S4 Assignment | Hermeneutics and Social Location: Reclaiming Inclusive Biblical Interpretation

“A voice was heard in Ramah,

weeping and loud lamentation,

Rachel weeping for her children;

she refused to be comforted, because they care no more.”

This passage can be found in Jeremiah and Matthew and is in response to the suffering and slaughter of children for political gain. It acquired great significance for me after the birth of my children. It was not one that stood out in my previous readings of the bible. My sense is that it is likely read as just a poetic description of a tragic event using the image of a broken-hearted, hysterical woman. When I read it, I find a deeper subversive and revolutionary meaning.

One: It expresses and acknowledges the natural and appropriate experience of grief. Rachel does not quickly recover from her anguish. The white protestant american culture of the family I grew up in was uncomfortable with strong emotions. The message during times of loss was to deny the feelings and move on. This passage counteracts that message and gives me permission to move through grief rather than deny it. It allows me to be fully human. 

Two: Rachel refuses to accept the horror, injustices, and brutality of life.  As a mother I am outraged by the actions of men who rule with violence and put children and the vulnerable in harms way. I love the word “refuse”. It is active, not passive. Her grief is laced with anger. Rachel will not be comforted just to make men comfortable. 

Three: To me the passage implies that Rachel’s anger is righteous. I imagine her feeling comfortable arguing even with God. I grew up with a family that saw women and men as equals. I was given the freedom and power to speak my mind. A woman’s anger holds within it the power to bring about salvation. A woman’s anger is compatible with a theology of liberation. 

Clark Kellogg

Rhetorical Uses of Text

Prof. Dr. EunHye Grace So

L4A1, February 25, 2026

Reflect on how your own social location—considering factors such as cultural background, economic status, and personal experiences—has influenced your interpretation of a familiar Biblical passage. What new insights or challenges arise when you compare your perspective to more traditional, mainstream interpretations?

I’ve attended two churches in my life: Riverside Church in New York City and Epworth United Methodist Church in Berkeley. Neither of these churches are exactly white Protestant churches of privileged elites, but both come close. Each creates space for different versions of Jesus and even God. But these are intellectual constructs, not lived or embodied ones.

I come from a Western, educated, white Protestant world. A world that values clarity, coherence, and right belief. When I read biblical texts, I search for theological meaning and personal application. What does this teach? What should I believe? How should I live? The story of Jesus and the Canaanite woman is a good example. I read it as a lesson in persistence and courage. She models bold faith. Jesus rewards it. The moral seemed clear and uplifting.

I know my social location shaped that reading. The trajectory of my life has taken me from relative poverty and high school-educated parents, to being economically secure and highly educated. That is an embodied journey that has shown me views other than undiluted “Wealthy WASPy.” Today, I live with educational privilege, economic stability, and institutional authority. I read from the inside, not the edge. I identify—almost unconsciously—with the disciples and with Jesus. I stand near the center of the story. Even when I admire the outsider, I do so from the inside.

Reading postcolonial and liberation readings, and listening to lectures by Dr. So and other PSR professors, the dynamics of power in my own social location have moved from tacit awareness to explicit understanding. From this point of view—aware of systems, leadership, and the difference between reaction and response—I notice, for example, a different version the story of Canaanite woman. It’s not just a test of faith but an encounter that exposes assumptions. It’s a moment where power is challenged and where openness creates transformation.

That interpretation has insight and an invitation. The insight is that Scripture is not static. It is alive with relational dynamism. It invites humility, even for those at the center. The invitation is for faithfulness to include changing one’s mind; to revise one’s stance when confronted with the truth of those from the margins.

This work unsettles my theological reflexes – as weak as they may be. I like these new questions:

Is the text providing a moral takeaway or showing oppressive power exposed?

Is the text burnishing individual faith, or framing in communal systems?

Can the text be universally applied to everyone, or is it just one perspective?

Acknowledging social location doesn’t diminished Scripture for me. It deepens it. The text has more relevance because it no longer feels like rote recitation. It feels alive and spikey. I’m reading from somewhere – and not everywhere.

