How should I read the Bible?

We have a problem of subjectivity. “If God hates all the same things/people you hate, you can safely assume you have created God in your own image,” says Anne Lamott.

A farmer was reading his bible and came across the verse, “He shall not let thy foot be dashed against a stone.” A strong sense of God’s presence came over him and he knew that God would protect him. He climbed to the top of his barn and jumped off — and killed himself. This story is told in Mennonite circles as if it really happened. Perhaps it did.

Some Methodist in the 20th century, — not John Wesley himself, as is erroneously rumored — came up with a four-legged basis for discerning God’s will. It is Wesleyan in spirit and is called the Quadrilateral. But it became a) a theological football and b) a simplistic formula. Robert Outler, who made the formula popular, is said to have wished he’d never used the term. But … I think it can be useful.

To discern God’s will, according to the Quadrilateral, one must test the scripture verse, thought, feeling or impulse by scripture, traditional, reason and experience. Does the verse line up with other scriptures in the bible, especially the sayings of Jesus? Does it line up with Christian writers and theologians? Does it line up with what we know of science, and even common sense? (Our farmer would be in trouble here.) And is it consistent with life as we have experienced it?

That last criterion — experience — can have many facets. For me, conversation with other believers is an important facet through which I try to discern God’s will.

Richard Rohr suggests other criteria: a heart softened by an encounter with Creation, including animals, rocks, trees; and a heart softened by a life of prayer and contemplation. He states that such a heart will lean toward compassion, inclusion, love and suffering, and will handle scripture gently and thoughtfully.

That’s where I am today. It’s easy to use the bible as a weapon against those we dislike; in my case, against the haters, the people who cheat the poor, the proud, the conquerers of others. But I, too — even I! — must pray, connect with other believers, study and finally, hold scripture lightly.

If the books of the bible are forgeries, why bother to read them?

What does it mean when someone says, “this may not have happened, but it’s true?”

Most Christian theologians agree that some of the books of the bible were not written by their stated authors. Some were outright forgeries, meant to counter a “heretical” school of thought in another Christian community; others were written by disciples of the supposed authors.

Matthew, Mark, Luke and John were probably written by their followers.

So why even read them, if they aren’t historically accurate? What’s the point?

Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things.- Phil. 4:8 

It depends on how you define the word “truth.” We’re generally conditioned to think that scientific and historical truth is the only accurate truth. But what about the the parable of the Good Samaritan or the Prodigal Son? Did they really happen? Are they “true?”

Today’s pop theology is a muddle of ancient, medieval, Enlightenment and modern strands of thinking. We still think of heaven as “up there” — a relic of ancient thought. We think that Jesus died as a sacrifice for us — ancient again. We think that Jesus’ death on a cross satisfied God’s need for justice — a medieval theory from about 1100 AD. We think that a story that “didn’t really happen” is not true — a product of our scientific age.

We need to clean our theological house and re-define the question, “is it true?” Does the story or poem or sermon stimulate you to love God and neighbor? Then it might be true.

So why read the bible at all? 

Simple answer — because it’s our story. It is a vehicle for our own spiritual transformation. When I read the bible, I’m in that story or song. And sometimes it changes me — for the better.

True or False — “Christ Died for My Sins”

But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:8

True enough, but what does it mean? Why did it have to happen? How does it work?

The early church fathers believed in the  Ransom Theory of salvation. Christ had to die to pay the penalty owed Satan because of our sin. In the first century, it was common to “redeem” someone from a death penalty by buying back his/her life, so this model made sense. We have all been sentenced to death but, in the words of the gospel song, “Jesus paid it all.”

Anselm (1033-1109), a Benedictine monk and archbishop of Canterbury, got Satan out of the picture by proposing that Jesus’ death satisfied God’s own need for justice. His theory came to be called the Satisfaction Theory. It was consistent with the system of feudalism, in which the lord of the estate had to be paid (satisfied)  for any damage to the estate. Without this law, feudalism would have collapsed. So the model made sense in feudal times. And it is the model by which a large chunk of Christianity operates today.

But there were still questions about how salvation actually work. For example, did the divine part of Jesus die, or just the human part? (The early fathers said, only the human part.)

Modern theologians have suggested that this kind of “divine infanticide” (God murdering his own Son) is counter to the nature of God. While there are plenty of examples of an angry, vengeful God in the Hebrew scriptures, Jesus suggests a different God — God is “daddy,” a loving father. The Gospel of John says God is Love itself.

If the Satisfaction Theory no longer satisfies, does Jesus’ crucifixion have any other meaning for modern Christians?

 Jesus gives us an answer, if we look with open hearts. He never said, “worship me” or, “thank me for what I did for you.” What he did say, many times, was, “take up your cross, and follow me.”

In other words, the Way of the Cross needs to be our way if we are to enter the process of spiritual transformation. (John Wesley called it sanctification, or “moving towards perfection.”)

The Way of the Cross is, for me, the same thing as spiritual transformation. Wesley suggests the following pathways for transformation (He called them the “means of grace.”): worship, the sacraments, prayer, service to others (especially the poor) bible study and meeting with others for mutual encouragement (He called this “holy conversation.”)

So for me “Jesus died for my sins” became, “Take up your cross. My yolk is easy and my burden is light.” I can attest to this: the Way of the Cross includes suffering as we confront our own egos. But the Way of the Cross is a way of freedom and wholeness, and even lightness of being.