I received two questions a while back and I thought I would answer them.

The first was that the comment that there is no imperative in the Greatest Commandment, just a future. “You shall love (ἀγαπήσεις) the Lord  your God with all  your heart, with all your soul, and with all  your mind.” (Matt 22:37). So how could this be a command, other than the previous question uses the word “commandment.” “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment (ἐντολὴ) in the law?”

Usually adjectives used substantivally (i.e., as nouns) are pretty easy to figure out. Between the meaning of the adjective and the context of the passage, the translator can figure out how to treat the word. But every once in a while things can confuse the picture, and one of those things are headings in modern Bibles.

The most notorious heading is the one before Eph 5:22 andI have already blogged on that, but another bothersome heading is the one at 1 Cor 12:1. The NIV has “Concerning Spiritual Gifts” and then starts with, “Now concerning  spiritual gifts, brothers, I do not want you to be uninformed.” “Spiritual gifts” is a translation of the adjective πνευματικῶν, a masculine or neuter plural adjective from πνευματικός, meaning “spiritual.” But spiritual what?

We all know that Greek uses ὁ differently than English uses “the.” In fact, I am hesitant to even talk about the Greek definite article, since ὁ functions so differently much of the time.

One of the more difficult constructions is the prepositional phrase where ὁ is regularly omitted. In fact, when you see ὁ before the object of the preposition, it should make you sit up and take notice.

But knowing when to include “the” is a matter of exegesis, and sometimes it can be tricky.

It is interesting to trace the use of “grace” (χάρις) through 2 Cor 8:1-9. Paul is making use of the semantic domain of χάρις to mean “grace” and “kindness,” and it is the use of the same Greek word that ties the entire argument together.

The giving of the Macedonian church was the result of God’s grace at work in their midst (v 1). The Corinthians were to complete their act of gracious giving (v 6). They were in fact to excel in this grace of giving (v 7), just as Jesus graciously, though he was rich, became poor, so the Corinthians could become rich (v 8).

I came across this on Google+ and had to repost it. Good advice from Amanda Patterson.

1. “Substitute ‘damn’ every time you’re inclined to write ‘very’; your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be.” ~ Mark Twain

2. “If writing seems hard, it’s because it is hard. It’s one of the hardest things people do.” ~ William Zinsser

3. “Writing well means never having to say, ‘I guess you had to be there.’ ” ~ Jef Mallett

I received this question a while back, and it turns out to be a fascinating exercise in exegesis. In fact, after reading the literature, I had to call my good friend George Guthrie, a Hebrew’s specialist, to make sure I was understanding the issue.

The fun part is that the Greek is, shall we say, “atrocious,” “convoluted,” or perhaps I should say, “not quite clear.” As a result, it becomes an exercise in exegetical method. So hold onto your hats.

διαθήκη has two basic meanings in BDAG. It is the technical term for a last will and testament. It is also the NT translation of the Hebrew בְּרִית, “covenant.”

I don’t know about you, but prepositions can be such a pain. It is strange to think that something that is so often ambiguous could have been created for clarity.

I remember writing about this several months ago. In the course of the Greek language, there was so much ambiguity to the case system that prepositions were created to bring clarity. But through the centuries, it appears that many (not all) of the prepositions picked up some of the same ambiguity as the cases they were meant to clarify. Just think of ἐν and the dative.

ἐπί has got to be the strangest of all. A simple glance over the article on επί in BDAG shows a breadth of meaning that one wonders if it means anything at all.

I wish modern English had a different form for “you” plural. It would solve some sticky translation problems. So until then, I guess we all have to learn some Greek.

Philip finds Nathanael to tell him about Jesus, and Nathanael responds with his now famous, “Can anything good come from [Nazareth]?” (1:46). Jesus tells Nathanael that he saw him under the fig tree, and Nathanael responds “Rabbi, you are the Son of God; you are the king of Israel” (1:49).

I had a great comment about a previous blog, and I thought I would follow up. It helps show the kind of transitions we all have to make from first year to second year Greek.

There is no substitute for common sense in translation. Sometimes when you read the Greek, it is so obvious that it can’t mean what it says. The question is, what is a translator to do?

Stephen says in his speech, “But as the time of the promise drew near, which God had granted to Abraham, the people increased and multiplied in Egypt until there arose over Egypt another king who did not know Joseph (ὃς οὐκ ᾔδει τὸν Ἰωσήφ)” (Acts 7:17-18, ESV).

Of course he did not know Joseph. Joseph had been dead for centuries.

Paul tells the Roman church that he has wanted to come to see them (and soon will), but that he has been "hindered" (NIV, ESV, NRSV, KJV, NET). The connotations of this word are interesting.