Shiree Dyson

Ephesians 6:11 “Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the [wiles of the devil.”

The passage above was one of many I had to memorize and recite in my youth. Several of those moments have stuck with me. This passage is one I have returned to many times over the years. The Pentecostal Apostolic tradition in which I was raised taught this passage as armor being spiritual equipment. Demonstrated through prayer, fasting, memorization of scripture and fellowship. Meaning, full compliance and submission at all times to protect oneself from demonic forces. The Devil was the enemy, the trickster and always there to deceive you. Protect yourself so that you don’t deviate from the path of God.

Now I read it from where I stand, as an American-born Black woman, educated, smart and with lived experience. I left the traditional church of my youth and walked through other traditions and belief systems. Here I am now, eyes open to a different meaning of the devil. The breastplate of righteousness becomes justice and poses questions of who is protected and who is expendable in these systems I navigate daily, knowing they were not built for my protection. The belt of truth becomes whose truth is reflected and how am I framed. The shoes of peace become a hard fought-for march for right of place and being. The shield of faith becomes we will continue to stand and fight our humanity.

I grew up being told to put on the armor and stand. My social location deepens my capacity and understanding to determine, what to to stand against and question who decided the enemy was to me.

Leonard Bailey

Week 3

Reflective question

A passage that’s always felt personal to me is the story of the Good Samaritan. Growing up, it was usually preached as a lesson about kindness: help people in need, don’t walk past suffering, love your neighbor. That interpretation isn’t wrong. It’s clear, moral, and straightforward. But as I’ve gotten older, and as my own experiences have shaped how I see the world, I can’t read that story as just a call to be nice anymore.

Where I come from, you don’t have to imagine what it looks like when someone gets “passed by.” You’ve seen it. You’ve seen people ignored by systems that are supposed to protect them. You’ve seen neighborhoods overlooked, schools underfunded, and certain communities policed differently. When I read about the priest and the Levite walking past the injured man, I don’t just see individual failure. I can actually see institutional distance. I see people who represent respected systems choosing order, status, or self-preservation over compassion.

So when the Samaritan steps in, it hits differently. Growing up, I was taught that the Samaritan was just the surprising hero. But now I pay attention to the fact that he was from a group despised by the religious mainstream. He wasn’t just a random good guy; he was someone who would’ve been looked down on, stereotyped, maybe even feared. Yet he’s the one who shows up with mercy.

That can feel less like a generic moral story and more like a quiet disruption of power. The story doesn’t just ask, “Will you be kind?” It asks, “Who do you assume is capable of goodness? Who do you assume is closest to God?” That question feels loaded when you think about how often Christianity in America has been intertwined with cultural dominance. It’s uncomfortable to admit that sometimes the people who claim religious authority aren’t the ones embodying love.

Also, notice that the Samaritan doesn’t just offer thoughts and prayers. He spends money. He uses his resources. He commits to ongoing care. That part stands out to me more now than it used to. Loving your neighbor isn’t abstract; it costs something. It disrupts your schedule. It affects your budget. For people who don’t have much, that sacrifice is tangible. It’s easy to preach generosity when you’re insulated from the risk. It’s harder when you understand what it means to stretch already thin resources.

When I compare my reading to more traditional interpretations, I notice a shift in emphasis. Mainstream readings often center individual morality—be compassionate, don’t judge, help others. My reading still includes that, but I also have other questions. Why was the man on that road in the first place? Why did the religious leaders feel comfortable passing by? What systems allowed that indifference to feel normal?

That’s where the tension shows up. Some people get uneasy when Scripture is read with attention to social realities. They worry it becomes “too political.” But I don’t see it as politicizing the Bible. I see it as taking seriously that Jesus told this story in a real social world marked by tension, hierarchy, and exclusion. The Samaritan represented an actual marginalized group. Ignoring that context flattens the story.

