecting the Jews) and which the New Testament lacked, that so often provided the dynamic of modern nationalism and the values of modern Western nations. Chief among these were the Pentateuchal and prophetic narratives of Exodus, Covenant, Community of Law (Torah), the holiness of a �chosen people�, the messianic role of sacred kingship and the dream of fulfilment in the Promised Land. These ideals did not fully come into their own until the Reformation. In this period, state elites expressed growing national sentiments and biblical texts were being rendered into the vernacular, while a more rigorous biblical form of �covenantal nationalism� emerged in early modern Netherlands, Scotland and England, taking the narrative of the deliverance of the Israelites as its starting point. In the eighteenth-century Enlightenment, the novel cults of �Nature�, �Authenticity� and �Human Perfectibility� secured an opening for neo-classical political ideas in the formation of nations. But it was the biblical ideals of liberation, Covenant, election and promised land that provided the basic model of the modern nation and nationalism in Europe, from the French Revolution, and German and East European nationalisms to the Hebraic Protestant nationalism of Victorian Britain. To a large extent, the modern age owes to the Jewish Bible its fundamental vision of a world divided into distinctive and sovereign territorial nations.

A silver Torah shield fitted with a set of precious stones and glass imitations crafted in Poland in the first half of the 19th century was investigated using two of the currently distributed portable and relatively low-cost Raman spectrometers in situ at the Jewish Museum in Prague. Observed Raman peaks corresponded well (+/− 3 cm−1) to the reference values. The hand-held instruments operated at 785- and 532-nm laser excitations showed good performance in the fast and unambiguous identification of nearly 60 stones which were fitted on the shield: one blue aquamarine, three purple amethysts, thirteen red garnets (all classified as high-percentage almandines), three white pearls, fifteen pieces of red coral and five chalcedonies (one white and four red). All of the other stones were identified as colored glass. The rather chaotic mixture of stones of various colors, cuts and sizes and the total volume of imitation glass support the theory that the mounted stones were gathered from Jewish households and donated for the adornment of the shield. The common portable Raman instruments represent an ideal tool for the quick and accurate identification of gemstones mounted in historical artifacts in situ in the framework of museum or collection sites in a non-destructive way. Copyright © 2014 John Wiley & Sons, Ltd.

Recent legal challenges center on the practice of counseling referrals that are made on the basis of a values conflict between a counselor and the client (i.e., Walden v. Centers for Disease Control) or counselor educators' actions in removing students from counseling programs for behaviors that are in conflict with the ACA Code of Ethics (American Counseling Association [ACA], 2005; Keeton v. Anderson-Wiley, 2010; Ward v. Wilbanks, 2010). These challenges provided the stimulus for our exploration of the intersection of faith and sexual orientation as it affects the counseling profession and counselor education. Each of the aforementioned court cases centers on the principle of how a counselor with strong religious values can practice counseling in an increasingly diverse world where there is a possibility of providing services to a client whose values or behaviors are in direct conflict with the counselor's religious value system. Of special note is the fact that, in each of the cases, issues affecting lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and questioning (LGBTQ) individuals were the focus of the values conflicts and corresponding legal disputes. Ford and Hendrik (2003) demonstrated that referrals to other providers were often made by psychologists and marriage and family therapists when a values conflict occurred. However, this practice can be construed to be discriminatory (Shiles, 2009), especially when the professional does not first seek consultation, supervision, or further education. The purpose of this article is to identify the perspectives of three major Western religions--Judaism, Islam, and Christianity--with respect to client diversity, highlighting issues of sexual orientation and gender, ACA's ethical standards and competencies, and the precepts of an individual's faith. The attempt to address diversity issues with respect to a major religious denomination is a daunting task. Each major religion encapsulates as much within-group variation as they do between-religion variations. * Conceptualizations of Social Issues From Judaism, Christianity, and Islam In Judaism, there is traditionalism, modernism, and postmodernism. The three main branches of Judaism include Orthodox, which adheres to a traditional application to Jewish law; Reform, which is a more liberal branch of Judaism applying modern ideas and interpretations to Jewish law; and Conservative, which embraces modernism but not to the extent of Reform Judaism. As a result, identifying how Judaism addresses issues of sexual orientation varies among the three main branches. Part of the deviation between the three main branches relates to the view of Halacha, a reference to the collective body of Jewish law that includes the Torah (i.e., Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy), the oral law, and rabbinic writings. Orthodox Judaism uses the most authoritarian interpretation of Halacha, whereas Reform Judaism uses a more liberal approach. Although no unified voice speaks for all Jews, Reform Judaism appears to be the largest denomination (35%), followed by Conservative Judaism (27%), Orthodox Judaism (10%), and Reconstructionist Judaism (2%); approximately 26% of Jews did not identify with a denomination (Jewish Federation of North America, 2005). There is substantial diversity within the Christian faith tradition. Although there are some basic tenets that most adherents of Christianity affirm (Borg, 2004; Borg & Wright, 1999; Lewis, 1943/1996; Smith, 1991,2005; Wright, 2006), there are also significant differences between various denominational/religious group perspectives and a surprising amount of diversity within various denominations/religious groups as well. Denominations or specific groups include Baptists, Episcopalians, Lutherans, Methodists, Pentecostals, Presbyterians, Roman Catholics, and nondenominational groups (including postmodern movements within the faith), and each has doctrinal tenets that are unique to its group. …

