The Problem with Prayer

Posted on August 7, 2008 by Svigel

For many, there appears to be a problem with prayer. How many times have you heard (or thought) some of these responses to prayer?

· “It’s a one-way conversation.”

· “It doesn’t seem to work.”

· “God takes too long to answer.”

· “God does what He wants anyway.”

Crushed between the mortar and pestle of life, it’s easy to think there’s a serious problem with prayer: God. When God doesn’t answer according to our will, we can get frustrated. We can feel like our prayers are just floating around the universe like a comet adrift, too insignificant to catch the Creator’s attention. In the midst of this disappointment, we’re often too slow to accept that the problem with prayer is not God, but us.

I used to think that life would be a lot easier if God answered a few more strategic prayers—just a couple key petitions to remind us that He’s listening. I was convinced that a profound healing here and there would add spice to the life of the church.

Then God healed Karen.

Our Sunday school class gathered for desperate prayer the night before the surgery scheduled to remove a tumor from Karen’s brain. The surgery would probably render her unable to speak for a long time. Leading the prayer, I asked God to comfort her husband, daughter, and family at this time of crisis, to help the surgeons, to speed her recovery, and—if He willed—to miraculously heal her.

Of course, that last part was just to satisfy the expectations of the group. Although I believed God could instantly heal Karen, I was certain He would use less glorious means. As we drove home, I even told my wife, “Karen will probably never be the same again.”

The next morning the tumor had disappeared.

I assumed Karen’s response would be just as profound as God’s answer to prayer. After all, when a person experiences the awesome intervention of the Almighty God, we should expect an explosive revival, right?

Less than a year later, Karen left the church and divorced her husband.

I had always thought answers to prayer would strengthen faith and ignite thanksgiving. Disappointed in Karen’s life choices in light of her healing, I was reminded that even the Israelites grumbled and rebelled in the midst of powerful answers to their requests (Numbers 11:1-4).

You see, the problem with prayer is not God, but us.

There’s also a problem of abusing prayer. When I was a new Christian, I mistakenly followed the “prosperity gospel,” the “name it-claim it” theology that overwhelms Christian television and bookstores. “Don’t make negative confessions,” I was told. “If you’re sick, confess that you’re healed!”

On one occasion I mentioned to a self-proclaimed “prophetess” that I was going bald. Instantly, she placed her hand on my head and shouted, “No you’re not—in the name of Jesus!” That “prophetess” treated prayer like a gift card she could whip out at any time to make major purchases.

We may not be as extreme as that woman, but we can all fall into the trap of abusing prayer. While we may tack on a halfhearted “Thy will be done,” deep down we think, “No! My will be done!” Yes, Christ said, “Ask, and it will be given to you” (Matthew 7:7), but his brother James reminds us, “You ask and do not receive, because you ask with wrong motives” (James 4:3).

Once again, the problem with prayer is not God, but us.

How do we correct the problem with prayer? After a dozen years in Bible college, seminary, and Ph.D. studies, I’d hoped to finally have a handle on prayer. I don’t. In fact, the more I pray, the less I understand its profound mysteries. However, I’ve come to several conclusions that might help correct our perceived problems with prayer.

First, we need to understand that the purpose of prayer is not for God to please us, but for God to change us. If a father constantly gives in to a little child’s whiny demands, we’d take him for a lousy parent. Why, then, do some think God’s a stubborn God when He doesn’t give us everything we want? We need to trust that God is wise and powerful enough to answer rightly—and right on time. First John 5:14 says, “This is the confidence which we have before Him, that, if we ask anything according to His will, He hears us.” That is, God won’t jump at every loose-lipped confession. Prayer offered up in true faith submits to His will—our sanctification (1 Thessalonians 4:3). God’s will is to change us, not please us.

Second, we need to accept that the power of prayer is perceived in even the smallest response. I’m convinced that humans don’t fully comprehend how little we deserve God’s love and grace. Consider that what we regard as “crumbs” of answered prayer may really be bountiful feasts once we realize that God owes us nothing (Genesis 32:9-10; Luke 7:6-9). When we adjust our attitude about our own unworthiness to receive God’s favor, we’ll never regard “small” answers to prayer as insignificant.

