Why should one word only, even, should be able to move the same way through centuries and across borders, appearing in the synagogues, the churches and the mosques, hardly changed at all in form?
One of the religious utterances that many speakers do not even translate is the word “Amen.” It is usually dealt with in English as a verbal period prayer said, meeting closed, conversation finished. But what it most anciently shows us is more substantial: not the conclusion, but a seal, an oral seal.
Hebrew Bible The term amen is an interpersonal reaction and individual oath, which has its origin in a Semitic family of terms associated with stability and reliability. It is a triconsonant root -m-n word, which in Hebrew relates to being solid, reliable, and loyal. That background can be said to explain why the more frequent translations lie between “truly” on one side and “so be” it and it “is true.” It has even a tincture of authority even when it is employed colloquially to signify emphatic agreement: a person is not merely liking an idea, but asserting it.
Early its liturgical role developed. As synagogue worship emerged, “amen” was a typical congregational response to blessings, and people heard themselves saying a word they were not saying aloud. Jewish practice still kept the form of call and response and this form found its way to the early Christian practice when Justin Martyr recounted that a group of people answered “amen” to the Eucharistic blessing. The Arabic counterpart, Amim in Islamic usage has a parallel use, used in particular contexts after the supplication, and after the first chapter of the Quran.
A vivid change is witnessed in the New Testament, whereby “amen” may occur in front of the sentence rather than at the end. The Gospels do not lose Jesus beginning the teachings with a formula of amen, which in English is translated as “truly.” In the John Gospel the stress is doubled: “Amen, amen” encloses critical words, the verbal equivalent of underlining. Linguists and historians of religion have observed that the decision of the writers to translate the word to Greek instead of translating it reflects the manner in which other religious words remain undiscovered, since societies believe that the word has become a part of the word.
The far more christological implication of the term amen as interpreted by Christianity is found in the connection of amen to Revelation 3:14, which refers to Jesus as the Amen, “the faithful and true Witness.” The word in that reading is not what believers say, but a title, which is a quality of reliability, the embodiment of reliable speech. Pastoral thoughts usually develop out of this: amen as accordance to divine will instead of a method to achieve the desired results. During a radio discussion on the topic of prayer, one of the hosts summed the posture in a succinct fashion: Amen is not just a word. Rather, it is a decision we make to follow God.
The contemporary arguments of the origin of “amen” where “really” are inclined to heat-up on sound-alikes. There are traditions suggesting Egyptian origin of Amun and there are those that cite the phonetic similarity with Aum. Regular etymologies are not consistent with those theories, though; “amen” has Hebrew roots that lead into the Greek, and then Latin and European ones, and the Egyptian name starts with a different consonant. The fact that these alternative narratives persist is itself instructive: there is a feeling that amen is older than any one particular community, and people are seeking an origin story on the grand scale that it occupies.
What does remain, although there is a change of pronunciation ah-MEN, ay-MEN is the work of the word. It marks assent. It signals trust. It makes participation out of listening. And even of a word that is so commonly used as a way to get out of something, it continues to serve as a gateway to shared meaning.
