Bible and Beeswax

Thoughts and products about theology and culture.

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  • Book Review: A Hot Peppercorn

    A Hot Pepper Corn: Richard Baxter's Doctrine of Justification in Its Seventeenth-Century Context of Controversy

    A Hot Pepper Corn: Richard Baxter’s Doctrine of Justification in Its Seventeenth-Century Context of Controversy by Hans Boersma

    My rating: 4 of 5 stars


    A difficult yet rewarding read about the unique views of Richard Baxter regarding justification. Baxter’s controversies with John Owen are set within their appropriate historical context, and due diligence is paid to Baxter’s well-meaning intent in rejecting the High Calvinist doctrine of eternal justification. Boersma gets to the heart of the matter when he suggests that Baxter’s two-fold view of the will of God is at the essence of his alternate understanding. The author comprehensively traces Baxter’s two-fold understanding as derived from Twisse, as developed in regards to God’s will (will of favor, will of law), Christ’s two-fold acquisition (new law of ownership, new law of command), and the believer’s two-fold justification (personal and universal righteousness).



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  • Deus: A Parody of Invictus

    I’ve been unsettled by the poem Invictus ever since I had to memorize it in High School.  It is lauded and celebrated by so many as an example of the resolve of will required to persist in this harsh world.  But I actually believe it is an arrogant poem.  So, randomly, and recently, I wrote a parody version of it that I’d like to call Deus.

    Out from the night that once was me,
    Black as a pit from pole to pole,
    I thank the Everlasting God,
    For my redeeméd soul.

    In the kind crib of circumstance
    I often wince and cry aloud.
    Beneath the rod of providence,
    My head is humbled but now bowed.

    Beyond this place of holy tears
    There is the Light without a shade.
    There the infinite blissful Years,
    Shall find me wholly unafraid.

    It matters much how strait the gate,
    How charged with punishments the scroll.
    But God is the master of my fate:
    Christ is the captain of my soul.

  • Washington’s Spies

    Washington's Spies: The Story of America's First Spy RingWashington’s Spies: The Story of America’s First Spy Ring by Alexander Rose
    My rating: 5 of 5 stars

    This is a well-researched, and fascinatingly written examination of the spy rings present during the American Revolution.

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  • When Helping Hurts

    When Helping Hurts: How to Alleviate Poverty Without Hurting the Poor . . . and YourselfWhen Helping Hurts: How to Alleviate Poverty Without Hurting the Poor . . . and Yourself by Steve Corbett
    My rating: 4 of 5 stars

    A solid re-definition of poverty with a number of practical ways to apply its teachings. The majority of this book was paradigm-shifting for me in terms of how to view and address poverty. However, my main qualm with this book is that I disagree with its criticism of the doctrine of the spirituality of the Church, and its embrace of the neo-Kuyperian transformational approach. While the spirituality of the Church has sometimes been abused in order to remain aloof from the issues of poverty, the proper solution isn’t to reject the doctrine as a whole. Instead, we ought to correct the misguided use of the spirituality of the Church.

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  • Certainty and Doubt

    Christians have looked warily at postmodernism for some time now.  Its amorphous nature has never been appealing, and its candy-shop variety of metaphysical conclusions has been hard to accept.  Sure, one can enjoy certain aspects of so-and-so’s post-structuralism, or rejoice in what’s-his-face’s view of textual analysis, or delight in another fellow’s critique of modernism’s epistemological arrogance, but Christians have long had issue with accepting “postmodernism” as an overarching system of thought.

    It is now vogue to challenge the “modernist” view of the mind, knowledge, and certainty.  I totally agree with this program, because most “modernist” epistemologies are, indeed, arrogant, and fundamentally flawed.   But, unfortunately it’s also vogue to categorize historic, Christian views of knowledge as “modern”, suggesting that it is arrogant, blind, or even sinful to be “certain”.  I’d like to suggest, at the least, that God calls Christians to arrive at certainty through the Scriptures.  It is not modernism that gives Christians the belief that they can achieve epistemological certainty, but Scripture.