Finally, we need to acknowledge that the process of prayer is not as important as the attitude of prayer. When God chose in His sovereignty to heal Karen, He did so even though none of us expected it. Our feeble prayer was a simple act of faith—turning our worries over to God’s care (Philippians 4:6; 1 Peter 5:6-7). Christians can get hung up on method, worried that they haven’t said the right words, haven’t prayed hard or often enough, or haven’t believed deeply enough. That’s hocus-pocus, not prayer (Matthew 6:5-8). If you’re concerned about not praying with the right words or for the right things, memorize Romans 8:26—God’s Spirit even helped Paul pray!

Of course these reminders are easy to read, but they’re not easy to live. To our finite human minds, we’ll always perceive “problems” with prayer. Are you struggling with your prayer life, not seeing results, wondering if God is listening? It might be time for an attitude change. It might be time to finally accept that the problem with prayer is not God, but us.

Whatchama-Called

Posted on July 25, 2008 by Svigel

“I feel called to serve in the youth ministry” . . . “My wife and I feel called to a different church” . . . “I felt called into ministry at an early age” . . . “I feel called to talk to you about this.”

This kind of language about feeling called, feeling led, feeling drawn by God to a particular ministry, task, or direction is quite common among Christians. You probably hear it often. You probably say it yourself from time to time. But have you ever stopped to ask yourself whether such an idea of an internal subjective feeling of being called to some place, thing, or task is biblical? Have you ever wondered whether your feelings about God calling you may, in fact, be your own personal desires, wishes, longings, ambitions, or pursuits?

It may startle you to learn that nowhere in the Bible do we find an example of a person “feeling called” by God without an external, verifiable call. Most often when the Bible talks about God’s calling, it refers to the call to repentance, salvation, or covenant faithfulness—a general call to all, though it is often coupled with God’s sovereign call of election, or choosing (Isaiah 48:12; Jer 7:13; Matt 22:14; Rom 8:28–30; 9:24; and many more). Thus, Paul wrote in 2 Thessalonians 2:14, “It was for this He called you through our gospel, that you may gain the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ.”

Another kind of calling in the Bible came in the form of an audible (and sometimes even visible) calling from God to a particular task or ministry. Abraham’s calling to the land of Canaan was audible, visible, and repeated (Heb 11:8). Moses’s call came audibly from a burning bush (Exod 3:4). The calling of Bezalel to the task of crafting the tabernacle in the wilderness came by an audible call from God through Moses (Exod 31:1–6). And who could forget Samuel’s repeated call by God in 1 Samuel 3:2–11, where the voice was so clear that he thought it was that of his master, Eli, nearby. Similarly, Paul’s call to be an apostle (Rom 1:1) was no inner conviction or nagging desire to serve, but a brilliant encounter with the resurrected Lord Jesus Christ Himself on the road to Damascus (Acts 9:1–18).

Another type of call—a bit more subtle, but genuine—came from the Holy Spirit through the official leaders of the Christian community. This official call by the Church was accompanied by an official appointment, usually marked by the laying on of hands. Acts 13:2–4 gives a good example of this kind of authentic call to ministry. As the official leaders of the church were gathered together, praying and fasting, the Holy Spirit said, “Set apart for Me Barnabas and Saul for the work to which I have called them” (Acts 13:2). In response to this word from the Lord, the leaders of the church appointed Barnabas and Saul to their ministries, laying hands on them and praying for them, which was a common means of ordination to ministry in the ancient world.

Whether or not Saul and Barnabas “felt” called to this ministry was irrelevant. Certainly, Paul had earlier experienced a dramatic conversion and received a general call directly from the mouth of Christ, but the specific “where” and “when” of the call were still being discovered. Perhaps Paul and Barnabas had inner yearnings to pursue that particular ministry from Antioch; or maybe they had been resisting the idea. But their personal feelings really weren’t decisive. Instead, the Holy Spirit called these men and revealed His will through the patient, prayerful, and wise discernment of the leadership and community in which they were ministering day to day. Whether the Holy Spirit spoke audibly, we can not know for sure. But we do know that the Holy Spirit spoke through the leadership and the community, that is, through the Church.

So, how does a person discern a calling into ministry, a call by God to a particular task? This is not an easy question to answer, but I can trace the contours of what this should look like. First and foremost, a Christian should be aware of his or her general call to holy living and Christian testimony, the call all believers have by virtue of being called to salvation through Jesus Christ (1 Cor 7:15; Gal 5:13; 2 Thess 2:14). This includes a call to walk in newness of life, to love the brethren, and to proclaim Christ near and far. It implies a committed relationship to the Church universal and local, to build up the body of Christ through humble service, to give and live sacrificially. These things constitute the clear calling to which all Christians are to respond daily. They require no special recommendation or invitation, but they do, of course, require constant reminders and repeated exhortations. We too quickly forget the calling to which we are all called!

