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As I began working “Towards an Old Testament Theology of Hospitality,” ¹  a conception of its underlying approach took shape in the form of a “hermeneutics of hospitality,” which will be described below. This is distinct from the language formulated in reaction to a “hermeneutics of suspicion,” coined by Paul Ricœur ² to describe the preeminent philosophical and psychological thinkers of the twentieth century. ³ Whereas a “hermeneutics of suspicion” seeks to unearth the meaning of a text, often by reading against its stated or obvious intent, various terms were conceived in reaction against this approach, such as “hermeneutics of trust,” “charity,” or “generosity". ⁴  What is meant by these terms within biblical studies is a trust in the reliability of the Bible, in attempts to recover what Ricœur referred to as a “hermeneutics of faith” rooted in Hans-George Gadamer’s ⁵ principle of “good will”. ⁶  Esau McCaulley ⁷ articulates it as a “refus[al] to let go of the text until it blesses us,” likening a hermeneutics of trust to the “posture of Jacob”: “we are patient with the text in the belief that when interpreted properly it will bring a blessing and not a curse." ⁸  Thus, this is not a cheap or easy trust, but an unrelenting prophetic hope that all the word is good news. However, this is something different from what I intend by the designation “hermeneutics of hospitality.” In short, its aim is to apply the Gadamerian spirit of generosity to other interpreters, not simply to the biblical text. How do others, even strangers, help one to read the Bible better, more faithfully?

A hermeneutics of hospitality has the following three commitments: (1) to read broadly the work of other scholars generally, but especially when studying a specific text; (2) to offer an intentionally canonical interpretation that does not prioritize parts of the canon and exclude others (à la Brevard Childs); ⁹ and (3) to aim to provide something life-giving (i.e., be constructive). Of course, none of these are novel; but it is my best effort at describing my hermeneutical inheritance from John Goldingay, whose bibliographies range from French novels to Christianity Today articles, from rabbinic readings to postmodern commentaries. ¹⁰  Essentially, he aims to read anything he can get his hands on to think as broadly as possible about a given passage. This pushes rightly against some deep-seated evangelical impulses, anti-intellectualism and tribalism, which interestingly operate out of a “hermeneutics of suspicion” of sorts against those who hold differing beliefs. Avoiding engagement with other perspectives, however, severely limits the interpreter to his or her own time, place, and experiences. Therefore, reading broadly enables interpretations outside of one’s preconceptions and beyond the concerns and answers of our day.

At the same time, Goldingay is happy to be provocatively non-Christocentic, asking such things as, Do we need the New Testament? ¹¹ He does so primarily to rebalance the neglect of the Old Testament by a substantial number of Christians. A resistance to exclusively or overly focusing on Jesus also gives room for attention to oft-neglected books like Ecclesiastes and Song of Songs, the parts which are less easily fitted into scholarly schemas or the structural narrative of scripture.

In essence, interpreters invite all the family of biblical books to the table for their opinion to weigh in, as well as a host of neighbouring readers.

Upon reflection, what these first two commitments offer is a vast amount of context, both from the biblical canon itself and exposure to countless interpretations. In essence, interpreters invite all the family of biblical books to the table for their opinion to weigh in, as well as a host of neighbouring readers. So, our hermeneutic is not simply a biography of our commitments—though it is helpful to situate the reader and be honest about where one is coming from—but also a curation of the biblical material. The interpretive question could be posed thus: how can I best illuminate a particular biblical text, as if it were a painting? Perhaps, logically, by studying those works similar to it or from the same time period; but also, when it comes to displaying it, aesthetically the colour on the wall or the works hung beside it might complement the piece while having nothing to do with its origin. Viewed in this way, it is possible to see how an interpreter’s reading is not derived only from their lived contexts. What is constructed can simply be interpretation as faithful curation. Certainly, in the history of modern interpretation, the aim has been to learn about the ancient contexts which produced the Bible. It should also be asked, though, in the light of the canonical context and a diverse group of interpretations across time and space, which points of cultural resonance best illuminate a given text? In other words, which interpreters are best situated to help us hear the text? 

McCaulley offers five components of Black biblical interpretation based on a hermeneutic of trust, ending with “a willing[ness] to listen to and enter into dialogue with Black and white critiques of the Bible in the hopes of achieving a better reading of the text.” ¹²  How do outsiders help one to read the text better, more faithfully? He poignantly elaborates, saying, “If our cultures and histories define the totality of our interpretive enterprise, the price of admission can be complete acquiescence to that culture’s particularities.” ¹³ So, it is not that a hermeneutics of hospitality rivals a hermeneutics of trust, but it articulates a core commitment to listen to others. In this way, my definition of biblical hospitality—“the costly welcome of an other”—extends to the interpretive practice; and in Gadamerian terms, it “requires an openness, even a vulnerability, to the voice of the other”.  ¹⁴

". . . a hermeneutics of hospitality not only trusts the Bible, but is hospitable to a community of interpreters and voices within the canon itself."

It is, therefore, interested in fostering a diverse reading community. Recently, Andy Abernethy has framed this element in terms of “valuing family,” saying “We need the insights of our sisters and brothers and spiritual fathers and mothers to understand God’s Word and see what we might be missing.” ¹⁵  Practically, he suggests we do this by paying attention to the sorts of questions others are prone to ask when studying the Bible. He also calls for a third commitment of a hermeneutics of hospitality, that is to provide something life-giving, namely speaking into said questions. A hermeneutics of hospitality aims to be constructive, with the counterbalance of first listening widely and well. Therefore, a hermeneutics of hospitality not only trusts the Bible, but is hospitable to a community of interpreters and voices within the canon itself. It reads the Bible in the communion of saints for the sake of the feeding and bringing refreshment to our world.