John Ahern writes,
As with all debates, there are some things left over you wish you had had time to say or points that weren’t brought up that you’d like to be brought up. That’s the great thing about Pontification Ad Nauseam, of course – the discussion is on-going. I do fully hope that Nick, James, and Philip respond to this as they see fit. I’m addressing here a point that James and Nick made toward the end of the round regarding the dear old syllogism.
I. God cannot say something untrue. (Heb. 6:18)
II. The Bible is spoken by God. (2 Timothy 3:16, 2 Samuel 23:2, 2 Peter 3:15-16)
III. Therefore, the Bible contains nothing untrue.
PAN has started a new series (hopefully) of “dialogs” – several editors, over audio, discussing certain issues. The particular issue here is a perennial favorite of the PANers. John Ahern, Philip Hilton, James McCord, and Nick Embrey all discussed Scriptural infallibility for about 2 hours. This is the (largely) unedited recording of what we came up with.
Here are the links to the mp3 files of the discussion.
John Ahern scribbles deliriously,
Some storm-tossed sailors have just landed on some coast outside Africa. They’ve just been saved from a gale sent by Juno, who has a thing with these Trojans. Venus, who has a different thing with these Trojans (Aeneas happens to be her son), comes whining to Zeus, calling him out for not keeping his promises to the poor, destitute Trojans. Not particularly worried about pandering to the special interests of lobbyists—he is a somewhat partisan figure himself—Jove consoles Venus, telling her that, in fact, the Trojans’ luck will turn. They’ll settle in Latium and someday have an empire. Bigger than anybody else’s. An imperium sine fine.
Sarah Roorda takes a stab in the dark. (And uses italics more than she should)
When you hear “Old Testament” Bible stories told (often for children, although not always), they’re often told as though they were quaint morality plays with a cute, clear-cut moral at the end. David and Goliath is about how God will back you up against your personal enemies, Esther gains courage and self-confidence, Joseph is a good boy and gets rewarded, etc. These may or may not be correct interpretations of the stories (and in the David case I would say
not on account of it being a story about Israel, and I suspect any kid that tried to apply it in a simplistic way in regard to a bully or something might get beat up), but I am doubtful that this approach is really helpful.
After all, at the end of each story in the Bible there is no general sum-up. I can just hear the song from Veggie Tales “What we have learned applies to our lives today. God has a lot to say in his book.” And in the case of Veggie Tales they will pull a verse (or half a verse) from the NT out of context and we’ve all been inspired. View Full Post
John Ahern writes,
I remember, once, watching a “Journey Home” episode that some Catholic friends of ours gave us, where Marcus Grodi, in a moment of tangential, theological exuberance, explained what has often been described as the three-legged stool of Catholic infallibility – Scripture, the Holy See, and Church tradition. I’m not going to pick on that from a specifically Scriptural standpoint right here, in the sense that I won’t be providing verses and the exegesis of smart men, but a more philosophical and indirectly Scriptural argument about the messy places this position is inevitably going to get you in. Church tradition won’t be my concentration, either, as much as the inevitable tension between an infallible Bible and an infallible Church, especially as the two relate to the issue of the canon. Pushed far enough, the issue of Who Made the Canon turns out, I argue, to be a point in Protestants’ favor and puts the Catholics in the uncomfortable position of having to deal with circular reasoning (of the wrong kind).
A friend was bemoaning the lack of hymns about the promised resurrection of the body. So, I sat down tonight and wrote one. It probably needs a little tweaking, particularly in the second verse, but I needed to get a post up today– so, perhaps you shall see a better version in the future.
The meter is CMD (common meter doubled) and for now, it can be sung to the tune Ellacombe.
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Hannah Roorda writes:
Well, I know I promised more poems– but as soon as I said that, a large number of other poems turned up on this blog. I’m not used to that, and it threw me off. I said, surely no one wants to read that much poetry all at once? So my Wednesday night poems are still just scribbled on the back of church bulletins in my car, and you’ll have to keep waiting. But, if you are one of those who starts to get dizzy after a few attempts at amateur verse, find relief, dear friend.
First– this is the blog’s 100th post! A significant milestone I am sure.
And second, the actual posty bit:
I’ve never given a great deal of thought to all the times in the Bible God talks about sheep. I usually take them for granted– sheep figure into everything. The patriarchs raised them, Moses sacrificed them, we went astray like them, and Jesus died as one. Sheep are always there! But that is probably a good reason why I should pay more attention when they come up.
During the past few weeks I have been reading a lot more of the Bible– I’m trying to read through it in 90 days. It’s definitely challenging, but so far it has been extremely rewarding. I’ve gotten behind recently, largely because I got a hands-on application opportunity earlier this week!