    The Content of Our Certainty

    That said, this article is not going to focus on overarching epistemological certainty. Rather, this will focus on how a person can become certain that Jesus is who He says He is.  I’m distinguishing these primarily because, while entirely reasonable, a Christian’s view of Jesus is based in faith.  This faith is a supernatural gift from the Holy Spirit, and exceeds rationality.  Faith isn’t given to someone out-of-context.  As Paul puts it, “faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ” (Rm. 10:17). God’s typical pattern is to endow the gift of faith to someone when they read or hear the Bible being read or preached.    While reason can lead us to conclude that so-and-so book is well written or logical, only the Spirit of God can lead one to conclude that the Bible is God’s Word.  He “testifies” to one’s mind that the Biblical author’s testimony is true, and these two witnesses (author and Spirit) enable one to render the verdict that Scripture is God’s Word (Jn. 3:32, 5:32, 8:18; Rm. 8:16; Hb. 10:15).  This article addresses the next step: Now that a person believes in Christ, how certain can they be about who He is?

    We’ll look at a number of passages that explain the nature of certainty, but I just want to point out that a Christian seeks to be certain of specific things.  He wants to be certain of “the things [he] has been taught,” (Lk. 1:4), of, “God’s mystery, which is Christ,” (Col. 2:2), of, “the gospel,” (1 Th. 1:5), of, “hope” (Hb. 6:11), and of, “faith” (Hb. 10:22).  These are all roughly synonymous to mean that the Christian seeks to be certain of what the Scriptures say about Jesus.  While Jesus is, indeed, a mystery (Col. 2:2), He is a mystery we can know intimately, and with certainty.

    The Basis of Our Certainty

    In Luke 1:1-4, Luke explains his purpose for composing yet another gospel narrative,

    1 Inasmuch as many have undertaken to compile a narrative of the things that have been accomplished among us, 2 just as those who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and ministers of the word have delivered them to us, 3 it seemed good to me also, having followed all things closely for some time past, to write an orderly account for you, most excellent Theophilus, 4 that you may have certainty concerning the things you have been taught.

    Luke’s basic reason for writing another gospel is so that “Theophilus”, likely a patron of this expensive scholarship, may be certain about what he has been taught (v. 4).  The fourth verse is ἵνα ἐπιγνῷς περὶ ὧν κατηχήθης λόγων τὴν ἀσφάλειαν.  Those two bolded words are important, and roughly translated they mean, “in order that you may know with certainty about the things you have been taught.” So, according to Luke, certainty is a type or quality of knowledge.  The word that Luke uses for certainty is ἀσφάλεια (asphaleia), which ranges in meaning from “stability of a circumstance” to, “stability of an idea” to, “restriction of movement such that there is security.”  So, for example, Luke uses this word again in part two of his account, the Acts of Christ through the Spirit, in Acts 5:23, “We found the prison doors securely locked…”.  A basic analogy to certainty is then that of the door to a home (as opposed to a “foundation”, so commonly employed in today’s epistemology arguments).  If your home is built on a solid foundation, then you are protected from having storms wash away your belongings, but if any robber can come and kick down your door then your possession are still insecure.

    What This Means:

    1. Certainty isn’t Arrogant

    If Theophilus had sinfully or arrogantly pursued “certainty” about his belief in Jesus, I think Luke would have had quite a different introduction.  What purpose would an additional narrative serve?  “While, dear Theophilus, you pursue certainty of these things about Jesus, I can only provide you a competing narrative that you must accept in opposition to those other stories.” As it is, though, Luke’s introduction reveals his attitude towards certainty.  Certainty isn’t arrogant or presumptuous, but a godly attitude and mindset.

    2. Certainty Ought to be Pursued

    A Christian doesn’t necessarily begin with complete certainty.  Yes, initially a Christian will have certainty in general, like a single lock upon a door, but as they grow they will learn how to better barricade that door.  Luke suggests that after having built a home upon the foundation that Christ tells us to build upon (Lk. 6:47-49), we are to strengthen the stability of the door so that we might be secure against thieves and robbers.  The problem is that thieves and robbers come and attempt to break down the door.  Perhaps the lock has been loosened, and now you’re not sure what to do.  You’ve become uncertain about what you’ve been taught.  Now you must go through a process to arrive at certainty again.  This means that doubt, much beloved by postmoderns, will likely be included in the journey to certainty.  But doubt itself is not the goal, nor is doubt even desirable.  This is intimately related with the doctrine of assurance of salvation.  The Scriptures are clear: a person may lose their assurance or grow weaker in their assurance for a number of reasons.  While this is the case, the authors of Scripture repeatedly encourage their congregations to pursue assurance (Hb. 10:22).  Similarly, when we are challenged, we ought to pursue certainty about the things we’ve been taught about Jesus.

