I tend to annoy people on both sides of the spectrum (belief in miracles spectrum, of course) [...]]]> Allan Bevere asks an interesting question today on his blog: Just how important is the doctrine of the virgin birth to you? He titles the post Must One Believe in the Virgin Birth to Be a Christian?

I tend to annoy people on both sides of the spectrum (belief in miracles spectrum, of course) because despite the word “liberal” in the subtitle of this blog I do, in fact, believe in the virgin birth as an event that happened in history, but at the same time, I’m not concerned with whether others believe it or not. Allan cites Albert Mohler, who believes it is necessary to accept the virgin birth in order to be a Christian.

Allan also stomps on one annoying tendency, the way in which some liberals tend to pounce on conservatives as less intellectual because of their beliefs. If one accepts miracles, one is less sophisticated. But I think it is only fair to point out the opposite fault in Mohler’s article, the tendency to regard liberals as less devout because of the things they don’t believe in.

Nicholas Kristof pointed to his grandfather as a “devout” Presbyterian elder who believed that the Virgin Birth is a “pious legend.” Follow his example, Kristof encourages, and join the modern age. But we must face the hard fact that Kristof’s grandfather denied the faith. This is a very strange and perverse definition of “devout.”

This is a conservative’s way of belittling an opponent, just as “intellectually unsophisticated” is the liberal’s approach. I must, however, point out that neither side is above using the other’s ammunition, and that both sides have those who avoid either fault.

In support of my belief in the virgin birth, I will be very brief. I’ve already accepted the bodily resurrection, so the virgin birth hardly seems like an issue to me. At the same time, and more importantly, I accept the incarnation as both true and as the most central doctrine of Christianity, and if I can accept that infinite God can become a human being, the idea that this might be accomplished through a virgin birth again seems pretty trivial.

In support of my belief that the virgin birth is not essential, I will again cite the doctrine of the incarnation. I believe the incarnation is absolutely critical. It’s quite possible, however, to see the virgin birth as a metaphorical statement of that doctrine, or perhaps more precisely an expression of part of the meaning of that doctrine. I don’t even claim to have any details in mind on how the virgin birth might occur. Did God create a new baby in the womb? Did God adjust the DNA? So despite believing in a virgin birth as a historical event, I don’t have a clue as to how it happened. Thus in teaching it, I probably say almost the same things as would someone who believed it was purely metaphor.

And that brings me to whale’s bellies. On The Jesus Creed we have Scot McKnight getting involved in the question of the historicity of the book of Jonah. (I’ll leave you to follow the further links there.) A miracle of preserving someone’s life for three days inside a sea creature of some sort, whether a whale or something else, is again trivial alongside the incarnation and the resurrection. But I don’t believe the book of Jonah is historical. Why? I think there’s very good evidence in the text that we’re reading fiction designed to make some very specific points to an audience in a different time and place than the one in which the story is set. I don’t have a problem with the miracle. Were I convinced that Jonah was history, nothing else in my belief system would have to change. God could manage the whale’s belly thing. I just happen to believe God did not do so. But if you want to accuse me of being intellectually unsophisticated, go ahead. Because I am intellectually unsophisticated enough to believe the miracle is possible.

Then there’s the question of Jesus’ use of the three days motif from Jonah. I will simply comment that I know one can refer to a fictional story in this fashion because I have done it myself. I’ve used a fictional story to illustrate a real event and it has generally worked just fine. Occasionally fine, fact-oriented, 21st century folks get upset with me about it, but I tell them to chill.

I want to respond also to the first comment on McKnight’s article, which is from Joe Carter. Here he wonders how we might distinguish when Jesus is using supernatural power and when he’s using the knowledge of his culture. I’d make two points. 1) If Jesus didn’t use the knowledge of his culture, could he really have been said to have lived as a human? Would not constant supernatural knowledge make him not quite truly human? 2) Is this not the common problem in reading scripture? We distinguish the cultural background from the message all the time in case after case. Surely it is not that difficult in most cases, and in many cases where it is difficult, it is not all that important.

I must admit that I’ve [...]]]> Michael Patton, who often steps into controversial issues (which I do not mean as a criticism), asks why people love C. S. Lewis, but hate Rob Bell. His conclusion is that this is because Bell’s ideas that push the boundaries characterize his ministry, unlike those of C. S. Lewis.

I must admit that I’ve read only a few lines of Rob Bell, while I’ve read just about everything related to Christianity that C. S. Lewis ever wrote. In addition, I’m not a universalist, though I don’t automatically call universalists heretics.

