and a smoldering wick he will not quench; he will faithfully bring forth justice.So it is said of the Servant of God in Isaiah 42:3; so it will be when he comes again. Right now, though, we live in a very different world. I was reflecting on this this morning, thinking about the state of affairs in Zimbabwe. If you’ve been following the news, you know that it looks like Robert Mugabe’s succeeded in hanging on to power (though he said he’s “open to discussion” with the opposition), since the opposition party pulled out of Friday’s presidential runoff in the face of the Mugabe government’s terror campaign, and opposition leader Morgan Tsvangirai sought refuge at the Dutch embassy in Harare. Freedom and justice in Zimbabwe are smoldering wicks, indeed.There is one small, very small, bright spot, though: at this year’s meeting of the PC(USA)’s General Assembly, the Peacemaking and International Issues Committee approved a resolution in support of the church in Zimbabwe, and against the Mugabe government. I hope and firmly expect to see the whole GA approve it; and I further hope that this encourages the Uniting Presbyterian Church of Southern Africa (UPCSA), to which the Presbytery of Zimbabwe belongs, to take a similar stance at their General Assembly in September. I miss being a part of the relationship between Denver and Zimbabwe—it’s perhaps the biggest thing I miss from having left that presbytery—and I wish I could have been there. I’ll have to get on top of the schedule and see if I can at least watch the plenary session when this resolution comes to the floor; I suspect my friends from Zimbabwe won’t speak then (since they’d be on video for the whole world, including Mugabe and his thugs, to see), but I’d at least be able to share the moment with them a little.Please, keep praying for Zimbabwe.
Author Archives: Rob Harrison
Love beyond reason
Most Christians have probably heard the line that the Christian life is a marathon, not a sprint, and we sort of get the idea; but since it would never occur to most of us to actually want to run a marathon, I don’t think the point really sticks with us. We understand that, yes, the life of faith is more than just brief bursts of activity, that there’s a necessary element of endurance there; but we still think that when it gets to the point that we don’t think we can run anymore, it’s OK to stop. The thing about running a marathon is, when you get to that point, that’s when you have to dig down and push through—and that’s the part of the parallel we lose. We basically believe that when it no longer makes any sense to us to keep trying, when we no longer seem to have any reason to do so, we can stop; but that’s not what Jesus calls us to. That’s not the radical obedience and radical discipleship he wants from us. Jesus calls us to a whole ’nother level of endurance.I got to thinking about that as I was reading Jared’s brilliant post, “Love Is Never a Waste.” It’s a long, deep post, and I won’t try to summarize it; but here’s an excerpt or two:
We likely all recall the time Peter came up to Jesus and basically asked, “When I can I stop forgiving someone who keeps wronging me? After seven times?” (I can almost hear him hoping, “Please tell me after seven times.”) But Jesus responds to him, saying “No, not seven times. Seventy times seven times.” . . .Now, Jesus is a smart guy. In fact, if we believe he is who he said he was, we know he has all the omniscience of the God of the Universe. So he knows this is a tall order. He knows it doesn’t “make sense” in our world of abuse and betrayal and pettiness and vindictiveness and pride and arrogance and egotism.So why does he do this? If he knows our capacity for love and forgiveness is finite, how can he call us to persevere in these things toward others? The short answer, I think, is because God Himself perseveres in them toward us. . . .Because God’s love toward us is a) despite sin worthy of eternal punishment, and b) relentlessly patient in its eternal perseverance, we have no Christian right to say to someone who has wronged us, even if they continue to wrong us, “You have reached your limit with me. My love for you stops now.” Doing so fails to truly see the depths of our sin in the light of God’s holiness. And if God, who is perfect and holy, will forgive and love we who are most certainly not, on what basis do we have to be unforgiving and unloving to others?I am guessing most of us agree with this in theory. There’s not too many Christians who will say, despite Jesus’ instructions, that it’s okay to hate your enemies and curse those who persecute you.I think the place where we really have trouble with this stuff is when it comes to people who are hurting us that we actually do really want to love. We really do want to keep forgiving them. But we are weary. They are wearing us out. We don’t know how much longer we can go on. We want to know if we can give up, but we’re scared what that might mean. Surely God does not want to us to keep enduring this pain. Surely he will understand if we just . . . give up. Things aren’t working. The results aren’t being seen. Efforts are not bearing fruit. I’ve changed, but he or she hasn’t.Most of us know 1 Corinthians 13 really well, but let’s revisit a piece of it again:
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres . . . Love never fails.
