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Bible

Yesterday Melinda and I made the drive down to Mars Hill to see our friend Rachel Held Evans. She was there to speak about Ruth and her Biblical Womanhood project [the podcast should be up soon here], and we had made plans to join her after the service for lunch.

The meal was quite good, and the conversation was excellent, but this morning I wanted to offer a couple reflections on her sermon.

Too often our conversations about “Biblical Womanhood” devolve into complementarians and egalitarians lining up their favorite verses in some sort of exegetical chess match.

What I appreciate about Rachel’s project is that she is questioning that entire approach.

Not because there are not relevant passages of Scripture, or because the Bible isn’t authoritative, but because the my-verses-beat-your-verses model makes a number of assumptions about what kind of book the Bible is, and tends to brush aside both historical and contemporary context.

For example, Rachel pointed out (rightly I think) that the current emphasis on complementarianism within many traditions is largely a response to the second-wave feminism of the 1960’s, 70’s, and 80’s. What that has often meant is that, intentionally or not, the image of womanhood that people are attempting to reclaim ends up looking quite a bit more like the early 1900’s than gender identity in the Ancient Near East.

Now inevitably the pushback from complementarians is that they are not striving for a return to the 50’s, but attempting to be faithful to the Bible. Most of the time, I think that’s true. I have no doubt that a desire for biblical faithfulness is an important motivation for those who advocate more traditional views of gender.

But the reality is more complicated than that, and in the end complementarians have a grid for picking and choosing which verses they take seriously, and which they sweep under the rug, just as much as any egalitarian. Even the most determined complementarians are not advocating that women should be forced to marry their rapist, be sold to pay off their family’s debts, cover their heads during prayer, or stay silent in the church; and yet those all appear in the text.

The problem, Rachel insists, is that we have been taught to approach the Bible like it is a blueprint for womanhood, or marriage, or finances, or how to choose the right college.

We assume that if we just figure out the puzzle then suddenly all the verses in the Bible that address womanhood will align into one unified vision. They don’t – because God didn’t give us a blueprint, and something like womanhood is far too varied and complex for a blueprint anyway – but both sides often work under that paradigm and are then left in the awkward position of pretending that the other side “picks and chooses” while they do not.

I have to agree with Rachel that the more interesting conversation is not “how can we avoid picking and choosing?” but “why do we pick and choose the way we do?” In other words the debate behind the debate is about interpretation, about hermeneutics.

We’ve been having that conversation for quite some time here, sparked by books like Wright’s Scripture and the Authority of God and Smith’s The Bible Made Impossible. But I think a sermon like this drives home why the conversation matters – because it plays out in the daily-life issues like gender, and because it sits behind debates that often seem intractable within the rules of Biblicism.

I grew up as a biblicist, raised in conservative Baptist and non-denominational congregations and living in a city where you can pass eight churches in about a mile and a half.

Eventually, I started noticing some rather glaring deficiencies in the things I had been taught, deficiencies which in retrospect had as much to do with a biblicist view of Scripture as it did the specifics of the theology.

Ironically, my response was to push back with even more biblicism.

But for this story to make sense I have to start a few years earlier.
____________________________________

Part one of this story begins in high school, that time of life which can seem to define every aspect of who you are at the time, and later on – when you hardly recognize the person you were in those years – you are just happy you survived.

I did well enough in school, but Bible class was a particular highlight for me.

I rocked at Bible class.

Growing up in the church and having been home-schooled for a long time probably helped.

Word of advice, in a Bible class don’t mess with the kid who went through all the memorization books twice in a single year of AWANA, and had explicitly Christian textbooks for every class growing up, even math – because that kid will be an arrogant prick and show you exactly why you have no idea what the Bible says on any given topic.

Yeah, that kid was me.
____________________________________

Fast forward to my sophomore year of college. A close friend of mine was leaving for Moody Bible College, and he and I were having many deep discussions about all things biblical and theological.

In the process I began to realize that the more I studied the theology I had long taken for granted, the more it seemed to crumble under the inspection.

So, this young biblicist made what was possibly the ultimate biblicist move – I started devoting my free time to studying the Bible on its own to find out “what it really meant” without preconceptions, without Church traditions or denominational distinctives, without bias.

Of course such a task is impossible, and might not be desirable even if it could be done, but I was determined.

Eventually I did pick up a one volume commentary and a Bible handbook, because I at least had enough sense to realize there were details about ancient culture that I could miss. And over the next six to eight months I read through the entire Bible, trying to determine its true unified testimony about every theological question I naturally assumed it must be prepared to answer.

