Author Archives: Svigel

About Svigel

Professor of Systematic and Historical Theology at Dallas Theological Seminary, author, husband, father.

Leading Evidence

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Throughout my college and seminary training, I often heard both teachers and students say things like, “You can’t conclude that based on the evidence,” or “The evidence clearly points to such-and-such a conclusion.” My least favorite statement of all, however, was “We need to be willing to go wherever the evidence leads.”

The problem with this whole approach is that evidence leads nowhere.

Perhaps I ought to nuance that slightly. On very rare occasions the evidence is so clear that it leads to an obvious conclusion for the vast majority of reasonable (i.e., “sane”) people. Two examples: “something exists” . . . “I exist.” From that point any assertion based on evidence begins to move—ever so slightly—away from the center-point of certainty. But once a person steps from that very small bounded pasture of certainty into the open range of uncertainty and probability, the evidence must be shepherded by arguments—guided toward a reasonable end.

Let me be clear: I don’t buy into the idea of “following the evidence wherever it leads” because in the vast majority of cases the evidence does not lead . . . we lead the evidence. An argument, which incorporates evidence, leads in a particular direction. And arguments, while hopefully including all evidence in a cohesive, coherent, and consistent manner, are led by the arguer. Thus, the arguer leads the evidence. Even when people are all examining the exact same evidence, the result will be a variety of interpretations supported by different groups and individuals. Sometimes when the amount of evidence increases—or old evidence is reevaluated—the picture may change. But not always. Each of us is leading the evidence in a particular direction based on our pre-understandings, presuppositions, agendas, methodologies, questions, and biases. The point? Every endeavor to analyze evidence is perspectival.

In decades (and centuries) past, when a scholar claimed to be compelled by the evidence in a particular direction, many times he or she strived to act as a judge or juror, valuating and evaluating the objective facts without bias. With the decline in modernist confidence in such objectivity, most scholars today admit that they approach all evidence with biases and questions. But often people suggest that the solution to this problem is to strive to strip away biases—that is, “Admitting that you have a subjectivity problem is the first step in overcoming your subjectivity.”

Shouldn’t we strive to be as objective as possible and then proceed with the investigation? No! This is impossible and could, in fact, be more dangerous than simply embracing our perspectives and running with them. Here’s why: if overcoming our perspective is not really possible, then believing that we have somehow overcome them is worse than not being aware of them in the first place. It’s like digging ourselves into a pit, looking up, realizing we’re in a pit, then solving the problem by making the pit larger. We may have worked harder at digging. We may have even employed people to help us dig. But in the end, we’re still stuck in a pit.

Another problem with buying into the method of approaching evidence with as much objectivity as possible is this: what if your original perspective, bias, and set of presuppositions is right? What if your understanding of a particular subject and therefore your arrangement of the evidence is actually the correct one? If this is the case, then stripping yourself of those presuppositions is not only unnecessary—it’s dangerous!

A while back, when I worked for a particular ministry of a well-known pastor, the ministry received a letter from a critic stringing together evidence from the pastor’s writings proving that he held to a particular false doctrine. That man examined the evidence, drew his conclusions, and demanded repentance and an apology. The problem is that that person completely misinterpreted the evidence. For a few rounds, we tried to combat the person’s views by pointing him to other writings of the pastor that showed that he clearly did not hold the false view. But it didn’t work. Finally I said, “This is ridiculous. We know this guy’s interpretation is wrong because we know Pastor So-and-So doesn’t hold this view.” There was no point in argument or evidence in this case, and even though we couldn’t prove to the critique that we were interpreting the pastor’s writings correctly, our unique perspective guaranteed that we were.

I think in many cases this analogy works for reading Scripture. Christians should not be ashamed to read the entire Bible in conformity with classic Christian theology. I am completely unimpressed with lexical, grammatical, and exegetical arguments based on probabilities, historical parallels, or other evidences that do not align with a normal Christian understanding—touching on issues of orthodoxy. In my mind, when a person’s methodology leads to conclusions that are at odds with the classic Christian faith, it doesn’t mean my interpretation needs to be revised or that the faith needs to be modified—it means the methodology is flawed.

