Liturgy and Biblical Interpretation: The Sanctus and the Qedushah

By Sebastian Selvén

What happens to the Bible when it is used in worship? What does music, choreography, the stringing together of texts, and the architectural setting itself, do to our sense of what the Bible means—and how does that influence our reading of it outside of worship? In Liturgy and Biblical Interpretation, Sebastian Selvén answers questions concerning how the Hebrew Bible is used in Jewish and Christian liturgical traditions and the impact this then has on biblical studies. This work addresses the neglect of liturgy and ritual in reception studies and makes the case that liturgy is one of the major influential forms of biblical reception. The case text is Isaiah 6:3 and its journey through the history of worship.

By looking at the Qedushah liturgies in Ashkenazi Judaism and the Sanctus in three church traditions—(pre-1969) Roman Catholicism, Anglicanism (the Church of England), and Lutheranism (Martin Luther, and the Church of Sweden)—influential lines of reception are followed through history. Because the focus is on lived liturgy, not only are worship manuals and prayer books investigated but also architecture, music, and choreography. With an eye to modern-day uses, Selvén traces the historical developments of liturgical traditions. To do this, he has used methodological frameworks from the realm of anthropology. Liturgy, this study argues, plays a significant role in how scholars, clergy, and lay people receive the Bible, and how we understand the way it is to be read and sometimes even edited.

Liturgy and Biblical Interpretation will interest scholars of the Bible, liturgy, and church history, as well as Jewish and Christian clergy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: University of Notre Dame Press
• Release date: Jan 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9780268200022

Sebastian Selvén

Sebastian Selvén received his doctorate in divinity from the University of Cambridge and is an independent researcher in biblical studies.

Book preview

LITURGY AND BIBLICAL INTERPRETATION

READING THE SCRIPTURES

Gary A. Anderson, Matthew Levering, and Robert Louis Wilken,

series editors

LITURGY

AND

BIBLICAL

INTERPRETATION

The Sanctus and the Qedushah

SEBASTIAN SELVÉN

University of Notre Dame Press

Notre Dame, Indiana

Copyright © 2021 by the University of Notre Dame

University of Notre Dame Press

Notre Dame, Indiana 46556

undpress.nd.edu

All Rights Reserved

Published in the United States of America

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020947040

ISBN: 978-0-268-20001-5 (Hardback)

ISBN: 978-0-268-20003-9 (WebPDF)

ISBN: 978-0-268-20002-2 (Epub)

This e-Book was converted from the original source file by a third-party vendor. Readers who notice any formatting, textual, or readability issues are encouraged to contact the publisher at [e-mail]

CONTENTS

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The interdisciplinary reach of this investigation has meant that for a long time I felt like until I get there, I will not know what to use to (study the) worship (of) the Lord. It would have been an impossible endeavor were it not for the many friends and colleagues I have received help from during the course of my writing. At Cambridge, I would like to single out the help of Bruno Clifton, Christine Corton, Katharine Dell, Theodor Dunkelgrün, Philip Jenson, Sam Kennerley, Reuven Leigh, Victoria Raymer, Stefan Reif, and Richard Rex. I am grateful to the Old Testament/Hebrew Bible Grad Seminar for comments on this work and others, and especially so to my co-chair, Rosalie Ní Mhaoldomhnaigh.

I would also like to thank Judith Newman at the University of Toronto, Eliezer Kaunfer and all the wonderful people at Yeshivat Hadar, New York City, and also Walter Moberly, Shimon Steinmetz, Martin Berntson, and Maria Liljas.

Thanks are also due to Uppsala University and the Old Testament Higher Seminar, from which I have received such generous support. This project would not have been possible without Göran Eidevall, Lina Sjöberg, and Mikael Larsson there, who have helped me in the course of my writing. I would also like to especially thank Simon Hedlund for the insightful comments he made to an earlier draft of this work.