    3. Certainty Can be Attained

    I hope it’s apparent that if certainty couldn’t be attained, Luke would have no reason to state that this is his chief goal in his work.  The fact is that while certainty can be attained, the Scriptures speak of various levels of certainty for the Christian.  The Christian who has lost his certainty may regain it, and grow in it.  For an example, let’s look at the verse I just mentioned in passing: Hebrews 10:22,

    Let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water.

    The author of Hebrews uses one vital word: πληροφορία (plerophoria). It generally means, “A state of complete certainty.”  This certainty isn’t presumption, and it isn’t arrogance, but it is the conclusion of filling up something.  Just like a cup can be filled to the brim, so too our certainty can be fully filled.  The author of Hebrews argues that this is the ideal situation: he wants his readers to have this complete certainty.  Though the moon may not be full, it can become full, and this is something we ought to expect. This is the standard and goal that the authors of Scripture maintain we can indeed attain (Col. 2:2; 1 Th. 1:5; Hb. 6:11).

  • But is It Worthwhile?: Art as Investment

    So, contemporary art might be meaningful, and it might last, but is it worth the price tag?  Of course, this isn’t an easy answer.  A great deal of contemporary artwork is just plain awful, and so I’d say, “No, don’t spend any amount of money on this, especially not what they are asking.”  

    Basically, a viewer must become discerning if they want to make a worthwhile purchase.  For instance, though Damien Hirst’s artwork is typically valued at a rather high price, some of his work is notably either poorly executed, or so reminiscent of trash that it is thrown away by museum janitors.  A wise investor ought to look for three things: art they enjoy, art that they think is worth more than the price tag, and art that they think will last.

     First, how do you know if a work of art will last?  Well, take a look at the life and thought of the artist himself, as well as the artist’s body of work, before making a purchase.  “But,” you ask, “what if I’m just seeing this artist’s work for the first time, and I really like it?”  Well, I in turn would ask you to take a gander at that price tag.  Is it a substantial amount of money for you, or a meager investment?  If it doesn’t make a dent in your wallet, then you should most certainly invest in a piece of art that you find enjoyable, and think you would like to see again.  But, if a work of art is of substantial cost, then it is worth thinking over whether or not you ought to invest in it.  

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    Take, for example, the hubbub over Mark Rothko.  Recently, one of his pieces sold for over forty million dollars.  While, personally, I enjoy Rothko’s work, and even if I was given that amount of money (which I certainly don’t possess), I would not purchase this work of art.  Why?  Well, it helps to know a bit about Rothko’s process.  As one man in this article points out, “To achieve the effect he wanted, Rothko was willing to sacrifice longevity.”  And I feel similarly about Jackson Pollock’s work as well.  While I value the aesthetic, the history, and the potential meaning, I think it isn’t worthwhile as an art-investment.  The previous article points out that Pollock, Rothko, Rauschenberg, etc. all experimented with their mediums to get a certain instantaneous effect, but they didn’t seem to care about the long-term effects of their methods.

    “But, why does it matter if the work lasts?” You might ask.  “I mean, really,” you might think, “all I care about is being able to look at it during my lifetime.”  But that isn’t true.  If you spend millions on a painting or sculpture, you will want your family to be able to enjoy it as well.  Or maybe you’ll want the general public to be able to enjoy it.  Maybe not, though.  Maybe you have millions to burn and you just want a statement in your house that says, “I bought a piece of this famous dead guy’s work.  Look how cool I am.”  But honestly, none of you want to do that, right? Also, you probably can’t afford to do that, even if you want to act like a snob.  Anyone who invests a lot of money into something wants that thing to last.  If you purchase an expensive car, you want it to last.  Artwork works the same way.

