Written by Andrew J. Miller |
Wednesday, March 13, 2024
Reading the Psalms Theologically provides an interesting and encouraging advanced taste of editorial criticism, doing so with vigor and an apparent love for the Psalms. The overall thrust is that the Psalter does point to Christ, which should lead believers to reverence and awe of God.

Reading The Psalms Theologically (Studies in Scripture and Biblical Theology), edited by David M. Howard Jr. and Andrew J. Schmutzer. Bellingham, WA: Lexham Academic, 2023, 344 pages, $29.99.
Reading most books out of order would be a disaster. Encyclopedias and collections of essays aside, if I was to randomly rearrange the chapters of a story like Pilgrim’s Progress and have you read it for the first time, you would understandably struggle. The ordering of things communicates something—in the Westminster Confession of Faith, for example, effectual calling (ch. 10) comes before justification (ch. 11), matching and expressing our theological understanding of their logical ordering.
Yet curiously, readers of the Bible often skip over the intentional ordering of certain biblical books—the Psalms being chief among them, perhaps because it seems more to us like an encyclopedia than a narrative. Here the book Reading the Psalms Theologically helps readers to see the intentional ordering of the “chapters” of the book of Psalms and its significance. Reading the Psalms Theologically introduces readers to “editorial criticism,” wherein study of the final form of the psalter reveals the theological intention of the editor(s) (4). “Editorial criticism” could be described as a form of “canonical criticism,” associated with Brevard Childs and Christopher Seitz, which evangelicals can embrace to the degree that it reacts against the anti-supernaturalistic presuppositions of much modern biblical criticism by suggesting that we read the biblical books as the sacred Scriptures of the church.[1]
While Christians today are rightly cautious of anything with the term “criticism” in it, we should remember that this is essentially the same work that O. Palmer Robertson engaged in through his own The Flow of the Psalms: Discovering Their Structure and Theology.[2] In other words, editorial criticism, at its best, is reminding us that someone, by God’s inspiration, collected the Psalms (individually inspired at their composition) and put them in an order. Reading The Psalms Theologically asks why the Psalms were put in the order they were and what we can learn from that order.
This is a popular new way of looking at God’s Word, and thus pastors should be aware of it (if even to reject it). For example, another new Lexham title is Text and Paratext: Book Order, Title, and Divisions as Keys to Biblical Interpretation.[3] One more example is Don Collett’s intriguing proposal that Hosea has a signal position among the minor prophets (“The Twelve”), wherein
Hosea’s marriage to Gomer is intended to be a living parable of the Lord’s covenantal marriage with Israel….Hosea is not only the first prophet through whom the Lord spoke in the Twelve but also…the word the Lord speaks to Hosea is the founding agent or agency by which the witness of the Twelve is established.[4]
The first chapter, “Reading the Psalter as a Unified Book: Recent Trends,” sets the table nicely, describing the state of Psalms scholarship. Here we are told that notable scholars like Roland Murphy, John Goldingay, Norman Whybray, and Tremper Longman have been skeptical of the editorial criticism approach to the Psalms (24). Nevertheless, lamenting that “traditionally, most readers have approached the Psalter atomistically, looking only at individual psalms, assuming that they are included in the work in random fashion,” (31) the authors of the first chapter suggest there is indeed an intentional ordering to the Psalms. Again, this should set theological conservatives at ease: what we are after is the author’s intention as presented to us in the words of Scripture and its order. Explicitly we are told (and it is worth quoting at length because of the importance of this point),
We understand the entire Bible to be “God-breathed” (or “inspired by God”), as Paul puts it in 2 Timothy 3:16, and so another question arises in a collection such as the Psalter as to where, exactly, the locus of inspiration is to be found—in other words, what stage(s) of a text that came together over time is/are inspired? Only the original writing? Only the final form? Something in between? We affirm that the Spirit inspired the writing of the very words of individual psalms when they were originally written. We base this on Jesus’ words in Matthew 22:41–45 (NIV), where he states that David, “speaking by the Spirit,” uttered the words from Psalm 110:1. That is, when Psalm 110 was first written, this was done through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. But we also affirm that the Spirit superintended the process that finally resulted in the collection that we call ‘the book of Psalms.’ (32)[5]
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We all have our levels of discomfort we seem willing to bear and our levels of discomfort, what we even find uncomfortable, differs from person to person and all of us, at some level, will allow that lure of an easy life to overtake. When Jesus calls us to take up our cross and follow him, this is precisely what I think he is calling us to put to death. For the sake of the gospel, we must die to our comfort. Those of us who won’t will end up killing the church.

I have long been convinced that one of the biggest enemies of the gospel is our own personal comfort. There are simply some lines that we seemingly are unwilling to cross. Some of our lines may differ, there are levels to which we are willing to tolerate some discomfort but even our discomfort is largely within the bounds of what we are comfortable being uncomfortable with (if that makes sense?) But if we are serious about the cause of the gospel, we are going to have to get a bit uncomfortable.
