What did Jesus mean? — “Salt of the Earth”

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In a post at First Things, called “Salt of the Earth” Peter Leithart challenges Christians to consider the negative metaphorical implications of Jesus’ saying. Was Jesus, in fact, pronouncing judgment on a sinful world through saying, “You are the salt of the earth” (Matthew 5:13)?

First of all, he notes what many have observed: that Jesus is not setting his disciples in the context of the “earth,” per se, but in the “land” — he is addressing his Jewish audience and calling those who follow him, “the salt of the land.” Leithart suggests that this brings out the judgmental imagery of salt. They are not salt on food. They are not salt which is added to a sacrifice. They are salt on the land. He then reminds us that this brings with it more threat than promise.

Yahweh’s destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah left behind a proverbial wasteland of salt. When Israel broke covenant, Moses warned that the Lord would make the land “brimstone and salt, a burning waste, unsown and unproductive, and no grass grows on it, like the overthrow of Sodom and Gomorrah, Admah and Zeboiim” (Deut. 29:23; cf. Ps. 107:34). Salting farmland was a tactic of war, a way of cutting off an enemy’s food supplies. Abimelech sealed his victory over the city of Shechem by sowing it with salt (Judg. 9:45), and the Romans salted Palestine during the Jewish War of the late 60s a.d.

Jesus wishes to cast fire to the earth (Lk. 12:49), and his disciples fulfill that desire. When he scatters his salty disciples, the world becomes a wasteland.

The saltiness of the disciples is embodied through a “redemptive righteousness that unravels cycles of sin.” Salt is a metaphor for righteous judgment, then, that would come upon self-righteous Israel, and by extension to the whole world in which Jesus’ disciples live. Though Peter Leithart universalizes this, suggesting that it speaks directly to Christians and their place in the world, it is more likely that Jesus had the immediate present and future in mind and was speaking to the role of his disciples as they accompanied him and proclaimed the Kingdom to Israel. Its application is secondary to Christians today. As Scot McKnight notes in his commentary on the Sermon on the Mount, it is the second metaphor — the “light of the world” — that universalizes the message and anticipates that his disciples will one day reach all nations.

Also, it is not clear to me that the “judgment” aspect of this metaphor is as much in view as Leithart says. While correct in clarifying Jesus’ saying as, “You are the salt of the land,” Leithart goes too far in suggesting that Jesus is saying the disciples are “salt on the land.” The specific wording and context suggests that their salt ministry occurs “in” the land and is “for the benefit of” the land, just as the “light” in the second Similitude is designed to cast back the darkness and bring glory to God.

Metaphors are both gifts and temptations for preachers. Used well, they draw our hearers into realms where we may imagine the Kingdom and receive the shoes that will enable us to traverse its paths with vigor and stamina. But metaphors are susceptible to over-interpretation, to what my teachers in seminary used to call “illegitimate totality transfer.” That is, when we expound a metaphor, we often try to unpack too much from it, assuming that Jesus must have meant for us to think about every possible meaning for that image. The metaphor of “salt” is capable of evoking its preservative properties, its ability to enhance flavor, its necessity for life and well being, its use in rituals of hospitality, its use in Hebrew sacrifices, and, as Peter Leithart has pointed out, its use in laying waste farmland and bringing destruction upon one’s enemies. I have heard preachers (including myself) expound all of these meanings and suggest that Jesus had them all in mind when he spoke.

Except that he probably didn’t. And, to his credit, Peter Leithart eventually gets there when he says, “Jesus’s proverb is primarily a warning about unsaltiness.” In other words, the actual effects of salt are not brought out in the text or emphasized. What is front and center is the character of the disciples. Immediately upon pronouncing them “the salt of the land,” Jesus warns them about losing that quality. Whatever it is that “salt” might have evoked in their minds, Jesus is exhorting them to be faithful to their calling. As Andrew Perriman, who also, by the way, thinks the metaphor is more likely about the negative effects of salt, comments:

. . . it would appear that the metaphor of “salt” has to do with the effect that the presence of a community of disciples, whose righteousness exceeds that of the Pharisees (cf. Matt. 5:20) and who are willing to pay the price of suffering, would have within Israel under judgment. The emphasis, however, is less on the actual impact of the community than on the need for the disciples to maintain their integrity and commitment.

Damaris Zehner: The Undeserved Grace of a New Beginning

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The Undeserved Grace of a New Beginning
A Villanelle
by Damaris Zehner

God blesses me with gifts of time and space
To feel the rising warmth of one more day
And from the darkness see the dawn of grace.