Many have helped this work on the way: Helene Egnell at the Centre for Interreligious Dialogue, Stockholm; Morton Narrowe at the Great Synagogue, Stockholm; Yael Fried, The Jewish Museum, Stockholm; Jonas Tovi and Andreas Ottosson; but none more so than Mikael Mogren, who has been an indispensable support, friend, and intellectual sparring partner.

Throughout this work, I have depended on the kindness of strangers through funding for the project. Various funding bodies have helped me, but I would especially like to thank Sixten Gemzéus Stiftelse, the Spalding Trust, the Sir Richard Stapley Trust, and Helge Ax:son Johnsons Stiftelse.

But there has also been steady friend support, where I would like to especially thank Meghna Nag Chowdhuri, Varun Khanna, and Akshyeta Suryanarayan, a true remover of obstacles. Also many thanks for the support and input from the Allstig-Lamos family: Gunilla, Peter, and especially Katarina, a great proofreader and an even greater friend.

A crucial colleague has of course been Nathan MacDonald, whose wit and wits have helped me through the different stages of writing. Without you, it would have been an entirely different text, and certainly not for the better.

And going from doctoral parents to actual parents I would like to thank my two wonderful parent sets: Carina Selvén and Björn Rönnerholm, and Pers Göran och Catherine Selvén, who have been such a stable support.

Thank you also, Ostwald, for Ostwald.

Last, I give thanks to the Holy Blessed One, המתגאה על חיות הקדש, for the privilege of having received both bread and Torah during the course of this project.

Introduction, Part I

Performance Matters

Every time Jews or Christians worship is an instantiation of biblical interpretation. And when the Bible comes to life through music, movement, and setting, it changes character. Psalm 23, sung to the somber tone of a Christian funeral, is a rather different text then when sung (usually after some schnapps) by Jews around a Shabbat dinner table. The word interpretation itself hints at this, as French-American polymath George Steiner writes in Real Presences:

An interpreter is a decipherer and communicator of meanings. He is a translator between languages, between cultures and between performative conventions. He is, in essence, an executant, one who acts out the material before him so as to give it intelligible life. . . . An actor interprets Agamemnon or Ophelia. A dancer interprets Balanchine’s choreography. A violinist a Bach partita. In each of these instances, interpretation is understanding in action; it is the immediacy of translation.¹

Interpretation is a highly practical issue. And let us keep in mind: the interpretation of a text (in Steiner’s sense) can have quite a dramatic influence on how one later interprets it. Liturgical experiences activate or neglect certain readings of a text, and evoke certain emotive responses that can galvanize an interpretation. Jews can chuckle their way through the book of Esther even when not reading it on Purim, when the topsy-turvy nature of the liturgy reinforces the carnivalesque aspects of the text.² Mirth, sorrow, solemnity, anger—all these emotions and more can grow out of one’s reading, and especially so if those are the emotions that are encouraged liturgically. Liturgy involves us not just intellectually but also emotionally and somatically. The space in which worship takes place, the choreography according to which one moves one’s body, the sounds and sights, tastes and scents that one registers, all work to shape one’s experience of the text. Liturgy is, among other things, an experienced biblical interpretation. Like a concert, or a play, it is a performed act: liturgy is not a book, just as a concert is not its sheet music, but a moment, an action in time and space. But there is, as with a classical concert or a play, a particular text that is performed again and again.

My argument in this book is that the study of the Bible, as refracted through its ritual or liturgical reception, has been neglected by liturgical scholars but all the more so by biblical scholars.³ Liturgy is one of the many cultural activities that influence one’s understanding of the biblical text, and the study of the interrelation between the Bible and its use in liturgy deserves thorough study. I will take Isaiah 6:1–5 as my case study, and already by choosing this text, some of the factors I would like to draw attention to come into play. This is a passage that has garnered a tremendous amount of attention by biblical scholars. Why is that? Why have so many articles, monographs, and so on been written on Isaiah 6 and not, say, Isaiah 4? Why have so many given this passage new contexts in music, fiction, and poetry, from Dante to Anne Carson, Edmund Spenser to William Empson, John Donne to Allen Ginsberg, Elizabeth Barrett Browning to Leonard Cohen? I would venture to say that this interest—including my own—comes from the liturgical use of this text. Just as some other liturgical texts, such as Deuteronomy 6:4, have been prioritized in biblical research because of their liturgical use, so, I would argue, has Isaiah 6 been prioritized because of the familiarity with it that liturgy breeds. A telling example could be how, when discussing my research, most Jews I have spoken to have said, "Oh, you’re writing about the qedushah? and most Christians have said, Oh, you’re writing about the Sanctus?" For both, the liturgical reference was what first came to mind—even in speaking about this text, people do so through their liturgies.

