Seven Songs: Signs of Christ in the Old Testament, by Adam S. Miller and Rosalynde F. Welch, is a significant and rewarding addition to their thematic series. Having appreciated previous contributions like Seven Gospels and Seven Visions, this volume immediately captured attention for its focused engagement at the intersection of theology and ancient song. Structured as an epistolary dialogue between two accomplished disciple-scholars, the book models a deeply engaged approach to scripture, fulfilling the expressed intent to move beyond a simplistic devotional reading into sustained theological work while remaining accessible to general readers. It successfully positions the Old Testament’s poetic books as a foundational “standing reserve of Spirit” and an ancient hymnal.

Structure and Theological Framework

The authors select seven ancient poems or “songs” and organize them not chronologically, but around a narrative arc that moves through the full spectrum of the covenant journey through life. This intentional structuring is a key contribution to the book’s overall theological project, emphasizing thematic resonance over historical placement. The movement is framed as follows:

• Beginning (Creation): A Song of Creation (Psalm 104) and a Song of Wisdom (Job 28).
• The Journey (Action/Reaction): A Song of Power (Exodus 15) and a Song of Grief (Lamentations 1).
• The Perspective (Internal Struggle): A Song of Despair (Ecclesiastes 2) and a Song of Desire (Psalm 42).
• Conclusion (Restoration): A Song of Light (Isaiah 60).

The core thesis is that these elemental songs display a unique and powerful witness of Christ by giving voice to the full, unvarnished range of human passions, thereby transfiguring even the most difficult emotions—grief, fear, despair—into authentic prayer and praise. The book argues that Christ is present in the tension and paradox of these human experiences, providing signs of reconciliation and redemption.

Miller and Welch’s philosophical and literary expertise yields several insights that make this volume indispensable for readers of contemporary Latter-day Saint thought. The book is due considerable praise for its thoughtful approach to deep and sometimes painful topics, modeling a mature faith capable of navigating existential difficulty. For instance, in the analysis of Job 28, the book reframes divine wisdom not as specialized knowledge, but as a necessary awe (yir’a). Miller explains that the KJV translated yir’a as “fear,” but the Hebrew word “not only means fear but also reverence and awe.” He goes on to suggest that “awe always includes not only my knowledge but my ignorance,” trusting that “even if you don’t understand this staggering world, God does.” Thus, “faith and awe are two sides of the same coin, two names for the same soul-stretching experience of embracing all truth” (p. 41).

Similarly, the authors posit the nuanced concept of the soul as an ecosystem, composed of and dependent on its relationships (with Christ, family, and creation). Miller, for example, while discussing the devastation of the woman in Lamentations, states that “Souls, I think, are ecosystems. All souls are irreparably tangled up with and dependent on other souls. Every soul needs other souls. Soul knits with soul” (p. 81). Welch refers to this as “the vast symbiotic webbing of creation” (p. 89). Consequently, grief is felt as the literal loss of a piece of the soul’s substance. The spiritual work of mourning is presented as a necessary form of forgiveness, where “to mourn our dead is to forgive them for leaving us.” Through this, Miller explains, the mourner is liberated to “begin a future” by acknowledging that the past cannot be changed (p. 83). 

 

Methodological Inconsistency and Conclusion

The book’s commitment to intellectual honesty and paradox—such as positioning the existential hopelessness of Ecclesiastes as necessary medicine to the lie of an idealized view of ourselves as “special”—is a clear strength. It avoids superficial reconciliation, allowing scriptural voices to debate complex issues like the concealedness or openness of divine wisdom. I also appreciated that while they sought a Christological reading of the Hebrew Bible, they were careful about how they did so. Welch, for example, states that “maybe we should aim to read Christ from the text, not into the text,” by which she means, “we can look for the ways that Jesus … would himself have been shaped … through his deep familiarity with these sacred poems” (p. 27). Likewise, Miller later suggests that “instead of just looking for signs of Christ in the Book of Mormon, … we asked: how would Jesus himself read the Book of Mormon,” a WWJR (what would Jesus read) approach. These approaches tend towards less tortured readings of the texts of the Hebrew Bible and more toward a natural reading of the texts and their meanings.

The application of academic tools, however, is sometimes inconsistent. For example, while the authors dive deep into the genres, literary structures, and textual variations of the poems (noting, for instance, that Ecclesiastes 2 is likely a later editorial addition and engaging with Joseph Spencer’s work on Isaiah in the Book of Mormon), they avoid applying similar scrutiny to the historical background of the book of Job. While probably an artifact of the more informal format of the book and its intended audience, this lack of acknowledgement presents a challenge: many readers acquainted with biblical scholarship wonder about the historicity of the character Job, and the book offers no discussion on why it chose to treat Job as a historical personage while utilizing high-level textual criticism elsewhere. This stands in contrast to books like Joshua Sears’s A Modern Guide to an Old Testament, though it is a very minor note in the overall scheme of the Seven Songs Book.

Still, the book is full of meaningful and well-crafted statements. For example, Miller states, “Repentance itself is a form of mourning. Repentance isn’t the work of punishing ourselves, in grief and anger, with a past that cannot be changed. Repentance is the work of mourning this broken past—of mourning both the losses we’ve inflicted and the losses that, in the process, we’ve suffered—so that we can turn to the future and give what good is needed” (p. 84). In another section, Welch tackles the problem of divine absense—how it may often feel like God isn’t right here with us at all times, leading some to conclude that either we’ve done something wrong or that God simply doesn’t exist, noting that “if the Old Testament’s witness is to be believed, the feeling of divine absense may be more the rule than the exception.” She argues, however, that “these periods of divine absence” are “consonant with God’s reality, not evidence against it. For what real thing can ever be fully available and present to me, without friction, distance or difference? … The very experience of absence, struggle, and discontinuity in our relationship with the divine is, I think, a strong witness of its authenticity.” As she summarizes, “ironically, the God-on-demand who guarantees 24-7 availability and frictionless wish-granting is the one who is more likely an imaginary projection” (132–134). These are some beautiful and powerful thoughts, and they are merely a sampling of similar moments throughout the book.

Thus, Seven Songs is a compelling and valuable exercise in prophetic reading. It moves beyond a simple search for Christological type scenes to illuminate the underlying mechanisms of covenant, desire, and discipleship in the ancient text. It is a vital resource for members seeking to deepen their engagement with the Hebrew Bible’s emotional and intellectual power.