Let the Text Speak: Why the NRSVue Respects Paul More Than Your Favorite Translation

The New Revised Standard Version, Updated Edition (NRSVue) is perhaps the most significant revision of a widely accepted biblical translation in our generation. What makes it so compelling, for someone like me who treasures both critical scholarship and Spirit-breathed insight, is that it strikes a balance between the intellectual honesty of textual criticism and the reverent mystery of the Word as revelation. In an age where too many translations have bowed to denominational bias or theological control, the NRSVue dares to respect the sacred ambiguity of scripture—particularly in the genitive constructions that have been watered down by dogmatic agendas.

Let’s start with the foundation: the textual basis. The NRSVue, published in 2021–2022, draws on the most authoritative critical editions of biblical texts available to modern scholars. For the Old Testament, the translators used the Biblia Hebraica Stuttgartensia, alongside variant traditions like the Dead Sea Scrolls, the Septuagint, the Samaritan Pentateuch, and even early Targumic and Vulgate renderings. The New Testament relied on the Nestle-Aland 28th edition and the United Bible Societies 5th edition—texts grounded in over a century of textual scholarship and a critical apparatus that reveals the layers of scribal evolution. And for the Deuterocanonical or Apocryphal books, the NRSVue reached into multiple manuscript traditions, not privileging a single voice but honoring the multiplicity of early witnesses to the sacred.

It’s worth noting that these texts—the manuscripts themselves—are not settled artifacts. They are living witnesses, shaped by communities wrestling with God, mystery, oppression, liberation, and, yes, forgetfulness of their divine origin. A translation, then, is never a static product; it’s an interpretive act. And that’s where the NRSVue excels. It acknowledges the complex matrix from which the Bible emerged while refusing to reduce that matrix to a single narrative dictated by later ecclesiastical orthodoxy.

The translation effort was no small project. It was undertaken by Friendship Press and the National Council of Churches in partnership with the Society of Biblical Literature. The chief editor and coordinator was Dr. Michael W. Holmes, an esteemed New Testament scholar whose work on the SBL Greek New Testament has been instrumental in opening up scriptural accessibility for both scholars and seekers. Over 60 scholars—representing a rich spectrum of denominational, ethnic, and gender perspectives—were chosen not for theological conformity but for academic excellence and linguistic precision. These were people who knew Greek and Hebrew from the inside out, not merely as academic exercises but as living languages of revelation.

Their methodology was grounded in formal equivalence—that is, translating the text as literally as possible while still making it readable in modern English. This is especially important for someone like me who believes that much of the Church’s misdirection stems from paraphrase-heavy, interpretive translations that tell the reader what to believe, rather than letting the Spirit do the guiding. The NRSVue retains the original sentence structures, the poetic cadences, and—most significantly—the grammatical tensions that so often carry the real theological weight.

Nowhere is this more evident than in its handling of Greek genitives—those pesky but powerful constructions that have divided scholars and theologians for generations. Take, for instance, the phrase πίστις Χριστοῦ (pistis Christou). For centuries, most English Bibles have rendered this as “faith in Christ,” as if the whole point of Paul’s gospel hinges on our act of believing. But in Greek, this is a genitive construction, and genitives are notoriously flexible. They can be objective (faith in Christ) or subjective (Christ’s own faith or faithfulness).

And here’s where theology becomes ideology. Traditional Protestant translations, shaped by the Reformation’s emphasis on sola fide, have opted for the objective genitive—"faith in Christ"—because it reinforces the idea that salvation is triggered by our belief. But I believe this framing misrepresents Paul. It shifts the focus away from the divine initiative and the faithfulness of Christ, reducing salvation to a transaction of belief. In contrast, the subjective genitive—“the faith of Christ” or “the faithfulness of Jesus Christ”—points to the redemptive act of Christ himself, his unwavering trust in the Father, his surrender even unto death. It aligns with a Christus Victor atonement framework, in which Christ overcomes not legal guilt but the existential grip of fear, death, and alienation.

The NRSVue does not impose one reading over another. It retains the traditional rendering—“faith in Jesus Christ”—but importantly adds footnotes and alternate readings that acknowledge the genitive could also be rendered “faith of Jesus Christ.” This is an act of humility and a nod to modern scholarship—especially the work of Richard Hays, Michael Gorman, and others who have shown how central Christ’s own faithfulness is to Paul’s gospel. The translators respected the text enough not to collapse its meaning into theological convenience. That’s something I deeply appreciate.

The same reverence appears in how the NRSVue handles Romans 1:5 and 16:26, where Paul speaks of the “obedience of faith.” Again, the Greek ὑπακοὴ πίστεως (hypakoē pisteōs) is genitive, and again, translators must decide: Is this obedience that results from faith? Obedience that consists in faith? Or perhaps obedience that is the expression of true, trusting allegiance?

The NRSVue keeps the phrase “obedience of faith” intact—a wise move. Rather than over-explain Paul’s meaning, it preserves the multilayered significance of the phrase. In my understanding, this phrase refers not to a legalistic obedience that earns merit, but to the kind of heart-level transformation that comes from resting in the faithfulness of God. When we awaken to God’s love—as expressed in the faithful, obedient Son—we naturally begin to live in accordance with that love. That is the true obedience: not moralistic striving, but love responding to love.

And this is where the NRSVue resonates most with my theological outlook. It preserves the possibility of divine mystery. It doesn’t flatten Paul into a Reformer’s slogan or a systematic theologian’s logic tree. It leaves room for readers to wrestle with the text, to ask: Whose faith is this? Whose obedience? And what does it mean to be transformed by the faith of another?

In a very real sense, the genitive constructions in Paul’s writings are not just grammatical choices—they are windows into a deeper reality. If Christ is the faithful One, then our salvation begins not with our belief, but with his knowing, his obedience, his love. We are drawn into that reality, awakened from our forgetfulness, and transformed not by obligation, but by grace remembered. This is the heart of the gospel, and the NRSVue has honored it by refusing to over-determine the text.

In an age when control and conformity often masquerade as faithfulness, the NRSVue offers something much more precious: faithfulness to the text itself, to the grammar of grace, and to the Spirit who still speaks through words that remain alive. For those of us who believe that salvation is a process of remembering who we are in the Divine, and who recognize the Logos as the awakening Word rather than a static rulebook, the NRSVue offers a trustworthy companion on the path.

This is not merely a translation. It is a mirror held up to the mystery, inviting us to see with new eyes and to hear once again the voice that says, “You are mine.”