I’ve wanted to look into this for awhile, and found the following from the Anchor Yale Bible Dictionary quite helpful:

Alternatively [abba] has been explained as a rare vocative (in which case it could just as well be Hebrew as Aramaic) or as derived from children’s baby talk (cf. "Papa," "Daddy"). If the last explanation were right, then the use of abba as an address to God in Mark 14:36 might be thought to imply a special, indeed a unique, intimacy. This view was held at one time by J. Jeremias, but he later came to regard it as "a piece of inadmissible naivety" (1967: 63). Wrong as it is, it deserves mention not only because of its extensive dissemination beyond the walls of academia but also because its influence can be detected even in the work of respected scholars such as J. G. D. Dunn (1975: 21–26; 1980: 22–23) and is explicit in the most recent writing of M. J. Borg (1987: 45). Apart from the intrinsic unlikelihood of the idea that Jesus ever addressed God as "Daddy," the suggestion is ruled out of court by one important fact: wherever abba is found with the meaning "father" or "my father" (in Mishnaic Hebrew or Targumic Aramaic), it is equally employed of the fathers of grown-up sons. One instance cited by G. Vermes (1983: 42) is Judah’s threat to his unrecognized brother, Joseph, in the Tg. Neof. version of Gen 44:18: "I swear by the life of the head of abba, as you swear by the life of the head of Pharaoh your master. . . ." And as J. Barr (1988) emphasizes, inferences concerning the meaning of words must be based upon function, not upon origin or derivation. (AYBD v1 p7, article on “Abba” by John Ashton)

Conversely, see J.D.G. Dunn in Dictionary of Jesus and the Gospels, in his article on Prayer:

A great deal has been made during the past forty years of Jesus’ style of address to God and its significance. Jeremias made the case for Jesus having regularly addressed God by the Aramaic word ‘abbā>’ (see Languages of Palestine); and he also noted that ‘abbā’ was "a child’s word"; and this led too quickly to the conclusion that abbā meant "Daddy"—an early conclusion which Jeremias soon qualified, but which has come back to haunt the study of the Gospel traditions ever since.

The basic evidence is clear and Jeremias’s initial conclusion probably sound. The key evidence is the appearance of abba itself in Mark 14:36. Added to that is the clear attestation that the same form was used by the early Christians (Rom 8:15; Gal 4:6). Two points of significance are to be noted in the last two passages. (1) The Aramaic word was retained in the worship of the Greek-speaking churches. This must mean both that this particular prayer address had become so established among the earliest Palestinian believers and so precious for them that it was carried over into Greek-speaking worship. That is to say, its continuing value lay not in its meaningfulness to Greek speakers but in the meaningfulness of the living tradition of prayer which it expressed. (2) It is remembered as a word particularly associated with Jesus: to say abba is to share in a common sonship and a common inheritance with Jesus (Rom 8:16–17; Gal 4:6–7; cf. 8:29). This must mean that the word was recalled as a word particularly and peculiarly associated with Jesus’ own sonship to God (see Son of God). Were it a common prayer idiom of (some) Jews at the time of Jesus (as some have suggested, without supporting evidence), it would not have had this significance of linking the one who said abba so distinctively and directly with the sonship of Jesus. (DJG, p. 618-619).

Also in DJG, see D.R. Bauer’s article on “Son of God”:

Jesus experienced this intimate fellowship especially through prayer, and consequently addressed God in prayer almost exclusively as "Father" (Aramaic Abba Mk 14:36; cf. Rom 8:15; Gal 4:6). Jeremias has argued that Jesus was apparently the first Jew to address God in prayer as Abba (Jewish prayers typically used the obsolete and formalized Hebrew term Abi), and that Abba was a term of familiarity and intimacy, having originally developed from the speech of children ("daddy"). Subsequent scholarship has been unable to contradict the claim that this prayer language of Abba was original with Jesus. Although Jeremias’ employment of etymological considerations is questionable (Barr), his distinction between formal prayer speech, which suggests distance, and the more colloquial expression used to address earthly fathers bears the weight of critical scrutiny.