This works best at the macro-level, dealing with big issues of orthodoxy (God, Christ, Salvation, etc.). But it can also function as a working principle at the micro-level. For example, I am unimpressed with evidence and arguments that conclude that the “Angel of the Lord” appearances of the Old Testament—classically regarded as appearances of the pre-incarnate Son of God—are merely created angels acting as stand-ins or heavenly representatives of God. The traditional interpretation of the Angel of the Lord as the Son/Logos of God is so ancient and compelling that in my mind the methodologies used to arrive at competing views are discredited. That God the Son (Logos) has always served as the divine mediator between the Father and the creation goes back to Ignatius of Antioch, the Epistle of Barnabas, Justin Martyr, Irenaeus, and more. But isn’t this reading the Bible in light of tradition? YES! That’s the whole point.

But wait! Am I not, then, simply approaching this question from my own particular perspective? Of course! Then how do we arrive at the undisputed truth of the matter?

We don’t. There will always be dispute. There will always be challenges. Our responsibility is to engage in the real practice of theology. It’s not understanding seeking faith. It’s faith seeking understanding. It’s not exegesis leading to a biblical theology. It’s traditional theology guiding biblical exegesis. This means contributing to the quest for understanding in community, offering up arguments and critiques, incorporating new evidence as it comes, constantly re-evaluating evidence, exploring new arguments, and always operating under the assumption that the dialogue will continue long after we’re gone. But we must always carry on the conversation in the context of the tradition and in the confines of the believing community.

Ideally my dialogical hermeneutical method ought to take place in a community of free and open dialogue in which various perspectives are heard, understood, discussed, and critiqued. But this is, of course, impossible. So, in the absence of such an ideal dialogical community we’re really just left with one practical solution. It’s the solution through which the Holy Spirit guided the church into truth for the last 2000 years. We struggle with the questions, we agonize over them, and we debate each other, all the while trusting that the Spirit will guide His church into the future as He has faithfully done in the past—in, though, with, among, and, more often than not, in spite of us.

True Community

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Community groups . . . community centers . . . building community . . . promoting community . . . community life . . . community churches . . . faith communities . . . the Christian community . . .

Community has become a buzzword in twenty-first century evangelicalism. Today’s churches have reacted decisively against the unhealthy and unbiblical obsession with the personal preference, private spirituality, and individualistic Christianity of the twentieth century. In its stead, many have been drawn to a community-oriented Christianity that more accurately reflects the koinonia emphasis of the New Testament—the corporate disciplines and worship, fellowship of the saints, and ministry that involves the whole Body of Christ.

But what does true community look like?

Two Types of Community

Imagine this kind of community: an uncomfortable hodgepodge of people we barely know, or, what’s worse, maybe we know some of them far too well and wish we didn’t. They come from different backgrounds, different walks of life, different pay grades, different generations. They’re just plain different. But we’ve been artificially mashed together in some kind of church activity—a Bible study, a Sunday school class, a small group, a ministry team. We grudgingly do our duties but keep our guards up and our masks on. We just can’t wait until this excruciating, “forced” community is over so we can get back to the people we’re comfortable with, the people we know, the people we love.

But then there’s our preferred model of community: comfort . . . familiarity . . . friends whose names we know and whose faces we’re actually happy to see. People we spend time with outside the church, people we’d actually invite for dinner. That kind of community usually means developing warm relationships with those of our own age group, our own stage of life. We love that kind of community. It feels natural. It feels more Christian. Surely, this is the kind of community we should be striving for. Clearly, the uncomfortable and awkward community can’t possibly result in a healthy church. Obviously, spiritual growth is much more likely in a community of comfort and ease rather than personality conflict and politics.

Or is it?

True Community

Not long ago a student wandered into my office to chat. After a few minutes, the conversation moved to the pervasive politics and personality conflicts involved in Christian communities. Our brief exchange went something like this:

“It’s everywhere,” I said. “Every church or ministry deals with this.”

“But we’re Christians. It’s not supposed to be that way. Doesn’t it bother you?”

