Five Festal Garments: A Biblical Theological View of the Savior’s Scrolls

Jesus said we should “not judge by appearances, but judge with right judgment” (John 24:7).[1]  This counsel comes in handy with the Five Festal Garments[2], because if books were judged by covers, then it would be deemed as confusing as its occasionally eccentric first-person musing.  In one sense, while the title trumpets a literary feast for the most jubilant of occasions, it sits monochromatically—black and gray font on a muted gray cover—as unappetizing as academic titles get.  In another sense, the introduction of the book spotlights the scrolls to be as front and center as Joseph’s glaring gift of preferential affection to Benjamin (Gen. 45:22), when it later pans them for being relegated to the furthest margin of the Old Testament canon (135). 

Deeper within the book’s covers, Webb makes a yeoman’s effort in exploring these Old Testament Writings (viz., Song of Songs, Ruth, Lamentations, Ecclesiastes, Esther).  He answers “how can the Old Testament be the word of God for us today?” by considering each’s standalone features, before contextualizing and connecting to the Old and New Testaments, respectively.  Accordingly, this paper’s thesis is that they are not mere examples of God’s creative genius, but majestic exemplars that meaningfully elucidate His redemptive history.  It is a feat to foreshadow the gospel for the Israelite, while displaying ancient truth to today’s readers.  In fact, this author agrees with Webb that this “boundary-riding in biblical theology . . . . [is as] taxing . . . [as it is] exhilarating” (135).  The purpose here, then, is to outline how these fringe books can inform one’s understanding of the entire Bible.  As a book review, brotherly critique is offered. 

The Five Festal Garments makes plain a number of commonly held themes.  To begin, Webb notes that the Song of Songs (Song), Ruth, Lamentations, Ecclesiastes, and Esther are all well-established as canonical books.  He describes them with emphatic language proclaiming how they are “recognized . . . as gifts of divine origin . . . impossible to refuse” (11), while name-checking church fathers (e.g., Josephus in the first century AD) and more recent authors (e.g., Roger Beck) to give his assertions weight. 

Webb then homes in on the real debate: the issue to be addressed is “the congruence of the Scrolls with other canonical books, and the manner in which they should be understood and used as Holy Scripture . . . . [or, using his colorful nomenclature,] how the Scrolls were to be ‘worn’” (12).  Dubbing them problem scrolls (11), he contrasts how the debate in Christendom, which shows little to no sign of nearing consensus, is starkly different from Jewish sentiment in Israel, which was able to coalesce around their adoption as lectionary readings for major festivals (viz., Passover [Song], the Feast of Weeks [Ruth], the Ninth of Ab [Lamentations], the Feast of Tabernacles [Ecclesiastes], and the Festival of Purim [Esther]; 12). 

These observations are quite helpful, before Webb starts up something of an unnecessary, somewhat self-effacing diatribe on how the book is largely a set of his personal reflections threaded together in an attempt towards biblical theology (12-14).  His first-person musing is a narrative feature of the book that is dovetailed throughout and can be distracting.  Here, it takes nearly three-quarters of his introduction, with the most salient point being that his approach is saved by its focus “on the unity of Scripture, while doing full justice to its diversity . . . . [and] derives its rationale from the evangel (the gospel) itself” (13, emphasis original).  Ultimately, this aim and his humility are admirable.  What it promises is worth Webb’s extended discussion scroll by scroll, and he delivers on it.

A Rhapsody of Love

Webb starts off with the first scroll, Song, by casting off any attempt to interpret it as a philosophical treatise on love or a manual for sex (16).  Instead, he steers the audience to vicarious feelings as well as rational implications of love poetry (17) that is both darkly realistic and deeply idealistic (26).  He directs us to Solomon’s fulfillment as a lover rivaling that of his satisfaction as a king (27).  Finally, Webb lands on Song as love lyrics—glorifying the concept of love itself—not the lovers (18).  He motivates the reader to “look for progression towards a climax” (23) of a different sort, where “true consummation of love is not sex, but relationship …. It is a little cameo of the married relationship as envisaged in both the Old and New Testament” (23).  Only then can one connect Song with Proverbs’ restriction of sex to covenanted relationship (29), highlight the shameless freedom enjoyed in one-flesh unity throughout Genesis 1-3 (30-31), and deny any dichotomy between body and soul, as is foundational across the Old Testament (31-32).  This foreshadows the New Testament’s portrayal of love and marriage as more than mind or will, with an affective reality springing from God’s love (34).  This emphasis rightly places His love as the source, rather than its derivatives of orthodoxy or good works (35).