But I ‘m going to suggest a different reason why people perceive these two men so differently. Rob Bell is contemporary. He may say many things other than what he said in his most recent book, but he has managed to become the poster boy for certain controversies. I’m not sure that his ministry is characterized by this one topic; it’s the publicity about him that bears that character.

C. S. Lewis got started defending Christianity, and that certainly did make it easier for him to get accepted regarding other ideas. But he gets a pass on many doctrines that in others are regarded as heretical. In my view, other thinkers should get similarly gracious treatment.

(Note: I ignore here issues of writing quality. In the little bit I’ve read, I’ve come to doubt I could tolerate reading an entire book by Rob Bell, whereas I really enjoy Lewis’s prose. But I haven’t read enough of Bell to make that a firm opinion of his writing.)

First, a common objection I hear to the new atheists is that they are too vocal and forceful. I think this criticism is not [...]]]> Laura at Pursuing Holiness has a good post on a Christian response to the New Atheism. I agree largely with Laura, though I would comment on a couple of details.

First, a common objection I hear to the new atheists is that they are too vocal and forceful. I think this criticism is not well directed. There is no reason to expect atheists to be quiet about what they believe. As Christians we do not want to be muzzled. What purpose is there in trying to do the same to others.

Second, my Christian friends, there are real atheists out there. There are some people who call themselves athesists who really are just backslidden Christians or often people have been so offended by other Christians that they can’t stand Christianity as a religion. But there are others who are philosophically convinced that there is no god of any variety.

Neither of these points is actually in response to Laura, but rather to comments made to me or read elsewhere.

Christian apologetics is important, but its role is different than many people seem to think. Few people are argued into the kingdom, if any. What apologetics (done right) can accomplish is to clear the ground, deal with particular objections, and help Christians better understand their own theology and its impact on other areas of their lives.

In the substance of her post I think Laura is right on. The best defense we can possibly give to Christianity is to be Christian disciples. I don’t know where some of the commenters on Laura’s post go to church, but what I hear about social justice in church is not soft or easy. There is a view of social justice which calls for Christians to automatically support government programs that claim to help the poor because that is social justice. Biblical social justice calls on me to give of myself. It’s not a political manifesto; it’s a call to me personally and as part of a church community to carry out sacrificial ministry.

I am perfectly comfortable with having Christians arguing from all portions of the political spectrum as to what government’s role should be. A Christian’s duty is not fulfilled by advocacy for government action, nor are Christians derelict in their duty if they believe such social action is not an appropriate sphere of government action.

But both groups (and folks like me in the middle) are derelict in their Christian duty if they are not serving others by giving of themselves.

The church has, in fact, failed in its duty to challenge the culture and to be God’s kingdom in the world. Our first loyalty has to be to the Kingdom of God and not the nations of the world. We need to get our primary loyalty straightened out so that people can tell we’re Christians and that this makes a difference.

And while we are about this type of social justice we need to remember that the core of any social justice we pursue must be the gospel message. My impression based on our actions is that we do not generally believe, on the left or the right, that the gospel message really can change lives. If we believed it our answer to many issues would be simple: the gospel of Jesus Christ.

This is not, as Laura put it, merely a form of fire insurance. It is a message that is transforming and demanding, two characteristics missing from too many of our churches. (Of course it is God who transforms, but he has chosen to do so through the proclamation of the gospel.)

I’d like to commend two books that I publish on this topic, and a third that is forthcoming. Christian Archy (David Alan Black) talks about our first loyalty to God’s kingdom. We will be releasing another volume, The Politics of Witness (Allan R. Bevere) in the same series that discusses why the church cannot speak truth to power today. On the matter of Christian discipleship we have The Jesus Paradigm (David Alan Black).

C. S. Lewis is, of course, a brilliant writer. I enjoy reading even those things with which I disagree, and not just because I like to be challenged. [...]]]> There’s an article in the Touchstone archives by Bishop Wright which I find very interesting, largely because it expresses some of my own feelings regarding Lewis.

C. S. Lewis is, of course, a brilliant writer. I enjoy reading even those things with which I disagree, and not just because I like to be challenged. He simply uses the language brilliantly. I would also say that the book Mere Christianity played a role in my Christian life both when I was a student, and then when I was returning to church. At the same time, I don’t use a great deal of the apologetics that Lewis used in supporting my own faith in discussions with others. The trilemna, for example, doesn’t work for me as an argument for the divinity of Jesus. It does help clarify things, I believe, at a certain point, but it is not, in itself, convincing.

I have also observed what Wright notes as well, that C. S. Lewis, though often embraced by conservative evangelicals, was not one himself. I would note that even from my more liberal perspective, I find Lewis’s view of inspiration to be a bit beyond where I want to go. Nonetheless, I think I can understand the value of Lewis to evangelicals in that he makes some fairly viable statements on some of the essentials, and he provides us with expressions of many other ideas that are valuable in themselves.