That’s some scary stuff right there. For we who are used to thinking of love as romance or warm-and-fuzzies or butterflies or sex, Paul has Jesus in mind as the model of love when he tells us, “Love is about sacrifice and service. And it keeps going. It never fails.” . . .I don’t think “Love never fails” means “Love always gets the result the lover wants.” I think it means what it says: Love is not a failure.Love is not a failure regardless of the results.This is why: Because God is not a failure, and God is love. When we are loving someone with a persevering, sacrificial love, we are reflecting the eternal goodness and grace of God Himself. We are glorifying God, and there is no higher calling than that. None.We love—not because it will “change the world” (although it may)—but because God loves us (1 John 4:19). . . .Whatever happens, whenever it happens, your love is not in vain. You are not alone, for God loves you and has approved your love through the sacrifice of his Son. Cast off despair; cast all your cares on Him. Love never fails. Love is never a waste.
That’s powerful, true, and critically important; the problem is, we keep collapsing this to the limits of our own self-expectations. We know God says, “Never stop forgiving, never stop loving, rejoice in all things, love your enemies, turn the other cheek,” and the like, but we don’t believe he really means it; we get to a certain point where it just doesn’t make any sense to us to keep going, and we say to ourselves, “Surely God will understand if we quit now—surely he doesn’t want us to keep putting ourselves through this,” and then we quit. We quit because, as Jared says, we don’t see the results we want to see, and we’re quite sure we never will; we quit because it’s not reasonable to expect us to continue, forgetting that it wasn’t reasonable to expect Jesus to allow himself to be crucified for a bunch of smelly, vicious little ingrates, either. We quit because because it’s not fair to keep forgiving and forgiving someone who’s never going to change, forgetting that that’s pretty much what Jesus does for us; and we quit because the agony of loving someone who’s bound and determined to shipwreck themselves despite us is just too much to bear, forgetting that it’s in bearing precisely that agony that we are most truly sharing in the suffering of Christ.In short, we quit because we turn to God and say, “What more can you expect of me? I’m only human”; and he looks at us and responds, “No, you’re not. I’ve put my Spirit within you, and in me, you’re more than you think you are. That’s why I’m calling you to go beyond what you think you can do, beyond where you think it makes sense to stop, and trust me that it will be worth it in the end; I’m making you like me, and this is part of that work.” Ultimately, like everything else, this is rooted in trust in God—trust that we really can do what he’s calling us to do, and that it really will be for our good.At this point, someone’s probably asking, “Doesn’t this just open us up for abuse?”—to which the answer is, “No, but.” No, it doesn’t open us to abuse, because allowing people to abuse us isn’t actually a loving thing to do to them; that merely empowers them in their sin. But, avoiding being abused isn’t the highest good, either. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus said, “Do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if anyone would sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. And if anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles.” And you know what? He meant that, too. Our highest priority isn’t supposed to be self-protection; Jesus calls us to love and serve him by loving and serving others past the limits of what we think is safe, and trust that in truth, whatever happens, whenever it happens, indeed it won’t be in vain—because he who calls us is faithful.
The gospel according to Firefly
“Oh, but you did. You turn on any of my crew, you turn on me. But since that’s a concept you can’t seem to wrap your head around, then you got no place here.