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    Second, you ought to look for artwork that is worth more than its current price.  I recently had a discussion with a friend where we both disagreed about this topic.  I suggested that the price attached to artwork isn’t the same as the worth of the artwork.  A piece of art can be worth a great deal, and yet be priced at an excessively low price.  The inverse is more frequently the case: a piece of art can be worthless, and yet given a huge price tag.  We all know the experience of looking at we what we think to be a rather banal little work, and when we look at the price tag we are aghast.  Often, this isn’t because you are an “outsider” to the art world.  Rather, it is because you actually do have some sense of the intrinsic worth of art.  You see that extrinsic label telling you that it is intrinsically worth millions, but you are a better judge of its character than the gallery owners, apparently.  What often happens in the artworld is a kind of proliferation of name.  A piece by Jeff Koons will sell for gobs of money not because his work is beautiful, or even made by him, but because it has the name Jeff Koons attached to it.  An outsider to the artworld could care less about the name, and this actually gives them the advantage of looking at the worthwhile (or uselessness) of the artwork itself.  Is “Michael Jackson with Bubbles” seriously a good work of fine art?  A viewer who hasn’t had the baggage of “So-and-so is such a great artist” tossed at them might actually stand a chance of evaluating the work properly.  Basically, when you’re looking at a work of art, you ought to try to determine whether the piece is worth more than the price.  If so, it is definitely a worthwhile investment.

    In the end, there are three basic principles for investing in fine art: buy what you enjoy; buy what you think is worth more than its current price; buy what you think will last.

  • But Does It Last?:The Case for Beeswax

    Without a doubt, the number one thing I am asked by viewers is, “Will this thing fall apart?”  The Western art tradition has largely grounded itself in the vehicle of oil painting, and most viewers are simply used to the thought that while oil lasts, other things might not.  

    For this reason, I’m not upset when someone wonders about whether my medium is substantial.  But, I’d like to challenge the notion that oil paintings are inherently more lasting than paintings made of waxes, specifically paintings made of beeswax.  Mainly, I’d like to show that beeswax is a substantial, lasting material, that can last for extra-ordinarily long amounts of time if kept in the proper conditions.

    Beeswax has proven, historically, to be a long-lasting material if kept in proper conditions.  It has been used for a number of things: as a general adhesive, a substance for painting, for furniture repair and varnishes, for coating fine wooden instruments (like a Stradivarius), for fletching (attaching feathers to arrows), and as a coating to protect walls.  You can always check the “reputable” site Wikipedia for a number of beeswax’s other uses.

    Though beeswax has been used in various regions of the world, our oldest dated waxes have come from early Egypt (and in use potentially as early as 1500 BC).  In this essay, the author examines the use of copper as a pigment in ancient beeswax work.  He looks at four different works, one dated from 1186-1069 BC, another after 664 BC, a third undated, and the last one also dated after 664 BC.  His conclusion is that a green pigment is formed when copper is stored in beeswax at 110 degrees C (230 F) overnight.  

    Eventually, the early Egyptian use of wax developed into what is known as Punic wax around the Ptolemaic period (305-30 BC), and was employed throughout Late Antiquity (200-600/800 AD).  See this essay if you want to read about the identification and history of Punic waxes.  As this article points out, Punic wax is quite different than the modern, processed encaustic wax.  In fact, the modern usage of beeswax–filtering it, bleaching it, and adding resins–may cause long term discoloration.  While adding resins to beeswax may increase the melting point, making it harder to melt, the resin may lead to long-term discoloration.  For that reason, I personally don’t use any resins in my beeswax.

    In the end, purchasing a beeswax based painting is just as risky as purchasing any other type of painting.  Beeswax today is shown to melt at about 140 degrees Fahrenheit.  While acrylic based paints don’t “melt”, they do become elastic from 100-200 degrees Fahrenheit (depending on the type of acrylic).  Meanwhile, both acrylic and oil based paints are susceptible to the water in general humidity, and white spots may appear between layers of paint in humid climates.  If condensation gets on the surface of acrylic work, it may develop into an irremovable mold.  Acrylic paint is fragile in conditions under 45 degrees Fahrenheit.  Oil paint is even less resistant to the cold.  While beeswax work itself suffers very similar problems, the point is that it suffers similar problems.  No piece of art is immune from time, or from the potentially destructive forces of water, fire, air, and earth.  