By the end of my study I realized that many of the things I had been taught didn’t really add up when you took the advice of every church I had attended and “just read the Bible.”

But I also realized that there was too much data to process on my own, too many perspectives, and too many cultural differences between where I sat and the ancient readers.

What I needed I thought was a system, a better system than I had been given, to make sense of it all. So I transferred to Bible College.

But that is part two of my story.

[You can read part 2 here]

This morning Aaron Armstrong at Blogging Theologically responded to my question about Pauline authorship of the Pastoral Epistles.

Specifically, he asked if it matters if Paul didn’t write them, and answered with a resounding, yes!

In his words,

“if these documents were based upon a lie—that is their authorship—then they absolutely cannot be trusted whatsoever, meaning you have to reject them or reinterpret what it means for something to be inspired of God. This then becomes even more problematic, is that then the entire doctrine of inerrancy evaporates, because you’re left with a position that forces you to say that Scripture errs. And if Scripture errs, then it throws your entire view of the Bible into question and in the end you’re left with either a collection of documents that you choose to trust out of preference (a subjective view) or you’re left having to throw the whole thing away because it’s not trustworthy.”

Now I appreciate Aaron’s response, and he may be entirely right in arguing for Pauline authorship [in his post he points to some important evidence], but this is what worries me about the whole inerrancy discussion – it works in the wrong direction.

By that I mean too often inerrancy starts with an assumption about what a text without error must look like, and then insists we find the Bible to be that sort of book: so that an inerrant text must not include pseudonymous writings (The Pastoral Epistles), or multiple authors over a span of many years (Isaiah), or science that is reliant on the cosmology of the Ancient Near East (Genesis).

This seems like an inherently problematic approach, because if one day we find the Bible is not the sort of book we have insisted it must be, we are forced to, in Aaron’s words, “throw the whole thing away because it’s not trustworthy.” 

If we are going to speak of the Scriptures in terms of inerrancy, better to start with the text, ask the difficult questions, and then define inerrancy around the Bible we actually have instead of the hypothetical Bible our system demands.

I’m working through the Pastoral Epistles – I and II Timothy and Titus – for a class I’m taking, and in the process have had to wrestle again with the question of Pauline authorship.

Though the Church has traditionally affirmed that Paul wrote these letters, beginning in the nineteenth century with F.C. Baur many scholars began to question that. Today, a rejection of Pauline authorship is the majority opinion in New Testament scholarship, and a common stance even in Evangelical circles.

[I won’t bore you by laying out the detailed arguments here, but for a good overview of the issues surrounding Pauline authorship and pseudonymity I would recommend Philip Towner’s The Letters to Timothy and Titus (NICNT) and I. Howard Marshal’s essay in the Dictionary of the Later New Testament & Its Developments]

Now, to be honest, I don’t have a very strong opinion in either direction. There seem to be good arguments on both sides (see the resources above), and my personal understanding of canon and inspiration is broad enough to include pseudepigraphal writings if that is how the Spirit chose to work.

But I wonder what the deeper implications are to the discussion.

- If Paul did not write those Epistles, does it change how we read them?

- Does it affect the authority of the letters, or does their place in the canon ensure that?

- Is the critical approach to the text perhaps just a holdover from post-Enlightenment modernism with all its theological and philosophical baggage? 

- What is at stake in our answer?
____________________________

Brian LePort wrote an excellent response to these questions at Near Emmaus – check it out!

If any book of the Bible has become a minefield of old biblicist assumptions for me, its Revelation.

Once I started moving away from how I had traditionally heard John’s Apocalypse taught and preached, for a long time I simply avoided it altogether.

When I would try to read those familiar passages, I would end up spending as much time wrestling with my own interpretive baggage as I did wrestling with the text itself, and so, exhausted, I would set the book aside and move on to something else.

Over the weekend I picked up Wright’s Kingdom New Testament translation, which incidentally I have been quite impressed with, and when I got back from the bookstore I decided I would give Revelation another go using the KNT.

I’m glad I did. It turns out that reading Revelation in an unfamiliar translation is incredibly helpful for me. The differences in the structure, the cadence, and the word choice all make the text alien enough that I can read it with fresh eyes, and set aside a lot of my baggage.

It makes me wonder though. In the church (and the University) we spend so much time trying to make our congregations familiar with the text. And that’s good, but is a lack of familiarity always the problem? Could it be that sometimes shattering the comfortable familiarity of the text is exactly what we need?

I needed a system. 

Or at least I thought I did. 

Walking into Bible College I was passionate about my studies, and determined to get a better grasp on the Scriptures.