You did it to me, Jayne. And that’s a fact.”—Malcolm Reynolds to Jayne Cobb, “Ariel,” Episode 9, FireflyThis is from the crowning scene of perhaps the best of the handful of episodes we got of Firefly, one of the best scenes I’ve ever been fortunate enough to watch on TV. To explain this line to those not familiar with the show: during the episode, during a raid on an Alliance hospital, Jayne tried to sell out Simon and River Tam, the ship’s two fugitive passengers (Simon, a doctor, is also the ship’s medic, and the one who inspired the raid), to the Alliance. Unfortunately for him, the Alliance officials don’t honor the deal and he gets taken as well, at which point he starts fighting to save himself (and the Tams). They make it back to the ship, and Jayne thinks he’s gotten away with his attempted betrayal; but Mal’s too smart for him, resulting in this (note: there are a few errors in the captioning):
(For a transcript of the episode, go here.)I’ve always been struck by two things in this scene. The first is Mal’s statement to Jayne which I’ve quoted above, which is strikingly reminiscent of the words of Jesus in Matthew 25:40 (though Jayne did evil instead of good). The point is of course different, since Mal isn’t (and doesn’t claim to be) God—but it’s related. From Mal’s point of view, it isn’t enough to show loyalty to him alone: you have to be loyal as well to all those to whom he’s committed himself. Any violation of loyalty to any of them—any betrayal of the crew bond—is a betrayal which he takes personally, and which therefore brings inevitable judgment.The other is what saves Jayne: repentance, as evidenced by the stirring of shame. Jayne’s not much of one to be ashamed of anything—if you don’t count his reaction at the end of “Jaynestown,” the show’s seventh episode, this might be the first time in his life he’s felt shame—so this is a significant moment; and at that sign that Jayne is truly repentant, Mal spares his life (though he doesn’t let him out of the airlock right away—perhaps to encourage further self-examination on Jayne’s part). In the face of repentance, mercy triumphs over judgment.
Story
I don’t know how many people have ever heard of Robert McKee; I imagine all true cinephiles and cineasts have, but I hadn’t. For those as ignorant as me, here’s some of the dust-jacket copy from his book Story: Substance, Structure, Style, and the Principles of Screenwriting (which describes him as “the world’s premier screenwriting teacher”):
For more than thirteen years, Robert McKee’s students have been taking Hollywood’s top honors. His Story Structure seminar is the ultimate class for screenwriters and filmmakers, playing to packed auditoriums across the world and boasting more than 25,000 graduates. . . .Unlike other popular approaches to screenwriting, Story is about form, not formula.
I have to say, I’m honestly impressed. McKee shares my belief in the importance and power of story (if anything, he takes it too far; I get the sense that story has taken the place of religion for him), he’s all about teaching people to write good stories, and he has a lot of helpful advice and examples. (I had originally been thinking to quote a passage or two, but there’s too many good ones.) I don’t think he gets all the examples right, but most of them, he does—he really understands what he’s talking about; and while his book is focused strictly on screenwriting, so far, I think everything he says applies to anyone writing fiction in any form.I should note that one of the reasons I appreciate McKee’s work is that he doesn’t buy the pretensions of the artistes. Here’s what he has to say about the “art film”:
The avant-garde notion of writing outside the genres is naive. No one writes in a vacuum. After thousands of years of storytelling no story is so different that it has no similarity to anything else ever written. The ART FILM has become a traditional genre, divisible into two subgenres, Minimalism and Antistructure, each with its own complex of formal conventions of structure and cosmology. Like Historical Drama, the ART FILM is a supra-genre that embraces other basic genres: Love Story, Political Drama, and the like.
Being more of a novel guy than a film guy, I tend to run into this more with the art film’s prose cousin, literary fiction, where I’m regularly irritated by the pretensions of its practitioners and fans that lit fic isn’t a genre and is therefore superior to “genre fiction.” McKee’s right, this is naive; unfortunately, as B. R. Myers has pointed out in his “Reader’s Manifesto,” it’s a naivete that has led to some real distortions in people’s understanding and appreciation of literature. It’s good to have someone come out and say, “You know what? This kind of thing’s a genre just like any other, with its own conventions and expectations, and some of it’s good and some of it isn’t, just like any other genre.”Anyway, coming back to the book: it’s a very good book about writing stories, and I recommend it—especially to fellow aspiring writers, but not only.
Is it Barack Obama’s time?
