Bible, Theology & Philosophy

[amazon 1581349068 thumbnail] First Peter 3:15 states, “But sanctify the Lord God in your hearts: and be ready always to give an answer to every man that asketh you a reason of the hope that is in you with meekness and fear.” Apologetics is the formal study of how we are to “give an answer.”

William Edgar and K. Scott Oliphint, professors of apologetics at Westminster Theological Seminary, have done a great service to the Church in compiling a collection of writings from the New Testament era to AD 1500. This collection shows how writers from different eras, facing different challenges, have sought to defend the faith.

The volume here reviewed is the first of what originally was to be a two-volume set, and has 486 pages plus an 11-page index. In communications with someone working on volume two, I learned that the volume had grown to over 1,000 pages, and there is a possibility they will split the material from AD 1500 to the present into two volumes. If the second volume is of the same quality as the first, I hope that no material will be deleted in an attempt to limit the series to two volumes.

Making an anthology is like carving a statue. The editors, like the sculptor, must make many decisions regarding what to include and what to chisel away. In my judgment, Edgar and Oliphint have made very good—and in one case surprisingly good—selections from the material available. This book provides an excellent introduction to how believers have fought for the faith against pagans and atheists as well as against heretics and false religions.

The book begins with an excellent introduction to the overall project, providing both a short review of the state of apologetics today and the criteria for making the selections included. The editors state, “The twentieth century saw both significant development in apologetics and a measure of decline.” (p. 1) They cite the “onslaught of the Enlightenment, followed by Romanticism” (p. 2) as making both reason and faith independent of Scripture, calling for a need to develop new ways to explain our hope to the world around us. In our day, when many now associate taking religion seriously with violence, there are new challenges as well.

The third Council on Dispensational Hermeneutics was held on September 22-23, 2010 at the Baptist Bible Seminary in Clarks Summit, PA. There were approximately forty council members and nearly that many observers.

Republished with permission (and unedited) from Central Baptist Theological Seminary. (The document posted at Central’s website in August of 2010.)

Hermeneutics and Eschatology

All faculty at Central Baptist Theological Seminary of Minneapolis affirm a hermeneutical system that interprets all Scripture with a consistently literal or normal method. We also affirm the paradigm of grammatical, contextual, theological, historical exegesis with a view to discerning authorial intent.

Dual Hermeneutics

We all hold that the same hermeneutical principles must govern the interpretation of both testaments. We reject any approach that asserts, for example, that Old Testament prophecies concerning the first advent, life, ministry, death, burial, resurrection, and ascension of Christ should be interpreted differently from Old Testament prophecies concerning the second advent and the earthly rule and reign of Christ. There is no New Testament hermeneutic that supersedes an Old Testament hermeneutic.

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Over the years it has been my lot to read many biographies and autobiographies of missionaries. A career in missions makes it almost obligatory. In too many instances I have found these accounts to be either dull or, shall we say…depressing. One can only take so much “look what I gave up for Christ” before moving on to something a little more bright and cheery—like an anthology of the works of Edgar Alan Poe. Is it any wonder more young people don’t go into missions?

On the other hand, one of my favorite pastimes is to sit in on a group of older missionaries and listen to them tell stories. Inevitably their eyes light up and they lean forward in their seats, waving their hands excitedly as they recount their many adventures. Often they recall the tragedies and disappointments, yet there is an enthusiasm and joyful sense of purpose—even as tears fill their eyes.

When I opened Growing Up Yanomamö (2009, Grace Acres Press) I encountered a refreshingly different kind of missionary biography. It was as if author Mike Dawson—“missionary kid” and veteran missionary in the Amazon rainforest of Venezuela—was sitting across the table from me, regaling me with story after amazing story from his past. His style is engaging and conversational, and his stories are spell-binding.

Born in Venezuela in 1955 to missionary parents, Mike Dawson grew up with the Yanomamö people. (His command of the language was such that he was once able to convince the somewhat-hostile men of a village he was visiting that he was himself a Yanomamö whose mother had kept him out of the sun.) After graduating from high school he continued to work among the Yanomamö for two years. He then attended Bible college in the United States, returning with his new bride to Venezuela and the Yanomamö shortly after graduating.

The majority of Growing Up Yanomamö could be described as a vigorous romp through jungle. One reads of hunting for tapirs and spider-monkeys, of encounters with alligators and giant anacondas, and of spiritual showdowns with tribal witch-doctors. (This last fascinated me to no end. When I was “growing up Gothard,” it was accepted doctrine that demons were attracted to music with the “worldly back-beat.” Yet, according to Dawson, the demons have a terrible aversion to Southern Gospel and Michael Card. Perhaps it wasn’t the drums after all…) Yet through all of this adrenaline-pumping high adventure run the themes of divine protection, the triumph of the gospel, and the sovereign purpose of God in the midst of tragedy.

Dawson’s style is conversational. There are interruptions, rabbit trails, and third-person accounts. Rather than distracting, these add to the authenticity of the narrative and make it hard to put down. And not everything is “happy-go-lucky.” I challenge anyone who has a soul to read chapter twenty-four—in which Dawson records the home-going of Reneé, his wife of twelve years—without a tearing up. Even in the telling of this, his greatest personal tragedy, Dawson avoids the major pitfalls of missionary literature: he speaks with authenticity without descending into self-pity.