Calling oneself a “Bible-believing Christian” fails to account for the fact that every belief system, knowingly or unknowingly, arises out of a particular history.
I am a Christian who holds to the full authority, inspiration, and inerrancy of Holy Scripture. I believe that the Word of God is what theologians refer to as the norma normans, “the rule that rules.” It is the final source and authoritative guide for faith and practice. I’m all about the Bible, and I can still proudly sing the song I learned back in Sunday School, “The B-I-B-L-E, yes that’s the book for me!” In fact, I even stake my eternal hope on what it says. In short, I am a proud, Bible-believing Christian. Full stop.
What I want to argue here, however, is that the term “Bible-believing Christian” is a misnomer. It is insufficient at best and dangerous at worst. Why? Because, as pious as it sounds, such a label fails to take into account the reality that every Christian is located downstream of some interpretive tradition. Whether Anglican, Reformed, Presbyterian, Baptist, Lutheran, non-denominational, Episcopal, Catholic or otherwise, the truth is that we have all been shaped by a particular family of faith. These traditions have a history. Each arose out of a particular context within a particular culture. Each has a particular vocabulary which reflects the particular anxieties of a particular age–often reacting to the overcorrections of an earlier age.
The German Reformation, for example, properly birthed the Reformed and Lutheran camps, who were responding to an all-powerful Roman Catholic Church which had put salvation up for sale. Hence the reformers’ emphasis was on the objective certainty of salvation by grace through faith in Christ alone as opposed to works of the law. Members of the Anabaptist movement, on the other hand, were driven by different anxieties. Theirs was a reaction against infant baptism and a concern with personal confession, spurred by a strong belief in free will. Pietism, which was initially a reaction against scholasticism, arose out of a concern that the protestant faith had calcified into dead orthodoxy. Their primary care was with the loss of a “living faith.” The list goes on.
Each tradition, then, has a history. This means that when we pull back the curtain to reveal how human beings actually understand Scripture, what we discover is not an unbiased, disinterested hermeneutical robot pulling the levers. Biblical interpretation is never done in a vacuum. It is not some kind of priestly act performed in a hermetically-sealed chamber, protected from theological biases which might contaminate an otherwise neutral, or “pure reading” of the text. Each of us has been influenced by a very particular theological tradition or two (if you’re American, that number may run into the hundreds, as the great revivals resulted in a veritable potpourri of theological persuasions) and are, to one extent or another, products of those traditions. The direct result is that, whenever we approach the Bible, we do so with prior convictions which inevitably play into how we interpret a given text. In other words, we’re inescapably human, and so is our interpretation.
Human beings are situated creatures, and as such we are incapable of landing on utterly unassailable interpretations.
“So what then,” we may ask, “shall the postmodernists win?” Not necessarily. Owning up to one’s theological biases is a far cry from a laissez-faire free-for-all where every interpretation is regarded as equally valid. There is such a thing as bad exegesis and bad hermeneutics, and many traditions have fallen prey to them. Not all methods are truly created equal, but neither are they infallible. Biblical interpretation is only performed by human beings who are constitutionally-incapable of neutrality. The very questions we ask about a particular passage, the way we go about answering those questions, how we prioritize or de-prioritize one word or phrase over another is always–inevitably (though not exclusively)–shaped by our theological upbringings. Human beings are situated creatures, and as such we are incapable of landing on utterly unassailable interpretations. The Word of God cannot err. Our interpretations, however, can. What is self-evident to a Pentecostal may be anything but to a Methodist. What is abundantly clear to a Catholic eludes the grasp of a Lutheran. In other words, what is axiomatic for some (i.e. the “plain” reading of the text) is not necessarily axiomatic for all.
For example, why is it that the pietist so zealously emphasizes passages on godly living while de-emphasizing those on forensic justification? Why is it that a Lutheran will make a connection to baptism with nearly every occurrence of the word “water” in the Bible? Why is it that students of the Reformed tradition will bushwhack their way to the topic of God’s sovereignty at some point in every Bible study? Might it not be because biblical interpretation is influenced at a profound level by the theological baggage–good and bad–that we carry?