It certainly could be; he’s a gifted campaigner with a strong core of support running in a year when the opposing party is weak and unpopular. On the other hand, there are several good reasons to think it won’t be.First, the circumstances that made the GOP unpopular and led to the debacle of 2006 are shifting, and Sen. Obama isn’t shifting with them. For one, he continues to stick to the narrative that “Iraq is spiraling into civil war, we invaded unwisely and have botched things ever since, no good outcome is possible, and it is time to get out of there as fast as we can” (even though he only took that stance out of political expediency) when more and more people (including even the editorial board of the Washington Post) are noticing that the surge has changed all that. As Michael Barone writes, “It is beyond doubt now that the surge has been hugely successful, beyond even the hopes of its strongest advocates, like Frederick and Kimberly Kagan. Violence is down enormously, Anbar and Basra and Sadr City have been pacified, Prime Minister Maliki has led successful attempts to pacify Shiites as well as Sunnis, and the Iraqi parliament has passed almost all of the ‘benchmark’ legislation demanded by the Democratic Congress—all of which Barack Obama seems to have barely noticed or noticed not at all. He has not visited Iraq since January 2006 and did not seek a meeting with Gen. David Petraeus when he was in Washington.” This is particularly a problem for Sen. Obama given that John McCain can take a sizeable measure of credit for that success: he didn’t order the surge, but he’d been pushing for it since 2003, even when the whole idea was wildly unpopular—which means that he can legitimately associate himself with our current success in Iraq while avoiding any blame for the failure of the pre-surge approach, since he’d opposed that all along.Another change from 2006 is that Congress is no more effective or popular now than it was then, but now the Democrats are running it; which is to say that running against “those incompetent do-nothings in Congress” is a strategy that should still have bite, but now it will be biting Democratic candidates rather than Republican ones. This is particularly true since, as both Barone and Dick Morris point out, the dramatic rise in gas prices has put the Democratic Congress over a barrel (so to speak). Sen. McCain can campaign against them hard on this issue, pushing for offshore drilling (where, as he’s taking care to tell voters, even Hurricane Katrina didn’t cause any spills), drilling in ANWR (especially if he has the wit to put Sarah Palin on the ticket), and even nuclear power (which has worked fine as a major power source in Europe for years now with no problems), and the Democrats will have a hard time countering him; as part of a broader argument that “you voted Democrat two years ago, and what have they done for you? Not much,” this could be devastating.Second, Sen. Obama has a major demographic problem—and no, it’s not the one you think. (Taken all in all, I’d guess that racial prejudices will mostly balance each other out.) The problem, which Noemie Emery laid out in a piece in the Weekly Standard, is the cultural divide among white voters which Barone identified in the Democratic primaries. In Barone’s terms, the split is between Academicians and Jacksonians; Emery defines it this way:
Academicians traffic in words and abstractions, and admire those who do likewise. Jacksonians prefer men of action, whose achievements are tangible. Academicians love nuance, Jacksonians clarity; academicians love fairness, Jacksonians justice; academicians dislike force and think it is vulgar; Jacksonians admire it, when justly applied. Each side tends to look down on the other, though academicians do it with much more intensity: Jacksonians think academicians are inconsequential, while academicians think that Jacksonians are beneath their contempt. The academicians’ theme songs are “Kumbaya” and “Imagine,” while Jacksonians prefer Toby Keith . . . Academicians don’t think “evil forces” exist, and if they did, they would want to talk to them. This, and not color, seems to be the divide.