At that moment I grabbed a thick book from one end of my desk and tossed it in front of him. Pointing at the volume on the history of Christianity, I said, “This is how it’s always been. This is how it will always be.” Then I placed my Bible on top of the history book. “And if you look in here, it’s exactly the same. Until Christ returns, this is the best we can hope for. But God’s Spirit works out His perfect plan in spite of us.”

It’s normal for Christians to be disappointed in Christians. We can be downright mean to each other sometimes. And if we can avoid outright conflict, there will still be frustration, inconvenience, discomfort . . . all the necessary ingredients and effects of true community.

I suggest that the more comfortable you feel in your Christian community, the less authentic the community. In 1 Corinthians 12:13 Paul writes, “For by one Spirit we were all baptized into one body, whether Jews or Greeks, whether slaves or free, and we were all made to drink of one Spirit.” Sometimes we read a passage like that and fail to think through its practical ramifications. Jews and Greeks didn’t get along in the ancient world. They came from completely different religious and cultural backgrounds, lived in separate communities, had different customs and languages. Slaves and free were from opposite social and economic communities. They didn’t mix well together. Division was the order of the day.

When these groups of men and women, slaves and masters, Jews and Greeks, were placed into one community, awkward discomfort—even outright conflict—ensued (read 1 Corinthians to see for yourself). That’s the natural result of mixing these diverse mini-communities into one meta-community. It was like mixing oil and water. Common sense tells us not to try. Church growth experts opt for affinity groups. Our emotions tell us to run in the other direction.

But shouldn’t Christian community transcend the natural? Shouldn’t it defy common sense? Shouldn’t it seek to overcome what “feels” good.

Confusion . . . discomfort . . . frustration . . . uneasiness . . . conflict. These are things of true community. These are the conditions that promote real spiritual growth. It’s easy to fake the fruit of the Spirit among people we pick as fellowship partners. It’s far more difficult to pretend love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control among those who irritate us. And putting our natural human inclinations to the test of real life gives God an opportunity to work among us in supernatural ways.

Living in True Community

Perhaps you’re feeling uncomfortable in your church, Bible study, Sunday school class, or fellowship group. Maybe it’s just a lingering sense that you’d fit in somewhere else. You’re probably right! But fitting in isn’t the goal of Christian community. The Spirit of God has been sent to create unity out of diversity, peace out of conflict, and healing out of wounded hearts. The greatest spiritual growth will come from overcoming differences, and the greatest testimony of God’s supernatural work in a Christian community will be the love and unity that results from taking the long, hard road of true community.

Don’t try to get out from under the sometimes excruciating conflict that comes through true community. Don’t try to seek out only those who share your opinions, your lifestyles, your careers. Rather, living in true community means caring for and fellowshipping with those who share nothing with us but the common bond of Christ. It may take time. It will certainly take faith, hope, and love. But the end result will be authentic relationships with real people based not on worldly reason or on fleeting feelings, but on the unifying work of the Spirit of God.

Proof of Paul’s Miracles: A Case of Self-Authenticating Testimony

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“Self-authenticating testimony” refers to written statements concerning a past event that must be regarded as accurate if both the writer and recipient of the correspondence shared first-hand knowledge of the event. This rule works for direct written correspondence (not hearsay or non-correspondence), and it obviously doesn’t apply to anonymous letters or forgeries. People can lie about what happened to them personally. They can exaggerate about what happened to somebody else. But people can’t get away with inaccurately reporting events that happened to both themselves and those to whom they are writing.

To illustrate this, let me use a couple modern examples. Imagine that I come to your home for dinner. While we chat, you and I begin to fiercely disagree over a political issue. I become so irate that I throw a whole bowl of potatoes at you then smash all your dishes before stomping out in a rage, vowing never to speak with you again. Then, two days later you receive a thank you letter from me that says the following: “Dear friend, thanks for the delightful evening. I genuinely enjoyed the meal and the splendid fellowship, especially the pleasant and stimulating conversation. It’s so good to know that we see eye-to-eye on things. I look forward to seeing you again soon.” Now, if you received that note, you would probably think I had either lost my mind or needed an exorcist. The fact is, nobody except a lunatic would write such a wildly inaccurate account to people who would know better.