This article surveys the development of Pentateuchal scholarship, from the emergence of historical criticism in the 19th century as a tool for understanding how the Pentateuch might be used to reconstruct the religious and social history of ancient Israel, to its abandonment in favor of literary criticism in the late 20th century by scholars concerned to establish an aesthetics of biblical literature that can help modern readers engage meaningfully with the Pentateuch. Historical criticism and literary criticism are now practiced largely in isolation, which is problematic because residue of the Pentateuch's composition history and the historical references it contains are part of the experience of reading the Pentateuch. Other disciplines have gone through the same turn from historicism to formalism that biblical studies has, and this article explores what students of the Pentateuch might gain from a critical orientation called new historicism. New historicism has been tapped in synchronic studies of biblical literature but never applied to questions of composition history. This article outlines the assumptions, strategies, and techniques that characterize new historicism and articulates its potential for providing 21st century answers to the classic questions of historical criticism.

The author and her colleagues planned and led three retreats to build relationships between rabbinical students and Muslim leaders of tomorrow. Narrative Pedagogy served to inform the creation of these immersive experiences. The retreats made use of the shared scriptural traditions around Joseph (Torah) and Yusuf (Qur'an) to build connections based on a common passion for text study. Parallel to the academic exploration of religious and cultural narratives, participants wove connections based on an ethos of appreciative inquiry and the guided sharing of personal stories. Carefully structured exercises provided a container for the growth of understanding and connection.

Jesus also suffered outside the gate in order to sanctify the people through His own blood. Therefore let us go to Him outside the camp and bear the reproach he endured. (Heb. 13:12-13) The vision of a transforming stream The prophet Ezekiel is remarkable in his use of imagery and visions in communicating God's message. The vision of a transforming stream is a prototype of the gospel, water of life flowing from Jerusalem transforming the whole world. Through the use of the imagery of stream, the prophet speaks of transformation in terms of the return of new age (Gen. 2:10-14 and Rev: 22:1-2). The world and Jesus are simultaneous gifts of God to humanity in order that the world may be transformed into the kingdom through the crucified Lord. The transfigured Jesus is also the transfiguring Jesus, transfiguring the whole creation: a new heaven and a new earth. Christian hope rests on the transformation of our body of humiliation into the body of his glory (Phil. 3:21). Christian life is a growth into the likeness of that on which we lovingly gaze (1 John 3:2). The marginalized as the fountainhead of the stream The stream does not flow from above the ground but from under the threshold of the altar, the place of sacrifice. The marginalized, who are sacrificed at the altar of mammon and crucified with Christ, are identified as the fountainhead. The suffering servant of Isaiah is pictured both as the victim who is sacrificed and as the servant involved in a salvific role in history. Jesus' identification as the light of the world was revolutionary and polemical in character. People would have had no hesitation in accepting the following as the light: Torah, the Temple in Jerusalem, the people of Israel and particularly the pious among them, the Pharisees. But Jesus identifies his disciples from Galilee as the salt and light and focuses more sharply on the poor, meek, sorrowful and persecuted as the agents of God's redemptive activity. The marginalized are usually recognized as recipients of mission instead of being recognized in their true identity as the active agents of mission. The marginalized are the privileged mediators of God's salvation to humanity and creation. The Dalits in India were believed to have brought about a curse upon themselves by their filthy occupation and revolting food habits. Upper caste reformers want to do something for the untouchables and do not think what is to be done to the touchable. The Dalits are treated as objects of contempt or at times of compassion. But in fact they constitute a mystery to be contemplated. The Dalits have a messianic significance. As an agricultural labour class they produce food for the country, but they themselves go hungry. They keep the surroundings clean and in the process get themselves polluted. They are the sinned against but willing to forgive even when they have an opportunity to take revenge. As Jon Sobrino states, "the poor have a humanizing potential because of their commitment to community against individualism, cooperation against selfishness, simplicity against opulence and openness to transcendence against blatant positivism." Abundant growth of transformation Water is mentioned fourteen times in this chapter of Ezekiel, symbolizing abundance and plenitude. The water is transformed from "trickle to floods." It is noteworthy that the transforming water is not pictured as a lake but a flowing river. The river, instead of spending itself, multiplies and grows to an uncontrollable degree, even without tributaries contributing to the stream's abundance. The transformation which is a goal of Jesus' coming is described as fullness of life (John 10:10). To have life does not mean a mere survival but points to a quality of life and consciousness of self and others. It includes dignity, well-being, fellowship with others, victory over evil or a disintegrated and fragmented life, a radical levelling: mountains brought low and valleys lifted up and a radical reversal of privilege leading to harmony, not hostility. …