This division in the electorate would be the reason that, even after the May 6 primaries turned out far below her hopes, Hillary Clinton was still able to crush Sen. Obama in Kentucky and West Virginia—an outcome RealClearPolitics’ Jay Cost predicted. Sen. Obama is an Academician to the bone, perhaps the most non-Jacksonian presidential candidate the Democrats have ever nominated (recall John Kerry’s emphasis on his military experience, and the powerful effect of the Republican attack on that experience); Sen. Clinton, through her toughness and tenacity, was able to keep her campaign going against him by recasting herself as a Jacksonian Democrat (something she certainly had never been before), and thus giving those voters someplace to go against Sen. Obama. Now, in the general election, we’ll see the quintessential Academician, a modern-day Adlai Stevenson, up against the quintessential Jacksonian, a warrior politician for the 21st century. Sen. Obama can certainly pull it off, if he can stop talking to Iowa farmers about arugula, but that’s a matchup which Jacksonians tend to win.Third, just as the “bimbo eruptions” didn’t stop with Gennifer Flowers, so there’s no guarantee we won’t see more problems arise out of Sen. Obama’s friends and associates. We’ve already heard about a number of his unsavory connections, but every so often, a new one makes a scene (as Fr. Michael Pfleger recently did, driving Sen. Obama to finally remove his membership from Trinity UCC); and while it might be possible to defend him by saying, “these are all past connections—Jeremiah Wright, Bill Ayers, Tony Rezko, James Meeks, Bernadette Dohrn, Nadhmi Auchi, Michael Pfleger, they’re all past history, old stories, irrelevant to who he is now,” that doesn’t hold up very well when you look at the people he continues to associate with. How is it possible to dismiss his connections to the Chicago political machine, racist preachers, American terrorists, and international criminals as irrelevant when his first appointment as the presumptive Democratic presidential nominee was Eric Holder, to chair his effort to choose a VP candidate? At some point, you just have to say, this pattern of associations tells us something important about Sen. Obama—who he is, how he thinks, what he values, what matters to him; and at some point, you have to figure that the problems his associates have already given him aren’t likely to stop coming. Again, he could overcome this; but depending on what happens and when, he might not.Taken all in all, I have to say, I don’t think he will; I think it will be close, but I think in the end, Sen. McCain will come out on top. Sen. Obama might steal a few states out of the GOP column, but between Minnesota, Michigan and Pennsylvania, I think he’ll lose a couple as well, and I think the end result will look a lot like 2004 at the presidential level—and at the lower levels, maybe not good, but not a worst-case scenario, either. (And maybe I’ll be wrong about all that; as I’ve already noted, nobody’s been right about much, this campaign season.)
Cloud of belief
I took my first credo post and ran it through Wordle—this is pretty cool, I think. (Sorry it’s so small; click on it to see it bigger.) I think I’ll keep adding them in, and see how it all looks.
Edit, 6/6/21: Wordle is defunct, so I made new ones with wordclouds.com; that site allows you to choose your shape, and I couldn’t resist playing with it.










Poem for the day
This is one of my favorites from one of my favorite poets, and one which really fits today. (Yes, I’m in a better mood this evening than I was yesterday evening—why do you ask?) Unfortunately, if there’s a way to get the proper formatting through this site, it’s beyond me, so apologies for the squared-off stanzas. EDIT: New site, different problems; the formatting isn’t one of them now.
Pied Beauty
Skeptical conversations, part VII: The Holy Spirit and the Bible
Continuing the conversation . . . Parts I-VI here.
A: Now, the Father and the Son I understand, and I can see how you speak of them as personal; but I don’t understand the Spirit. For one thing, there is no personal image there—“Spirit” seems rather vague and impersonal, much like the Force in Star Wars. For another, “Father” and “Son” are both relational labels, defining one person in relationship to a second person, but there is nothing relational about “Spirit”; it doesn’t seem to fit.
R: The most common answer, at least in the Western churches, is that the Spirit is the love between the Father and the Son; this dates to Augustine, who wrote a book on the Trinity. I don’t like it, at least not phrased that way; I think that understanding of the Spirit tends to depersonalize him, for one thing, and it’s already far too easy to conceive of the Spirit merely as an impersonal force. I think it’s true that there’s a connection between the Spirit of God and the relationship between the Father and the Son—you might perhaps say that the Spirit is the Spirit of the Father and Son in relationship, or in some sense the Spirit of the relationship between them—but I wouldn’t want to collapse it any more than that, for fear of limiting the Spirit.
A: I can see that; and I don’t see that it makes any sense to call love, or a relationship, or anything of that sort a person.