Let me move this example into another realm. You invite me over to lead a small group Bible study. I arrive, give a brief lesson, spend time answering questions, pray, then leave. Nothing remarkable. The next week, however, your group receives a letter from me that says the following: “Dear brothers and sisters in Christ, I really enjoyed the time we had experiencing the Holy Spirit. I was especially amazed at the signs, wonder, and miracles God did through me, demonstrating Christ’s awesome resurrection power in your very midst. I look forward to doing this again real soon.” If your group received that letter, I would lose all credibility because I hadn’t done any signs, wonders, and miracles. Nobody but a lunatic would make such claims in written correspondence if his recipients would know it wasn’t so.

Now for a biblical example. Paul’s Second Letter to the Corinthians is a written correspondence referring to events that his readers would have been able to confirm or refute. (Remember, even liberal scholars regard 2 Corinthians as one of Paul’s “Hauptbriefe,” German for “primary letters”; that is, 2 Corinthians is universally regarded as an authentic letter of Paul, not a later forgery.) In this letter Paul wrote, “The signs of a true apostle were performed among you with all perseverance, by signs and wonders and miracles” (2 Corinthians 12:2). As he tried to assert his God-given authority as an apostle, Paul reminded his readers about the signs, wonders, and miracles he did when he was with them. This fits our description of self-authenticating testimony. Just as in my own illustration above, if Paul had done no signs, wonders, and miracles while he was in Corinth, he would have lost all credibility the moment the church read that claim. Why? Because they would have known better. So, we can conclude beyond a reasonable doubt that Paul did, in fact, perform miraculous deeds in Corinth.

These were not the T.V. healer kind of “miracles” that are unverifiable, faked, or exaggerated. The people in Corinth would have known immediately whether the miracles Paul performed were real or not. People of the ancient world may have believed in the supernatural (like most people today), and may even have been somewhat superstitious (like many people today), but they weren’t all ignorant and gullible. With all the wonder-working charlatans running around the Roman empire in those days, Paul’s signs, wonders, and miracles had to have stood out if he were to point to them later as proof of his divine authority. Furthermore, Paul’s actions were more than just one or two isolated events. Paul said he did multiple signs, wonders, and miracles—not just “a miracle” or “a sign.” And he did them “among you [plural],” not to some unknown individual whose story could be exaggerated. These had to have been major memory-makers for Paul to rely on the events to build his credibility in 2 Corinthians.

What does this mean for us? Hebrews 2:3–4 says, “How shall we escape if we neglect so great a salvation? After it was at the first spoken through the Lord [Jesus], it was confirmed to us by those who heard [the apostles], God also bearing witness with them, both by signs and wonders and by various miracles and by gifts of the Holy Spirit according to His own will.” The writer of Hebrews claims to have been part of those who were on the receiving end of the signs, wonders, and miracles of the apostles. And the implication is serious: because God enabled them to perform these miracles to confirm that their message about Christ was from God, we must pay close attention to their claims. The same is true today. We don’t need to have seen Paul’s miracles to know, based on his self-authenticating statements, that he actually did them. Second Corinthians 12:2 proves beyond a reasonable doubt that he actually and literally performed signs, wonders, and miracles.

So, Paul did miracles, proving that the message he preached came from God. He preached Christ as God’s Son who became man, died for our sins, rose from the dead, appeared to hundreds of his disciples . . . and then appeared to Paul, who had been working against Christians until that moment (see 1 Corinthians 15:1–9).

If you’re still skeptical about Paul’s claims, you might want to take another look. . . .

Scriptures I Could Do Without, Part 4: Philippians 4:13

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We all have them—passages of Scripture that we’d rather weren’t there . . . little unalterable truths we wish would just disappear . . . . statements about God or humanity that we’d like to revise. But no matter how hard we try to re-translate or re-interpret them, those convicting verses just won’t budge. And by the very fact that they torment us, they demand our attention . . . and submission.