Here’s why all of this matters: there is no such thing as a purely “Bible-believing Christian” who is simply reading and teaching what the Bible says. You can be a Lutheran Bible-believing Christian. You can be a Reformed Bible-believing Christian. You can be an Evangelical Bible-believing Christian. But you can’t just be a “Bible-believing Christian.” In fact, to assert otherwise is the height of arrogance. It denies centuries of history, ignores the collective insights of generations in the church, and situates the tiara of interpretive infallibility comfortably atop my own skull cap. In short, calling oneself a “Bible-believing Christian” fails to account for the fact that every belief system, knowingly or unknowingly, arises out of a particular history. Doctrine is neither self-evident nor arbitrary. While we submit to the guidance of the Holy Spirit, hermeneutical conclusions are never purely the result of pristine exegesis. Nor are they the result of private revelations from the Holy Spirit. Rather, we are prone to draw some conclusions rather than others because we–at least in part–share the same theological concerns and anxieties as the church traditions which most influenced us.
The truth is that there is no such thing as a purely Bible-believing Christian because there’s no such thing as a pure human being.
We may all be Bible-believing Christians, but the idea that anyone can be completely free of presuppositions is a prideful myth and flat out denial of Paul’s assertion that for now we see through a glass darkly (1 Cor. 13:12). It is a denial of human sinfulness, and–as John warns us– “If we claim we have not sinned [in the context of our present subject, we might particularize this as “if we claim we possess interpretive infallibility”], we make him out to be a liar and his word is not in us” (John 1:10). Saying “I don’t believe in denominations, I’m just a Bible-believing Christian” propagates the myth that one has no denominational heritage. And it betrays a hyper-individualistic mindset. Interpretation is best done within the context of Christian community, which serves as a check and balance system against our own egos and humbles us when our understanding goes awry. The truth is that there is no such thing as a purely Bible-believing Christian because there’s no such thing as a pure human being.
Where, then, does all of this leave us? Is there no such thing as “right” interpretation? Are we doomed to wallow in some sort of denominational purgatory, forever worrying that our interpretation might not be the best one? Must we resign ourselves to half-hearted convictions because, after all, we could be wrong? Must we hold all beliefs with a high degree of uncertainty? Has deconstruction won the day?
When we reject the myth of the “Bible-believing Christian,” we are freed from the burden of justification by proof-texting alone.
I don’t think so. In fact, I believe the opposite to be true. I find there is great freedom and growth that can result from honest self-reflection. Rather than expending our efforts denying our respective theological heritages, we are free to study them historically–with all of the good, bad, and the ugly–before deciding to uncritically embrace or jettison them entirely. When we reject the myth of the “Bible-believing Christian,” we are freed from the burden of justification by proof-texting alone. We are freed from the burden of justifying the “sinlessness” of our particular theological tradition. We are freed from the burden of rationalizing the purity of personal doctrinal stances apart from the rich treasures of Christian history. We are freed from doing apologetics via “me and my Bile,” single-handedly parrying the blows of 2000 years of church history against all comers–which, trust me, is exhausting work. We are freed to be honest about our theological commitments and a priori assumptions, and to investigate them rather than try to mask them. Ultimately, we are freed to engage in meaningful cross-denominational dialogue, standing tall on our convictions while learning from the rich traditions of others.
But perhaps the most compelling argument in favor of mutual truth-seeking comes from the realm of ethics, and the virtue of humility that results when we acknowledge our own limits. Bible knowledge can never be total, and this is the beauty of studying Scripture; it is a lifelong adventure to be enjoyed rather than a book to be slain and conquered. We do not master it; it masters us, and there is always more to learn. We can know, but we cannot know entirely, as the author of Ecclesiastes so elegantly puts it: “He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the human heart; yet no one can fathom what God has done from beginning to end.” (Eccl. 3:11, emphasis mine).
The good news is that, through the power of the Spirit and Christ’s promise that every word points to him (see Luke 24:27 & 44), while complete knowledge of the Scriptures may elude us, sufficient knowledge does not. God’s Word is not a shadow for my feet and darkness unto my path. It is “a lamp to my feet and a light to my path” (Ps. 119:105). It does not create further confusion but dispels it. That is to say, everything necessary for salvation is clear enough, and the God who became “the Word made flesh” (John 1:14) speaks the same reliable words of comfort and assurance that he always has: Fear not. You are loved. You are forgiven. You are free.
Bible-believing Christians everywhere would hopefully agree.