R: Well, it has the advantage of explaining where exactly the Spirit came from, and why; something which, as you noted, is much clearer in the case of the Father and the Son.
A: I didn’t think you were all that fond of explaining those sorts of questions.
R: I’m in favor of explaining as much as possible, just not of forcing explanations. In any case, that the Spirit is a person and that he is God are clear from the biblical texts, and beyond that they are primarily concerned with his work; for the Spirit is the one who carries out the work of God in the world, and he is God’s empowering presence with his people. Basically, I would say the work of the Spirit is threefold: he bears witness to the Father and the Son; he mediates the work of Christ to us; and he lives in us, empowering us to follow Jesus and grow in holiness.
The first point is where the doctrine of revelation comes in, because it is the Spirit who reveals God to us, and it is only through his revelation that we can know God at all.
A: Since God is incomprehensible.
R: Right, but also because we are fallen creatures—our reason has been damaged no less than the rest of us. God is too much for us to come to know by unassisted reason, but there’s also the fact that we prefer gods made in our own image, rather than the other way around. In any case, theologians have typically divided revelation into two categories, general and special revelation. General revelation is God’s revelation of himself to everyone, in nature—through the physical world with its laws, through human nature with its laws, and through human history. Special revelation, on the other hand, is communicated supernaturally by God, either directly or through a human agent.
A: That would be the Bible.
R: Yes, and as far as God’s self-revelation, that is the end of it. Now, I don’t agree with the division of revelation into general and special revelation, though to be sure the Bible is not the same sort of thing as a scientific study or a history textbook; but fundamentally, as the German theologian Wolfhart Pannenberg has argued, the important point is that God reveals himself through his activity in creation and history. The Bible is of particular importance because it is a particular record, inspired by the Holy Spirit, of particular acts of God in history, but this is not truly a different kind of revelation, because it is all the work of the Spirit in and among us; it is, rather, a different depth of revelation, and it is necessary because without it, we cannot perceive God’s disclosure of himself in nature and human history.
A: Because of sin, I suppose?
R: Yes, for two reasons. One, our sin has blighted the order and beauty of God’s creation. To take the most obvious sort of example, if you go up into the mountains and come upon a valley that has been thoroughly logged, leaving the small river flowing through it brown and choked with soil because of erosion, what does that make you feel?
A: Revulsion for what we’ve done to the earth.
R: On the other hand, a logger might look at it and see a job well done, a job that fed their families and provided wood to build homes for other families. For my part, I don’t think logging is bad, but the way it’s done often is—which illustrates, I think, the way that human sin has disordered and damaged God’s self-revelation in nature. Then too, of course, you have the way that human sin has blighted our history; one might conclude from the study of history that there is a God, but one might also say with Baudelaire that if there is a God, he is the Devil. It all depends on what you look at, and on what eyes you have to see; which is the other point, that our sin blinds us to the truth present in the world around us, leaving us unable to see God’s revelation of himself. As John Calvin, the great Reformer, put it, we need the lenses of the gospel to enable us to see the truth of God.
A: In other words, without the Bible, the rest of the world is worthless for trying to understand God.
R: I don’t know if I’d say “worthless”; but between the effects of sin on the world we see and the effects of sin on us, I’d say that we cannot come to anything really close to a true picture without the Bible. Just look, after all, at all the different cultures that have existed in this world, and how different all their pictures of reality have been.
A: And how different mine is from yours, you are carefully not saying. Which supports either your case or mine, of course. But I have a question: aren’t you putting too much weight on what is, in the end, still a book written by human beings?
R: I don’t think so, for two reasons. One, I believe the Holy Spirit inspired the Bible. I believe he inspired every part of it, working with the minds of its human authors and guiding the writing process so that the texts carry the meaning God intended. I also believe that he guided the church in setting the canon, so that the books we have are the books he inspired. As a consequence, I believe the Bible is a completely faithful and true witness and without error on its own terms.
A: What do you mean, “without error on its own terms”?
R: I mean that I affirm the Bible as without error, when it is properly understood. To take the most obvious case, I affirm Genesis 1-2 as a biblical text without error.