Second, the biblical pattern of calling to specific ministries or tasks involved either an audible (and often repeated) call from God, or an official invitation by legitimate spiritual leadership confirmed by the Church community. In the Old Testament this kind of call came through the God-appointed prophets, priests, and kings. In the New Testament it came through the pastors, elders, teachers, and leadership within the worshiping and praying community of the Church or even through the counsel of wise, mature, and trusted brothers and sisters in Christ.

For the last decade or so I have generally lived by a maxim that was advocated by an old professor of mine, who is now, remarkably, a colleague. He probably doesn’t even remember saying it, but it made a great impression on me. In the context of questions about God’s leading and calling, he said, “I don’t do anything I’m not asked to do.” At that moment I believed those words. I ran through the instances of callings and commands in the Bible and realized it fit quite nicely. So I abandoned the typical approach of “I feel called” and decided that my personal feelings on the matter would be the last and least of my criteria for determining God’s will for me. If God wants me to do something, He will call me as He called those in the Bible—through the wise, prayerful guidance and shepherding of His ordained leaders and through the Spirit-filled community. When I finally accepted this biblical approach to calling, I felt liberated. No longer would I have to worry about missing God’s call, misunderstanding His call, aggressively pursuing opportunities, sending out resumes, competing for positions. God would call in His timing and by His own means. This doesn’t mean we remain passive. The general calling of the Christian to loving, serving, and living the Christian life will keep us all busy as we await His various specific calls to particular tasks. But this perspective does mean we aren’t constantly on the hunt for bigger and better opportunities, as if ministry were a competitive career field in which our primary goal is to get ahead. Nor does this mean that we say “yes” to every leader’s whim or friend’s request. Nobody can do everything, but all of us are called to do something.

The idea of “feeling called” to the ministry, “feeling called” to a task, “feeling called” to a particular place—this idea of feeling called to anything has become far too common in Christian parlance. It must stop. It is not biblical. And it can be absolutely disastrous. How many people have gone into ministry or into the mission field because they felt called. How many leaders and church communities have accepted such people because they felt they could not counter a personal calling from God? Don’t misunderstand me. A person may feel compelled, gifted, even “called” to ministry, but unless that urge and desire is confirmed by God’s chosen means of calling and sending from His community through the Holy Spirit, the feelings should never be the sole—nor even the primary—basis for action. In many cases (perhaps in most), our personal feelings on the matter are completely irrelevant.

Sancti-fried?

Posted on July 6, 2008 by Svigel

We’ve all been there. Slowly climbing the narrow road of the Christian life, we suddenly take a bad step and end up blowing it . . . again. The progress we had made along that precarious path becomes pointless as we slide down that craggy ledge and find ourselves once again brushing the dirt off our white robes and bandaging bruises that mark us as defeated saints. As we ponder whether it’s even worth pressing on, Satan taunts us from the nearby outcroppings, urging us to just give up. Even worse, our more “saintly” brothers and sisters in Christ shake their heads and cluck their tongues as they peer at us accusingly from farther up the slope.

The life of spiritual growth, impressively called “sanctification,” can often feel like an exercise in absolute and utter futility. Frustration, exasperation, exhaustion, disillusionment, depression—sadly, these are some of the feelings that accompany the failures of struggling saints as they desperately try to live the Christian life, putting to death the desires of the flesh and living out the fruit of the Spirit. The seemingly endless cycle of sin, repentance, sin, repentance, sin, repentance can nauseate us, making us wonder whether real sanctification is even possible in this life . . . convincing many that it’s not.

Let’s face it, in many of our approaches to the Christian life, it’s easy to get burned out, wiped out, worn out . . . sancti-fried.

Broken Promises or False Hopes?

One cause of our frustration with sanctification is our unrealistic expectation. We’ve heard so many stories about people being “delivered” from alcoholism, drug addiction, or sexual immorality. Testimonies shine brilliantly with flashy conversions in which a person’s life alters dramatically, in which a new birth seems to have completely killed the old man. The struggling Christian who endures the painfully slow process of sanctification might be able to handle hearing about these miraculous transformations if it wasn’t for those few who try to force their amazing experiences on everybody else. “God saved me and delivered me instantly from such-and-such . . . and He’ll do the same for you!” But when my instant deliverance doesn’t come, whose fault is it? God’s? Surely not! It must, of course, be my fault because I’m just too weak, too faithless, too immature, too carnal. Or maybe I’m just not really saved. If the Spirit of God did it for her, why won’t He do it for me?