All in all, thanks to Bishop Wright for helping clarify some of my own thinking about one of my favorite authors. (Wright himself is another, though he tends to be a little less delightful in style!)

I see very little future, however, for the day-age theory, despite its strong [...]]]> While I am much more in support of the approach of BioLogos than Reasons to Believe, I’m glad to see that they are discussing. Perhaps laying out the details of each group’s approach may help Christians understand the issues more clearly.

I see very little future, however, for the day-age theory, despite its strong acceptance amongst Christians. I think it’s rather an uphill battle to suggest that the actual intent of the writer of Genesis 1-2 was to portray the days as ages, and fitting geological history into a day-age theory seems to require some selective use of the evidence.

I think the evidence is pretty good that the early Israelites would have heard this primarily as seven literal days. It is the progress of geology and biology, particularly evolutionary biology that makes us think otherwise. My position continues to be that God speaks to a time and culture in words and concepts that are understood by that culture. If we then listen in on their dialogue with God, as we do in reading scripture, we must translate the message into a new cultural context.

Thus I see much more role for theology than for strict exegesis in the reconciliation of Genesis and science, though I believe that the process of reconciliation largely teaches us that such reconciliation is beside the point.

(For those interested, he is [...]]]> I want to discuss inspiration just a bit, partly because it is relevant to my next post on Biblical interpretation (I hope to post it later today), and partly because there is someone on Twitter who is spouting a great deal of nonsense with regard to parallels and borrowing.

(For those interested, he is @BibleAlsoSays, he claims to be “Religion’s Nightmare,” and he has a rather routine web site by the same name. If you are a believer, don’t worry about going to the non-believers side. You’ve likely heard all these accusations before.)

But my purpose here is to take a quick look at the way in which we debate inspiration, particularly, but not exclusively, when we’re using the term “inerrancy.” I would note that the problem I’m discussing remains the same in any discussion in which some form of inspiration beyond an ordinary text is claimed of scripture.

I recall an e-mail discussion I had with a Muslim lady some years back. She seemed to believe I was a sincere Christian who might be willing to look at something better. We exchanged several e-mails, but her final attempt to persuade me can be summarized as: The Qur’an provides you with a clear and absolute answer for every question and aspect of life.

Now I don’t know enough about Islam or the Qur’an to say just how many Muslims would agree with that, though I have heard it from more than one Muslim, so I know it is not a unique argument. What ended our discussion was my response. I told her that I didn’t find that to be an attractive quality in a holy book. She was quite stunned.

You see, to her it was obvious that a book that answered all of her questions and gave her absolute ground on which to stand must be divine.

I hear the inverse of that argument quite frequently. There is some aspect or another of the Bible that someone thinks is inconsistent with divine revelation. They bring this to me, sometimes repeatedly, because it is so obvious to them that it is the nail in the coffin of my faith, and they are quite stunned when my faith doesn’t merely rise from the supposed coffin–it never got in it in the first place.

The problem, stated simply, is this: What are the proper characteristics of divine revelation, and how do you make that determination? In each of these cases, someone has determined what divine revelation must or must not be, and thus their argument is conclusive. Well, it’s conclusive if you accept their assumption.

Now some of you might be questioning me on another point, which is just how parallel the parallels are, and just how “copied” the copied scriptures are. This is a good question. While one may find strong parallels to the stories of creation and the flood, one also finds significant differences.

It is my contention, for example, that the Genesis account was not copied from the Babylonian or Sumerian accounts, but that the author was aware of other creation accounts and intentionally contradicted them. One need only compare the function of the wind in Enuma Elish to Genesis 1:2 to get my basic point.

But in addition, while one may demonstrate a parallel in certain places, it is much harder in others. Where in the ancient world do we find poetry comparable in style and theme to that of Isaiah 40-66? Where do we find struggles with God that are truly like those of Jeremiah?

But valid as those points are, I don’t think they get to the basic point, which is that we impose a set of assumptions of what a sacred text should be on various sacred texts, which would result in nothing more than selecting the sacred text that we find most helpful to the needs we feel. But is that a valid argument for truth?

I would suggest that a major part of the problem here is the attempt to select a religious text as standard prior to a “selection” of faith or a faith community. In my own experience, an acceptance of scripture was not logically prior to an acceptance of Christ, even though I knew scripture.

I might put it this way: The good news (gospel) is not that the Bible is true and you ought to obey it, but rather that Jesus Christ died for your sins and rose from the dead. I become part of the body of Christ first, and then accept the scriptures because they testify of Jesus.