A: So you believe the earth was created in a calendar week a little over 4000 years ago?
R: No, I don’t, because I don’t believe that interpretation is a proper one of that text. People have reached that conclusion because they insist on reading Genesis 1-2 as a scientific text—they take the words to mean what they would mean had they been written by someone writing today. But it’s a liturgical text, not a scientific text, and it doesn’t share our modern preoccupations; we need to understand it in light of its own concerns.
A: What about the inconsistencies in the gospels?
R: I affirm the gospels as true reports of events, again on their own terms, and so I would say of all the histories in the Bible. We do need to understand, though, that the biblical writers didn’t have our standards for writing history, and again that they didn’t share our modernist concerns in these matters; to assume that if they were writing history they must have done it the way we would do it is anachronistic, and quite frankly rather arrogant. So take, for example, the cleansing of the temple. John places that very early in Jesus’ ministry—it comes in chapter 2—while the other three gospels set the story at the end of his ministry, in the week before his crucifixion. If both are telling of the same event, which seems likely, then it seems we have a problem. The question is, though, would the biblical authors have thought so? Setting events down in chronological order doesn’t seem to have been as great a concern for them as it is for us; we even have a bit from an early Christian writer named Papias who tells us that Mark in his gospel wrote down what he heard from Peter, but not in order—and that doesn’t appear to have been a problem to him.
More generally, I tend to follow a critical principle I learned from Coleridge, who wrote something to this effect in one of his critical works: when I meet with an apparent error in a good author, I begin with the assumption that the error is not in the author but in me. After all, these authors were far, far closer than we are to the events about which they were writing, and they knew much more certainly than we do what they were trying to do; it seems to me that to take our limited knowledge of the former and our assumptions and conclusions about the latter and use those to declare that the biblical authors were in error—well, that we should attempt to do anything of the sort only with great humility. It’s a sure thing that more than a few historical details declared false by modern biblical scholars were later proved true by modern archaeology.
A: Such as?
R: The existence of the Hittites comes to mind. The point is, assuming that a biblical author doesn’t know what he’s talking about is, as it is for any author, a problematic assumption; and sometimes, at least, it’s a way of avoiding having to ask whether or not one actually understands what the author is trying to say. In any case, I believe that the Spirit of God inspired the texts, and that he watched over their transmission as well; errors have crept in, to be sure, but nothing has threatened the central meaning of the biblical text.
A: That’s a bold claim.
R: That’s not a claim, it’s a statement of fact. There are a lot of places in the Old and New Testaments where the reading of the text is disputed, and some of them are of significance in one theological dispute or another; but not one of them threatens any of the central doctrines of the historic Christian faith.
A: If God were really preserving the text, wouldn’t he have kept it free from any errors at all?
R: You could argue that, and certainly it would have been a remarkable testimony if he had; but it’s a tricky thing to argue on the basis of what God would have done or not done, because he’s really not that predictable. Let’s just say that it doesn’t challenge my faith any to find variant readings in Scripture.
In any case, the work of the Holy Spirit in inspiring the text is one major reason that I don’t think I’m putting too much weight on it. The other is that it isn’t the words themselves as such that are my authority, but the Spirit of God speaking through the biblical text. The Bible is a trustworthy record of what God has said and done, it testifies to and preserves God’s revelation of himself, and as such it is objectively his word to us; but it is only as the Spirit illumines our minds and hearts to understand it and respond to it, only as the Spirit speaks through the text, that it becomes the word of God to us in our own experience.
A: Do you believe the Spirit speaks to people in other ways?
R: Yes, I do; but I believe that the Devil speaks to people, too, and that we are more than capable of deluding ourselves. That’s why John says in 1 John 4 that we need to test every spirit, because no spirit that does not confess that Jesus Christ was God incarnate can be from God. That’s why the Scriptures are key, because we know the Spirit inspired them and speaks through them; they are our sure and certain guide, the lamp that lights our way. I believe that many writers throughout the ages have written true and wise things, and the Spirit does speak to us through their writings, but we must always test these writings against the Bible. I believe the Spirit speaks to us through the people around us, and sometimes directly in one way or another; but again, we must always test what we hear against the Scriptures, which we know are from God.