  • But What Does It Mean?:A Guide to the Perplexed

    Tomorrow, six of my pieces will be shown at Belhaven University at an alumni exhibition.  These pieces are small, roughly 12″x12″, and are already framed.  As I prepare to talk about my work, I think that a question many people may ask is, “Well this looks nice, but what does it mean?”  

    It seems to me that a majority of our nation either considers fine art unimportant, useless, or at least confusing.  This is especially the case with fine art that doesn’t contain a trace of representation.  How can a work that doesn’t “represent” something have anything meaningful to say to the viewer or to the community? Can it really be anything more than esoteric? I think that a huge stumbling block here is in the lack of a known language.  The realm of non-representational art isn’t language-less, it simply employs a type of language that isn’t based in the symbols employed by representative art.  My goal with this short essay is to explain how my work works, or how it “talks”.  My goal is to help people understand how non-representational art has a “language”.

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    So then, what does it mean?  As we look at the painting above, titled, “Wound”, we start trying to analyze it.  With any work of art, a person should start by asking, “What is it made of?”  It is made out of beeswax, pigment, and wood.  The next question a person ought to ask it, “Why is it made out of these things?  Is the artist attempting to communicate something with the material he uses?”  While a person might ignore these first two questions when looking at representational art, which they shouldn’t, they must ask these questions when looking at art that has no imagery.  

    In my case, the material that I use is very much related to the meaning of my work.  I chose beeswax after a long process of aiming at one thing: finding a medium that would both conceal and reveal its own history of process.  Oil paint, for example, doesn’t explicitly reveal the layers that are behind it.  Certainly, the under-layers give the over-layers their shimmer and final form, but an untrained person won’t be able to see the differing layers of development.  I don’t want this to be the case for my work.  I want the viewer to be able to see “the process” to some extent.  I care about this because I want my work to speak to God’s hand in providence.  He ordains all things that come to pass.  Often, we do not understand the way in which the hard times, the boring times, the dull times are being laid out in order for a more brilliant time to be built on top of it.  Without the preparatory event, the later event would be impossible, or insignificant to us.   Overall, God works all things to the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose.  The material of beeswax, then, serves to illustrate this point.  The material becomes an analogy for the providence of God.

    Next, though, a viewer should ask, “What is the form of the work?”  They should be wondering about the composition, the design, of the artwork.  In the case of “Wound”, the artwork is slightly rectangular.  Asymmetrical blackish-blue brush strokes are visible beneath layers of pale green.  Over this background, large green nodes develop and spread up from the bottom right to the top left corner of the piece.  In any non-representational work, the form might be suggestive of something representational.  So, for example, some people have said that the top layer looks like coral, mushrooms, various fungi, or flower blossoms.  Basically, it is suggestive of growth.  But the bottom layer is also suggestive.  They look like deep wounds that have begun corroding.  

    Last, a viewer should ask, “How is the title related to the work?”  Often, in contemporary art, the title is completely unrelated, unfortunately.  With my work, though, I always attempt to guide the viewer into a better understanding of the meaning of the work.  The name of this piece is “Wound”, hearkening to the bottom layer.  This title might seem odd to a person.  A work that seems lovely, or beautiful, shouldn’t carry such a harsh, almost gross sounding name.  But the point is found in the relation of the form to the medium.  The form suggests growth and wounds, while the medium suggests the idea of God’s providence.  If you put these concepts together, I think you do arrive at the idea of, “He was wounded for our transgressions, He was crushed for our iniquities.”  The greatest blessing came out of the greatest curse.  Any who believe in the promise of Christ Jesus will be forgiven, because Christ died to bear the wrath of God due for the sins of His people.  The most profound moment in all of human history was when God was most displeased with His Son, pouring out His wrath, but simultaneously most pleased because Jesus willingly bore it.  Similarly, the wounds that the Christian receives, suffering under persecution or hardship, struggling under a hard providence from God, will inevitably bear greater blessings.  The glory that awaits us will far outstrip any struggle that we now face.  Our wounds yield growth and glory for us.

    My hope is that this has somehow helped to serve as a guide for understanding not only my work, but also the work of other non-representational artists.  Though our work doesn’t “depict” an image, the material, form, and even the location of our artwork is inevitably symbolic, and meaning-laden.

