The Bible is an extraordinary book, and it is an ordinary book. It is not, of course, the only book to cross history’s stage to come with a claim to being the very Word of God. In some instances it is the extraordinary nature of the Bible that sets it apart from other claimants, in other instances it is its ordinariness.
Consider first two rather distinct books that claim to be the Word of God- the Koran, the holy book of Islam and the Book of Mormon, the holy book of the Latter-Day Saints. In both instances these faiths seek to affirm some level of respect for either the Old Testament (Islam) or both the Old and New Testaments (Latter Day Saints). In both instances the accounts of these books tell us that God sent a messenger to one man, that no one else was able to see. Mohammed and Joseph Smith wrote, or translated their messages essentially on their own, before revealing them to the known world. Both books recorded events outside the stream of history and distant from the time of the events covered. Both books contain no predictions future to the book’s writing and past to us who are its readers.
The Bible, on the other hand, was written by dozens of different authors over the space of thousands of years, living and ministering in different countries, speaking different languages. The Bible was given to men who lived among those to whom they spoke. Better still, the Bible was written by men who not only performed miracles to attest to their truthfulness, but performed miracles which could be tested by those who first received God’s Word. Remember that even Nicodemus rightly understood this, “This man came to Jesus by night and said to Him, “Rabbi, we know that You are a teacher come from God; for no one can do these signs that You do unless God is with him” (John 3:2).
Jesus Himself not only does not correct Nicodemus, but in another circumstance makes essentially the same argument. In Mark 2, in Capernaum, a paralytic is lowered through the roof in order to get to Jesus. Seeing such faith Jesus said, “Son, your sins are forgiven you” (v.5). Because we know they are the bad guys we are put out by the skepticism of the scribes. These reasoned in their hearts that Jesus was guilty of blasphemy. Only God, after all, has the authority to forgive sins. They, however, reasoned rightly. Jesus next, however, demonstrates why He has the authority to forgive sins, but doing that which only God, or a messenger sent by God, could do- But immediately, when Jesus perceived in His spirit that they reasoned thus within themselves, He said to them, “Why do you reason about these things in your hearts? Which is easier, to say to the paralytic, ‘Your sins are forgiven you,’ or to say, ‘Arise, take up your bed and walk’? But that you may know that the Son of Man has power on earth to forgive sins”—He said to the paralytic, “I say to you, arise, take up your bed, and go to your house” (8-11). Jesus demonstrates His authority, He authenticates His message, by healing this man of his paralysis.
In addition, the Bible includes in it multiple prophecies that were fulfilled after they were given, but before today. That the Messiah would be born in Bethlehem was promised five hundred years before it happened (Micah 5:1-2). The rise and fall of the Medo-Persian empire, the coming of the Greek empire, and the coming of the Roman empire were all foretold by the prophet Daniel during the height of the Babylonian empire. Some scholars have argued that the Bible contains over three hundred prophecies that have already been fulfilled.
The Bible contains miraculous predictions of future events which have since come to pass. The Bible contains miracles, verifiable miracles in their day, that authenticate the authority of the writers of the Bible to reveal the truth of God. One miracle, however, stands above all the rest. As He predicted, three days after His brutal death by crucifixion, Jesus Christ walked out of His tomb alive. The Bible isn’t a book telling the story of how men might go and find God, but is the true story of how God came to be reconciled with men, through the life, death, resurrection and ascension of His Son.
These miracles, just like the books of the Bible which recount them, are not the work of men, but rather the Holy Spirit. The Bible alone is that book by which God the Holy Spirit determined to reveal the fullness of the godhead working in and through mere men.
If then the Bible is extraordinary in its sources, extraordinary in its message, in what sense can we rightly say that the Bible is also an ordinary book? Because the Bible is a book that speaks to us as we speak to each other. Some ancient holy books come to us less as revelations and more as riddles. The ancient Gnostic gospels as well as some eastern texts are designed not to reveal but to conceal. Indeed the very term “Gnostic” references its promise to slowly, carefully, make you one who is “in the know.” These religions thrive by promising to unpack the secret knowledge hidden in their sacred texts, knowledge ordinary people, the uninitiated, could not understand.
The Bible, on the other hand, contains a broad range of literary forms that are to be read in accordance with their form. Many, both inside and outside the church, complain that Bible believing Christians are guilty of reading the Bible “literally.” Sound biblical interpretation, like any interpretation is “literal” interpretation. This doesn’t mean that we ignore literary forms, but that we read in light of them. To read the Bible rightly, like any other book, we read poetry according to the rules of poetry. We read history according to the rules of history. We read similes and metaphors as similes and metaphors. What we do not do, however, is read history as poetry, and therefore deny its accuracy, nor read poetry as history, thereby accusing it of being off. One is not reading the Bible literally if, when Jesus said, “I am the door” (John 10:9) they wondered how many hinges Jesus had, or whether he came with curtains.