Verses of Torah and Qur’ān are incorporated into statutory and supererogatory prayers, communal services, talismanic practices, rites of passage and social gatherings of Jews and Muslims. In both traditions correct pronunciation is held to preserve the authentic voice of the revelation and to incur powerful benevolent effects. In Islam, the recital of the memorized text, or parts of it, is the privileged practice; in Judaism – public reading of weekly consecutive portions is ceremoniously performed from special Torah scrolls. While the Qur’ān is absolutely dominant in Muslim liturgy and piety, texts other than the Torah constitute the lion’s share of daily liturgical reading and expressions of piety of Jews.

Revisionists and traditionalists appeal to Acts 15, welcoming the Gentiles, for analogies directing the church's response to homosexual persons. John Perry has analyzed the major positions. He faults revisionists for inadequate attention to the Jerusalem Decree and faults one traditionalist for using the Decree literally rather than through analogy. I argue that analogical use of the Decree must supplement rather than displace the plain sense. The Decree has been neglected due to assumptions that Paul opposed it, that it expired, or because Gentiles wanted non-kosher meat. I argue that Paul continued to observe the Torah and supported the Decree, that it has not expired, and that Gentile desire for non-kosher meat is not a firm obstacle. Affirming the plain sense of the Decree, I develop the analogy from Acts 15 to homosexual persons.

The topic of time is central to Levinas's philosophy. By examining aspects of the Biblical stories of Abraham and Moses compared with Greek myths, mainly that of Cronos devouring his children, this paper aims to show that Levinas's view of time, though certainly indebted to the Greek (i.e. philosophical) tradition, contains traces of Biblical experiences. Moreover, Levinas's interpretation of time will serve as a concrete demonstration of the way the Jewish experience enables Levinas to express his criticism of the philosophical-Greek tradition.

From the perspective of biblical studies Pentateuch’s annual festivals (Passover, First Sheaf, Unleavened Bread, Weeks, Blowing of the Shofar, Day of Atonement and Tabernacles) are usually regarded as a more or less artificial collection of heterogeneous cultic occasions. Application of ritual studies findings and methods, however, reveals that there are multiple syntagmatic links between these festivals and that their explicit and implicit dynamics also disclose something of their pre-biblical origins and significance.

Taking into account recent developments in the historical studies of ancient Israelites the article raises questions regarding the continuing use of the old theoretical platforms and the validity of source criticism as a method in searching for the origins of biblical festivals. Using different arguments it attempts to invalidate the widely held view of Pentateuch’s annual cycle of festivals as a more or less random collection of heterogeneous celebrations. Instead of focusing on the confusing picture presented by the biblical books, which the author sees as a result of the unfinished process of historicisation, the article suggests a different approach to reading the biblical texts and advocates application of the ritual studies findings and methods as a way towards a better understanding of the origins and the pre-biblical functions of Pentateuch’s annual festivals.

The following article surveys the present debate on the redaction of the Pentateuch as a collection of various traditions on the origins of “Israel” and its establishment as “Torah,” namely, the most authoritative body of revealed literature in second temple Judaism. In particular, the article addresses the following issues: the significance of the redaction of the Pentateuch in the current debate (§ 1); external and internal factors behind the redaction and publication of the Pentateuch (§ 2); the groups involved in this process (§ 3); the purpose and the function of the Pentateuch at the time of its redaction (§ 4); and the audience addressed (§ 5).