Each spring green growth and birdsong will replace
The gloom and bitter cold that once held sway.
God blesses me with gifts of time and space

To work anew, and by that work erase
Omissions and mistakes of yesterday,
And in my darkness see the dawn of grace.

Redemption heals the wounds of my disgrace
And, though I stumble, leads me on the way.
God blesses me with gifts of time and space.

I glimpse unearned forgiveness in the face
Of someone I would thoughtlessly betray,
And through my darkness shines a dawning grace.

When space and time are through and I must brace
For dying and four narrow walls of clay,
I bless God for this fleeting time and space
And rise from darkness to eternal grace.

Thank you for supporting Internet Monk


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Thank you for your support.

I really mean this.

Internet Monk is a labor of love. We who write have “day jobs” and contribute articles to the site as we can. I, Chaplain Mike, oversee the iMonastery and do my best to take the lead writing responsibility. None of us gets paid, nor do we seek that. We consider a privilege to carry Michael Spencer’s mantle. We hope each day to honor his legacy and carry on the conversations he began about fifteen years ago.

There are costs associated with keeping up the site, and we gladly accept donations for those expenses. Each year, faithful readers send in gifts, both large and small, to help us keep the lights on. I also use IM funds occasionally to buy small tokens of appreciation for the other writers and staff or to help pay for a special event. But the vast majority of all donations serve to pay the ongoing administrative costs.

A notable exception occurred just recently. One faithful friend sent me money, unsolicited, to get a new computer. The generosity of his offer blew my mind and reinforced to me that the simple act of posting a few words daily on a website and hosting gracious, vibrant discussions is a genuine ministry I couldn’t have imagined only a few years ago.

We rarely, if ever, ask for money, and as long as I’m here it will probably remain that way. It has never been my style. I’m not comfortable with it. And it has long been a (naïve, idealistic) conviction of mine that if I am doing what I should be doing, trusting God, for the benefit of my neighbors, I will never lack what I truly need. I intend to continue overseeing Internet Monk on that simple basis.

So you won’t be hearing appeals, but if you ever want to contribute to help the site, here are a couple of simple suggestions:

  1. Amazon links. We are part of the Amazon Associates program. That means when you click on a link at Internet Monk that takes you to Amazon, anything you buy there will earn a little bit of money for us. It doesn’t have to be the item we linked to, you just need to access Amazon from Internet Monk. This is a great, easy way to help IM.
  2. Donate button. We do have a “donate” button at the top right hand of the page. You can give directly to IM through PayPal by using this button.
  3. Direct gift. Some people prefer to use checks and give directly. Email Chaplain Mike using the link at the top of the page and I will send you my address if you’d like to give in this fashion.

And don’t forget to support those who put ads on our site. We appreciate them as friends and partners.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

That’s about all I can say when I consider your generosity and participation.

Sundays with Michael Spencer: January 18, 2015

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Note from CM: 2015 will mark five years since the death of Michael Spencer, the Internet Monk. Today, we continue our “Sundays with Michael” series with an excerpt from post that was originally published in January 2009.

• • •

A good and dear friend recently updated me on developments in her recent spiritual journey.

Let’s stop here. If you’re reading this, here’s a question for you: What do you expect to hear now?

Thought about it? Good. Let’s go on.

Most of what she told me about would go in the category of signs and wonders.

A prayer was answered with the sudden appearance of a rainbow, and so on. Mystical, personal stuff in the realm of answered prayers and personal experience. Her entire spiritual life is not studying scripture, but about what she describes as a “deep, personal experience of God” that includes His very real activity to show His hand in signs and wonders.

Scripture isn’t absent, but my friend’s journey is one where experience is leading and scripture is following. My friend is immensely happy, by the way, and closer to Jesus than ever before.

I had to immediately admit that this isn’t my journey and isn’t likely to ever be. I’m honestly afraid of anything in the category of “signs and wonders.” I’m very suspicious of any and all personal religious experience of this sort. I’m a skeptic when I hear most testimonies of miracles or signs. I tend to think that it isn’t true, is exaggerated or won’t last.

I’m ruthless to preachers in this regard. When I preacher talks off into a story of a miracle, sign or wonder, I’m wearing a helmet that says “Don’t try that stuff on me.” I’m kinder to regular Christian folk, but I’ve still got a skeptical attitude that the devil himself would admire.