Too many want to argue that the Bible is a delightful collection of ancient men’s thoughts of matters of great import. The great lay apologist CS Lewis would object on two counts. First, borrowing from His apologetic on Jesus, based on the Bible’s own claims about itself, the last thing we can conclude is that it is a helpful, if flawed book. It is either lies, lunacy or the Lord’s abiding Word. For no erroneous book, no merely man created book can claim to be God-breathed, can claim to equip us for every good work. A patronizing perspective on the Word of God is as sensible as a patronizing perspective on God Himself. You can hate the Word for its alleged errors. You can disdain it for its purported outdated perspective. Or you can submit to it.
Finally, we would do well to confess that the Bible in one sense is ordinary in its history. That is, the Bible is not alone in affirming a worldwide flood. It is not alone in telling a story about a Son of God that comes to earth, dies, and then rises again. Liberal theologians and unbelieving historians delight to point out the similarities between the Epic of Gilgamesh of other ancient near eastern texts and the Bible. Some Christians, perhaps threatened and skittish, labor to affirm the differences between those stories and the story. These brothers seem to suggest if we can put enough distance between what the Bible says and what these other ancient holy books say we can hold on to the claim of the Bible as the one true holy book.
Lewis, in his marvelous essay Myth Became Fact, suggests that we have nothing to fear from these overlapping stories, not because we would expect multiple garbled versions of one story once it goes through history’s “telephone game.” Rather Lewis argues that because the whole of creation is the manifestation of the grace and glory of God, we should expect to see these themes cropping up anywhere we find those who bear His image. The dying and rising God is not just some scheme our heavenly Father came up with to rescue us, but is the very reason for the universe. These “myths” are the meta-narratives, the over-arching story that explains who we are, for all of humanity.
The difference, however, with our story brings us back to its ordinariness. The Incarnation is a myth, not in the sense of a lie, but in the sense of a transcendent identity shaping story, that became fact. Our story became also reality. It happened in space and time. Thus Luke explains to his original intended audience, Theopholis, “There was in the days of Herod, the king of Judea (Luke 1:5) and later, “And it came to pass in those days that a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered. This census first took place while Quirinuis was governing Syria (2:1-2). It is for this reason that our most ancient creed, a brief summary of the most salient affirmations of our faith says of Jesus that He “suffered under Pontius Pilate.”
The Bible, unlike all its rivals old and new, is an astonishing book that clearly and straightforwardly claims to be the Word of God, that defends that astonishing claim, that reveals the very character of God, that shows how we might have peace with God, all through telling us, in a rather ordinary manner, the extraordinary events that actually happened in space and in time. As the beloved disciple reminds us, “these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that believing you may have life in His name” (John 20:31).
Though they don’t feel like such when we are in the midst of them, light and momentary, Paul tells us, are our afflictions, not worthy to be compared to the eternal weight of glory (II Corinthians 4:17). CS Lewis captured this glorious wisdom as he concluded The Last Battle, the final installment of the his Narnia Chronicles-
“And as He spoke, He no longer looked to them like a lion; but the things that began to happen after that were so great and beautiful that I cannot write them. And for us this the end of all the stories, and we can most truly say that they all lived happily ever after. But for them it was only the beginning of the real story. All their life in this world and all their adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on for ever: in which every chapter is better than the one before.”
When Jesus returns He will not toss this world into the ash heap. Instead when He returns not only we, but the whole of the world will be complete. What we are to remember is that we are going back to the garden, only better. The end of the story is the fullness of the victory of Christ. The Second Adam succeeds, and we with Him. We will be raised and perfected. The whole of the world will no longer be groaning. We will become what we should have been. This is certain. Be of good cheer. He has already overcome the world. We are living in the denouement.
As we remember these truths we see today and eternity intertwined. There is no great chasm that separates one from the other, no disconnect between this day the Lord has made, and the boundless future of paradise. Time and eternity are of a piece, even as sanctification and glorification are of a piece. Which means that as we fulfill our calling to remember eternity, we fulfill our calling to redeem the time. We move through our days knowing that as we faithfully seek His glory, our labors will not be among the wood, hay and stubble that will be burned off, but will be the very jewels on the walls of the New Jerusalem. We come to discover that right now really does count forever. And ennui slouches its way to hellfire. We live with purpose, with passion, with joy. The King is coming.