  • Why I am One of Those Fundamentalist, Sola-Scriptura People

    I am a conservative Protestant, but I follow a good number of blogs by Roman Catholics, liberal Protestants, and a number of other people as well.  Recently, though, I’ve noticed two major ideas that have been the subject of repeated and sustained attack.  From the Roman Catholic blogs, I’ve seen a continued critique of the idea of Sola-Scriptura, or “Scripture alone”, which I will explain later.  From the so-called, ‘progressive Christian’ blogs I’ve seen the idea of “fundamentalism” constantly derided and decried as basically the worst thing about contemporary Christianity, and potentially its own harbinger.  It is in the light of these two ideas that I’d like to explain why I, myself, remain one of those fuddy-duddy fundamentalists, and why I enjoy and remain an advocate of the reformation teaching on Sola-Scriptura.

    First, it’s really important to define your terms.  That said, Sola-Scriptura seems to be the subject of either much debate, or simply much confusion.  In particular I’m thinking of Edward Feser’s recent posts (here, here, and here) on the epistemological fallaciousness of Sola-Scriptura.  In a quick summary, Feser, citing Feyeraband, who is citing early Jesuits, basically argues,

    a) Scripture alone can never tell you what counts as Scripture, b) Scripture alone can never tell you how to interpret Scripture, and c) Scripture alone cannot give us a procedure for deriving consequences from Scripture, applying it to new circumstances.

    While this is a fascinating argument, I’ve always understood Sola-Scriptura to be rather more limited in its claim than the claims that this argument attempts to refute.  My understanding of Sola-Scriptura is that this means, “Scripture alone is the rule of faith and life.”  Now, note that I am citing the Westminster Confession of Faith, and I’m doing so without a tinge of worry that I’m somehow violating the principle of Sola-Scriptura.  This is because the idea that the Bible alone is “the rule of faith and life”, means essentially that it is the standard, the measure, the ordering principle, and the guiding authority of all things having to do with my salvation.  But, does this concept deny the idea that there are subordinate authorities that help inform “what counts as Scripture”, “how to interpret Scripture”, or “give us a procedure for deriving consequences”? No.  It doesn’t.  You may ask, “Why not?”  

    My answer is this: because the picture that is being painted by Sola-Scriptura is that there is an objective truth that is from God Himself, which comes to us so real, so true, and so pure that it, and only it, is the light upon our dark road.  Subordinate authorities help us understand the light.  They can draw up equations to explain its properties, and then use this
    knowledge of properties to invent devices to control the light.  They make filters to diffuse it.  They make solar panels to harness it.  They make lenses to sharpen it, and turn it to fire.  But the subordinate authorities are not the light.  This is why we consider them subordinate authorities.  They do not stand for us as the light itself, or as perfect interpreters of the light, or as perfect employers of the light, but they do stand for us as useful authorities on the matter.  This, then, is why I can cite Westminster without fear of treading down the beloved Sola-Scriptura.  Westminster is, indeed, an authority, but it is an authority that is expressly subordinate to that of Scripture.  The Westminster Divines (yes, that’s what we call them because we honor them!) saw the light of God’s truth, recognized it as truth, and explained it as such.  

    I suppose, in conclusion, you might ask me, “To what extent is Scripture then alone or the authority on faith and life?  If there are a million subordinate and derivative authorities of Scripture, all with their own standards for determining what makes something Scripture, how to interpret it, and how to use it today, then how is Scripture really alone in regards to our faith and life?” I understand Feser’s critique, when it comes down to this point.  But Feser’s solution is just as problematic as that of Sola Scriptura.  While Scripture itself stands as the only pure and perfect teacher for our salvation, it is inevitable that we must deal with interpretations of Scripture.  Which interpretation is accurate?  How do we decide if so-and-so’s view is right, or why not that other guy’s view?  Feser’s solution is that the Church has the same level of authority as Scripture, and is thus able to discern the appropriate view from a Father or counsel or Papal bull.  But this isn’t a solution.  Counsels contradict one another.  The Fathers disagreed, argued, and also contradicted each other.  Many pope’s issued inaccurate, inappropriate, and totally wild statements based out of flawed exegesis.  So which one does the Church trust?  Father A or Father B?  Counsel 1 or 2?  This pope or that pope?  