I believe that religion, as a human phenomenon and by its very nature, creates a world where people believe that things happen that haven’t happened. The line between fact and reality goes very thin and takes a good bit of the week off.

I don’t find it at all unusual that a guy like Todd Bentley can say the last three rows at his meeting were all in caskets dead yesterday or that angels are tossing elephants around in the green room. And I’m not surprised that people believe him and defend him.

Now I won’t argue with you that there’s a problem with me in this area. (If you haven’t noticed.) Christianity is a religion of miracles that are essential to its existence. While I would stand by my frequent assertion that the number and frequency of miracles in the Bible is generally over-emphasized and exaggerated, I’m all signed up to affirm that the Bible is a record of miracles, signs and wonders.

I know that the Christian worldview is open to the intervention of God. I’m not a deist. I pray for God’s intervention all the time. I’ve experienced it. My family was once awakened from a sound sleep to discover our house on fire. How? By a noise in the street that I just happened to get up to check out….and thereby discovered the laundry room on fire. I’ve seen God answer prayer for my wife, my children, my mother and the ministry where I work.

But there’s no doubt that I have a bias in this area. Is it an over commitment to logic? An inevitable part of the Protestant use of the Bible? Residual damage from being a Calvinist?

14022522983_6cf20d8b21_zThere was a time, when I was a very young Christian, that I was part of a Charismatic prayer group that did little other than sing, pray for miracles and talk about miracles. When I left that chapter of my journey, I didn’t leave angry or hurt, but I wonder if I left feeling superior? Convinced I- at that time a dispensationalist- knew more than those kinds of people?

Have I spent so many years preaching, that I’m convinced God works by argument? By debate and verbal persuasion? How did I get so biased against the many other ways that God certainly uses to wake us up, draw us to himself and assure us of his presence?

Am I frightened by the unordered, uncontrollable aspect of God the Holy Spirit? Have I fled to the security of God working through chapter and verse so that I can understand him? Does my skepticism give me the illusions and delusions about God that keep my feeling safe and in control?

My friend’s spiritual journey hasn’t made her a raving loon. She doesn’t claim to hear voices or see visions. If she did, I don’t think it would turn her into someone bizarre and embarrassing.

My friend Pat had two heart transplants before he died a few years ago. When he came back from his first one, he was profoundly changed by a vision of Jesus on the cross, there in his hospital room. He told the story many times, with obvious and sincere emotion. It assured him of God’s love and salvation. After years of alcoholism and living far from God, he loved the cross of Jesus, and he believed he’d been taken to it that day.

I know a dozen explanations for what happened to Pat. Doctors can explain it to you. So can most psychologists and more than a few counselors. But the thing is, Pat didn’t see Jesus all the time, like Harvey the Rabbit. He saw the cross once, in a vision, and his life was changed. It was “outside the Bible,” but it was very much inside the Bible, too.

My friend’s journey isn’t an exposition of Romans. It’s a discovery that God is out there, beckoning her own to another chapter of loving God and loving neighbor. She’s sane as a judge. And she believes a rainbow appeared out of nowhere, just for her.

I’m the skeptic, and I assure myself that my skepticism makes me a believer in what God has said in scripture. (I mean, I have an ESV Study Bible!) But I have to face the fact that I’m often an unbeliever in the God beyond the page. I’m a skeptic about experiences happening today like those I read in the life of Abraham, Jacob and Moses.

Somehow, I sense that for all the theology I’ve imbibed, by faith and my connection with God are smaller. And while some will say that my friend and others have walked away from the Bible, I’m wondering if they have taken the Word into the Wild, where the God who surprises with signs and wonders still lives.

Saturday Ramblings, January 17, 2015

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53 Convertible

Hello, imonks, and welcome to the weekend.  Ready to ramble?

Make the Bible the State Book?  A bill in Mississippi (expected to pass) would do just that.  The article notes, “Lawmakers say designating the Bible as the state book would be completely symbolic and nobody would be required to read it.” So, basically it would function pretty much like it does in many churches…

Foxnewsfacts.  Have you ever been called, “clearly a complete idiot” by the leader of a major country?  I hope not.  Unless, of course, you deserved it as much as Steve Emerson, a pundit on Fox News. Emerson: “In Britain, it’s not just no-go zones, there are actual cities like Birmingham that are totally Muslim where non-Muslims just simply don’t go in.” This all came as quite a surprise to the 80 percent of Birmingham residents who are not, in fact, Muslim.  Prime Minister David Cameron: “When I heard this, frankly I choked on my porridge. I thought it must be April Fool’s Day. This guy’s clearly a complete idiot.”  Emerson apologized, but not before #foxnewsfacts trended to number 1 on twitter, with Brits cheekingly satirizing how Islamized their country had become.  Here are a few favorites. moon

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Maybe Fox needs to return to its real experts on Islam: B7PGbmOIgAA1ep0

Continue reading “Saturday Ramblings, January 17, 2015”

Adam Palmer: Embracing and Excluding

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Our churches have a people problem.