This perspective ought to be much more represented in research. Surprisingly, this has not been the case, and until quite recently, it was not the case for almost any non- or extratextual genre of reception. Not only has there been a privileging of content over form when looking at the history of biblical texts, there has also been a privileging of abstract text over other forms of cultural activities: commentaries have been unpacked for their readings, but the study of other engagements with the biblical texts is still underdeveloped. Art, film, theater, music, and pop culture phenomena are all part of this history, and some of them have had a far greater influence on how people approach the biblical texts than even the most influential commentary. There have been attempts at remedying this by broadening the field by, for example, Cheryl Exum looking into the Bible in art history⁴ and Adele Reinhartz examining the role of the Bible in Hollywood productions.⁵ This is, to my mind, a very welcome endeavor that needs further strengthening.⁶ Timothy Beal’s call for a broadening of the field to include not only academic and theological readings but also biblical appearances in visual art, literature, music, politics, and other works of culture, from ‘high’ to ‘low’ appears to be underway.⁷ It would seem, however, that some areas have been overlooked. Christopher Rowland, writing about his editorial work on the Blackwell Bible Commentary, focuses on the different ways in which the Bible has been read and heard in history, through music, literature and art.⁸ He believes an openness to the varieties of effects of biblical texts puts exegesis in touch with wider intellectual currents in the humanities, so that literature, art and music become part of the modes of exegesis.⁹ Curiously absent from both these listings of media is ritual.¹⁰

It is also a remarkable oversight when we take into account the very fact that the only Hebrew Bible we have is a liturgical text.¹¹ The Masoretic text, which is our access point to this corpus in its original language(s), is cantillated in its entirety. Our Hebrew Bible is written to be sung in synagogues and is thus an unavoidably ritual text, and, to be more precise, an unavoidably Jewish ritual text. The liturgical nature of the Hebrew Bible available today is, in a certain sense, hidden in plain sight.¹² A biblical scholar cannot get away from the fact that the liturgical instructions of qere and ketiv, for example, are written in the manuscripts themselves.

As a corpus, too, the Bible is also deeply marked by liturgy: it includes liturgical portions, such as the book of Psalms, but its very canon, as persuasively argued by Judith Newman, has also been profoundly changed and in some instances even determined by liturgical use.¹³

This neglect is also remarkable from another perspective, given the prevalence of biblical language in Jewish and Christian liturgy.¹⁴ Already the fourteenth-century liturgical commentator David Abudraham points out in his siddur commentary: Know then that the language of prayer is founded on the language of Scripture. Because of this, you will find written in this explanation on every single word a verse like it or on its theme. And there are a few words for which a foundation in Scripture could not be found, and therefore for them I will bring a foundation from the Gemara.¹⁵ This has been repeated by Ruth Langer, who writes on Jewish prayer: Hardly a word of the prayer lacks a biblical echo.¹⁶ Reuven Kimelman, championing the study of biblical hypotexts in Jewish liturgy, writes: The meaning of the liturgy exists not so much in the liturgical text per se as in the interaction between the liturgical text and the biblical intertext. Meaning, in the mind of the reader, takes place between texts rather than within them.¹⁷ The same, of course, holds true for much of Christian worship. This interpretative activity is often glossed over, though it might be one of the most influential sites of biblical interpretation. Diarmaid MacCulloch points out concerning the Book of Common Prayer:

Its liturgy was not a denominational artefact; it was the literary text most thoroughly known by most people in this country, and one should include the Bible among its lesser rivals. This was because the English and the Welsh were active participants in the BCP [Book of Common Prayer], as they made their liturgical replies to the person leading worship in the thousands of churches throughout the realm: they were actors week by week in a drama whose cast included and united most of the nation, and which therefore was a much more significant play, and more culturally central, than anything by Shakespeare.¹⁸

What could be added to this important observation is that through the Book of Common Prayer, the Bible, too, entered the mouths and minds of all those worshippers.¹⁹ A less central cultural activity in the West than it once was, liturgy is still a potent interpretation of biblical texts. In it, the Bible is a script to be performed, and so is remade, day after day, week after week. Many biblical scholars still come from a religious background, and even among those who do not, most are embedded—at least in the most general sense—in a certain religious tradition, owing to culture and geography, if nothing else. As Stefan C. Reif amply demonstrates in his recent collection of essays, Jews, Bible and Prayer (2017), liturgy shapes our pre-understanding of a text: which texts are important, which texts are connected, and often how they are to be read. Certain readings are reinforced, and certain potential aspects of a text activated, through their use in liturgy, while others are neglected or even muted. Some of the readings encouraged through liturgy may be helpful, some innocuous, but some may be problematic, even harmful.

An instructive example here is that of Isaiah 6:1–5, which will serve as our case study. This pericope is far from a peripheral text; in fact, it is probably one of the most well-known biblical texts, to a large extent for liturgical reasons. This text has been chosen because of its fame rather than its obscurity, and it will serve to exemplify my argument since it has been employed in related but diverse Jewish and Christian settings. In the chapters of this study, I will trace its liturgical use in Jewish, Roman Catholic, Anglican, and Lutheran traditions. It should be stressed at the outset that I am not presenting a comprehensive historical overview. Rather, I have chosen examples of illuminating interpretational choices in the liturgy. I have selected certain trends and summit moments where in my view the text has been taken in new directions, and often this has meant providing context. Much of the chapter material is dedicated to a historical investigation, but the purpose of this is to provide background for and examples of influential liturgical traditions that have shaped the interpretation of this text and that continue to exercise an influence today. This has also dictated the choices of traditions. Rather than taking an encyclopedic approach, which would have included, for example, Eastern Christian liturgies, I have chosen those religious traditions that are well represented and influential in modern biblical research.

RECEPTION STUDIES

Because this is an investigation into the reception study of the Bible, it might be worth considering some of the issues that have come up within this field and how they relate to this study. Reception studies have come a long way, from being a rebel to an established subfield in its own right. However, it is now no longer seen as unorthodox so much as at risk of calcifying, as can be seen in critiques of it.²⁰ One recent such critique concerns some of the core assumptions of why reception studies should even be separated into a distinct field. Reception studies have traditionally been set up in opposition to historical-critical approaches as the tracing of what the text has meant after its production or formalization. Its subject matter has often been understood the way John Sawyer characterizes it: The history of how a text has influenced communities and cultures down the centuries.²¹ Lately, this distinction has turned out to be untenable, and in order to situate this study in the larger field, some issues need to be dealt with.²² A reasonable point of departure would be how the reading process can be imagined, followed by a return to what this might mean for the problematic division between original and reception.

My two core assumptions in this study are that reading is (1) a process undergoing constant mutation and (2) that our academic ways of reading—from historical-critical to postcolonial—are themselves part of the reception of the text, rather than a meta-operation taking place above it. The first assumption constitutes, in effect, a view of liturgy not entirely unlike that of certain theoreticians of literature, according to whom lived experiences and snippets of everyday storytelling are arranged and restructured in the encounter with a text. Liturgy, like a novel, presents a participant/reader with suggestions for how to understand everyday life by organizing concepts, terms, and acts in a specific way, to which the participant/reader reacts in one way or another.²³ Liturgy not only restructures how a person might interpret and string together one’s own lived experiences, but also how one might interpret and draw connections between biblical passages that are liturgically presented in a certain order and context. By putting biblical verses together in a certain way, certain readings are more likely to occur.²⁴