Given my context and the way I had been taught to read the Bible, it came naturally to assume a proper understanding of Scripture would lead to a “systematic” list of true doctrines and right practices. Not that I would have said a system was what I was looking for, but it was.

And in some ways, a lesson in systematics is exactly what Bible College was for me.

________________________

See, I attended an explicitly dispensational school, and while there I quickly learned two things. First, that most of my Baptist heritage had – much to my surprise – been shaped by dispensational thought, and second, that I now disagreed with many of the foundational ideas of that system.

Now, if you read many of the classical dispensational books, you begin to notice a common theme; most of the time that system is contrasted with Reformed theology.

There is a long history that explains why these systems see each other as opponents, but the point is this led me to assume it was a choice between one or the other.

Reading book after book from both sides, so I could figure out which was right, then became an all-consuming task.

I worked my way through piles of books by dispensational and Reformed heavyweights, testing each system against Scripture and its opponents, determined to find once and for all which was the proper reading of the Bible. 

Over one summer break I even wrote a thirty something page paper that laid out all the reasons I found dispensationalism lacking. Thankfully I did not have a blog back then so no one else had to suffer through that monstrosity.

I poured myself into this task, because I thought that when I came out on the other side of it I would carry with me the key to understanding God’s word. 

Instead, it became incredibly disheartening.

After reading all those books I found both systems incredibly unsatisfying, and yet I was still convinced I had to pick either dispensationalism or Reformed theology.

I thought that without a theological system it was impossible to get all the pieces of the Biblical puzzle to fit, so without choosing one I was doomed to swim in the shallow end for the rest of my life.

________________________

Thankfully I had some brilliant professors who modeled creative theological thinking, pastoral sensitivity, and the importance of allowing the Bible to be what it is, not what we want to make it.

I am forever indebted to them for their patience with me (I doubt it was easy), for their example, and for introduced me to Wright, Vanhoozer, Barth, Dunn, Grenz, Hays, and many other thinkers who would reshape my theology.

By the time I graduated I was far less concerned with finding the perfect system.

The scars from that part of my journey are still there, but they have faded over the years. There are still texts that I have a difficult time seeing through anything but the baggage of those systems. There are still questions from those debates that lodged in my mind and nag me to this day.

 But for the most part I have given up on the dream of finding a system and figuring it all out, and I think I am better off for it, even if it was difficult to let that dream die.

I grew up as a biblicist, raised in conservative Baptist and non-denominational congregations and living in a city where you can pass eight churches in about a mile and a half.

Eventually, I started noticing some rather glaring deficiencies in the things I had been taught, deficiencies which in retrospect had as much to do with a biblicist view of Scripture as it did the specifics of the theology.

Ironically, my response was to push back with even more biblicism.

But for this story to make sense I have to start a few years earlier.
____________________________________

Part one of this story begins in high school, that time of life which can seem to define every aspect of who you are at the time, and later on – when you hardly recognize the person you were in those years – you are just happy you survived.

I did well enough in school, but Bible class was a particular highlight for me.

I rocked at Bible class.

Growing up in the church and having been home-schooled for a long time probably helped.

Word of advice, in a Bible class don’t mess with the kid who went through all the memorization books twice in a single year of AWANA, and had explicitly Christian textbooks for every class growing up, even math – because that kid will be an arrogant prick and show you exactly why you have no idea what the Bible says on any given topic.

Yeah, that kid was me.
____________________________________

Fast forward to my sophomore year of college. A close friend of mine was leaving for Moody Bible College, and he and I were having many deep discussions about all things biblical and theological.

In the process I began to realize that the more I studied the theology I had long taken for granted, the more it seemed to crumble under the inspection.

So, this young biblicist made what was possibly the ultimate biblicist move – I started devoting my free time to studying the Bible on its own to find out “what it really meant” without preconceptions, without Church traditions or denominational distinctives, without bias.

Of course such a task is impossible, and might not be desirable even if it could be done, but I was determined.

Eventually I did pick up a one volume commentary and a Bible handbook, because I at least had enough sense to realize there were details about ancient culture that I could miss. And over the next six to eight months I read through the entire Bible, trying to determine its true unified testimony about every theological question I naturally assumed it must be prepared to answer.

By the end of my study I realized that many of the things I had been taught didn’t really add up when you took the advice of every church I had attended and “just read the Bible.”

But I also realized that there was too much data to process on my own, too many perspectives, and too many cultural differences between where I sat and the ancient readers.

What I needed I thought was a system, a better system than I had been given, to make sense of it all. So I transferred to Bible College.

But that is part two of my story.

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