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    The “problem” that exists for Sola Scriptura (the need to trust some other authority) isn’t solved by the Roman Catholic view of twin authorities (Scripture and Church), but is only watered-down.  The solution is to properly understand the doctrine of Sola-Scriptura:  Scripture is from the mouth of God through the writings of men under the influence of the Spirit.  If we have trouble understanding what it means, it nonetheless remains God’s Word and the only authority that in itself fully can tell us how to be saved.  Meanwhile, all other “authorities” that exist concerning salvation are only derived from Scripture itself.  The individual exegete that is good at exegesis is good because he has sat underneath this Word, and sought to understand the author’s intent.  When he expresses to a friend, “You may be saved by believing in Jesus Christ,” he has not learned this from observing nature or the wisdom of the world, but from God’s Word alone.  The counsels that provide good counsel have sat beneath the influence of the Word.  The popes that have spoken accurately (and yes, my Protestant friends, there have been some good statements from some popes) have only done so insofar as they have studied the Scriptures.  While we are clearly always influenced by people as well as Scripture, it is the people who have studied the Scriptures who prove to be the most influential upon us, because they carry in themselves the knowledge of the Word of the living God.

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    So far I’ve shown why I believe in Sola-Scriptura, but I haven’t addressed the idea of “fundamentalism”.  What do I mean by this word, and what do “progressive” Christians mean by it?  I first heard this term when I was in college, studying visual art.  It was always used in reference to Christians who hold a rather (in my opinion) odd view about the last-days.  Typically, these men and women believe that Christ will return, rule the world for a thousand years from his throne in Jerusalem, while the Church–being raptured–will dwell in heaven.  But, when I first stumbled across a blog by a “progressive” Christian, and commented on it, arguing that atonement is real, they spoke of me pejoratively as being a “fundamentalist”.  What did they mean?  I wasn’t discussing the last-days in any sense.  Now, from my seminary studies, I’ve come to realize that fundamentalism, broadly understood, refers to a type of doctrine of Scripture.  According to this teaching, Scripture in its original autographs (documents) is inspired by God, without error, without fault, and is still useful today for “teaching, reproof, correction, and training in righteousness” (2 Tim. 3:16).  Most people understand the Chicago Statement on Biblical Inerrancy to be a good summary of this sort of fundamentalism.  

    You might be saying, “So, what’s wrong with that view?” Or, you could be saying, “What kind of nincompoop believes that God could or would speak to humanity in such a way?” Or maybe you’re somewhere in between those two questions.  Simply put, “progressive” Christians lie somewhere closer to the latter questioners than the former, and so I’ve certainly received a bit of flack from them for arguing from Scripture for my positions regarding atonement, doctrine of God, and ethics.  But after all the disputes, why am I still a fundamentalist?  Is it simply, as one lovely critic said to me, because I grew up in a Christian household, and am lazily resting in the beliefs of my parents? Goodness, no.  This is the exact thing that I sought, in college, to overcome.  I didn’t spent the years reading the writings of Islam, Judaism, Bahai, Hinduism, Buddhism, Confucianism, Mormonism, existentialism, atheism, materialism, nihilism, New Age, and all sorts of blends of these in order to lazily rest in my parent’s beliefs.  I sought and pursued the truth (and am still doing such) for myself, and have become a fundamentalist.  

    First, let’s look at what doesn’t convince me. As I have discussed the “progressive” Christian’s views on Scripture, I’ve learned that most of them still believe that God somehow interacts specially with Scripture to bring truth to us.  While they don’t believe it is by directly inspiring and perfectly composing writings for all humanity through humanity, they do believe that He uses the text to explain Himself to us.  Most of them are very much Barthian, or neo-Orthodox.  In short, they believe that these were ancient texts, very much outdated and without application, in themselves, to God’s people today.  But, they are the place that God speaks to us.  So, when we pull out the rag-tag pages of these ancient men and women, and preach from them, God uses this preaching to illumine the minds and hearts of His people.  Can you see the inevitable problem(s) with this doctrine of Scripture?  It’s sort of like this: you stumble across an old farming implement, and you wonder, “Hm.  How was this thing used?  Can I use it today?”  So you read books about the implement.  You talk to scholars about it, and speculate about it.  You figure out that it is an old type of plow, pulled by an ox.  You determine–for some unknown reason–that this plow is the thing that must be used today for proper farming, but the old ways of farming with the implement were wrong.  But the problem with this conclusion is two-fold.  How have you determined that the implement is what is most effectively used for farming?  Secondly, how will you then employ the implement for farming? If you say, “Well, I’m just not going to worry about how to employ the implement because an ancient spirit will steer my hand in the right direction,” that’s simply a cop-out.  You will inevitably make up your own way of using this tool, and who is to say the proper method for using it today? These are huge problems with a neo-Orthodox, “progressive” Christian, doctrine of Scripture.  