 28 February 2026

Rev. CJ Dunford

Week 4 – Rhetorical Use of Text – Hermeneutics and Social Location – Forum Reflection

2 Timothy 1:3-7 (NRSV)

³ I am grateful to God—whom I worship with a clear conscience, as my ancestors did—when I remember you constantly in my prayers night and day. ⁴ Recalling your tears, I long to see you so that I may be filled with joy. ⁵ I am reminded of your sincere faith, a faith that lived first in your grandmother Lois and your mother Eunice and now, I am sure, lives in you. ⁶ For this reason I remind you to rekindle the gift of God that is within you through the laying on of my hands; ⁷ for God did not give us a spirit of cowardice, but rather a spirit of power and of love and of self-discipline.

My parents are Assemblies of God ministers who engage almost exclusively in literal readings of the Bible (King James only!), and I remember when I was a child, I used to have night terrors. These experiences led me to be extremely afraid of the nighttime. I recall my mother often “laying hands” on me (as expressed above) and quoting 2 Timothy 1:7 in prayer: “For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind” she would shout. A lot of what I learned from the Bible lacked context, rather it came from charismatic moments like these where a verse was evoked almost as a mantra to dispel a problem.

Curiosity for this exercise encouraged me to read the other verses surrounding my mother’s fear-eliminating-mantra to reveal a clearer context where the author (allegedly Paul, but my Jewish Annotated New Testament explains how it is a common fallacy to attribute early Biblical works to known persons in order to reinforce its legitimacy) is writing to Timothy—quite lovingly, I might add—to reassure him of his faith during a time of persecution in the early church. What a different context for this verse than my being haunted by “spirits of fear” as a small child! It may be an over-correction, but this is exactly why, when I write dharma talks for services at the temples I serve, I always share the context in which the 御讃題 gosandai (focal quoted teaching) was written.

As a queer and trans person victimized by cherry-picked, decontextualized, and literal readings in my family of origin and their church, I know in my bones that any sort of helpful interpretation of religious/spiritual teaching or literature requires careful and contextual reading.

Deborah Anderson

Rhetorical Use of Text / Prof EunHye Grace So

Week 4, Reflections from the Margin

February 27, 2026

                               Reflection from the Margin with Mary of Bethany

I have long heard the story of Mary of Bethany anointing Jesus (John 12:1–8) interpreted as a lesson in extravagant devotion. Mary is praised, Judas is dismissed, and the focus rests on spiritual symbolism. As a middle-class, seminary-trained, ordained woman formed within institutional Protestantism, I absorbed that reading easily. I was shaped to value composure, theological clarity, and responsible stewardship. In that formation, Mary’s act was beautiful — but contained.

My economic and ecclesial context influences how I hear Judas’s objection: “Why was this not sold and given to the poor?” His concern reflects language I know well — accountability, wise use of resources, measurable impact. That instinct toward prudence feels responsible to me. Yet when Jesus defends Mary without calculation, I feel unsettled. His response challenges my need to make faith reasonable and efficient.

At the same time, my experience as a woman in ordained ministry shifts the story. I know what it means to enter spaces shaped by male authority and subtle scrutiny. Reading from the margins draws my attention to Mary’s embodied risk — touching Jesus, loosening her hair, interrupting the room. And his defense of her is also solidarity from the margin.

Comparing the more traditional or literal reading of this text with the view from the margins reveals how often and easily gendered risk and economic tension are softened. From the margin, I see love as embodied, courageous, and sometimes disruptive. Mary’s story, read this way, does not simply challenge my formation — it enlarges it.

Amanda Weaver

He has told you, O mortal, what is good, and what does the Lord require of you but to do justice and to love kindness and to walk humbly with your God? -Micah 6:8 NRSVUE

My social location (white, female, college educated, Protestant, American) places me very much on the inside of the dominant culture. I’m not quite at the center of power, but close enough that I can choose to ignore that distance when it suits me to do so. That’s a reflection for another day.

One of the dangers of reading this text from my social location is that it becomes an easy pathway to white saviorism. The focus is often on the idea that we have been given a mandate to “do justice” with less time spent thinking about the meaning of “love kindness” and “walk humbly.” A simple, surface reading of the verse lends itself to the kind of we know best/we have the only answers thinking that has done so much damage throughout history.

