I ventured into the middle of another let’s-bash-the-liberals lovefest at TitusOneNine. In the course of the discussion, Nicholas (comment # 18) asked me: “The wishy-washy ‘gosh I don’t really know what’s true we’re all in a process of discernment let’s stay united and dialogue’ stuff is not something I can find a biblical model for. Can you?”
First, a biblical model would be helpful, but it’s certainly not mandatory. We can’t live our lives clutching the Bible as a security blanket, as an ultimate, preemptive authority on all matters of faith and morals. To do so would be to abdicate our individual, non-delegable responsibility to God, to make the best choices we can, using the sum total of the evidence he has revealed to us (and yes, I mean to include here one of the conservatives’ favorite whipping boys, the dreaded demon Experience).
That said, however, I can find a biblical model to support my view — well, sort of.
Consider Deut. 18:21-22, one of my favorite passages when I’m inclined to indulge in proof-texting. It seems to enjoin us to adopt an empirical, scientific-method approach to revelation:
You may say to yourselves, ‘How can we know when a message has not been spoken by the LORD?’ If what a prophet proclaims in the name of the LORD does not take place or come true, that is a message the LORD has not spoken. That prophet has spoken presumptuously. Do not be afraid of him.
(Emphasis added.)
One of the main things I like about the Episcopal Church it is that the majority view acknowleges that we mortals don’t know everything — and what we think we know, could be wrong. And by “we mortals,” I include Isaiah, Paul, Peter, James, John, etc. They were wise and insightful men, yes, but men who knew only a miniscule fraction of the evidence God has since revealed about the world and about humanity. Does that mean we know everything, or that we?re right about everything? Of course not. But we have a lot more evidence about God’s world than did the scriptural authors (including what they left for us). We’d be imprudent, to say nothing of burying our talent in the ground, if we were to ignore all that evidence, and instead to cling to the opinions of men who stopped learning thousands of years ago.
Our own knowledge remains imperfect, of course, but we can’t let ourselves be paralyzed by that fact. We have to make policy decisions as best we can, and accept responsibility for the consequences. We’ve done that for matters like murder, adultery, pederasty, etc. But we’ve also made such decisions and later changed them, e.g., concerning slavery. (Some will scream that I’m supposedly beating a dead horse in bringing up slavery, but the facts are as inescapable as they are uncomfortable; burying one’s head in the sand won’t change them.).
Jesus, I submit, expected us to keep our minds open to new information and insights. To consult with — but not abdicate to — the community, past and present. And to change our minds, and hearts, and actions, when it seems called for. That, I submit, is what metanoia, repentance, is all about.
Unfortunately, some conservatives seem to have picked up just part of that message, clinging to Scripture as the be-all and end-all. I continue to hope that they can remain at the table with so-called reappraisers, and that all of us can continue to work in harness together. But if not, I’m casting my lot with those who, while taking Scripture seriously, are nevertheless willing to cautiously try out new insights and new models. I truly believe that’s what God wants us to do — to learn from each other and from our collective experience, not just to be forever locked into the imperfect insights of bygone millennia.
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