This article references the following, which I am unable to access but would love to. 

Text-critical wisdom from Gunther Zuntz, Text of the Epistles: A Disquisition upon the Corpus Paulinum (amazon.com):

Readings are either right or wrong. Their theoretical implications largely depend upon this elementary fact. Agreement in genuine readings is normal; possibly significant only where it is confined to few witnesses or where it recurs frequently in well-defined groups; agreement in error suggests some relationship. These theoretical implications apart, we want to know which readings are true. No statistics can tell that: we have got to use our critical faculties and methods. (Zuntz 59)

This is after some paragraphs on the dubious usefulness of “statistical methods” in evaluating and comparing texts/manuscripts where Zuntz has another memorable line:

Variant readings can fruitfully be compared and grouped on more than one principle, but they cannot reasonably be added up or reduced to percentages like the factors of an arithmetical sum. What is the sum total of, say, an egg plus a grape plus a unicorn? (Zuntz 58)

This isn’t a passive, read-before-you-go-to-bed book. Zuntz is a tough slog; you’ve gotta work your mind while reading him in order to get the most from him; consulting the text is necessary too. To grok him more fully I’ll have to read it a few more times (still working on my first slog). But there is a ton of useful stuff in here about the practical application of textual criticism to the real problems one runs into when evaluating variants. I don’t think Zuntz is right about everything, but I do think that if you’ve got any desire to do textual criticism, then Zuntz should be near the top of your list after intros like the Alands Text of the NT and Metzger’s Text of the NT and after you read (really read) the NA27 intro and do some scanning of the consistently-cited witnesses. Zuntz could come before or after Westcott & Hort’s intro (amazon.com) as well. <speaker voice=”yoda”>But read them all you must if textual criticism you desire to practice</speaker>.

Read this (Lk 3.15-18) and ask yourself the question, “what is the good news?”:

As the people were in expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Christ, John answered them all, saying, “I baptize you with water, but he who is mightier than I is coming, the strap of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his barn, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.” So with many other exhortations he preached good news to the people. (Lk 3.15-18, ESV)

The good news* is that Jesus comes after John. But the rest of it? Burning the chaff with unquenchable fire? Being baptized by fire? And this is the “good news”?

Further, look what preaching the “good news” got John (Lk 3.19-20):

But Herod the tetrarch, who had been reproved by [John] for Herodias, his brother’s wife, and for all the evil things that Herod had done, added this to them all, that he locked up John in prison. (Lk 3.19-20, ESV)

I wonder if John thought the “good news” was good—I mean, look where it got him. In prison and then not too much later … his head was on a platter. I’m sure he did think the “good news” was good. But do we? And are we thinking of the “good news” or something else?

* Yes, I know that the ESV's “preaching the good news” is a translation of the verb εὐαγγελίζω, which could also be translated “preaching the gospel”. The translation “good news” makes my point easier to make, but the modern conception of “gospel” has problems too. Either way, John’s description of Jesus gathering his own “wheat” and exterminating the “chaff”, followed by the consequences John experienced because of his preaching, well … I don’t know how much that squares with our conception of the impact of the gospel in our lives today.

One problem with associating an English gloss or two with a Greek word and then proceeding to “read” a text by doing a decode-o-rama followed quickly by a de-yoda-ification (I speak as one with deep, intimate knowledge of this mystical practice) is that you end up throwing context to the wind if you’re not careful, and many times even if you think you are being careful.

After some brief examination of lexicons and dictionaries, one might think it is reasonable to generally associate the gloss “lust” with the Greek verb επιθυμεω. After all, that seems to be the sense one runs into in the NT. If not “lust”, then perhaps “strong desire” or something else of such ilk, with a nod to being general and non-specific, but really knowing that “desire” has to do with that of the sexual sort; and if not that then at least the desire of something sinful or wrong. Oh, there might be exceptions (1Ti 3.1 talks of “desiring a good work”) but the word (and cognate group, especially the noun form) really has to do with sexual lust … at least, that’s the approach that I’ve heard and have seen, and that’s the word-study trap that’s easy to fall into.