It is true that God promised to work in us “both to will and to work for His good pleasure” (Philippians 2:13), and that we were “created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand so that we would walk in them” (Ephesians 2:10), and that it is His mighty Spirit, not our weak flesh, who yields through us the fruit of good works against which “there is no law” (Galatians 5:23). However, it is also true that God produces in some thirty, sixty, or a hundred times what was sown (Matthew 13:8, 23). We forget that God displays His glory in us and through us according to His own timing and for His own purposes. It is not for the clay in the Potter’s hands to say that God would get greater glory if He would fire us in His kiln today rather than constantly form us in His hands through a painful process of molding, making, casting, and re-casting. As Paul said, “The thing molded will not say to the molder, ‘Why did you make me like this,’ will it?” (Romans 9:20). Trusting God for sanctification means trusting that He will work in different ways and at different times with different saints.

As Good as It Gets?

In the movie As Good As It Gets, Jack Nicholson plays an author with severe obsessive-compulsive disorder struggling to cope with the real world. In one scene Nicholson’s character, after trying to barge in on his psychiatrist for an emergency meeting, stares into the waiting room filled with nervous clients and blurts out, “What if this is as good as it gets?”

After many years of struggling with temptation and sin, growing sometimes in great leaps and other times in almost imperceptible steps, I have learned that a common experience among most Christians is struggle. Just when our struggle brings victory, it opens up to a whole new (or even old), conflict with sin. And in the midst of the conflict, with no end in sight, we can easily grow disillusioned, wondering, “Is this even real? Does God even want me to be righteous? Why doesn’t He help?”

I’ll never forget the words of an older professor of mine back in Bible College when he answered a question about struggling with sin. “Young Christians are always coming to me saying, ‘I’m struggling with this sin, or I keep struggling with that sin,’ as if there’s something wrong with struggling with sin. That’s good! Struggle! It’s when you give up struggling that something’s wrong.”

Those words are golden. And they have helped lead me to a very important conclusion about sanctification—the struggle is normal. Absolute victory and absolute defeat should not be the common experience of the Christian life. The frustrating, unending, wearisome struggle between the flesh and the Spirit and the resulting ups and downs of the Christian life is, in most cases, as good as it gets.

Are you struggling with sin? Wondering if God is hearing your desperate pleas for strength to break the unending cycle of temptation and transgression? Ready to just give up, surrender to the flesh? Are you sancti-fried?

Join the club. We’re all there. And if you’re not there with us—if you’re a super-saint who thinks you have sanctification down to a science—go away. I want to hang out with fellow dirty, ragged, beaten-up pilgrims struggling with daily sin, putting up a brutal fight against temptation, and hoping for deliverance with an irrational faith. Oh, and if you’re one of those who has given up, who thinks the promise of sanctification is a sham, come back. The promises you believed about the nature and process (and even the means) of spiritual growth were probably not the promises of God, but of men.

Listen, saints, until we’ve struggled with sin to the very end (Hebrews 12:4), our journey on the rocky road of sanctification isn’t over. The good news—and the one we so quickly forget—is that none of us is on this journey alone.

[Want more on a classical and community-oriented approach to the Christian life? Read Part 4, “RetroSpirituality” in RetroChristianity: Reclaiming the Forgotten Faith available at Amazon or your favorite online bookseller.]

Be Taught . . . Be Stable

Posted on May 27, 2008 by Svigel

Is the Bible difficult to understand?

Yes and no.

Around AD 185, Irenaeus of Lyons wrote, “The entire Scriptures, the prophets, and the Gospels, can be clearly, unambiguously, and harmoniously understood by all, although all do not believe them” (Against Heresies 2.27.3). But that famous pastor was describing a particular kind of student who was “devoted to piety and the love of truth,” who would “eagerly meditate upon those things which God has . . . subjected to our knowledge.” Such a student of Scripture would “make advancement in acquaintance with them, rendering the knowledge of them easy to him by means of daily study” (2.27.1). The flip side of this is that the impious, the lazy, and those who fail to accept the limitations of our knowledge would not achieve even the basic level of proficiency in his or her understanding of the Bible.

Over a hundred years earlier, the apostle Peter gave us a similar warning about understanding Scripture. With reference to Paul’s writings, he said, “Some things [are] hard to understand, which the untaught and unstable distort, as they do also the rest of the Scriptures, to their own destruction” (2 Peter 3:16).