When we realize that time and eternity are one, we no longer try to keep a foot in both worlds. It is wearying business indeed to live both for the here and the now as well as the there and the then. Because such is always serving two masters. We are to remember that here is there and now is then. Because here is there, every bit of work matters, and every blessing is a taste of heaven. Because now is then, He is with us even as we await His return. We work, knowing He has already overcome the world. We rest, knowing He has already overcome the world.
Also He spoke this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and despised others: “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood and prayed thus with himself, ‘God, I thank You that I am not like other men—extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even as this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all that I possess.’ And the tax collector, standing afar off, would not so much as raise his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, ‘God, be merciful to me a sinner!’ I tell you, this man went down to his house justified rather than the other; for everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and he who humbles himself will be exalted” Luke 18: 9-14).
It is an unfair, gross distortion to hold that Rome teaches justification by works, while we Protestants teach justification by faith. The more accurate distinction recognizes on both sides the necessity of the work of Christ. Rome affirms that His righteousness is necessary for our salvation, that without it we are without hope. That righteousness, however, becomes ours through infusion. Protestants affirm also that His righteousness is necessary for salvation, that we have no hope without it. It, however, becomes ours through imputation.
Some here are quick to affirm that our differences now amount to nothing more than a tempest in a teapot. We are arguing over two, thick, theological terms that are not a part of our ordinary language. Surely such a nuance must be insignificant. But it’s not, as Jesus’ parable illustrates. Let’s look at these two men, what they have in common and what separates them.
First, it is an unfair, gross distortion to hold that the Pharisee believes he justifies himself, all alone. How quickly we pass over the one good part of his pray, “Lord, I thank you…” The Pharisee knows from whence came the power to make him righteous. He knows that he needed the grace of God, that God had to work in him, that God is due all the glory for his obedience. The publican likewise looks to God and His grace as His only hope. He knows where to turn, even as the Pharisee knows whom to thank.
The difference, however, is here. The Pharisee believes that God’s grace has made him whole, that he is now, albeit by the grace of God, just in himself. God helped him out. God stood him up. But now he is standing on his own two feet. He gives thanks to God that he is better than other men, that he doesn’t commit this sin and that, that he performs this duty and that. God has poured righteousness into him, and there he stands.
The publican, on the other hand, knows what he still is, a sinner. The mercy he cries out for isn’t that he would be made a saint, but that he would be a forgiven sinner. He cannot cooperate. He cannot stand. He can only, and even this is the grace of God, cry out for the mercy of God, which is found in Christ alone.
The bigger difference than the differing approaches of these two men, however, is what it meant for their eternities. Only one of these two men went home justified. Only one of these men was an adopted son of the living God. Only one of these two men will spend eternity walking with God in paradise. The other will spend eternity weeping and gnashing teeth. Teapot tempests have no such eternal consequences.
In our feel-good, dumbed-down, ecumenical age we find distinctions distasteful. In the faithful preaching of our Lord He demonstrates the difference they make. That said, may we Reformed protest against our own propensity to cry out, “I thank you Lord that I am not like other men, Arminians, semi-Pelagians, or even this fundamentalist. I score high on all theology exams and have a library that is the envy of my friends.” Instead let us, consistent with our theology, beat our breasts and cry out, “Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner.”
It is not a difficult thing to discern the nature of someone else’s god. Some people carry their religion on their sleeve, advertising their spiritual commitments on bumper stickers or t-shirts. You can tell the Amish by their clothing, even as you can Hasidic Jews or even Hare Krishnas. When a man throws down a mat, faces Mecca and begins to pray, one need not guess to whom he is praying. On the other hand, the world is full of hypocrites. Self-reports about ones religious commitments may not be wholly accurate. Sometimes we fool ourselves, and sometimes we are fooled by others. A better test than what we wear, or even what we say may well be this- who is our law-giver? The “Christian” who argues that God wants him to be happy, and therefore sanctions his adultery may say he worships God. Instead he worships himself, for he is a law unto himself.
Of course in our day the most widely held and passionately affirmed creed is this- there is no true and false, no right and wrong. Everyone decides these things for themselves. And so one could argue, rightly so, that the God of this culture is this mythical creature I call “God-to-me.” Relativism means we can each define God for ourselves. We can make up our own religion because in the end we are our own god. As soon as we speak this strange god’s name, God-to-me, we are affirming not that we are God’s creatures, but god’s maker. It matters not what follows in our actual description. (Interesting to note, however, everyone’s personal god is rather similar to everyone else’s. The name usually is followed with these kinds of attributes- “God-to-me is gracious, kind, forgiving, wants us to be happy…” How come no one ever says, “God-to-me is a consuming fire, filled to the brim with His just wrath at every sin and sinner”?)
