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An Outcast in the Temple of the Lord

Essay Posted Mar 20, 2007 by James E. Nelson

I heard the most surprising—and striking—translation of a psalm in vespers on Saturday night. It was the familiar Psalm 83:11 from the Septuagint (Ps 84:10 in the Hebrew Masoretic Text that most English versions follow).

The Septuagint is a Greek translation of the Hebrew Old Testament started in the third century B.C. and completed about one hundred years before Jesus’ birth. For those not familiar with why the Psalm numbering system is different in the Septuagint, there are two issues involved. First, although Psalms 9 and 10 are listed as separate psalms in the Hebrew Bible (called the Masoretic Text), they are clearly a single acrostic poem unnaturally broken in half. Read any good commentary that deals with textual issues and you’ll get an in depth treatment; most Bibles with footnotes also give an introduction to the problem. The proverbial 72 Jewish scholars of the ancient school of Alexandria who translated the Septuagint also recognized that the two psalms were actually a single psalm and they recombined them, thus confusing the numbering system of the remainder of the book for the rest of time.

Furthermore, nearly all the psalms begin with a little explanatory sentence, such as “A psalm of David,” or, as in the case of Psalm 83/84, “A Song of Asaph.” Those explanatory sentences are not numbered in the Hebrew Bible and in English translations they typically appear either as a subtitle or a footnote. In the Septuagint they are listed as a separate verse and given verse number. Thus, Psalm 84:10 in the Hebrew Bible becomes 83:11 in the Septuagint, which lists v. 1 as “A Song of Asaph.” One might wish the 72 Hebrew sages were wise enough not to mess with the numbering system, but such is not the case, so students of the Psalms have had to be bothered with the dual numbering system ever since.

The translation based on the Masoretic Text most of us are familiar with says. “I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God, than to dwell in the tents of wickedness.” But the Septuagint says, “I would rather be an outcast in the house of the Lord rather than to live comfortably in the house of sinners.” The word translated outcast (pararripteisthai) is not used in the New Testament and is therefore a bit unfamiliar to the sort of students whose source of Greek is their Strong’s Concordance. It is an infinitive form of a word that means “to throw aside” or “discard.” The infinitive form is sometimes used metaphorically for running the risk of being thrown aside. The implication of the sentence in the Septuagint is something as follows:

By nature, I’m like the sinners and fit in most naturally in the house of sinners, but I have set my hope on the house of the Lord, and even though I’m unworthy of dwelling in the house of the Lord, and even though I deserve to be tossed out of the house of the Lord like so much trash, I’ll take my chances and dwell there rather than the house of sinners.

The verse has a fatalistic “Jewish mother” ring to it, and it probably helps to read it with that tone in mind: Look on the worst side but hope for the best. And while we like to poke fun at Jewish mothers, there’s a ring of truth to this outlook. We deserve to be outcasts. And, in truth, that is not stated strongly enough. As sinners we are indeed, by fallen nature, outcasts. We cannot just enter into God’s presence; we ought not enter into God’s presence, we have no right to enter into God’s presence, and yet, based on the mercy showered upon us in Jesus Christ, we boldly enter God’s presence and are graciously brought in from the outer darkness. There is a profound reality to the description, “outcasts in the house of the Lord.” I am reminded of Jesus’ parable of the banquet. The host invited the fancy people, but they had better things to do. Angry with their response, he commanded his servants to get the outcasts, “Go out at once into the streets and lanes of the town and bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame” (Luke 14:21). Like those surprised down-and-outers of the parable, we have no claim to our position other than the grace of God.

It was a wonderfully serendipitous moment to hear that version of the psalm in the midst of Lent. It’s a season when we ought to prepare for the great feast of God’s Passover in Christ. But even at such a momentous occasion we are easily distracted, or fall into sin, or merely get bored with God. It’s at times of preparation, when we are encouraged to give back to God in gratitude and discover that gratitude and faithfulness are sorely lacking, that we discover the profound truth that we are but outcasts in the household of God.

I remember a silly little book (a very big book actually) written shortly after I graduated from college by a teacher at Multnomah School of the Bible. His emphasis was on the fact that we were princes—children of the King—and ought to live like that. It caused quite a stir at the time but was ultimately discarded on the trash heap (pararripteisthai) by the Evangelical world as so much humanistic blather that focused narrowly on the obvious (we are children of the King) and didn’t take sin quite seriously enough. I say it was a silly little book because history has shown over and over that when princes and princesses live like princes and princesses their monarchies are in terrible jeopardy. The best monarchs-as-parents turned their children over to a tutor who understood precisely what they were—spoiled little rich kids with minds full of mush—and set out to change all that. I have no strong feelings either way about the British monarchy, but in this context I commend Prince William for serving in the military and I commend the British military for sending him to Iraq. It’s just the sort of thing that might cure a prince of princely assumptions and a false sense of entitlement.

There was a cute little move several years ago called Bruce Almighty. Bruce was not happy with how God was running the universe and so God let Bruce take over being God in Bruce’s own neighborhood. It didn’t go well and by the end of the movie a humbled Bruce turned the job back over to God with an appreciation that with great power comes great responsibility and the need for great wisdom (something Bruce lacked).

And that’s just it. We may indeed be princes, children of the King of the Kings, but we’re not ready for the responsibility that it entails. We must remember our place in the grand scheme of things here and now, and not just as it will be in the consummation of all things. So, while we hope for the best (that is, place our hope only in the grace of God) we must remember that given the way we act and think, we are but (as the Septuagint says) outcasts in the temple of the Lord.