The week that was in it, I found myself reading the Bible. Partly to reflect on the Taoiseach's Easter message: "Render not criticism unto Caesar's economic policies, lest ye be called creepin' Jesuses" (Bertie.3.16); but also to consider the revelation in this newspaper on Tuesday, that scholars believe "only 18 per cent" of the words attributed to Jesus in the Gospels may have been said by him.
Hans Kung, quoted in Patsy McGarry's article, puts it mildly: "It is clear that the Gospels cannot be regarded as stenographic reports." An Irish theologian, Father Dermot Lane, goes further, saying the Gospels are a blend of fact, story and interpretation, "as is every document, including Irish Times editorials". And while some of us will continue to believe, however old-fashioned it may be, that Irish Times editorials are the divinely revealed word, it's clear that these experts cannot be easily dismissed.
I'm reluctant to criticise Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, who were, after all, fellow reporters. The fact is, we've all "cleaned up" quotes from time to time, and even embellished the odd one, to express better the truth towards which a speaker was groping.
Indeed, the problem of "interpretation" will be familiar to political reporters, from dealing with the Taoiseach's off-the-cuff remarks. Not even the Apostle Thomas could doubt Mr Ahern's acumen. But his sometimes troubled relationship with English does present a problem for scholars trying to interpret his teachings. We know what he said, the scholars find themselves thinking, but what did he mean to say?
Even so, the Taoiseach could hardly claim that 82 per cent of comments attributed to him by the media were made up. And, frankly, I've often wondered why God ever assigned four people to the Gospel story in the first place; or when He did, why at least one of them wasn't put on "quotes". All four largely agreed on the story, of course, but again this is what reporters will do when in doubt. I was in the awkward position once, as a young reporter at a high-scoring Leinster junior schools rugby match, of knowing I had the right final score; but finding both my more senior press colleagues had docked five points off the winners. So we consulted the referee, who had a third total! And there, in the middle of the pitch, the four of us decided by majority vote that the score recorded by my two colleagues would be the official result.
Yes, I agree that recording the correct score in a Leinster junior cup match hardly compares with relating the life and teachings of Jesus Christ. But try telling that to the parents of schools rugby players! Especially the guy whose try we disallowed!
The fact that the evangelists all had different approaches to the story only highlights the human foibles that each brought to the job. According to the notes in my edition, for example, "Mark's Greek is rough, strongly Aramaic, sometimes faulty, but fresh and frank" (a touch of the tabloid reporter there); while Matthew's is "also rather Aramaic, but smoother and more correct than Mark's, if less picturesque".
So as I've said, even though 82 per cent is a lot of quotes to have made up, I wouldn't be too critical of the guys. Whatever their shortcomings - and we must remember there were no press officers handing out scripts of the Sermon on the Mount - they've suffered more than most in the editing process. Brewers dictionary features a long list of Bible editions famous for their printing errors; including the first version to be printed in Ireland, in 1716; in which John, 5,14, instead of saying "sin no more," advises readers to "sin on more". Even worse, although it was the Old Testament, so our friends could hardly be blamed, was "the Wicked Bible", printed in London in 1631. This omitted the important third word in the sentence: "Thou shalt not commit adultery". (Talk about "the Good News", eh?)
These were mere mistakes, we assume. But the International Herald Tribune recently reminded us of the 75th anniversary of the 1925 "Dry Bible" which marked the prohibition era in the US, in somewhat eccentric fashion, by replacing all mentions of wine with "raisin cake". Thus, according to the IHT, "Chronicles xvi, 3: And he dealt to everyone of Israel, both man and woman, to everyone a loaf of bread and a good piece of flesh and a flagon of wine," became "And he dealt to everyone of Israel, both man and woman, to everyone a loaf of bread and a good piece of flesh and a cake of raisins."
According to this logic, the guests at the wedding feast of Cana would have had raisin cake coming out their ears. But since scholars doubt there were any miracles at the event anyway, apart maybe from the guests staying awake throughout the speeches, raisin cake may be as valid as anything else.
As I implied earlier, the Taoiseach's language can be a bit Aramaic at times; and I must confess I had no idea what the term "creeping Jesus" meant until Patrick Guinness (letters, Wednesday) informed us it comes from the game of billiards. Rather apt in a week when we discovered that some Dublin county councillors had deeper pockets than a championship snooker table.
But as to the letter-writer's contention that the phrase had "nothing to do with religion"; well, my feeling is, I've got this far in the column on a religious theme, and I'm not turning back now.