I’m afraid, however, that we are only beginning to scratch the surface of our culture’s sundry forms of idolatry. For when we begin to challenge the clear, obvious foolishness of relativism, especially as it applies to our theology, we find there is another god ready to step up in God-to-me’s defense. If we challenge this nonsense, “Well, God-to-me says your god is silly, foolish and false, and if you don’t bow down to him you will perish forever” what do we hear next? We are reminded at this point that we are in America, and in America we have freedom of religion. We have the first amendment. The truth is that here in America the first amendment trumps the first commandment.
The broader culture has come to understand the First Amendment to mean not that any and all religions are equally legal in this country but that all religions are equally valid in this country. And that is where our deeper idolatry is made known. We seem to think that the state can not only determine what is legal, but in making this determination, can determine what is right or wrong. Legality is morality. In the absence of any true transcendent source of law or revelation, we will usually find the state filling that vacuum. Because men disagree, man cannot determine right and wrong, true and false. Instead that is determined by the closest we can come to collective man- the state.
The first amendment, so understood then, creates here in America the same situation that ruled in Rome. The Roman empire, like the American empire, did not particularly care what religion those within its borders practiced. This is why they could get along with the Jewish authorities during the life of Jesus. You could worship Yahweh. You could worship Juno. You could worship your own dog for all Rome cared. They had only one ultimate requirement- that you swear absolute loyalty to Rome. You could indeed have other gods before, in the sense of being in its presence, the god of the Roman state. You just could not have any god before, in the sense of having a higher loyalty, the god of the Roman state. The Christians who went to their deaths under the Caesars went not because they didn’t have the right theology, but because they refused to confess the one great creed of that culture, Caesar is Lord.
In our day the state is not quite so easily identified with its leader. No one, so far, is required to bow before the President. Increasingly, however, we are being told that our highest loyalty must be to the state. We may not fly any flag, including the Christian flag, higher than the federal flag. While we may not publicly pray to the Lord Jesus in the government’s schools.
The broader culture hates uncompromised Christians for this very reason. We are condemned as radicals, fundamentalists, extremists precisely because at the end of the day our loyalty is to the Lord of heaven and earth, because we will allow no gods before Him. We are a dangerous breed, not because we don’t share their convictions, but because we don’t share their loyalties. For us the First Commandment trumps the First Amendment. For them it is just the opposite. Two competing Gods are seeking our attention, our devotion, our worship. And the Word of God, through Joshua, and through Elijah calls us to no longer waver between two opinions, to choose this day whom we will serve.
“If he’s guilty of even half of what he’s been accused of, people should run for their lives from him.” Ever heard that said of someone? Ever said it yourself? Here’s a much more biblical version, “If he’s guilty of only half of what he’s been accused of, people should run for their lives from his accusers.” In Deuteronomy 19 God establishes a legal principle that ought to resonate with us all. There He says,
“If a false witness rises against any man to testify against him of wrongdoing, 17 then both men in the controversy shall stand before the Lord, before the priests and the judges who serve in those days. 18 And the judges shall make careful inquiry, and indeed, if the witness is a false witness, who has testified falsely against his brother, 19 then you shall do to him as he thought to have done to his brother; so you shall put away the evil from among you” (16-19).
If that’s not sufficiently clear, let me rephrase. If a man commits perjury the penalty isn’t a generic penalty for perjury, but the penalty that the accused is facing. Falsely accuse a man for jaywalking, and you’ll get a ticket. Falsely accuse a man of murder and you’ll get the chair. What God’s law does here is teach us how destructive it is for us to testify about that which we know not of. It teaches us in turn just how easy it is to falsely accuse someone when there is no threat of reprisal for lying, or for jumping to a conclusion.
We, of course, think we know better than God. The thought of giving Tawana Brawley, who made headlines thirty years ago falsely accusing six men of rape, 10 to 15 seems barbaric to us. Putting Jussie Smollett behind bars seems like overkill. That, however, is because we refuse to see the destruction wrought by false allegations. God, however, sees all. His justice is just, while the “mercy” of our own culture is cruel.
What though do we do with those who are careful enough not to falsely testify against someone, but reckless enough to believe false testimony? What do we do with those who would utter that first sentence above, “If he’s guilty of even half of what he’s accused of…”? We try to slow them down. We warn them, and we refuse to lend our ears to them. Because the principle in Deuteronomy 19 comes from God, it stands even in a culture that won’t see it. That is, God will see that justice comes to those who testify falsely. No one is anonymous to Him. When we remind our friends, as they seek to share with us of some piece of juicy gossip, that God hears every tale we bear, we are not only seeking to encourage them not to rush to judgment against those they accuse, but we seek to encourage them not to rush headlong into their own judgment at the hands of God. We warn them.