Here’s the problem: Look up επιθυμεω in BDAG, and check out the citations for sense 1 (“to have a strong desire to do or secure something, ‘desire’, ‘long for’”) and compare those to sense 2, the “lust” sense. Sense 1 has many more citations and a broader range of cited material. But even in sense 1, many examples seem to be negative (“desiring” unwholesome things). Then, assuming you’re being diligent and looking up citations because you really want to understand and you’re not just cherry-picking to bolster your pre-conceived notions, you run into Poly 1.3:

“Even without seeing him, you believe in him with an inexpressible and glorious joy that many long to experience. For you know that you have been saved by a gracious gift—not from works but by the will of God through Jesus Christ” (Ehrman).

The bold bit is translated as “which many desire to experience” by Holmes. Lake has “many desire to come”; Lightfoot has “many desire to enter in”. The word translated “desire” or “long to” is … yep, you guessed it … επιθυμεω. There is nothing about “lusting” in a sexual sense here. The context here has to do with “longing to” experience the joy one experiences as a result of belief and trust in Christ. The joy experienced by the Philippians is “strongly desired” to be experienced by others.

You don’t even need to go to the Apostolic Fathers for the non-lusty sort of επιθυμεω; some responsible reading of the BDAG definition gets you there only with NT citations. 1Ti 3.1 and Mt 13.17 are great examples, but the killer to the επιθυμεω-means-sexual-lust argument has got to be Lk 22.15, where Jesus “strongly desires” to eat the passover with his disciples.

Bottom line: It’s a chicken-and-egg proposition, just like reading in English. You only know what επιθυμεω means by reading lots of stuff and building up a concept of what επιθυμεω means. Lexicons like BDAG help, but it’s easy to be myopic in word-study land where even though a “word” is being studied, it is usually prompted by a particular instance in a particular context one wants to understand. It is this local context that is important; not the word. Context is how the author constrains the variables. If one says “lust after her” or “desire her”, it’s easy. In Poly 1.3, is essentially telling the Philippians that “there are many who really want to experience that joy you’re experiencing”. In Poly 1.3, Mt 13.17 and Lk 22.15, the formula is επιθυμεω + infinitive verb where the infinitive verb (and its associated items) help one determine the nature of the “desire”. In the same way the object of επιθυμεω when not used with an infinitive (thus typically a genitive or accusative, as we see in 1Ti 3.1; check BDAG) help dial in this constraint … not anything innate in the word itself. Be very careful what local context you import into the definition of a word to apply elsewhere (go back and re-read your Exegetical Fallacies), and be even more careful about how glosses perpetuate false conceptions of word meaning.

No matter what, when your understanding of επιθυμεω is limited to one or two-word English glosses (“lust, strong desire”) your understanding of the Greek text will be similarly limited. So make it a goal to read and work through lots and lots and lots of text. I can’t tell you how helpful this has been to me! Then when you hit επιθυμεω, you’ll think in your head “επιθυμεω” and not “lust, strong desire”. And that’s a step in the right direction.

In case you hadn’t heard (here, though I know you have), Zondervan is planning on releasing a revised NIV in 2011, and also planning on discontinuing the TNIV.

(now, the punchline)

Does that make the TNIV the “new coke” of Bible publishers?

These guidelines are nearly as old as the New Testament (some who date the Didache in the 40s/50s would say older than the NT) but the thoughts behind them still ring true today. Below is the most recent form of my translation of this chapter:

1. But everyone who comes in the name of the Lord, let [him] be welcomed. And then, having tested [him], you will know him. Then you will be able to distinguish [whether he is] true or false.
2. If the one coming is a traveler, help him as much as you are able. But he shall not remain among you more than two or three days, if he has need.
3. And if he desires to stay with you, being an artisan, let him work and let him earn his keep.
4. And if he has no craft, take [this] into consideration according to your understanding, how he shall live among you [as] a Christian without [being] idle.
5. And if he does not want to act in this way, he is a Christmonger. Beware of such as these.

Basically, welcome everyone who comes, but don’t let them take advantage of you simply because they say they are a prophet or a teacher. If he wants to stay longer than a day or two, he’s gotta work. And if he’s not willing to work, then be on your guard, he is using the name of Christ to his own material advantage.