Like the Messianic Banquet, the Messianic Torah is a concept frequently encountered among New Testament scholars. It seems to be presupposed as a category well known to first century Judaism and, therefore, to be a yardstick against which Jesus’‘legislative’ activity could and can be measured. An examination of this concept begins with the tension in Jewish thought between the eternity of the Mosaic Law and the various strategies designed to supplement its inadequacy to deal with contemporary situations. Given that the unique circumstances of the Messianic Age involve a further complication, the relevant texts are reviewed for their contributions to the problem. The Old Testament writers look to a deepening of observance of the Mosaic Law in the eschatological times. The Pseudepigrapha offer little more apart from a hint of Messianic legislation in Psalms of Solomon 17. Even the gospels do not show us a Jesus who fits readily into the model of a Messianic legislator. In fact St John probably pictures him as the embodiment of the Torah, the Word made flesh. The conclusion is that, whatever the later rabbinic teaching on the subject, the idea of the Messianic Torah is a scholarly construct as far as the New Testament is concerned.

The relationship between religion and secularism has become a central question in the study of religion. But secularism is just as diverse as religion. This article treats Jewish secularism as a phenomenon with its own unique characteristics derived in part from the religious tradition against which it revolted. Within premodern Judaism – the Bible, Talmud, and medieval philosophy – one finds precursors to modern secular ideas. The article demonstrates how the cardinal categories of Judaism invented by modern religious thinkers – God, Torah, and Israel – were adopted by secular Jews, such as Baruch Spinoza, emptied of traditional meaning and turned into a ‘secular theology’.

The field of Hebrew Bible/Old Testament has come to no consensus on the meaning of sacrifice in ancient Israel. The most influential theory of the meaning of biblical sacrifice, at least in the Priestly Writing (P) of the Pentateuch, is that of Jacob Milgrom. Milgrom argues that the purification sacrifice, as presented by P in Leviticus 1–7, is key to understanding P's sacrificial system, as its blood provided a ritual detergent on the altar for Israel's unintentional sins and impurities, thus permitting the continued presence of God in the sanctuary. Milgrom's theory has recently come under challenge, and a reading of P's narrative throughout the entire Pentateuch, and not only in Leviticus 1–7, shows that, for the Priestly Writing, sacrifice seems to draw Israel's attention to the differences between the divine and human realms, and thus points to Israel's moral failings in relationship to the divine law, as well as to the punishment Israel will suffer for this failure.

Despite officially condemning all magicians and divinatory practitioners, the Old Testament/Hebrew scriptures is replete with references to magic and divination. In an attempt to map out and understand the great variety of divinatory practices in the Old Testament/Hebrew Bible from techniques as varied as astrology, lot casting, necromancy or hepatoscopy to cite only a few, this article will re-examine the concept of ‘magic’ and re-evaluate the ways in which the Western world, especially since the nineteenth century, has viewed ‘magic’ as part of a series of dichotomies: religion vs. magic, science vs. magic; ‘magic’ is even seen as part of gender divisions (magic/women vs. religion/men). ‘Emic’ and ‘etic’ categories are also examined and a new definition situating magic as an ‘emic’ category is proposed: magic and divination are part of a complex system of religious intermediation where all the components of the cosmos interrelate. In this regard, ancient Israel shares the same worldview as its ancient Near Eastern neighbours and in particular a belief in cosmic forces originating and controlled by the dominant deity or deities. While the rational underpinning of such practices are examined (and questions about control and gender touched upon), it is also argued that a proper understanding of magic and divination in ancient Israel can only be viewed as an integral part of its cosmology. An ‘emic’ definition of magic suggests its connection with Torah and wisdom.

