I took Greek in seminary and I have found it useful ever since. When I want to know exactly what is meant by a word or phrase in the New Testament, or I want to check its usage across the New Testament, I go for my Greek testament, concordance, and lexicon. What more could one need? Yet in recent years, I find myself frequently checking other sources, not to tell me what something means in its original context, but to figure out what people have made of it over the generations. This has the benefit of helping me understand where some folks get their odder ideas from, too. So in addition to the RSV, I frequently cross-check with the NIV. Sometimes I also take a look at the TEV. But I also look back longitudinally -- checking the early modern English of the KJV, the Middle English of Wycliffe, even the Old English versions if I can find them. And, since everything between the Anglo-Saxons and the KJV were profoundly influenced by the Latin Vulgate, from time to time checking out the Latin of St. Jerome has been useful. For instance, this Sunday for my children's lesson, I was explaining to the kids the difference between the royal crown (the diadema) and the victor's crown (the stephanos) in the NT. It turns out the the KJV translates both terms as "crown." Ditto the NIV (which surprised me). But the RSV distinguishes them. Checking the Vulgate, I found that the Latin preserved the distinction, with diadema being borrowed in directly from Greek and stephanos being rendered corona. Then I looked up instances of the two words in Wycliffe's NT. He preserved the distinction, too, with corounis and diademys. So the confusion comes in the early modern period. In similar fashion, a few years ago I was looking up some things in the Christmas story -- a subject that has acquired a great deal of encrusted narrative ornament over time. What, exactly, was the baby Jesus laid in after his birth, that we typically render "manger?" I checked the Old English, and the word used was binn, "bin" -- which would provide a good picture of a solid food trough, such as I picture when I think of a manger. But then Wycliffe rendered it cratche (French creche ), which was an open wooden structure for holding hay -- a feed rack. Both versions would be translating Latin praesepio, I knew. It turns out praesepio can mean either. It can also mean an animal's stall, an open feeding site, or a "crib" -- which even in Roman days could mean either a baby's bed or a prostitute's room. Finally, I checked the Greek and found it was called a phatne. My Greek lexicon said this could be any sort of feed container, but also an animal's stall, or an open place under the sky where animals were regularly fed. Now, we all know "there was no room for them in the inn," but the word rendered "inn" in our KJV tradition is, in Greek, kataluma. That word appears one other time in the NT, where it is translated in the English Bible tradition as "upper room" in the story of the Last Supper. In other words, Jesus wasn't born in a barn, but on the ground floor room of Joseph's (probably very crowded) family home, which was the place of storage and stabling (with the main living quarters on the next story up). A bed was made up as nice and cozy as possible for them amidst the chaos of the census. The women of the house would have helped Mary with the birth. So, Jesus could have been laid in some kind of feed trough or rack, or simply on the ground bed they were occupying in a swept-out animal stall. You pays your money, and you takes your choice. Think of all the Christmas pageants and plays you have seen with the feckless or greedy innkeeper. Turns out there was no such person in the actual event. But the way words are translated at different times by different persons gives rise to significantly different imagery. Meanwhile, in the desire to help people understand what the Bible says, sometimes translations go off into some treacherous terrain. TEV (formerly called the Good News Bible) translates all ancient measurements into supposed modern equivalents. Which is okay, up to a point, but when you start doing that to the symbolic measurements in the Book of Revelation, it obscures the point more than clarifies it. I don't know what version was being read in our church on Sunday, but like the TEV, it converted stadia into miles when it came to the measurement of the New Jerusalem, which meant it made absolutely no sense. The length and breadth of the City was 12,000 stadia; in other words, 12 (the number of the People of God) x 1000 (an indefinitely large magnifier) standard units (the length of a stadion is irrelevant). The fact that it is foursquare -- it has four equal sides -- shows that it is coterminous with the new creation (four is the number of the created world). All this therefore means, simply, "all the people of God, everywhere." To reinforce this, John says that the wall of the City measured 144 cubits by a man's (or angel's) measure. In other words, we are talking about redeemed souls -- citizens of heaven -- and we are not to worry whether the cubits referred to are 15 or 18 inches. Again, 144 = 12 (the number of the People of God, whether Israel or the Church) x 12 (again). So the New Jerusalem = all those who belong to the People of God. The same thing goes for NT denarius, etc. The English tradition has usually used penny for denarius and pound for talent, and didn't care that a NT talent was worth considerably more than 240 pence! Likewise, in the Old English parable of the Wheat and the Tares, the OE translator uses the local coccel (cockles) rather than any more botanically accurate equivalent, which might not grow in Britain anyway. We're talking about weeds, and that's all one typically needs to know. The point of this is that it's nice to know with some accuracy what the Bible actually says. But the history of English translations tells us something about how the Bible has been understood over time, and those former word choices precondition our own understanding.