My personal opinion is that, when applied to mission work, this is a text best read backwards. First we must walk humbly; we don’t have the answers. What is actually needed - not what do we think is needed. Then, we must love kindness. Everyone has dignity and it is imperative that we uphold that. Finally, we do justice by acting within the bounds of the other two parts of the verse.

Forum Reflection: Social Location and Romans 8:38–39

When I first heard the phrase social location, I resisted it. It felt like I was being asked to reduce myself to categories. My first instinct was to describe myself as divided and as someone who had lived in different worlds that did not easily fit together. Over time, however, I have come to understand that I was not multiple people. I was one person trying to survive within competing expectations of faith, culture, and belonging. As Professor So reminds us, interpretation always emerges from the interaction between text and reader rather than from the text alone.¹

I am a 59-year-old African American woman shaped by life in San Francisco, by the Black church, and by communities that did not always coexist comfortably. I was raised in the Church of God in Christ tradition, where Scripture was deeply respected but often interpreted through fear. Hell was preached as immediate and personal, and faith frequently felt tied to moral performance. The Bible functioned less as invitation and more as measurement.

Because of this, I learned early to compartmentalize myself. In a poem I once wrote, I described having a Sunday self, a weekday self, and another self I believed God might reject if fully seen. My social location as Black, female, same-gender loving, educated, and churched, gave me community and grounding, but it also required silence in certain spaces.

For many years I did not interpret Scripture for myself. I trusted interpretations handed down from pulpits and television ministries. Authority appeared spiritual if it was accompanied by charisma or claims of divine power. Seminary disrupted that assumption. Learning exegesis and the importance of historical and social context helped me recognize that Scripture is always interpreted from somewhere, shaped by history, culture, and lived experience.²

Romans 8:38–39 has followed me through every stage of my life. Earlier, I heard it almost as a warning disguised as comfort in that nothing should separate me from God’s love. If I struggled or failed, I wondered whether I had stepped outside the promise. My sexuality, though rarely named directly, felt like a question hanging over my faith.

Yet my lived experience complicated that fear. Even in seasons when I felt spiritually or socially divided, I never experienced God as absent. That tension forced me to reconsider what the text was actually saying. Rather than reading Paul’s words as conditional, I began to hear them as assurance spoken to a vulnerable community living under imperial pressure.³

Engaging liberationist and postcolonial perspectives in seminary further shaped this shift. Miguel A. De La Torre argues that reading Scripture from the margins allows communities historically excluded from interpretive authority to perceive dimensions of justice and grace often overlooked by dominant readings.⁴ Romans 8 began to sound less like individual reassurance and more like resistance and a declaration that neither empire, stigma, nor inherited fear has the authority to sever humanity from divine love.

My social location does not distort my reading of Scripture; it informs it. Interpretation carries ethical responsibility, since readings of Scripture can either reinforce exclusion or open pathways toward liberation and belonging.⁵ Today, I read Romans 8 not with anxiety but with recognition. The promise is not fragile. It does not depend on my ability to conform or divide myself into acceptable parts.

I am no longer trying to outrun who I am. I read this passage now as freedom and an assurance that nothing, including the identities once framed as obstacles to faith, can separate me from the love of God in Christ Jesus.

Endnotes

1. EunHye Grace So, Hermeneutics and Social Location, course lecture, 2026.
2. Ibid., discussion of exegesis and the “Three Worlds of the Text.”
3. Romans 8:38–39 interpreted within the socio-political context of early Christian communities under Roman imperial rule.
4. Miguel A. De La Torre, Reading the Bible from the Margins (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 2002).
5. So, Hermeneutics and Social Location, lecture discussion on ethical responsibility in interpretation.

Rhetorical Use of Text - Week 4 - Reflection - Ogundipe

Assignment | Reflective Question

Reflect on how your own social location—considering factors such as cultural background, economic status, and personal experiences—has influenced your interpretation of a familiar Biblical passage. What new insights or challenges arise when you compare your perspective to more traditional, mainstream interpretations?