And if liturgy, as a form of reception, can restructure the ways in which an individual reads biblical texts, how does that work on a macro level, in an academic field? My second assumption is this, and scholars of liturgy will have to excuse me for mainly addressing the biblical side of things in this section: that we as scholars in the field do not stand above the textual traditions we study. Modern biblical research is part of the stream of textual interpretation—and production—that is the Hebrew Bible, and the field itself is another instantiation of biblical reception. The field, as part of the modern Enlightenment project of academic knowledge creation, tries to be non-biased, but like any other field of study, it is influenced by many other factors, among them liturgy.²⁵ One might here wish to remember the cautionary remarks of Hans-Georg Gadamer: Real historical thinking must take account of its own historicity,²⁶ and [history] prevails even where faith in method leads one to deny one’s own historicity.²⁷

There has, fortunately, been a shift away from the view of scholars of biblical reception as coming in after the historical-critical job has been done, to do the same—that is, neutrally explicating—to later interpreters such as Origen or Rashi.²⁸ Instead of framing reading as a creative endeavor, biblical studies have too often presented reading as a matter of applying the right set of methods to a text. The model has been to be a commentator on the commentators. This is reflected in content, style, and even chapter layout, since studies often start with what the Bible says and then go on to reception.²⁹ The comments of Stephen D. Moore and Yvonne Sherwood come to mind: In biblical studies, epistemological decorum is construed rather differently than in literary studies. In biblical studies, the model of the good reader is the commentator. This self-effacing reader does not write but, as his name implies, merely comments. He is a civil servant of the biblical text.³⁰

Style matters, as does layout and a host of other decisions of presentation, since they in turn shed light on our underlying assumptions. One of those assumptions that frequently makes itself felt is the assumption that we have a by now stable biblical text and that the work of a scholar of its reception is to follow it down the rabbit hole of history. The Hebrew Bible, however, was not made in the past but in the present, by scholars who themselves form its latest growth ring.³¹ We are on a horizontal plane with the flow of biblical texts throughout history, rather than above it, in our reading of them.

STUDYING LITURGY: WAYS OF SEEING

One of the main challenges of studying the nexus between the Bible and liturgy is the fact that liturgy, as a genre, is rather different from, say, literature, and has to be approached in other ways. It is important that, when studying liturgy, one pays serious attention to its extratextual dimensions. Liturgy is not, after all, just another text, but an activity. This is something that liturgy has in common with, for example, theater. For a long time in theater studies, the dramatic text was what was being studied, as if it were a book and not a blueprint for production, a realization that has since shifted the whole field, not just into extratextual considerations but also into nontextual ones.³² Research on liturgy has, on the whole, been somewhat slower to realize that there is something outside the text.³³ With one’s eyes fixed on text, one runs the risk of ending up studying an idealized liturgy rather than actual worship. Take, for example, Catherine Pickstock’s laudable attempt to break out of the privileging of text over orality, which devotes a substantial section to an interpretation of the Mass of the Roman Rite.³⁴ Bryan Spinks, after trying to figure out when and where this Mass that Pickstock interprets may have taken place, points out that it is certainly not a reading of a medieval mass, but a reading of an academic critical text by a modern academic.³⁵