I Can Do It!

“I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.”

When we take these words of Philippians 4:13 out of context, they appear to teach that with God’s help we can accomplish anything we set our hearts on. We see the extreme form of this with the Benny Hinns and Kenneth Copelands of the world—that is, God’s in the business of making us healthy, happy, successful, and prosperous.

But the context of this passage actually turns this frame-worthy motivational verse on its head:

I know how to get along with humble means, and I also know how to live in prosperity; in any and every circumstance I have learned the secret of being filled and going hungry, both of having abundance and suffering need. I can do all things through Him who strengthens me. (Philippians 4:12–13)

When Paul says he can do “all things” through Christ, he means that Christ had granted him the ability to live with plenty, and with nothing; to be satisfied with both an abundance, and with need. The key issue here is contentment . . . not ambition. It’s about being at peace with what you have or don’t have, not passionately pursuing more.

Relying on God for contentment makes perfect sense when we struggle with not having something we need or want. But why would we need to be content with having an abundance? In reality, if we reflect on the unique challenges of both the “Haves” and “Have Nots,” we’ll see that each must depend on God’s strength for contentment in either circumstance.

The Have Nots

Those who have less health, wealth, and success than others face unique spiritual struggles. I can think of three big ones.

1. The envy of others. When we can’t keep our eyes off of what other people have, it generates envy, jealousy, and covetousness. These can boil over into awful attitudes, mean-spirited comments, and evil actions. “I sure wish we could afford a car like the Joneses!” “John, why can’t you get a better job so we can have a bigger house like the Smiths?” The Bible diagnoses the problem this way: “You are envious and cannot obtain; so you fight and quarrel” (James 4:2).

2. The quest for more. When we compare what little we have with the abundance of others, it’s easy of set “more” as our primary goal. In our personal crusade for more, we would be tempted to conscript our time, energy, career, relationships, and family. But don’t do it. Heed Paul’s warning: “But those who want to get rich fall into temptation and a snare and many foolish and harmful desires which plunge men into ruin and destruction” (1 Timothy 6:9)

3. The pride of humility. Believe it or not, those with little can actually have more pride in their poverty than the rich have in their wealth. Some Christians think the poor and needy are necessarily less worldly than the rich. But this kind of spiritual pride is just as sinful as the boasts of a billionaire. Jesus said, “Many who are first will be last, and the last, first” (Mark 10:31). But seeking to be last in order to be first is really the same as seeking to be first! Just because I may have few material possessions doesn’t make me any less materialistic.

Clearly, the Have Nots need God’s gift of contentment in their humble circumstances. But what about the Haves?

The Haves

Those who have more than others also face unique spiritual struggles. Here are three.

1. Bragging and boasting. When we acquire an abundance, many of us feel like broadcasting it whenever we can. We’ll even gently steer conversations in a direction that allows us to boast. In many cases the motive can be to present ourselves as superior. It almost always involves an over-confidence in the power of wealth. Yet 1 Timothy 6:17 says, “Instruct those who are rich in this present world not to be conceited or to fix their hope on the uncertainty of riches, but on God.

2. Shame and guilt. Strangely, a common sin of the Haves is to be embarrassed about the abundance God has given them. Yes, some people who believe poverty is the ideal for the Christian may actually conceal their blessings. They may over-compensate by pretending to have less than they really do. But the wealthy should never be uncomfortable with their calling to be rich. Paul said that with their wealth, the rich are expected to “do good, to be rich in good works” (1 Timothy 6:18). Wealth is nothing to be ashamed of when it’s accompanied by humility and generosity.

3. To have and to hoard. Christian financial experts often spend more time talking about saving and investing than about giving and blessing. It seems that “stewardship” has become a synonym for “saving” or even “hoarding.” But Paul could not be more clear: the rich are to be “generous and ready to share” (1 Timothy 6:18). God blesses us so we can bless others. Ultimately, all that we have and will have belongs to the Lord.