    So, why am I a convinced “fundamentalist”? Well, not only do I find the alternatives logically problematic, I find the fundamentalist doctrine of Scripture overwhelmingly true.  By overwhelmingly true I mean that this doctrine as truth resonates in my whole being.  First, my mind is convinced by it as I see its logical proofs: God spoke by men, because He spoke to men.  He moved them to write perfectly, and guided them in their process of writing, yet they also wrote of their own free will what they wanted to write.  This is similar to the doctrine of concurrence.  Of course, God employed the literary conventions of these writers, and spoke within their context, because He didn’t ‘force the hand’ of each author.  But this fact doesn’t lead us to become mere nominalists, believing that the ancient’s had no “true” grasp of God.  But the better we understand the conventions of their culture, the better we will understand how the Scriptures explain God, really and truly.  For example, while the authors employ anthropomorphisms to describe God (and we know–God has no body but in Christ), there is a corresponding reality to the idea that God is “grieved”.  God used these authors because He desired to get this point across.  He didn’t arbitrarily choose desert-dwellers to speak about Himself, but He chose them purposefully.  Or, for another example, the authors speak about God as if He related to humans in covenants.  The covenant was an ancient Near Eastern practice that is approximate to legal contracts today.  While, today, if you fail to keep your word in a legal contract, you will probably be sued, back then the price of covenant-breaking was death.  Now, “progressive” Christians will write-off the idea of the covenant as having nothing to do with God himself, and the ideas of death for covenant-breaking as totally ungodly–but God employed these social circumstances to speak the truth about Himself, and about His relation to His people.  He really does make promises to us, and we make promises to Him.  Our violation of these promises really does merit death.  Perhaps a “progressive” Christian will call this doctrine of Scripture illogical, but honestly it isn’t illogical.  It seems more likely to me that we moderns/post-moderns are simply uncomfortable with the idea that God can be anything like the descriptions of the ancient Israelites, and for that reason are quick to write-off a doctrine of Scripture that gives credence to their understanding of God.

    I’m not just convinced by logic, though.  My heart is convinced by this doctrine of Scripture as I hear the Scriptures read, “Did not our hearts burn within us while He talked to us on the road, while He opened to us the Scriptures?” (Lk. 24:32).  My understanding of the doctrine of Scripture is very similar to that of the existence of God, and the reality of Jesus’ incarnation, death, and resurrection.  Though all of these things are miraculous, the idea is perfectly logical, and further, it confirms every longing of my soul.  In fact, I’ve found the alternative options to be, inevitably, both illogical (at some point) and unsatisfying to my own longings.  The Scriptures, though certainly going through various processes of redaction, corruption, correction, and so on, are inerrant in their original compositions.  Insofar as we discern these originals, explain these originals, and preach these originals–this is God’s infallible word.  While we may err in discerning it, or may err in interpreting, or may err in preserving it, I am pressed by the conviction that God, by the Spirit, uses the bits of truth that we have pulled out from the originals to convince us.  Thankfully, as well-reputed scholars like Aland and Metzger have pointed out, we are blessed today with the ability to more closely discern the originals than many of our preceding generations (due to the prolific amount of texts we now possess).  This means that the concern of any decent biblical scholar, textual critic, pastor, preacher, and even lay-person, is simply to find out what the original text says, what it meant for the people in its day, and what that means for us today.  As these things are read and taught, “opened” to us, our hearts will burn within us as our longings are shown to be real, and our hopes to be fueled by the truth of God.  So, I’m still one of those fuddy-duddy fundamentalists, and Sola-Scriptura sillies.