I’m as guilty as anyone, I guess. I would consider myself a “progressive” person, fairly open-handed in my theology, craving diversity when I gather with the church on Sunday morning. I want these things, sure. If they were to show up on the doorstep of our church’s gathering place, I’d welcome them in. But do I want to do the work that brings them about?

Let me back up. This post was inspired by Chaplain Mike’s ruminations the other day about “What can you do with a general?” In that post, we learned of a pastor who was booted from his position not for “moral failure” or skimming church funds or preaching heresy or (worst of all) being boring. No, he was removed from the pulpit for the sin of being too old. The congregation wanted to upgrade to a newer, shinier model, I guess.

And so I saw that and I sent this email to Chaplain Mike:

As you may know, I and some others are in the process of planting a new church community here in Tulsa, one that will be non-denominational, and we see some of the same issues and have some of the same concerns that you do and are doing what we can on the front end (before we launch) to mitigate those problems. We don’t want to build a corporation; we want to create a place for community — and a diverse one at that! We want to value everyone who comes through our doors as equally as possible and provide ways for each member of our community to serve in whatever ways God has gifted them. And I don’t think we’re the only ones in church leadership who feel this way.

Anyway, all that to say: I was wondering if you’d be interested in having me unpack some of those ideas in a post this week? Sort of a corollary to yours that presents what we’re hoping to do and some of the reasons we have for doing it and how we’ve hit upon those things/reasons not on our own but through conversations we’ve had with other church leaders in other parts of the nation?

Sounds pretty good, right? I want to read that post. Maybe some day I’ll write it.

But it’s not today. Because since I sent that email, two things have happened: we’ve had a few meetings about our new church community discovering the beginnings of our core group, and I’ve read a large chunk of Exclusion & Embrace, by Miroslav Volf.

In discovering our core group, I’ve learned that we are indeed seeing a diversity of age. From the looks of it, we aren’t planting a young church or an old church but a human church that spans many, many years of wisdom. At a house gathering Sunday night, one of our pastors’ mothers launched into an impassioned plea for Jesus-oriented faith that became a tidy, moving three-minute sermon; upon conclusion, the pastor said, “If you don’t know, that’s my mother, and yes, she will be preaching!” That’s a good start, I think.

tumblr_ltdreteLU41qksafcIn reading Volf’s kneecapping book, I’ve found challenges to many of my own assumptions about reconciliation and even with the way I interact with the world. One thought I can’t escape as I’ve plunged into Volf’s thinking is this: when we embrace someone, we let them shape us, if even just a small fraction. There’s an exchange: a part of us rubs off on them, but a part of them also rubs off on us.

This is not a challenge when it comes to embracing those we already identify with. If I’m a white progressive liberal who loves craft beer and The Decemberists, I’m going to have no problem embracing another progressive liberal who loves craft beer and The Decemberists. That doesn’t challenge my thinking, my identity — if anything, it reinforces it and shows me that, hey, neato, there’s another me out here, so I must be okay.

But what about when I encounter, say, a non-white conservative inerrantist who loves Diet Coke and Taylor Swift? Can I still greet them with open arms and welcome their embrace? Because I’m happy to shape them and let some of myself rub off on them; but I’m not sure about the reciprocity of this arrangement. What if I embrace them and then start humming “Shake It Off”?

You may have already noticed a way I’ve gamed my examples; if you have, you got there before I did. It wasn’t until I started writing this paragraph that it even dawned on me: I’ve just created two characters and set them up in opposition to one another, and I didn’t mention their faith. Instead of looking to the great thing that unified them — Jesus — I looked at the smaller things that drive their identities.

It seems to me that, in our churches, we do this far too often. We want unity, but we get it in the form of sameness; same musical taste, same political bent, same media consumption, same restaurant preferences, same sexual orientation.

