Inspired by the Midrash of the ancient rabbis, Maren takes a crack at Biblical Fanfiction. What do you imagine the lawyer thought about Jesus' Good Samaritan parable? What if Martha heard it, too? And the bottom line question: can creativity can also be a tool in biblical interpretation? You decide.

Creation as Interpretation.

Let’s have a little talk about criticism. I’m not talking about the kind cloaked as “constructive” when it’s actually the opposite. The criticism I’m talking about is the English Major kind, the comparison, analysis, and interpretation of works of literature. It’s a much happier topic and probably not new to you since much of what happens here is literary criticism.

Even before people recorded their sacred stories, they did the work of criticism and interpretation. The word the Jewish biblical tradition uses to describe this ancient process is “midrash,” from the Hebrew root “lidrosh” which means “to seek, inquire” (70 Faces, Barenblat, p. 1). This ancient literary criticism is distinct from the biblical commentary Christians are accustomed to today. Wilda Gafney explains that midrash and rabbinic readings “reimagine dominant narrative readings while crafting new ones to stand alongside-not replace-former readings” (3). In other words, part of midrash is creating new stories as an act of interpretation of the originals. Midrash writers responded to the artistry they saw in the text with both analysis and their own art. To them, the scriptures were not merely documents to be studied but, as David Hawkinson describes, “a continuing drama needing personal and corporate engagement and participation.” Naturally, then, they brought their experiences of themselves and their communities to the texts.

Interpretation with a twist

A fascinating discovery for me is that the bible itself contains midrash. Hawkinson points out, for example, that Deuteronomy, the fifth book of the Hebrew Bible, is a “later interpretation of earlier traditions found in the first four books of Moses.” In addition, “Chronicles is a later retelling of the books of Samuel and Kings.” Are you catching the nouns here? Interpretation. Retelling. The act of interpreting the Bible is simultaneously recreating it. Don’t forget that what Christians call the “Old Testament” is the same Hebrew Bible we’re talking about here. The Hebrew Bible is what Jesus knew. It is what the three Jewish gospel writers knew. And this creative, personally and communally engaging midrashic interpretation is also what they knew. Sometimes, in fact, the gospels themselves are midrashic. Take, for example, the first four chapters of Matthew. They tell the story of Jesus with a nod to the earlier accounts of Moses. Or, to mention a story we’ve looked at together, consider the Samaritan woman at the well in season 2. John’s allusions to Hagar and his patterning of the story after ancient betrothal narratives are also midrashic. John is retelling Israel’s ancient stories with a major twist: Jesus. Hawkinson summarizes, “One of the most important influences on both the style and content of the gospel materials was the well-established tradition of midrashic reading of the Hebrew scriptures.” If we’re going to understand the Bible well, appreciating how those who wrote it engaged with earlier scripture is essential and fascinating.

Let’s take a look at an example of Midrash that did not turn into what we consider now to be the Bible. Reba Carmel writes that midrash was and is still “crafted to address textual anomalies, potential theological questions, and linguistics.” She cites Genesis 1:26, “And God said; ‘Let us make man.’” Who was God talking to? Who’s the “us?” Carmel then quotes Midrash addressing that question by rabbis whose careers spanned the third century. A condensed version follows:

“Rabbi Simon said: When God was about to create Adam, the ministering angels formed themselves into groups and companies, some of them saying, “Let him be created,” while others urged, “Let him not be created.” Thus it is written, “Love and truth fought together….” (Psalms 5:11). Love said, “Let him be created, because he will perform acts of love.” Truth said, “Let him not be created because all of him will be falsehood.”...What did the Holy One do? He took truth and cast it to the ground, as it is said, “Thou didst cast down truth to the ground” (Daniel 8:2).”

Decades later, “The elder Rabbi Huna of Sepphoris said, ‘While the ministering angels were parleying with one another and disputing with one another, the Holy One created Adam and then said: What are you parleying about? Man is already made.” —Genesis Rabbah 8:5.

Clever, isn’t it? But is there also a part of you that’s a bit indignant? Like, they can’t just come up with that out of nowhere! I think many Christians fear interpreting scripture “wrong.” Some, then, stick to a literal reading of the text, unwilling to stray from what feels safe and obvious. Many open to digging a bit beneath the text to search for artistry and further meaning have been trained to keep themselves out of the text and maintain scholarly objectivity. Responding subjectively and creatively seems a bit illegal, but it’s what the earliest biblical interpreters did. I’m fascinated that those most culturally and temporally connected to the original texts felt free to play with them, share them in the community, and disagree. What would Christianity look like if we felt the same freedom?

I’m a fan of fiction.

In many ways, midrash is similar to fanfiction. If you’re unfamiliar with the genre, fanfiction is created by admirers of novels, movies, and tv series using the same characters and plotlines presented in the original work. In fanfiction, we can explore whether or not Jane Eyre would still marry Rochester if she had the opportunities afforded to women in today’s England. We can imagine how things would be different if only Obi-Wan had also trained Leia. A fanfiction writer herself, Rabbi Rachel Barenblat explains in her excellent article, “We write fanfiction, as we write midrash, both out of love for the texts we’re given and out of frustration with those texts” (174). For fanfiction authors and contemporary and ancient midrash writers, this frustration with beloved stories leads to problem-solving creativity. Geoffrey Hartman concurs, “At a certain level, Midrash is not satisfied with the text as it stands, and while it refuses to produce a new or transformed writing, it looks for more of the original in the original, for more story, more words within the words” (210). Midrash gives interpreters the tools to honor the original text and engage deeply with questions that might otherwise be easier to ignore.