The discourse structure is fairly interesting. Verse 2 uses a μεν with the first ει and the δε in the latter half (which I translated “But”); vv. 3-5 each use δε additively, building up all of these different qualifications (hence my translation using “and” in these instances).

I think it’s obvious, but “on the one hand” for μεν in v. 2 and “on the other hand” for the following δε just would’ve been hideous. (see my earlier post on Louw & Nida and the particle μεν). Besides, it’s not an either/or option. In either case, you help. The Didachist is just using the μεν/δε structure to note the important point: Only give these guys 2-3 days of help, then cut your losses if the dude is a couch potato.

This is perhaps one of the most glowing review/blurbs one could hope for.

Tyler Cowen, blogger extraordinaire at MarginalRevolution.com, reads scads of books every year and isn’t afraid to tell you if they’re junk or if they’re awesome. And he’s usually right. What he says is worth paying attention to.

Here’s what he says about Chris Wickham’s The Inheritance of Rome (amazon.com):

What can I say?  I have to count this tome as one of the best history books I have read, ever.  The author is Chris Wickham and the subtitle is A History of Europe from 400 to 1000.  The author states that this is a book written "without hindsight" so the focus is not on how early medieval times were a precursor of this, that, or the other.

Cowen lists eight more bullet points regarding strong points “in addition to its all-around stunningness”. Clearly, The Inheritance of Rome (amazon.com) is a book that we all should read. I’ve already added it to my Amazon Wishlist (I have a birthday coming up in October … hint, hint).

Here’s the Amazon.com blurb:

An ambitious and enlightening look at why the so-called Dark Ages were anything but that

Prizewinning historian Chris Wickham defies the conventional view of the Dark Ages in European history with a work of remarkable scope and rigorous yet accessible scholarship. Drawing on a wealth of new material and featuring a thoughtful synthesis of historical and archaeological approaches, Wickham argues that these centuries were critical in the formulation of European identity. Far from being a middle period between more significant epochs, this age has much to tell us in its own right about the progress of culture and the development of political thought.

Sweeping in its breadth, Wickham’s incisive history focuses on a world still profoundly shaped by Rome, which encompassed the remarkable Byzantine, Carolingian, and Ottonian empires, and peoples ranging from Goths, Franks, and Vandals to Arabs, Anglo- Saxons, and Vikings. Digging deep into each culture, Wickham constructs a vivid portrait of a vast and varied world stretching from Ireland to Constantinople, the Baltic to the Mediterranean. The Inheritance of Rome (amazon.com) brilliantly presents a fresh understanding of the crucible in which Europe would ultimately be created.

This is less than helpful. Screen capture taken from the Logos Bible Software version of Louw-Nida. This is the Greek index, Vol 2 p 159.

No, I don’t have anything better. I can still complain, though.

I will say that they at least acknowledge the μεν .. (other particle/conjunction) correlation in a way that is visible and obvious (which shouldn’t surprise anyone who has read much from either Louw or Nida or has any knowledge of the South African textlinguistics school/approach). And at least the referenced article focuses on the contrast that is marked in these situations.

But μεν .. αλλα, μεν .. δε, and μεν .. πλην are not identical in function and it is virtually impossible to narrow any of them down to a suitable gloss, let alone the always-horrible “on the one hand/on the other hand”. If you ever use that, you should think twice about it, and then change it anyway.

It’s less about translation into English (or any other language) and more about how the discourse/information is structured in Greek. This is one of the more prominent problems with trying to stick English glosses on everything to decode it and then “smooth it over” into a translation (hey, I’ll admit I do that frequently; it’s still wrong). I’m not saying that Louw and Nida are doing that, I am saying that doing that is one very easy (and very wrong) way to utilize the information they provide in their lexicon.

Check Denniston’s Particles, but before you do that do yourself a favor and check out the sample from Steve Runge’s forthcoming Discourse Grammar on his web site. (Look for the Sample PDF on his publications page) The section on conjunctions is your friend.