Other translations use "prevented" (NASB, HCSB), but the problem with this translation, at least to my ears, is the suggestion that someone stopped Paul.

I came across a great use fo the imperfect in my reading this mornng. In 1 Cor 3:6, Paul writes, "I planted,  Apollos watered,  but God gave the growth (ηὔξανεν)" (ESV). A pretty generic, colorless transation that is reflected by most other translations (cf. NRSV, KJV, HCSB, NET). The NLT, it seems to me, is even more colorless: "it was God who made it grow." That relegates God's work totaly to the past.

The joy of punctuation! It can get the translator out of a real jam, and it can add clarity and reduce misinterpretation. I am wondering why I don’t talk about it more in my grammar.

The basic issue is the difference between how English constructs sentences, and the flexibility allowed by inflection. English has to put related words next to each other: adjectives next to nouns, subjects before verbs, prepositional phrases close the the verb. While there is some flexibility, the further we disconnect related thoughts, the more confusion there is and the harder the reader has to work.

We talk about semantic ranges, and that a word in one language does not have the same range of meaning as a word in another language, which is one reason translation can be so challenging.

There is perhaps no other word that epitomizes this as much as παιδεία, generally translated “discipline.”

The author of Hebrews has been encouraging his people to persevere during this time of trial and persecution. In the first verse in the paragraph he writes, “And have you forgotten the word of encouragement that speaks to you as sons? ‘My son, do not regard lightly the discipline of the Lord, nor lose heart when corrected by him.’”

I never cease to be amazed at the power of context in translation. So many times I will see what I think is a good translation of a verse; but when I read it in context, red flags start to wave. Phil 4:13 is one of those passages.

All major translations other than the NIV (2011) translate the plural πάντα as a plural. “I can do all things through him who strengthens me” (ESV, so also NASB, NRSV, HCSB, KJV, NET). The 1984 NIV and NLT say, “ I can do everything,” which is essence says the same thing as the plural.

Are you familiar with the term “natural language”? It is a translation theory that seeks to say, for example, in English the same thing as is said in Greek, but to say it is naturally as possible for the English speaker.

In other words, the order of the Greek sentence and its grammatical forms are of less significance than how the English reader hears the biblical text.

So, for example, if a sentence has one independent clauses, two prepositional phrases, and a relative clause, conveying that structure is not as important as is producing an English translation that feels totally natural to the English reader. The dominating question for the translator is, “How would I say that?”

There is no substitute for common sense in translation. Sometimes when you read the Greek, it is so obvious that it can’t mean what it says. The question is, what is a translator to do?

Stephen says in his speech, “But as the time of the promise drew near, which God had granted to Abraham, the people increased and multiplied in Egypt until there arose over Egypt another king who did not know Joseph (ὃς οὐκ ᾔδει τὸν Ἰωσήφ)” (Acts 7:17-18, ESV).

Of course he did not know Joseph. Joseph had been dead for centuries.

Some translations of course are willing to leave such a silly notion in the text and expect the reader to figure it out (ESV, NKJV, HCSB). 

We all know that commas are not part of the biblical text, and yet they are required by English. To someone just starting their Greek career, it may not seem that commas deserve much attention; but Acts 5:18 gives a good example of why a comma can make all the difference.

I was reading the NIV the other day and came across this verse. “Then the high priest and all his associates, who were members of the party of the Sadducees, were filled with jealousy.” What is the relationship between the “associates” and the “Sadducees”? In English, there are two.

Paul is concluding his letter to the Corinthians church, and one among several of his final exhortations is in v 13. The ESV reads, “Be watchful, stand firm in the faith, act like men (ἀνδρίζεσθε), be strong.”

I was reminded of this passage as I was reading the current wave of blogs reacting to John Piper’s talk on “The Frank and Manly Mr. Ryle.” This is not a debate I want to enter right now, but it does raise an fascinating problem in translation, and that is how to translate ἀνδρίζομαι.

Hell is a slippery concept; and no, I’m not talking about recent debates. I am talking about what the word ᾅδης means.

I was reminded of this in reading the NIV of Acts 2:27. Peter cites Ps 16:10 as fulfilled in Christ. “You will not abandon me to the realm of the dead, you will not let your holy one see decay.” Why did the NIV switch from “grave” (1984) to “realm of the dead”? (I was not on the CBT when this change was made, so I was not part of the discussion.)

ᾅδης occurs ten times in the New Testament. In eight the NIV translates ᾅδης as “Hades.” In Acts 2:27 and in Peter’s following comment (v 31), it translates ᾅδης as the “realm of the dead.” In our passage, most translations simply write ”Hades” (NASB, NRSV, HCSB, NET) or “Hell” (ESV, KJV).

I started this blog with the title, The Difference a Comma Makes (Acts 5:18). You will see why I changed it.