I did this series on Martha because I was dissatisfied with her story. It is brief and puzzling, and I’m sure you’ve picked up on my frustrations about interpretations that pit her against Mary. I’m annoyed by the traditional debate about whether to listen to Jesus or serve him. I struggle to understand it considering the story’s context of the parable of the Samaritan and Jesus’ words to another woman one chapter later: “Blessed rather are those who hear the word of God and obey it!” (Luke 11:28). Today’s episode is all about wrapping the series up and coming to some conclusion. But here’s the thing: what I see in Martha’s story is impossible to prove in any merely scholarly fashion. My evidence lives not only within the text but also within me. The rabbis brought their experience of humanity to their interpretation of scripture, and I can't help but do the same with this story. The only way I can present what I see in this text is to create some bible fanfiction, imagining the thoughts of both Martha and the lawyer as they hear Jesus’ Samaritan parable.

Let us play.

Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead.”

“Filthy robbers,” thought the lawyer. “I can smell them from here.”

“Poor man,” thought Martha, “But he should know better than to travel that road alone.”

“Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side,” Jesus continued. The lawyer’s eye twitched.

“So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side.”

Glaring at Jesus, the lawyer muttered, “What are you playing at?”

Martha thought, “Well, yes, I suppose that is how some would behave.”

“But a Samaritan while traveling came near him;”

“A Samaritan?!?!” the lawyer nearly shouted.

Martha, too, caught Jesus’ eye.

“And when the Samaritan saw him, he was moved with pity. He poured oil and wine on his wounds and bandaged them, put him on his animal and took care of him at an inn. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, “take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.”

The lawyer was appalled. “I would rather die than allow a Samaritan to save me. But I suppose the poor sap couldn’t fend him off.”

Perplexed, Martha thought, “I don’t know why the third fellow must be a Samaritan, but I would do that. If I were a man, I would save him. It’s the right thing to do, and it’s what the law requires. I can’t believe he left him in the inn, though. Certainly, the innkeeper wouldn’t do a good job caring for him. And two denarii? The man should be healed before he needs that much.”

Jesus turned to the lawyer, “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”

He grumbled, “The one who showed him mercy,” and walked away without hearing what Jesus said next. “Mercy,” he thought. “Where did that thought come from? A merciful Samaritan….”

Jesus said after him, “Go and do likewise.”

“Oh, I will, Lord,” murmured Martha. “But I hope the poor soul learned his lesson. Traveling alone…”

The lawyer lay down to sleep that night, mind whirling from that teacher’s parable. A story he’d heard since he was a boy and hundreds of times since then played in his head. YHWH, the God of Israel, met with Moses on Mount Sinai and passed before him in a cloud, proclaiming the divine name, “YHWH, YHWH, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness” (Exodus 34:6).

“A merciful Samaritan and a merciful God,” he thought, “And a man with no power to resist.”

Two days later, “Martha welcomed Jesus into her home. She had a sister named Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet and listened to what he was saying. But Martha was distracted by her many tasks; so she came to him and asked, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her then to help me.” But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.”

“Fine.” thought Martha, and she sat beside her sister.

“Martha,” Jesus said. “There is no need to prove yourself to me. You are my beloved. You cannot be the truly compassionate Samaritan unless you first embrace that you are the helpless victim. Rest in my mercy.”

Foiled again

You may remember from episode 2 that Martha and the 70 disciples earlier in the chapter make good foils. In their success, Jesus reminds the 70 to remember their names are written in heaven, that they belong to God. Jesus reminds Martha of the same thing in her perceived failure. I think Martha and the lawyer could be foils, too, not because Jesus tells the lawyer to “go and do” while he calls Martha to sit and listen, but because of their similar yet opposite emotional states. Justification preoccupies both the lawyer and Martha. The lawyer believes he’s already earned it and doesn’t need mercy. Martha, too, seeks justification but is worried and distracted because she thinks she needs to work for it and deems herself inadequate. Ultimately, they face the same question. Will they continue in their old ways or be transformed by the unearnable mercy Jesus gives?

Martha and I share some things in common. The times I’m the most controlling and least fun to be around are when I feel inadequate. When I feel like there’s no way I could ever measure up, I do the logical thing: start bossing everybody around. Those are the times I most need to hear Jesus say, “Maren, Maren, stop aiming for adequate. You are infinitely more than that. You, my daughter, are beloved.” I need to repeatedly return to this truth, and I don’t think I’m the only one. How fitting, then, that the unearned mercy of God is a theme in the first chapter of Luke’s section on discipleship. Perhaps it’s something disciples, throughout time, have needed to hear repeatedly. You, my friend, are beloved, and you can’t do a dang thing about it.

Works Cited

Barenblat, Rachel. 70 Faces, Torah Poems.  Montreal: Phoenicia Publishing, 2011.

Barenblat, Rachel. “Transformative Work: Midrash and Fanfiction.” Religion & Literature, vol. 43, No. 2, Summer 2011. pp. 171-177.    

Carmel, Reba. “MIDRASH: The Stories WE Tell, Why the Torah Remains an Open Book,” Jewish Currents, jewishcurrents.org, accessed Dec. 2022. 

Gafney, Wilda. Womanist Midrash: A Reintroduction To The Women Of The Torah And The Throne. Louisville, Westminster John Knox Press, 2017.

Hartman, Geoffrey. “Midrash as Law and Literature.” The Geoffrey Hartman Reader. Eds.Geoffrey Hartman and Daniel T O’Hara. New York: Fordham UP, 2004. 205-222.

Hawkinson, David. “Reading Bible: An Introduction to Midrash and Interpretation, Part I.” Pietisten, vol. III, No. 2, Spring 1998. pietisten.org.