It is impossible to go through all iterations and variants of a liturgical rite, especially when taking many different areas and periods into account, but one must also take in more than just the written text and look beyond it to get at something resembling an actual worship experience without getting bogged down in the minutiae of liturgical history. One aspect of both Jewish and Christian liturgical practices that is rather helpful here is that they are both textually based. This is not a given for all religious rituals, but it does hold true for the regulated worship of these two religious traditions. This means that they are not entirely dissimilar to theatrical plays, or sheet music, in that they are, to some extent, readable.³⁶ Just as a play is not exhausted by its dramatic script, so liturgy too has, beyond its script, performers, setting, and a mise-en-scène that must be taken into account: its aesthetic dimensions, its melodies and moods.³⁷ Just as with a play, no two performances will be identical, and liturgy shares with dramatic theater that tension between textual stability and performed unrepeatability.³⁸ Apart from extratextual dimensions of choreography, architecture, and modes of participation, attention to the role of text and words, when used, is also called for. Waving the lulav fronds, blowing the shofar (ram’s horn), or receiving the ash cross on Ash Wednesday may all be highly charged moments in the liturgy, without words having a central role at all. But even when words are the focus, the role of these words may be unusual. Liturgical language is, after all, performative, in the old-fashioned, analytical sense of the word. It is not a dry statement of doctrine; it is the dynamic interpretation and bringing about of a world. In this world, divine forgiveness is dispensed on Yom Kippur, blessing is relayed through the priestly blessing, and bread and wine are turned into the body and blood of Christ. Liturgical language does not describe these moments, it instantiates them.³⁹

This is important to the theological dimensions that we need to keep in mind when dealing with liturgy. The individual worshipper may not believe in angels, or the miracle of Mass, or even God, but she might still go through the liturgical actions, sing hymns, move her body in the prescribed ways, and so will perform the theological worlds and perspectives of which the liturgy is part. She will not do so in an uncomplicated manner, especially because the liturgy may be communicating many different worldviews, sometimes in tension or in direct contradiction with one another, but she will still follow the script. It is in this way that theology can also be taken seriously, not as an abstract content or belief behind the practice, but as a component and as a function of the liturgical actions themselves.⁴⁰

The realization that words are efficacious—something very true of liturgical language—may help offset some of the assumptions coming together with the theater paradigm that would suggest that liturgy is therefore just a play.⁴¹ Liturgy does, after all, make certain claims on its relationship to the world, and in which way its words are like a spider’s web, attached ever so slightly, perhaps, but still attached to life at all four corners.⁴² To say that you sing with the angels is to uphold a world in which angels sing. Even if individually that is not one’s perspective on the world, it is still a form of acted-out belief. Because it would be all but impossible to capture the relationship between practice and theology in Jewish life without this perspective, and would hamper the analysis of Christian traditions, too, I think this is an important lens through which to view these liturgical practices.⁴³

FOCUS AND CHOICE OF MATERIAL

This study is concerned with the ritual reception of the Hebrew Bible, in this case of Isaiah 6:1–5, taking into account not just text but performed ritual. Even within the realm of rituals, however, one must draw some lines. One such delimitation is that what is of interest here is liturgy, not the whole field of ritual life, which is more or less impossible to demarcate or define. Another is that a comprehensive view of all the contexts in which Isaiah 6 has been used is impossible—some biblical texts can be isolated and treated comprehensively, but this is not one of those. I would like to stress this because this is not a historical survey. Rather, I have identified certain moments in the life of this text that I have deemed to be of importance, and I will analyze these. The liturgies in question are the ones in Jewish and Christian worship in which Isaiah 6:1–5 features most prominently, that is, the qedushah deYotzer and the qedushah deAmidah of Jewish liturgy (leaving the third, qedushah deSidra’, to the side for now), and the Sanctus of Christian liturgy.

The rabbinic qedushah traditions are omnipresent in modern Jewish liturgy and are emblematic of much of Second Temple and also later rabbinic theology.

The Sanctus of the medieval Roman Rite is the starting point for my discussion of Christian liturgy. Here there are extraordinary overlaps with Jewish liturgy and also specifically Christian expressions.

This medieval Sanctus was changed in more than one direction during the Reformation.⁴⁴ Two Protestant traditions will therefore be used as cases of comparison. The first of these is the Lutheran liturgical tradition. This is first exemplified by the two liturgies Martin Luther himself wrote, but the main example will be the Lutheran Church of Sweden. The reasons for this choice are a few. First of all, the Church of Sweden is the largest Lutheran church in the West.⁴⁵ It has furthermore, as