A Genealogy of Kindness,

Next, Webb writes tenderly of Ruth, calling it the “’scroll of kindness’ . . . . [but] kindness of a radical and controversial sort” (36).  A shadow of this is first mentioned by Naomi about her two daughters-in-law.  But it explodes into light when she is finally able to see the kindness of her Covenant Lord, through and within that of a new pairing (viz., Boaz and Ruth).  Indeed, Webb begins by suggesting Ruth to be a sophisticated RomCom (romantic comedy) that has elements of courtship leading to a happy ending, even as he sees its deeper themes—cast of Scripture’s signature movement from curse to blessing (37) in a “larger, theological framework” (44).  This insight goes beyond Boaz being a type of Christ as Naomi and Ruth’s kinsman-redeemer (44).  Whether it is Naomi being tied to David and therefore Jesus through the book’s explicit genealogy (57), Naomi being a prodigal son who goes through rebellion and repentance (40), or Ruth being an exemplar of the noble woman in Proverbs, this is a micro story that reveals God’s providence in subtle everyday life (54).  It is God’s “ongoing, continuous salvation” (57).  It is His lovingkindness at work: a fulfilling of the spirit of the law (56).

An Expression of Suffering

With Lamentations, Webb sees the grieving experience as the “tragic loss and acute anguish . . . . [when] everyone [is] alone, and worst of all, [when] Yahweh himself . . . becom[es] an enemy” (60).  His structural analysis details five 22-verse frames (with the third poem having three lines apiece) while positing that the final poem’s shift from acrostic pattern is a depiction of issues being resolved (61).  As a Christian psychologist, I fully appreciate how Webb recognizes that “the acrostic form has more than aesthetic significance; [but] therapeutic and pastoral significance as well” (62).  Voluntary recall of one’s situation, bringing with it realization of the compassion and faithfulness in God’s preserving grace, is what begets psychologically-internalized hope (69).  Applied covenantal theology—made clear by placing Lamentations’ historically-rooted suffering within the Old Testament context of Deuteronomy 28; the lament, penitential, and imprecatory psalms; and the credal confession of Exodus 34 (80)—is further crystallized in God’s “unfailing love and righteous wrath” typical of the New Testament (83).

A Confrontation of Fleeting Vexation

For Ecclesiastes, Webb notes how the enigmatic scroll can be interpreted in a myriad of ways with a structure that has long eluded scholars (84-85).  The key is how “the words of the Teacher are. . . interpreted for us by the . . . ‘frame narrator,’ who is the author” (86) arranging content meticulously.  The discourse alternates between first-person negative observations, with second-person positive instructions (88); a sharp contrast of what we are unable to do and what we should do in light of that (viz., submission to God) that leads to how we should proceed (90).  Qohelet is a counterintuitive Teacher, turning royal self-promotion on its head, akin to how the Apostle Paul boasted of weaknesses.  Frustration is exchanged for faith: he unabashedly recounts futility in all accomplishments, replacing quest for earned profit with enjoyment of God’s gifts (95).  Yet, this does not change one’s experience of meaninglessness—but instead reveals who God is and how one should recognize Him (97).  This echoes Genesis and Proverbs in how God is Creator and Judge as well as the One who determines the timing and conditions of insight—which govern human existence and ground human worship—according to one’s fear of Him (105-108).  It foreshadows hope even in futility, because of the Gospel of redemption, which moves one through creation, fall, frustration, and finally joy in His fulfilling work (109-110).

An Ever-Present Deliverance

Esther is the last of the five Megilloth (festival scrolls).  Webb easily notes the direct linkage to Purim with its explicit introduction of and explanation for the festival as well as details on time and manner of observance (112).  Appropriately read as history (113-115), Esther is a reversal of fortunes that goes beyond simple rescue (117) of morally-questionable heroes (120-122).  Webb notes how certainty of survival is matched by certainty of rescue by a higher power—unseen but evidenced by a litany of providential events (124-125).  The events of this scroll are therefore reverberations of Yahweh’s election of Israel and His war against Amalek (129-130).  It speaks to the new-covenant person’s exilic life, where the “absence of the miraculous does not mean the absence of God” (133).  One can anticipate the eschaton and even laugh in the face of overwhelming odds when reminded that God continues to reign (134).

Conclusion

In conclusion, “Scripture requires . . . each book be allowed to be what it is, and not be forced to speak in [another voice] . . . . The richness of the . . . gospel is the diversity of testimony . . . in the New . . . and indirectly in the Old” (14).  Webb’s divine Author creatively accomplishes this via a rhapsody of love, a genealogy of kindness, an expression of suffering, a confrontation of fleeting vexation, and an ever-present deliverance even if/when unseen.

[1] Unless otherwise noted, all Scripture citations are from the ESV.

[2] Barry G. Webb, Five Festal Garments: Christian Reflections on the Song of Songs, Ruth, Lamentations, Ecclesiastes, Esther (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2000).