I Introduction IT HAS BEEN SAID BY Arthur Schnitzler that "it is easy to write a memoir when one has a poor memory." But it is not easy to squeeze an individual's history into the obvious happenings. Rather, it is the story between the moments that colors the completeness of life. Alas, an autobiographical sketch does not lend itself to describe the momentuous sparks. Realizing that memoirs are not defined by great writing but by a great story, I shall attempt to pierce the obvious in the hope that it will reflect my life's odyssey. I was born on June 12, 1920 in Slomniki, Poland. The town's population was about 5,000, out of which roughly 250 families were Jewish. Most of the Poles were farmers and artisans. Some were also businessmen. The Jews made their meager living as craftsmen, tailors, peddlers, and storekeepers. There was also a class that the Jews facetiously called "luftmentsben," literally, "air-people" without an occupation, living from hand to mouth. Jews called such a village a shtetel, where the drama of Jewish existence was played out religiously, culturally, socially, and institutionally. In it, we celebrated our happy occasions and mourned over our personal and national disasters--a confluence of joy and sorrow, laughter and tears, hope and despair. Though we were an alienated minority, the literacy rate among the Jews was relatively high. Every Jew, no matter how low on the socioeconomic ladder, knew how to write Yiddish and to read the prayers in Hebrew. My parents, Joseph and Gena of blessed memory, strained themselves financially to provide their children with a good Jewish education. In our home, learning was high priority. We are an Am ha-Seifer ("People of the Book"), my father used to say. Referring to the omniscient wisdom inherent in the Torah, he added the Talmudic admonition: "turn-in-it, turn-in-it for everything is in it" (Avot V:25). In public school I learned, among other subjects, Polish history, culture, and literature, thus whetting my appetite for a higher secular education. Still, being a Jew in the school was not a picnic. Some of our fellow Polish students harassed us, and sometimes beat us up just for the fun of it. To them we were nameless. Instead, they called us zyd parch ("leprous Jew"). Even some of the teachers made disparaging remarks in class against the Jews. Such a hateful environment was difficult to take. I recall once during an outing, a bully boy pushed his fellow Jewish student into the water, critically injuring him. The injured boy was taken to a hospital in Cracow, where he died. His name was Joseph Spiegel. In protest we organized a strike for a day. Upon our return the teachers were furious ... Some Jewish students resented such chicanery and, when attacked, hit back. I recall that once during a national parade, a student behind me was deliberately stepping on my heels and called me names. It was a humiliating experience I could not take. I turned around and hit him on the chin. Upon returning to class, and in the absence of supervision, he took out a knife, attacked me, and shouted: "Zyd, you crucified Jesus Christ and I am going to kill you with this knife." I fought back and gave him a bloody nose. Hearing the commotion, the teacher came in and separated the combatants. He then investigated the case and named me as the culprit. There were, of course, many "witnesses" who testified against me. However, I put up a vigorous defense, relating the way I was humiliated in public and calling attention to the perpetrator's knife with which he threatened me. The teacher, Mr. Miska, who was known as a "salon anti-Semite," had to admit that I was provoked, and named me Benedict Spinoza. For that time on, those schoolyard bullies were afraid to start a fight with me. I was then 12 years old. Upon my graduation, a fair-minded Polish teacher planted in my mind a seed I could never forget. "Too bad" he said, "that you are unable to continue your education. …

Since E. P. Sanders introduced the “new perspective” on Paul, Lutherans have had to ask again: did Luther understand Paul on the Mosaic law? The two books reviewed here carry forward the discussion Sanders began. Udo Schnelle's Apostle Paul makes two methodological choices with dramatic consequences for understanding Paul's theology and letters: 1) Paul was in direct dialogue with the Greco-Roman culture of the cities where he preached the gospel and founded churches, and 2) Paul's Christology, ethics, and eschatology developed and changed in relation to the religious and political crises through which he struggled. Francis Watson's Paul and the Hermeneutics of Faith makes an obvious but novel decision to focus on the five books of Moses as read by Paul in dialogue with other contemporary Jewish interpreters, arguing that Paul's view of the “law” is his counter-reading of the five books of Torah. Paul's hermeneutic exploits tensions and anomalies in the text of Torah itself, enabling him to emphasize God's promise, not the human deeds of scriptural heroes.

1 [George] Bernard Shaw, Back to Methuselah: A Metabiological Pentateuch (New York: Brentano’s, 1921). Beginning in 1918, shaw wrote five linked plays under the collective title Back to Methuselah. They expound his philosophy of creative evolution—featureing a male scientist names Pygmalion—in an extended dramatic parable that progresses through time from the Garden of Eden to AD 31,920. 2 F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (New York: Scribner’s, 1925), 82. 3 Letter from Emily Dickinson to Samuel Bowles, late November 1861. qtd. in Jay Leyda, The Years and Hours of Emily Dickinson. 2 vols. (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1960), vol. 2, 38. 4 “Hypos” can be understood here as an experience of both mind and body. Melville had used the term “hypos” previously in his seafaring novel Mardi, in which he described sailors undergoing withdrawal from tobacco during a long sea voyage. Deprived of their addictive “chaw” of tobacco, “the crew became absent, moody, and sadly tormented with the hypos. They were something like opium-smokers, suddenly cut off from their drug. They would sit on their chests, forlorn and moping . . .” (NN Mardi 339). The “hypos,” then, are associated with both psychological depression, or what we might call “the blues,” but also with the acute problem of physical dependency and the uncomfortable experience of withdrawal. For a helpful discussion of Melville’s allusions to Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy (1621-1651. 4 vols. Ed. Thomas C. Faulkner et al. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1989), see Nathalia Wright, “Melville and ‘Old Burton,’ with ‘Bartleby’ As an Anatomy of Melancholy.” Tennessee Studies in English 15 (1970): 1-13.