A: You make it sound easy.
R: Sometimes it is, but of course not always. And to be sure, there are many disagreements over what the Bible teaches; many in the church would disagree with the majority of my beliefs. But this is where the church as a whole comes into play. Yes, we need to test the writings of the church against the Scriptures, and yes, there are many disagreements among Christian thinkers throughout the ages; that is, after all, much of the reason why we have so many denominations.
A: You do indeed. Interpreting the Bible clearly is not as easy as it seemed you were making it sound.
R: On a lot of points, that’s true. At the same time, though, the general consensus on the acceptable range of interpretations is solid. The church very early on staked out the most basic doctrines, those which could not be compromised, and built a fence around them through the great creeds—and while those are still human documents and not to be equated with Scripture, they are very important for us as we seek to understand what the Spirit is saying to us through his word. And in the years since, the arguments within the church have spurred many to write about the things of God, and in the writings of such as John Calvin, Martin Luther, John Owen, Abraham Kuyper, Karl Barth, and many others there is considerable insight and wisdom; and during the Reformation, when differences in belief brought war and the threat of war, Protestant communities in places such as Germany, the Netherlands and England wrote the great Protestant confessions so that no one would have any doubts what they were fighting and dying for. These, too, are valuable guides for us in our interpretation of Scripture.
I don’t make the mistake of setting the tradition of the church equal to Scripture, as Catholics do, but I don’t want to fall into the opposite trap, as do many Protestants, of throwing out tradition. Those who do so claim to be following Scripture alone, but in truth they are exalting not the Scripture but their own interpretation of it, and in the end their own wisdom and understanding. As a practical matter, they are moving the source of authority from the Spirit to themselves, and that is both foolish and arrogant. We need to remember always that the Spirit illumines everyone, not just us, that there are many Christians who are wiser than us, whether alive or dead, and that we need to learn what we can from them. Our theology must always be characterized by humility.
Memo to self: don’t get cocky
“Let anyone who thinks that he stands take heed lest he fall.”—1 Corinthians 10:12 (ESV)The present is no guarantee of the future; the moment when we’re surest we’re standing firm is the moment we’re least likely to notice the ground eroding out from under our feet. May we always, in humility, be on guard against the temptations of the Enemy, and the worse angels of our nature, remembering that the fact that we stand now is no promise that we’ll still be standing five minutes from now.“Be careful, little eyes, what you see . . .
“Be careful, little ears, what you hear . . .
“Be careful, little feet, where you go . . .”
Song of the Week
OK, so it isn’t winter; but it’s a grey, growling, blustery Midwest thunderstorm out there, and the song suits both the weather and my mood anyway.
Winter: A DirgeThe wintry wind extends his blast,
And hail and rain dost blow;
Or, the stormy north sends driving forth
The blinding sleet and snow;
While tumbling brown, the burn comes down,
And roars from bank to brae;
And bird and beast in covert rest,
And pass the heartless day.”The sweeping blast, the sky o’er cast,”
The joyless winter-day
Let others fear, to me more dear
Than all the pride of May:
The tempest’s howl, it soothes my soul,
My griefs it seems to join;
The leafless trees my fancy please,
Their fate resembles mine!Through the night, through the night,
Through the night and all,
Tho’ all my strength be sorely spent
And stars do die and fall,
To Thee, my King, I gladly cling
When black winds howl and blow;
When all is done and battle won
Let Christ receive my soul.Thou Pow’r Supreme, whose mighty scheme
These woes of mine fulfill,
Here, firm, I rest, they must be best,
Because they are Thy will!
Then all I want (Oh! do Thou grant
This one request of mine!),
Since to enjoy Thou dost deny,
Assist me to resign.ChorusVerses: Robert Burns, 1781; chorus: Tony Krogh; music: Tony Krogh
Chorus and arrangement © 1991 Grrr Music
From the album Dancing at the Crossroads, by The Crossing