Now I don’t want to make this a purely fideistic approach. I do believe there is a place to discuss reliability, but that place is within the context of the body of Christ and not as a sterile issue that simply attempts to demonstrate a body of facts. But at the bottom of my belief system, unsurprisingly, is an act of faith. Without that act of faith, the rest does not seem nearly so logical.

Apart from the conviction in my heart–you ask me how I know He lives / He lives within my heart–I would not be able to get past the impossibility of the resurrection. Let me add here that those who try to make the resurrection more “possible” do nothing for me. If the resurrection is “possible” in a natural sense, then it is also meaningless.

Thus, for me, learning about inspiration has been much more of a journey in which I look at how God works. I learn more about how God speaks by looking at how scripture works–borrowing and all–than I do by reading specific texts that discuss inspiration. By looking at scripture I understand how God works.

There is one other point regarding borrowing. People who make an issue of borrowing in the ancient world seem to me to be generally unaware of literature. What we call mythological themes are repeated in literature all over the place.

To call this copying plagiarism, besides being anachronistic, is to ignore the passage of time and the contemporary standards of referencing. But saying that the Genesis story of the flood was copied from Gilgamesh, or that the first chapter of Genesis was copied from Enuma Elish ignores even modern standards. The standard movie disclaimer “inspired by a true story” might be closer to the truth.

To be effective, communication must communicate, and that involves using relevant themes. Mythological themes come from the problems of real life, and it should not be surprising at all that they are repeated multiple times.

I would add one final note, though this blog post is getting too long. In establishing parallels, one must look at both similarities and dissimilarities. One can make almost any two stories seem parallel if one is permitted to list only similarities. On the other hand, one can prove that two stories are not at all parallel if one is permitted to list only dissimilarities. You can only establish some form of true relationship when you consider both, and in addition account for universal themes.

For me, the study of parallels is a completely relaxed process of looking at how scripture communicates–a wonderful blend of human and divine. Without the human, it could not be said to communicate; without the divine it would have nothing to communicate.

The word “mystery” is rather popular today, but only in the sense of something [...]]]> First, let me put away another mystery, though I doubt anyone was wondering that much. I’ve been working on a couple of new book releases and the resulting schedule kept me from blogging most of the week. No mystery there!

The word “mystery” is rather popular today, but only in the sense of something to be solved through the application of proper efforts and skilled detective work. We like mysteries because we like to solve them.

That’s why I used the word “mysteriousness.” God is essentially mysterious, not in a sense of something that will be solved, but rather in the sense of something–or Someone–who will ever elude our best efforts to understand.

This is a piece of baggage that comes with the notion of a God who is infinite, omnipotent, omniscient, or anything similar. We cannot totally comprehend infinity. We cannot really embrace all knowledge. As soon as we attribute such characteristics to God, we are doomed to a certain amount of mystery, in fact a very substantial amount of mystery.

I encounter this most frequently in discussing Biblical inspiration. Why could God not have made the Bible more straightforward, or speak to us in ways that leave no doubt? Why can’t he answer all our questions? Why doesn’t he make his presence more clearly manifest?

Those are good questions, and ones I’m not about to answer! That’s not my topic here.

There’s a certain conversation that takes place between Christian believers and others that goes something like this: Question about Christianity, Answer, Question about Christianity, Answer, … Excessively difficult question about Christianity, “God is a mystery.”

Now many people have a problem with this resort to mystery. It seems like a dodge or perhaps sidestep. I have a problem with it as well, but only in its positioning. It shouldn’t be the last resort; it should be embraced at the first.

I believe in the doctrine of infinite ignorance. God is infinite, suggesting there is an infinity to know about God. I am finite, so any amount of knowledge I hold is finite. Subtract any finite amount from infinity, and you still have infinity. Therefore I am infinitely ignorant of God.

I would like to note I am not saying that I know nothing at all of God. Invert that statement, and one must note that the fact that any finite amount subtracted from infinity leave infinity does not mean that the finite portion is non-existent or even negligible from the proper point of view.

What I am suggesting is that, as Christians, we embrace first God’s mystery. Celebrate how much beyond us he is. Give the “that’s a mystery” response first rather than as a last resort.

We’re stuck with God as mystery, because if we make him fully comprehensible he will no longer be God, at least not in the sense meant by Bible writers and by Christians through the ages.

This may not satisfy questioners, but it is, at least, honest and open from the start. No I don’t know all there is to know about God. I only know a very, very small amount. I’m willing to share with you my attempts at understanding, but I’m always aware of the size of my subject.