Rabbis are commonly perceived as bearers of Torah – the sacred traditions and ways of life of Judaism. As such, rabbis certainly have an important role to play in a community seeking guidance and inspiration from and a renewed connection to those traditions. Yet, historically, rabbis arose as a class in a period of crisis and were not merely conservative figures, but were also radical agents for change. The training of rabbis in the contemporary world calls for an assessment of our situation. Is our time a time of crisis? If it is, how should we prepare to meet that crisis? Do rabbis have a role to play in the future? While the texts and traditions of the past are available for study, interpretation, and application, is there a need to prepare rabbis to become effective agents for change? How can we embark upon such an uncharted path?

This is the first of two papers on Kabbalah. Through them I hope to try and dispel some of the current confusion and misunderstanding (generated not least because of the recent support from certain celebrities and the media interest that has followed) about this ancient mystical tradition. This first paper is an introduction to the Kabbalistic tradition, giving an overview from its earliest beginnings in pre-Biblical times to some of the ways in which it is being rediscovered by present day spiritual seekers. My intention is to engage with the mystical roots of the Jewish and Christian traditions in a way that can bring a new understanding and a deeper sense of meaning and purpose to our lives today. To this end, the paper moves from an exploration of the history of Kabbalah to a contemporary expression of its traditional ‘Tree of Life’ teachings. Copyright © 2005 Whurr Publishers Ltd.

This article examines the relationship in the biblical canon between healing, the Spirit, and the mission of the church. The piece begins with a section devoted to the author's Pentecostal context, and his theological and ministerial interest in this topic. Relying primarily upon a literary reading of the relevant texts, this study seeks to hear the distinctive voices in the biblical canon, from the torah to the book of Revelation, before assembling the biblical choir in order to hear its rich, textured and dissonant sound on this topic. This careful reading of the biblical texts suggests that the healing ministry of Jesus and the church does not simply "confirm" the proclamation of the gospel, but is itself gospel proclamation. The preponderance of the evidence indicates that there is an intricate and significant connection between the ministry of healing and the mission of the church. ********** It is an extraordinary honour for me to be invited to offer this article on the Spirit, healing and mission for the International Review of Mission. It was easy for me to accept this invitation (1) due in part to the fact that I am extremely interested in the topic of healing. As anyone familiar with Pentecostalism knows, the doctrine and practice of divine healing is a particularly important part of the Pentecostal movement's life and beliefs. As has been documented by various students of the movement, the theological heart of Pentecostalism is the five-fold gospel: the conviction that Jesus is our Saviour, our Sanctifier, our Holy Ghost Baptizer, our Healer, and our Soon Coming King. (2) Thus, for Pentecostals divine healing does not function as a peripheral element or a theological addendum to the proclamation of the gospel, but is part and parcel of such gospel proclamation. The issue of healing intersects with my life at many points. As a student of the New Testament (NT), I have sought to explore certain dimensions of the subject in an academic monograph on the topic (3), and I teach graduate level seminars devoted to healing on a yearly basis. As a member of a vibrant Pentecostal worshipping community, I participate in prayer for the sick several times a week. Therefore, when asked to offer this study on the Spirit, healing and mission, I responded enthusiastically, for this particular invitation offered me the opportunity to think intentionally about the relationship between the Spirit, healing and the mission of the church in an ecumenical context. Having said something about my contextual identity, I should like to offer a very brief orientation to the article that follows. First, as with most Pentecostals, I am convinced of the Spirit's activity both in the inspiration (4) and interpretation (5) of scripture. This means, in part, that one should not shrink from what is found within scripture, but that the unity and diversity present must be allowed to stand and-not be hammered into an artificial unity. I would like to suggest that scripture be likened to a choir; not just any choir--but a black gospel choir. (6) Those familiar with this musical style and tradition will immediately recognize why I have chosen this metaphor. If you have ever been to a black gospel choir practice and heard the individual notes which are rehearsed, you come away with the firm belief that there is simply too much dissonance for all these notes to be sung together. The end result, one is certain, will be a horribly offensive noise. But when the music starts, unbelievably the dissonance is extraordinarily beautiful. The temptations in the choir practice to make the notes sound more similar, or change the music to suppress artificially the dissonance are based on a misunderstanding of the music's intent and function. One of the many other aspects of this metaphor worthy of comment is the moment in a black gospel song when the choir goes silent and the person, seemingly with the smallest, softest voice takes the lead for a stanza or chorus. …