We all know that commas are not part of the biblical text, and yet they are required by English. To someone just starting their Greek career, it may not seem that commas deserve much attention; but Acts 5:18 gives a good example of why a comma can make all the difference.

I was reading the NIV the other day and came across this verse. “Then the high priest and all his associates, who were members of the party of the Sadducees, were filled with jealousy.” What is the relationship between the “associates” and the “Sadducees”? In English, there are two.

There are some times in which there simply is no good way to translate a verse. No matter how hard you try, there will always be some ambiguity.

I am reading through the NIV looking for what I call “NIVisms,” phrases that stand out as a little unusual. Every translation has them. I suspect that sometimes these NIVisms are the result of hours of debate, and there simply was no easy solution.

Something occurred to me this morning, and I am curious as to what you think about it. It actually has far reaching ramifications.

If you have been following this blog, then you know that I have been thinking about what is a Christian, how do we define it. Specifically, I have been looking for a balance between Jesus’ “Follow me” and the more propositional statements of Paul.

There obviously is no difference between “have” and “have,” except when you speak. “I have a book.” “I have purchased a book.” “I have to read a book.” Unless I am gravely mistaken (and my accident is mid-west), I say the third “have” differently, much closer to “half.”

The first “have” denotes possession. The second “have” is a helping verb. The third “have” denotes obligation or necessity.

Now come to Acts 23:19. The NIV reads, “The commander took the young man by the hand, drew him aside and asked, ‘What is it you want (ὃ ἔχεις) to tell me?’”

I came across Matt 2:8, and it highlights two of the things I have talked about in the past. (Warning: this is a slightly techie Greek blog.)

The first is the force of an aorist adverbial participle followed by an imperative. Herod says, “Go (πορευθέντες) and search diligently (ἐξετάσατε) for the child; and when you have found him, report back (ἀπαγγείλατε) to me, so that (ὅπως) I also may go and worship (προσκυνήσω) him.”

Paul is on his way to Rome, the captain of the ship does not heed his warning, and they are caught in a storm. “When neither sun nor stars appeared for many days, and no small storm continued to rage, all hope of our being saved was at last abandoned” (Acts 27:20).

Apparently several days had past, since the men had gone without food for some time. An angel appeared to Paul, telling him that the ship would be lost but no human life (v 23). Fourteen days into the storm (v 27), they run aground. So much for context.

I was asked about the interchange of tenses in Col 1:21-23. It is part of a much larger theological question that I can’t get into right now, but it is worth looking at the Greek.

Paul writes, “And you, who once were alienated and hostile in mind, doing evil deeds, he has now reconciled (ἀποκατήλλαξεν, aorist) in his body of flesh by his death, in order to present (παραστῆσαι, aorist) you holy and blameless and above reproach before him, if indeed you continue (ἐπιμένετε, present) in the faith, stable (τεθεμελιωμένοι, perfect) and steadfast, not shifting (μετακινούμενοι, present) from the hope of the gospel” (ESV).

Nathaniel declares Jesus that he is the “Son of God, the King of Israel” (Jn 1:49). I wonder if “Son” should not be capitalized. We read it in light of later teaching on the deity of Christ, but Nathaniel obviously equates “Son” and “King.” There is no sense of deity in Nathanael’s declaration, at least on his part.

(I would be curious how many people in our churches know that the Greek text doesn’t use capitalization the way we do, and therefore do not understand that “Son” is interpretive. I will put a poll on Facebook.com/teknia. Please let me know.)

When the demon saw Jesus coming, he cried out, “What have I to do with you, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me!” (v 28). “Jesus asked him, ‘What is your name?’ And he said, ‘Legion.’ (For many demons had entered into him.)” (v 30).

The Greek word is λεγιών, which is a transliteration of the Latin legio, a foreign loan word. It refers to a Roman legion, which consisted of 5,000 – 6,000 soldiers. The word came to be used of a very large number.

λεγιών occurs three times in the New Testament, twice in connection with this story (Mk. 5:9, 15 [λεγιῶνα]) and once in Jesus’ assertion that the Father could “immediately place at my disposal more than twelve legions (δώδεκα λεγιῶνας) of angels” (Matt 26:53).

A few blogs back I talked about my growing apprehension with connecting may and might by default with the subjunctive. Many of you responded with helpful information. Thanks.

Mike Aubrey left a comment about Margaret Sim's book Marking Thought and Talk in New Testament Greek: New Light from Linguistics on the Particles Hina and Hoti, and it was repeated by Carl Conrad on the Biblical Greek forum. Richard Walker is correct; It seems that the use of may/might in purpose clauses now belongs to a higher register of English and is to be eliminated from modern translations that aspire to a certain type of clarity. Thanks.