My skepticism about some of the tales told in Scripture arises in part from the phenomenon we call “urban legends.” Here’s an example of an urban legend, from yesterday’s Los Angeles Times, “Legal Urban Legends Hold Sway,” by Myron Levin (paragraphing edited):
Merv Grazinski set his Winnebago on cruise control, slid away from the wheel and went back to fix a cup of coffee. You can guess what happened next: The rudderless, driverless Winnebago crashed. Grazinski blamed the manufacturer for not warning against such a maneuver in the owner’s manual. He sued and won $1.75 million. His jackpot would seem to erase any doubt that the legal system has lost its mind. Indeed, the Grazinski case has been cited often as evidence of the need to limit lawsuits and jury awards.
There’s just one problem: The story is a complete fabrication. It is one of the more comical tales in an anthology of legal urban legends that have circulated widely on the Internet, regaling millions with examples of cluelessness and greed being richly rewarded by the courts. These fables have also been widely disseminated by columnists and pundits who, in their haste to expose the gullibility of juries, did not verify the stories and were taken in themselves.
I first heard the Winnebago cruise-control story from my dad, an Air Force officer, in the mid-1970s. As he told it, the story had nothing to do with the legal system. In his version, the hapless driver was a wealthy young pilot trainee from the Saudi royal family, who turned on the cruise control and went back to make himself a drink at the bar, and who died in the ensuing crash.
It’s not hard to find other examples of widely-circulating stories that simply aren’t true, or at the very least have mutated significantly in the retelling. Such examples are not limited to modern times by any means.
What do these urban-legend stories have to do with Christianity? It’s that some traditionalist Christians base their faith almost entirely on the allegedly-factual details of various New Testament stories that circulated by oral tradition for years before being written down — by non-eyewitnesses, in a different language — in the form we have now. Many traditionalists insist vehemently that no one who doesn’t totally believe in the
accuracy of those stories can properly call himself a Christian. It’s as though in their minds the
urban-legend phenomenon didn’t even exist.
The attitude of these traditionalists reminds me of a story told by comedian Richard Pryor on an HBO special many years ago. A woman catches her husband in flagrante delicto. She storms out of the room. The husband leaps out of bed and runs after her. He grabs his wife’s arm and insists angrily that nothing was going on, nothing at all. Standing there stark naked, in an anatomical state that (to bowlderize Pryor) unmistakably indicates what he’s been up to, he challenges her: “Who you gonna believe, baby — me, or your lyin’ eyes?”
Indeed.
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