This essay outlines a new preface for ethics demanded by the massive developments of the global age. It does so in and through the comparative use of “myths” to explicate the lived structure of experience. The essay begins by isolating main features of global dynamics, including proximity, the compression of the world and the expansion of consciousness, and also global, cultural reflexivity. In the second step of the “preface,” it is argued that globality itself is a moral space in which peoples must orient their lives. It is a moral space defined by the massive extension of human power in the modern world. In light of the challenge that global dynamics and the extension of human power now pose, the essay then isolates, methodologically, options for developing a global ethics, and advocates a distinctly hermeneutical approach. This approach is practiced in the last section of the “preface” by engaging ethically the biblical “myth” of creation and its reinterpretation in an epitome of Jesus's Torah teaching. The intention is to show how current religious thought can speak to massive challenges in a distinctive way. It is, again, to offer a preface to ethics.

Dr. Mark Kiselica (2003) is to be congratulated for his comprehensive, supportive, and sensitive analysis of my article "The Counseling Profession's Relationship to Jews and the Issues That Concern Them: More Than a Case of Selective Awareness" (Weinrach, 2002a). Dr. Kiselica did a superb job in summarizing my main points. My primary thrust was to provide evidence of the historical context in which Jewish members of the counseling profession have existed, so that readers could determine for themselves the extent to which anti-Semitism has occurred. Anti-Semitism was operationally defined in the following context: Only one question needs to be answered in the affirmative to establish that anti-Semitism has taken place: If the same conditions or behaviors as those presented in this article were directed at women or members of other minority groups, would they be interpreted as sexist, racist, or homophobic? ... For example, if a behavior directed at a Latina would be considered racist then when directed at a Jew it should be considered anti-Semitic. (Weinrach, 2002a, p. 300) As important as it is for the counseling profession to examine anti-Semitic behavior, focusing exclusively on it, or on the Shoah (Holocaust), misses Judaism's greatest contribution to humanistic psychology--the Torah's and the Talmud's teachings about the nature of human relationships. The humanistic teachings of the Torah and the Talmud have shaped my thinking, as well as that of much of Western civilization. In response to Dr. Kiselica (2003), I illustrate in this article how my principles, created in light of Jewish values, diverge from those subscribed to by advocates of an orthodox multicultural counseling perspective. Throughout all three articles (Kiselica, 2003; Weinrach, 2002a, 2003), the term Gentiles refers to non-Jews. I stand by the accuracy of my examples (Weinrach, 2002a, 2002b), some of which Dr. Kiselica reiterated (see Kiselica, 2003, pp. 427-428). ANTI-SEMITISM IN CONTEXT The stress of being culturally distinct in America does not foster unbridled optimism. Jews in the United States, and elsewhere, as well as other culturally distinct groups, learn subtle strategies to coexist with the majority culture and other culturally distinct groups. It requires acquiescing frequently to the will of others. It is quite true, as Dr. Kiselica (2003) stated, "Weinrach has not demonstrated a skillful grasp of how to foster and utilize the good will of Gentiles" (p. 435). Admittedly, I struggle with reconciling the fact that clearly an overwhelming majority of Gentiles do not harbor anti-Semitic views with the fact that anti-Semitic behavior by some counselors was, and still is, tolerated by the American Counseling Association (ACA). To no one's surprise, anti-Semitic behavior did not end with the publication of my article in the summer of 2002. (For a recent example, see Parham, 2002, and my analysis of Parham, 2002, in Weinrach, 2002b). How many times and across how many years must the counseling profession be alerted to anti-Semitic behaviors before what Dr. Kiselica (2003) refers to as "empathic confrontation" (p. 436) by Jews becomes a patently hopeless option? Out of necessity, too many Jews are forced to tolerate anti-Semitism outside of the counseling profession. Why would Jews want to further subject themselves to such experiences within their chosen profession? Some Jews may feel justified in reassessing their role within the counseling profession or ACA. According to K. R. Thomas (personal communication, July 5, 2000), "although ACA does not maintain statistics on the religious affiliation of its members, it would appear that the counseling profession does not attract, proportionately, as many Jews as the professions of social work, psychology, and psychiatry." There may already be a self-selection process at work, for a variety of reasons, not just the existence of anti-Semitism. …