How do we avoid becoming like those Scripture Twisters who wound verses of the Bible into a spiritual hangman’s noose? Peter painted a clear picture of them, and we ought to listen to his warning.

Untaught and Unstable

Peter said the “untaught” and “unstable” twisted Paul’s writings to their destruction. The Greek word translated “untaught” is the literal opposite of “discipled.” A discipled person was an apprentice who learned from a teacher over the course of several years. Thus, Peter said that one way to be a Scripture Twister was to be untaught by a teacher. The implication is clear: only those who have been trained can be expected to skillfully weave passages of Scripture together into a unified whole centered on Christ and faithfully representing the pattern of Christian truth. Paul called this skill “accurately handling the word of truth” (2 Timothy 2:15). Peter also described Scripture Twisters as “unstable.” They were ungrounded, off kilter, “tipsy.” Picture the difference between a trailer house standing on cinder blocks and a building resting on bedrock. The unstable were like reeds in the wind, waving to and fro with the changing winds.

What was true in Peter’s day has never changed. Today untaught and unstable people distort the Scriptures, often unknowingly. They misread and misunderstand the Bible because they lack the patience, the humility, or the endurance to pass from spiritual infancy to adulthood, from the rank of novice to the rank of master. Yet they rest their bad theology and practice on the Bible and claim to be masters and teachers of things they don’t really understand (1 Timothy 1:7). They scoff at authority, reject tradition, and throw out the perspectives of other believers. All the while they claim “the Bible alone” as their only source of authority, not realizing that they naively read into the Bible their own inaccurate ideas.

In light of Peter’s warning, Bible-believing Christians need to be particularly cautious about how we read the Bible . . . and how we tell others to read it. For example, I recently read a book suggesting that if my Bible has study notes I ought to throw it away and get a blank Bible to read with fresh eyes . . . the teacher’s notes might twist my thinking! For another example: how many times have you been advised not to consult commentaries until you’ve come up with our own, personal interpretation? In light of Peter’s warning, I can’t help but read such exhortations as encouraging Christians to be “untaught.”

Peter would not have approved.

Am I saying that we should stop reading our Bibles on our own? No. But I am saying we should never read our Bibles in isolation. Taking personal initiative to read and study Scripture is right. But rejecting training and accountability with others as we read the Bible is wrong.

Be Taught . . . Be Stable

What, then, are we to do to handle the Bible accurately? Peter has already given us the answer: be taught and be stable. But how? By submitting to the teaching of the Holy Spirit working through His gifted teachers in the Spirit-indwelled community. We often appeal to the Holy Spirit’s direct, individual, personal work in our hearts to teach us (John 16:13). But this is only half the truth. The New Testament emphasizes over and over that the Spirit not only indwells individuals (1 Corinthians 6:19), making them responsive to the truth (1 Corinthians 2:14), but the Spirit also indwells the church (1 Corinthians 3:16), promoting the faithful teaching of the truth. This corporate model of how we are to be taught and be stable through the working of the Body of Christ is most clearly expressed in Ephesians 4:11–16.

And He gave some as apostles, and some as prophets, and some as evangelists, and some as pastors and teachers, for the equipping of the saints for the work of service, to the building up of the body of Christ; until we all attain to the unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to a mature man, to the measure of the stature which belongs to the fullness of Christ. As a result, we are no longer to be children, tossed here and there by waves, and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by the trickery of men, by craftiness in deceitful scheming; but speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in all aspects into Him, who is the head, even Christ, from whom the whole body, being fitted and held together by that which every joint supplies, according to the proper working of each individual part, causes the growth of the body for the building up of itself in love.

Did you catch all the ingredients for being taught and being stable? Learning under gifted teachers . . . being fitted together . . . each individual playing a part . . . growing from childhood to adulthood . . . attaining the unity of the faith. Instead of throwing out my study Bible, I ought to let it fill the gaps in my knowledge. Instead of making commentaries my last ditch effort, I should learn from godly scholars. Rather than reinventing the wheel or seeking out the latest fad, I should explore the rich heritage of Christians who have come before me. And rather than leaning on my own personal understanding, I ought to glean what I can from the insights of other believers around me.

If we want to avoid becoming Scripture Twisters, we need to balance our personal Bible reading with community study under gifted teachers. Only in the context of a Bible-believing community led by trained and gifted leaders, we will become taught and stable teachers of Scripture, “accurately handling the word of truth.”

Leading Evidence

Posted on March 7, 2008 by Svigel

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.