I am reminded of the missionaries who told me that there seems to be some sort of common belief that they must just be people who love snakes in their beds or civil unrest. It’s alright for them – they probably love the adventure – but it’s not really for me. Whilst I’m sure there are some who relish the adventure, I am sure many more are less enamoured with dangerous animals and less than sanitary conditions and are, instead, motivated by the belief that somebody needs to take the gospel where nobody is willing to go. They chose to be uncomfortable for the sake of Christ.
It is very similar to the kind of noise those of us in deprived communities often hear. It’s alright for people like you, but it isn’t for me. I’m never quite sure what they mean by that in my case. Not least, most who insist it’s alright for people like me because I’m more like the people here than they are usually also want to tell me how middle class my upbringing was and I definitely am. You can’t really have that both ways. But even if they have some other reason – and I know unquestionably middle class people who have gone to deprived places who have heard similar things – the line remains largely the same: that would be a level of discomfort too far for me. But, of course, because we know it isn’t the “spiritual” thing to say, we dress up our discomfort by insisting that the people who do go must just love living next door to drug addicts on council estates or serving in areas where racial tension runs high.
But of course, we have the same problem the closer to home we get too. Forget being asked to move anywhere, we hear these comments from people being asked to share the gospel in the nicer areas they have decided to live in. Churches with evangelists, or any people committed to evangelism, will often point to such people and say ‘it’s alright for you.’ I have been in middle class churches where any evangelistic endeavour or people of a more evangelistic bent are just viewed as loving being gauche, weirdos who must just love awkward conversations about Jesus or people who have no concern about whether they keep their jobs or not. It’s alright for them, but it’s not for me. It’s all a level of discomfort too far.
Then there are the lads who perhaps are a bit worried about evangelism but they’re at least willing to sit and talk with members of the church and help them grow. But meeting up for half an hour, in a lunch break, that’s a bit of a pain. Easier just to not do that. Then there are evenings out, but that’s all a hassle too. There is a level of discomfort even here that stop us from bothering engaging in discipleship and giving up almost any of our time for the sake of building the kingdom.
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People may delude their own hearts, and deceive themselves about the dominion of sin. Therefore it is convenient to test ourselves whether or not sin really has dominion. There are many things we may erroneously think are good signs, and so deceive ourselves that sin does not have dominion over us. Here are six.
I Don’t Feel My Sin Is Very Powerful
One is being unconscious of the power of sin. A man may feel no violent sinful inclination, no stirrings, no opposition, no commands, but there is a calm and quietness in his spirit and in his way, and he thinks this would not be possible if sin had dominion over him.
But this is a deceit. For one thing, it is most probable that sin has the strongest dominion, where the heart is least aware of the rule and demands of sin. When the strong man keeps the house, all is quiet, said our Saviour. Where subjection is peaceable, there the dominion is (in all likelihood) most absolute and complete. What is certain, is that where Christ sets up His sceptre (which casts down the dominion of sin) is the greatest stir. The law of the mind will war against the law of the members (Rom. 7:23), and the spirit will lust against the flesh (Gal. 5:17).
For another thing, this unawareness and quietness may arise, partly from the uniqueness of sin, and partly from our ignorance of our sinful condition, and partly from the habitual custom of sin. Whether the sun is shining or not, there is still the same number of motes flying in the room. There they are really, though we are not aware of them till the light comes in to make them manifest. So someone may be utterly unaware of sin for lack of saving light and the holy experience which arises from a new nature.
The hand which is used to iron, and nettles, does not feel them. So the frequent actings of sin may suppress the inward sense of sinning. Much sinning adds to the strength of sin, and disables the sense of the sinner, sears their conscience, and makes their mind reprobate, and as it were without feeling.
I Don’t Do Many Very Sinful Things
Another thing that may deceive us may be that we are free from many kinds of sinful behaviours. Someone may not live in all sorts of wickedness, and indeed, their ways may seem to keep clear of various iniquities.
Yet, though you do not do all evil, and your ways or patterns of behaviour are not universally spreading in all the kinds of sinning, still sin may rule in you, and have dominion.
Being subject in one detail is sufficient to establish that you are under dominion. A servant has only one master, and is not the servant of everyone in the parish, yet he is a true servant in respect of that one master. A subject does not obey every prince in the world, yet if he obeys any one, it is enough to prove that he is a subject. So, though the sinner is not at the command of every lust, yet if he is the servant of any one lust, sin has the dominion over him. It is not the multitude of sins which absolutely and necessarily concur to dominion, but subjection to the power of any one.
One person may do all the service to one sin which others do to many sins. That person may devise ways to fulfil it, cheerfully and greedily receive its commands, heartily love it, and go on in it, and for its sake oppose the sceptre and dominion of Christ, and consecrate all their strength to the obedience of it.
As in politics, there are several forms of government, such as democracy, and aristocracy, and monarchy.