In contemporary Jewish ultraorthodox communities, most three-year-old male children undergo a twofold ritual sequence in which the first haircut is associated with entering the world of study. Focusing on the paramount value of holy Torah study and its prerequisites, I seek to decode the psychocultural meanings of the haircutting and school initiation ceremonies and their ceremonial antecedent, circumcision, as markers on the male trajectory from milah (circumcision) to milah (word). The ritual sequence is evaluated comparatively against the widespread conception of manhood as a special-status category of achievement that requires indoctrination and testing. In order to account for the recent proliferation of the rituals, an attempt is made to situate them historically in the current context of contemporary ultraorthodox and Israeli society.

The pastors I know, including myself, are exhausted. Leadership is taking a high toll on our marriages, our relationships with our children and friends, our bodies, and our beings. More in our bodies than in our brains, we know that the church is living in a state of perpetual white-water, and that the certainties and securities of Christendom's stable past are no more. The problem is that we pastors were not trained for our task today, which is the post-Christendom renegotiation of the church's vocation. Christendom afforded the church and its pastors many advantages, but those advantages of power and prestige blinded the church to the many ways the word of God became compromised to causes subversive and many times antithetical to the reign of God. Nevertheless, so terribly enamoured with those advantages, we pastors are pressured by anxious church folk and our own anxious selves to keep what we have cherished from slipping through our fingers. The collapse of Christendom is a crisis that can no longer be denied. Nor can highly functioning and competent pastors expertly manage the church's dislocation from its once privileged position in American culture. We are trained in the skill sets of life within a modem world in which technology and technique provide answers to every problem. Those skills are not helpful now, and our over-reliance on them only proves that the assumptions and practices of the dominant culture have co-opted our imaginations to a way of organizing our lives according to technique rather than the Bible. Hard work and the competent management of our technological resources will not allow us to continue to live in denial; we are standing in the wreckage of our cherished past and unable to engineer the future. Our denial has kept us from grief, and until we learn to grieve we cannot move forward. Any good pastor who cares for the bereaved knows that. Yet, we have not identified ourselves as bereaved persons living amid cultural wreckage. I think the attacks on the World Trade Centre and the Pentagon on September 11, 2001 crack wide our denial and force us to grieve, whether we want to or not. This geopolitical crisis, which ended America's naivete about its life in the world, begs pastors to do more than serve as chaplains to our nation's collective grief. We are called, as Ricoeur has pointed out, to the twin acts of suspicion (asking hard questions about our past compromises) and recovery (re entering strange, neglected biblical texts in order to "rescript" imaginations too long captive to dominant ideologies). This work of suspicion and recovery is precisely the pastoral work the prophet Jeremiah was called to practise in the midst of his nation's wreckage. In and around the decade 598-587 BCE, Jeremiah confronted the pastoral denial and mistaken management strategies of Judah's religious and political leadership. Current scholarship helps us to see Jeremiah as more than a single, nearly deranged prophet operating on the fringes of Jerusalem society. Jeremiah was a spokesperson for a political movement within the Jerusalem establishment that dared to view the situation from a very different point of view. With strong ties to the Deuteronomic tradition and the torah reform movement under Josiah, Jeremiah and the leaders of the movement (which included Baruch and the highly influential and prominent family of Shaphan) critiqued textually, that is, from the vantage point of torah, the assumptions of Jerusalem's political and religious establishment. The book of Jeremiah, including its influence among those living in the wreckage of the exile, plus the birth of new forms of community life exemplified by Ezra in the restoration, testifies that among a society of pastors, who intentionally and regularly enter an alternative reading of our current situation, God is at work bringing to birth enormously potent missional energy. By this action, God converts our exhaustion and rebirths us for ministry among tired and terribly compromised congregations. …

Both rabbis and therapists are on the receiving end of powerful projections, particularly the availability of their bodies as an object of phantasy. Both sets of professionals are seen as a potential source of healing and judgement, and both are viewed as having access to some hard-to-name yet soughtafter power (God/the unconscious) – yet both are essentially storytellers. The analyst's stories about countertransference can illuminate the emotional communication between two people, but may perhaps need to retain some humility in the face of the mystery that we are so much more than our means to know give us to know.