We want unity, but we get homogeneity.

I wanted to write this post because I thought I could spread a little hope that things are looking better for those who feel excluded by the church for whatever reason. And I do think that’s the case! But in the end, I think the problem that Chaplain Mike brought up still exists, and will exist as long as we settle for the norm. We are hardwired to embrace those like us and exclude those unlike us; we must recognize this and start working against our programming and welcoming others for no reason other than Jesus.

Semi-Open Mic: What conversations should we have in 2015?

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Fuller Seminary has a nice page suggesting “15 Conversations the Church Needs to Have in 2015.” In his introduction to this page, seminary president Mark Labberton says,

Our faculty are always thinking deeply about the issues, challenges, current events and pressing realities we need to grapple with in order to be the hands and feet of Jesus Christ in a world that so urgently needs his touch. They are leaders in evangelicalism and pioneers in their fields, nurturing conversations in their classrooms that wrestle with what it means to be called to lead as a Christ follower in this world.

Then the various faculty members contribute a paragraph about one conversation they think is needful for the church to have in the year to come. For example, Kurt Frederickson, Associate Dean for the Doctor of Ministry and Continuing Education and Assistant Professor of Pastoral Ministry, writes:

The church needs to wrestle with how to live into our unity in Christ, breaking down the barriers of race, class, gender, and age. We are to be a radically different community, not simply a gathering of people “just like me.”

And Francis W. Bridger, Executive Director of the Center for Anglican Communion Studies and Ecclesiastical Professor of Anglican Studies, adds:

How can we act justly and be faithful to the life-changing gospel of Jesus at the same time? How can we witness to the reality of Christ in a culture that is increasingly post-Christian?

I encourage you to read the rest of the contributions and consider what some of the leading professors in American evangelical higher education are thinking about these days.

But that’s not what we’re going to talk about today.

Instead, I’d like to piggy-back on Fuller’s excellent idea and host a semi-Open Mic in which we follow their example and ask a question of our own:

“What conversations do you think we should have here on Internet Monk in 2015?

Here are the rules:

  • Limit your suggestion to one paragraph, please.
  • From 12 midnight to 12 noon eastern time (U.S.) please submit ONLY your conversation idea.
  • After 12 noon, you may begin interacting with other submissions, supporting or challenging them, offering ideas about how one might be improved or why another doesn’t go far enough or why you think another is not a pertinent topic. In short, for the rest of the day we’ll have a conversation about the ideas that have been set forth.

And . . . start.

Death Letter, part one

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Sometime, somewhere in Iraq, I died.

. . . For my brothers and sisters I will record the events that led to my death and the death of the God who was on our side in love and war.

• David W. Peters

• • •

As a hospice chaplain, my work is done mostly in quiet settings. I participate in the hushed conversations of family members who don’t want their dying loved to hear the word, “funeral,” and in hushed corridors of hospitals where a spouse trembles and asks timidly, “How long does he have?” I work among the still, the subdued, the tearful. Occasionally I am called upon to be a calming presence for those who wail and throw things, but my work does not usually take place amidst shock and awe. Most of my patients slip away. Most of my families are decorous in their grief.

Today I will introduce you to another chaplain, who served in Iraq. His name is David W. Peters, and he has written a memoir of his experiences called, Death Letter: God, Sex, and War. Peters served as a battalion chaplain in Fort Hood, Texas from 2004-2007, which included a deployment to Iraq in 2006. After Iraq he also served as a chaplain clinician in the amputee, orthopedic, neuroscience, and psychological wards at Walter Reed Hospital.

His setting in Iraq could not have been more different than mine.

I am at an Army Forward Operating Base (FOB) in Baghdad, Iraq. I have been here for three weeks, and I am lying on the floor listening to the rockets roar over my little shed . The little wooden building shakes like a cheap apartment beside the train tracks. The floor of the office is dusty but I do not notice the dust until the moment that I realize I am trying to burrow deeper into the floor. If a rocket hits near the building, I want to be low enough to avoid the shrapnel. I know that if I am standing when the rocket hits nearby, a jagged piece of steel could sail over the concrete barrier outside my office and rip through my neck. One more rocket roars over the office and then all I hear is the whirring of the fan and the beating of my own heart. I never knew war could be so full of contradictions— so full of things that just do not belong together. I can feel my heartbeat against the thin wood of the office floor.