On Tuesday night, I had been planning to take some time between work, supper and choir rehearsal, and finish reading Deuteronomy. I wasn’t looking forward to it– I’m pretty tired of everybody wandering in the desert, and I’d really like to read about Joshua and Jericho right now. But I had to get through it, so after I got home from work I grabbed my Bible and headed to my room to read.
Not very long afterwards, my mom called me downstairs. I was irritated– couldn’t she tell I was trying to read the holy scriptures?! But it was my friend Lauren on the phone– her sheep had gotten out, her family was gone, and she was letting me know she wouldn’t make it to choir rehearsal that night because she had some sheep to rescue. Now, I am not exactly the paragon of self-sacrificial friendship, so I think my reasons for volunteering to drive out to her farm and help her might have had more to do with not wanting to read about the children of Israel being disobedient than with eager urge to help someone in need. But whatever my motive, in just a few minutes I was in my car making the 15 minute drive out to Lauren’s house, a change of clothes tossed in the backseat for the off-chance that I might still make it to choir.
When I got there, she explained the problem. Her neighbor had called to let her know the sheep were out– but we didn’t know where they were. I threw on a pair of her younger brother’s boots and followed her and her dog out to the lower pasture. We scanned the fence, but didn’t see any breaks, so we had to walk down to both ends of the pasture. The fence on the west end was intact, so we knew they must down at the east end, across the creek. It took us a few minutes to walk down there, but when we did, the little escapees were easily spotted. They were standing in the neighbors’ soybeans, contentedly eating. They didn’t look like they were suffering from any pangs of conscience!
We easily rounded them up and chased them back towards the barn and the other pasture. When we got there, Lauren opened the gate into the upper pasture– the sheep were almost there– but we had rejoiced too soon. Half of them headed for the other end of the pasture we were in, and half of them ran back towards the creek. I didn’t react soon enough, and the creek-bound half easily made it past me and started high-tailing it down there. I ran after them in exasperation, the mud boots slapping against my legs.
Before I had come close to reaching that group of sheep, I heard more little hooves running along behind me. I turned around, and there was the other half of the herd, chasing their friends and I. I stood my ground, more out of desperation than determination, and yelled at them, “So help me, if you don’t turn around and go right back where you came from, I WILL get an ax and slaughter you all!” I don’t think they understood all the words, but the tone was clear, and they headed back to Lauren.
I turned my attention to the original group. By now they were nearly at the creek, and my window of catching them without having to jump the creek again was narrowing. I ran along the fence line, trying to ignore the way my feet were beginning to hurt and the thought of how badly I’d smell if I ever made it to choir. I eyed the gap between us– if I beat them to where the fence turned a corner, I could circle around, stop them from crossing the creek, and get them headed back towards the barn. I managed a final burst of speed– but they beat me. But I wasn’t going to cross that creek again, no way! I was yelling again: “You dumb sheep! Don’t you cross that creek! Oh, I’ll make you regret it!” With an inhuman speed, I ran around them and was now between them and the creek. They looked at me. I looked at them. If they’d wanted to, they could have split center and gotten around me– but I was counting on their herd mentality– and it came through. I dashed at them, and they turned around and finally were running towards the barn.
I started to holler at Lauren as I ran along behind them. “We’re coming, I got them, get ready!” As they approached the fence, she swung wide the gate to the other pasture, and with a bit of cutting them off as the dashed first too far right, then too far left, we got them inside.
Except for one.
One little sheep decided she’d be better off down at the creek, and she was headed there again, ignoring the rest of the herd in the other pasture. I took a deep breath, rolled my eyes, and pursued, Lauren running along the other side.
Fortunately, at this point Lauren’s dog decided to intervene, and she scared that little sheep back towards the barn. I turned around and chased it away from the creek while Lauren got the fence ready again. We zig-zagged around the pasture awhile– the sheep crazily turning left, right, backwards, forwards again– anywhere but inside the gate. I followed along behind, guarding the way to the creek. But after a few tiring minutes of this, I eventually cornered it in the barn. I glared at it. I was out of breath, my feet were beginning to blister, I smelled like the pasture, and I was late to choir. The sheep glared insolently back. All my epithets forgotten, I merely stood, staring, until Lauren rounded the corner and tackled the straying sheep. It collapsed, sincerely offended, and had to be dragged into the other pasture.
After we finally pulled the gate shut, the sheep still lay on the ground, motionless. Lauren prodded it, checked it for injuries, pleaded with it– but it wouldn’t get up. We agreed to come back later to check on it, but as we climbed out of the pasture, it at last got over itself and got up.
As we changed into clean clothes (a must!) and made our way to choir, at least half an hour late, we were both thinking the same thing: God calls us sheep, and boy, it’s a good thing grace is free.
