Fundamental Question: How to Interpret the Bible?

When it comes to how we read the Bible, how we approach the texts, and how we deal with the passages we dislike, we basically have two options:

We select certain passages and make them the basis and criterion for interpreting the whole (thus creating the famous “canon within the canon”). We arrange all other texts around them; we bend to this “canon” any passages that (apparently or actually) speak differently, perhaps with the help of allegory, eisegesis, and other interpretive techniques. In this way, we can obtain a clearly defined, transparent, and well-organized system of belief, where everything is understandable and determined.
We allow all passages to speak with undiminished power. We do not bend one under the other, even though this may leave paradoxes, contradictions, and oxymorons that we cannot fully explain, organize, clarify, untangle, or resolve. In this way we do not get a clear and conspicuous theological system, but a series of powerful words that challenge and encourage us, undermine and provoke us, and lovingly attack us from different directions. It is an explosive mixture that actively works within us to make us active in the kingdom of God.

As far as I am concerned, the choice is clear. My starting point is the fact that God did not give us the Bible to create beautiful, well-rounded theological systems, but to enable us to live in Christ, in his kingdom. Therefore, it is perfectly fine that there are some sharp, unpolished edges in it, because they spur me to action. Moreover, this is fitting for my imperfect, fallible state—that I am humble before the word of God and do not try to tame it, bend it, or dominate it in any way. I am under it, not above it. It is right that I cannot completely squeeze the Bible into a corresponding straitjacket of formal logic, composed of ideas or “biblical principles”. The Bible is a testimony to the living God, to his revelation, and this testimony is spoken by many different voices. I must not force them to harmonize or unify; the desire to do so is understandable, but for the most part it is only a veiled human attempt to subjugate and appropriate God.

What I am advocating is bad for theology, especially for the “systematic” one, but good for “theopraxy”. The dilemma actually exhibits a dangerous mistake in the approach itself: as if God expected from us above all a certain knowledge, an insight, rather than acting in accordance with his will and nature. Jesus is clear here: the purpose of his words (and, more broadly, of the entire Bible) is action, not merely listening and understanding (Matt. 7:21-27; cf. James 1:22-25).

Is it not easy to understand that the approach to the Bible reading I propose makes good sense from a practical and didactic point of view? Is it not true that one day a disciple or apprentice needs to hear encouragement in one direction, and the other day, when he starts to overdo it in that direction, encouragement in the opposite direction? In practice, education and discipleship work exactly like this.

Let us look at some of the most typical opposites and tensions over which theologians (and sometimes, alas, also soldiers) have clashed:

The strict God (1 Pet. 1:17) and the tenderly loving God (Isa. 66:13). On the day when I am frivolous, I need to hear the first, and on the day when I am fearful, the second. I need both, undiluted. (Sometimes even at the same time: Rom. 11:22.) And I do not agree with the modern, watered-down, mushy idea of a “loving God” who never punishes, nor with the traditional caricature of a merciless and cruel Despot who is just waiting for a chance to strike someone.
God’s sovereignty (Eph. 1:11) and our free and responsible obedience (Phil. 2:12). On days when I want to take charge and think that I am capable of something on my own, I need to hear the first. On other days, when I have become lazy and inactive (perhaps precisely because of that realization), I need to hear the second. I need both, undiluted. And I disagree with both Pelagianism and Calvinism.
The tension between already and not yet. One day I need to hear that the work of salvation is complete and that perfection is already attainable here (Matt. 5:48; 1 Thess. 5:23). The other day, I need to be aware that I must endure the hardships, limitations, and imperfections of the present age (Rom. 8:18; 2 Cor. 5:4) and wait patiently for the Lord’s coming (James 5:7ff.). I need both, undiluted. And I disagree with both futurism and preterism.
The priesthood of all believers (1 Pet. 2:5; 1 Cor. 12:7) and respect for leaders (Heb. 13:7,17; Phil. 3:17). On days when I feel incapable and would like to leave the work to those who are more competent, I need to hear the former. On other days, when I stubbornly insist on my own way and run into a wall, I need the example of older and more mature believers in Christ so that I can imitate them in following him. I need both, undiluted. And I reject both clericalism (even in its spiritualized, evangelical, or charismatic form) and the unscrupulous, individualistic chaos of spiritual “lonely riders”.
Respect for the written word of God (1 Cor. 4:6) and emphasis on the Holy Spirit, not on the letter (2 Cor. 3:6). On days when I am confused by feelings and spiritual impressions, I need the former. On other days, when I am lifeless, stuck and constrained by bare words, I need the latter. I need both, undiluted. And I disagree with both charismatic fads and Bibliolatry.
My identity: God’s child (Rom. 8:15-16), friend of Jesus (John 15:15) and only a useless slave (Luke 17:10). When I feel limited, weak, or lost, I need to hear about the first. When I want to take charge and need to empty myself, I desperately need the second. I need both, undiluted. And I reject both the dull, uncertain life that constantly questions its own worth, and the arrogance of “spiritual heroes”.
Justification by faith (Rom. 5:1) and by works (James 2:21). When I think that my salvation is uncertain and that I should try harder for it, I need to hear the first. But when I delude myself that this means I somehow do not have to do everything that God says, I need to hear the second. I need both, undiluted. I do not accept the blasphemous idea that man can in any sense save himself, nor the “cheap grace” that is in fact a perversion of true divine grace.

Of course, not all of the above opposites and tensions are the same. In some cases, we can or even must take them simultaneously, even though this is difficult (e.g., the Word and the Spirit), while in others it is important to realize that there is a sequence between the two (e.g., first faith, then works). The main thing is that we do not try to untie them, to loosen them on either side, even though our human limitations, laziness, and arrogance encourage us to do so.

In fact, there is a place where all these tensions are resolved. Yet this is not a certain theological system, but a person: Jesus Christ. In his person, we can observe how all these pairs, all these opposites, coexist without contradiction. When we experience union with him through the Holy Spirit, we also see the meaning and necessity of these tensions. There—and there only, in this direct, biblical mystical experience—they are no longer real contradictions, but only manifold attributes of him who has called us into his marvelous light (1 Pet. 2:9). Of course, we cannot compress, reduce, or confine this living experience, which is Christ himself, into some kind of orderly apparatus of formal logic. That would be a terrible blasphemy, an appropriation of the sacred and spiritual death.

That is why early Christian theology preferred to resort to paradoxes and the apophatic approach rather than systematic definitions. The Council of Chalcedon, for example, declared about Christ: “We teach that our Lord Jesus Christ is to us One and the same Son … acknowledged in Two Natures unconfusedly, unchangeably, indivisibly, inseparably.” An unfused fusion. If we pause to think about it, the claim that Christ is both God and man is another example of the opposites we mentioned above. In fact, such declarations should not be understood as definitions of content, but only as delimitations that seek to show the way and make room for true practice—for authentic spiritual experience beyond words. Unfortunately, however, the later development of theology (at least in the West) did not follow this direction.

Thus, if we have devoted ourselves for more than a thousand years primarily to theology, perhaps it is right that we now once again give priority to theopraxy. That we step onto the narrow Way. And that we read the Bible accordingly.