I’ve heard rockets before, but this time they whizz right over the little shed. War is loud. The explosions and bombs are so loud that I feel the sound waves hitting me in the chest and my ears ring for hours. I always wear earplugs with the hope that I will have some hearing left when I rotate back to Texas. I sometimes wished there were other ways to dampen the impact of war on my senses.

I am going to read this chaplain’s story slowly. Though I’ve never had to wear earplugs or dive face first into a dusty floor to avoid shrapnel, I feel a bond with this brother who has. We both deal with death. We both struggle with faith. We are both called to love our neighbors as life slips away and people seek hope and comfort.

Becoming a chaplain was a wake-up call for David Peters. When he entered the military, he was 19 years old, a virgin, and had never had a beer. He was an assistant youth pastor in a suburban church in Texas. He had been raised in fundamentalist Christian circles and graduated from Christian high school. The most serious warning he received from a fellow believer was to beware that others were going to try and show him pictures of naked girls if he joined the army.

By the time he wrote this book, however, Peters said, “Sometime, somewhere in Iraq I died.” And so did the God he was raised to believe.

I am anxious to read how his journey through the wilderness proceeds.

I don’t know much about war. But I know about death and being with those who are touched by it. I also know that becoming a chaplain saved me even as the life I thought I was called to live ended. And I can relate in my heart of hearts when David Peters writes:

I love the brave men and women who call me “Chaplain.” They know my voice in the dark. They know I am with them. They know to get me when someone dies.

Richard Beck: The moral implication of interpretive pluralism

Communion of Saints (tapestry), Nava
Communion of Saints (tapestry), Nava

Unpublished: Being Biblical Means Being Doctrinally Tolerant
Richard Beck

• • •

Richard Beck gets down to brass tacks in an excerpt from an unpublished article he had written about how doctrinal gate-keeping can be a delusional exercise. The first sentence states an obvious point that is somehow ignored regularly by those who insist most strongly on the “clear teaching” of the “inerrant Word” —

People who claim to literally interpret the inspired and inerrant Word of God do not agree on what the Bible says.

This is Christian Smith’s “pervasive interpretive pluralism” in a nutshell. And Beck calls it “the problem at the heart of Protestantism.” The plain fact, borne out through centuries of biblical study, interpretation, and scholarship, is that “the Bible is unable to produce a consensus.” As Beck says:

Sola scriptura produces pluralism. The “Bible alone” creates doctrinal diversity. Biblical literalism proliferates churches. . . . A magisterium gets you one church. A literal reading of the inspired and inerrant Word of God gets you many, many churches.

Yet diverse groups within and alongside the Protestant tradition maintain without a trace of hesitancy that their particular interpretations of Scripture articulate its plain teachings. I’m sure this is so for many reasons, not least of which is the fact that even the most well-educated people in many groups and traditions are not well informed about what others believe and teach. Christian churches have enough trouble instructing their congregations in what they believe, much less encouraging them to be broadly informed about the teachings of the Church catholic. In my experience, what teaching they actually do about other traditions tends to be stereotyped, reactionary and defensive.

Richard Beck believes that the lack of interpretive consensus on the Bible places a moral burden on Protestants:

If you are are going to accept the burden of being of Protestant, of living with sola scriptura, then you are going to have to learn to welcome doctrinal diversity. If you want to be biblical you’re going to have to reconcile yourself to pervasive interpretative pluralism. That’s life being biblical. Being biblical requires a fair amount of tolerance for doctrinal diversity. Being biblical means creating a big tent. So if you want to be biblical — if you want to go sola scriptura and drop the magisterium — then you are morally obligated to assume the burden and responsibility of welcoming the doctrinal diversity you will create.

A certain tolerance, a certain wideness of mercy, a certain ecumenicity should be the hallmark of Christian Protestantism.

But this Protestant faith must be of the kind that is also willing to stop saying, in many instances, “the Bible says,” as though it’s as clear as the nose on your face. It will be a Protestant faith in which the Bible becomes the starting point for discussion, not the point at which discussion ceases. It will recognize that our understanding of the Bible is influenced by reason, history, tradition, experience, and culture in ways that are both pervasive and subtle. It will show a willingness to engage in discussions across interpretive lines without feeling threatened, without insisting that every disagreement is a threat to the heart of the faith itself. It will be humble, holding many, if not most, of its conclusions lightly and humbly, showing generosity to those who arrive at different ones.

Bottom line, though: such a drastic change will require that we all take a different perspective on the Bible and ourselves.

A chaplain can dream, can’t he?