I could go on exploring the unique challenges facing both the Haves and the Have Nots. But this should be enough to see that Paul had a reason for appealing to God’s strength to help him be content in both abundance and need. Whether you consider yourself to be a Have or a Have Not—whether it relates to health, education, wealth, or success—Paul’s prayer of contentment can apply to you: “I can do all things through Him who strengthens me” (Philippians 4:13).

What If Our "Center" Is Really the Fringe?

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In the nineteenth century America was beset with a major theological crisis in its churches and seminary. “Liberals” began questioning—then abandoning—the Christ-centered orthodox creeds and authoritative Scriptures in exchange for a man-centered religion of morality and cultural relevance. “Evangelicalism” originally sprang up as a defense of the “fundamentals” of the Christian faith. However, since its initial identity as the guardian of classic Protestant orthodoxy, evangelicalism has changed and developed over the decades.

So, in the twentieth century the “center” of evangelicalism began to materialize into a more solid core of beliefs and values. These included an emphasis on Scripture as the center, source, and norm of the faith, sometimes to the complete exclusion of other sources of theological understanding and reflection. And as happened in the liberalism of the previous century, the creeds, theological traditions, and historical continuity became less important . . . until in many branches of evangelical tradition they became irrelevant distractions or even signs of heterodox or heretical thinking. As long as a belief or practice conformed to Scripture, it was accepted—even if it was countered by all of church history and theological traditions. Other values also took the center stage of evangelicalism—practical theology, expository teaching and preaching, a revivalist view of the gospel, an unrelenting emphasis on free will and personal choice in conversion, and a militant conservative social and political perspective. In many sectors of evangelicalism, if somebody were to challenge these priorities, they would be labeled non-evangelicals, liberals, or even false teachers.

Yet as strange as it may sound, the “center” of some branches of evangelicalism seems to have become the “fringe” of classic orthodox Christianity. In short, many evangelical churches are appearing increasingly more “evangelical,” but increasingly less “Christian.”

You see, the center of Christianity has always been Jesus Christ. It is not the Bible. It is not expository preaching. It is not the a personal response to the gospel message. Rather, it is God the Son who became man, lived a life of perfect righteousness, revealed the Father and the Spirit, died for our sins, rose from the dead, and will come again. Through Christ we believe the Bible as the inspired and inerrant Word of God that points us to Him. Through Christ we encounter the Triune God of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Through Christ we have salvation and forgiveness of sins by grace through faith alone. Through Christ we are empowered to live a regenerated life by His Spirit. Through Christ we are incorporated into the church and receive instruction and inspiration to carry out its mission. Through Christ we have a proper view of the depravity and neediness of fallen humanity as well as the ideal model and ultimate pattern of redeemed humanity. And through Christ we can anticipate the new world to come when this fallen cosmos will be redeemed by His power and glory.

Don’t misunderstand me. I love the inerrant Word of God, powerful expository preaching, a clear presentation of the gospel of grace through faith, and all the things that mark me as a proud evangelical. But to the degree that evangelicalism has put the Bible at the center of the Christian worldview, it has removed Jesus Christ from the center. To the degree that it has focused on a personal, voluntary, and free-will response to a bare-bones gospel presentation, evangelicalism has reduced the profound person and work of Jesus Christ to mere propositions to be preached. To the degree that evangelicals have modeled their methods and structures after cultural forms with biblical proof-texts, they have failed to measure them against the one model of all things human and perfect: Jesus Christ.

So, I ask these important questions, only because it’s time we ask it. What if evangelicalism has unwittingly drifted not into error per se, but into an errant emphasis on things that were always meant to orbit around Jesus Christ and point to Him? What if twenty-first century evangelicals have replaced the Christ-centered community of faith and faithfulness with a subtle me-centered individualistic philosophy? What if the means of expressing the faith has become the faith itself? What if evangelicals have gone the way of nineteenth century liberalism and consciously drifted from a continuity with the Great Tradition of the church that has always placed Jesus Christ at the center of all things Christian? What if we’ve gone so far astray that everything I’m saying in this essay actually sounds liberal to its readers?

In short, what if the “center” of much evangelicalism has actually become the “fringe” of authentic, historical Christianity?