One biblical passage that has been highly influential for me is the account of Jesus eating with the sinners and tax collectors (Luke 5:27–38, Matthew 9:9–17, Mark 2:14–22). While there are various interpretations of many parts of the scriptures, there largely seems to be a general stability in the interpretation of this passage as one that reveals that depth of the grace and mercy of God. This passage expresses the idea that “sinners” are not only not outside the bounds of God’s concern, but rather, at least to some degree, the object of God’s love.

One area where there may be divergent interpretations of this text may be in regard to who exactly the “sinners” are mentioned in this text. By this I mean not who the individuals were present at the time of the event, but rather who they represent more broadly (socially). My cultural background (African-American), economic status (having lived most of my life as working and lower class), and personal experiences (traumatic social and personal experiences) definitely influence me to view this notion of “sinners” in the broadest sense possible.

I think that the intersection of my social location and the mainstream interpretations collide in how my social location has led me to selecting this passage as a critical pillar of my spiritual life. This particular passage expresses a counter-intuitive notion: that there are no people that are well on their own volition. In this passage, Jesus identifies two kinds of people, the sick that don’t know that they are sick, and the sick that know they are sick and thus find refuge in God. I think my social location is what led me to choose this passage as key to my spiritual life as opposed to another that has more of an oppressive edge. As a social outsider, to some degree, I have chosen a passage in which we are united: those that I have wronged, myself, and those that have wronged me. Had my experience of social location been one imbued with more power, I may have been drawn to a passage that sketches lines that separate or reinforce domination over others more so than unite.

M. Cross

Rhetorical Use of Text

EunHye Grace So

Lesson 4 , Assign 1

Reflective Question

I Corinthians 14:34

34 the [a]women should be silent in the churches, for they are not authorized to speak, but are to take a subordinate place, as the Law says. 35 If there is anything they want to learn [that is, if they have questions about anything being said or taught], they are to ask their own husbands at home; for it is improper for a [b]woman to talk in church.

Given that this scripture was in the New Testament, when I was younger and prior to learning the who, what, where, and when of studying scripture, this one immediately offended me.

I am a child of the mid-50’s, born in St. Louis, Missouri, adopted and raised by exceptional parents. My mother, in particular, made it part of her mission to raise me as a woman who could stand on her “own two feet” with no need to depend on a man for anything.

But after learning how to exegete the scripture for its true meaning, I learned the scripture was written from the vantage point of the writer, Paul, at time. He was Jewish and knew no other form of religious worship. During his time men and women were seated separately and the women were not allowed to speak or ask questions during temple but should ask their husbands. This always left me with 2 questions: What if you’re not married, and, What if your husband didn’t have the answer. LOL!

I realized the scripture had historical value in terms of giving insight to the mores of the times. The teaching indicated in earlier verses is really addressing general confusion and disorder in the services and stressing top priorities of and what will benefit the ithe most people, along with the importance of order especially when the Lord is speaking via tongues, prophecies, etc. (the gifts of the Spirit).

My social location—shaped by cultural experience, creative labor, and building systems with limited resources—has influenced how I interpret Biblical passages through the lens of responsibility, access, and structure. I tend to read scripture less as distant narrative and more as instruction about leadership, community formation, and the ethics of inclusion.

For example, when I read passages that involve healing, calling, or boundary-setting, I naturally focus on who is included, who is positioned at the margins, and how authority is exercised. My lived experience in creative and community work makes me attentive to systems: who gets access, who is recognized, and how transformation actually becomes possible in practice.

Compared to more traditional or mainstream interpretations that may emphasize doctrinal certainty, moral instruction, or individual spiritual reflection, my perspective tends to emphasize social dynamics and structural implications. I am less focused on abstract meaning alone and more concerned with how meaning functions in real environments.

This creates both insight and tension. On one hand, it helps me see scripture as active and relevant to leadership, justice, and community building. On the other hand, it challenges me to slow down and consider dimensions of theology that are not always immediately practical or system-oriented. It also raises the question of whether I sometimes read too quickly toward application, rather than sitting with mystery or tradition.

The challenge, then, is balance. My perspective pushes toward action and structure, while traditional readings often emphasize contemplation, obedience, or spiritual formation. Holding both allows me to see Biblical passages as layered—containing personal, communal, and systemic meaning at the same time.