AS A PARENT, it is a particular delight when I see one of my kids reading. I love to see when they become immersed into a story, or discover something they didn’t know before as they pore over a book. It is a thrill to watch their imaginations and worlds expand. Which makes it hard to imagine a parent saying to a child: “Stop reading! You’ve learned enough already. You’ve learned all you need to know.” Yet in my experience in the church, I’ve been told exactly that. And I know my experience isn’t an isolated one.

I’ve heard things like:

Why are you reading that book on alternate atonement views?

What is the point of reading something from someone who doesn’t believe in a literal resurrection?

Why spend time learning about biblical scholarship? It’s basically a liberal agenda to undermine our trust in the Bible.

What can you learn from a Hindu about God?

What does it matter what science says about the age of the planet? Obviously their goal is to disprove Christianity. Plus, that science is flawed. And Genesis is quite clear on the topic.

The Bible is very clear on homosexuality. I’ve read it.

Are these views extreme? Sure. Do they exist? You bet. Sometimes it’s this explicit, and sometimes it’s much more subtle. But the message is clear: “Don’t rock the boat. We have our beliefs. Your job is not to question them, but to get on board and perpetuate them.”

In my own tradition we studied the Heidelberg Catechism (a confessional document written in 1563 in Germany) and it’s formula of sin-salvation-service as early as elementary school. It was drummed into us. Now this approach is understandable for kids up to… say, 8th grade. It makes sense to give a rudimentary skeleton on which they can then dig deeper into the biblical text and their own life of faith.

But here’s the thing: it doesn’t stop in 8th grade. As an adult, you are required in my denomination—to this day—to swear to hold strictly to several documents from the mid-16th century (plus a couple of others).  In the sixteenth century, the printing press had been around scarcely 100 years, and most people did not read for themselves. In the 16th century Europe was still emerging from the feudalism of the middle ages. It was a time of immense change and discovery, and this document was written on the early side of those realities, not taking into account the changes that were about to come via shifting economic and governmental realities, European expansion into the “New World,” the enlightenment, and more recently—modern biblical scholarship and science.

In the 16th century there was no awareness of texts like the Dead Sea Scrolls or the Gospel of Thomas, which would be discovered nearly 400 years later. Biblical scholarship was limited to studying Latin versions of texts, or recently re-translating from the available Greek and Hebrew manuscripts. Much of the church was ensconced in a scholasticism that resisted acknowledging the findings of concurrent scientific discoveries, let alone their implications for a theistic worldview.

In no single other area of human knowledge, growth, and study, would someone say that we should bind ourselves to the worldview of a document written over 500 years ago. To even suggest it would be ludicrous. This is not to say such a document does not have insight, does not have things to teach us about life, about faith, or about God. But it is to say that we’re fairly certain human understanding has increased and evolved widely since then, and we are closer to knowing true things about our world that were as yet unknowns when this confessional document was written. It also begs the question, if certain church leaders were allowed to create such a document at that particular time in history, why are we not allowed to write such a document or revise our thinking today?

Maybe the driving factors are fear and control. Fear of the unknown: “Where will such openness lead?” Fear of new thoughts: “But we’ve always had this view…” Fear of identity loss: “But these documents are at the core of who we are…” Need for control: “We have to require members to believe something.”

Now many are of course expanding their thinking, writing and research without worry about whether or not it conflicts with specific doctrinal constraints. Yet in certain Reformed circles (and clearly in fundamentalist ones), that thinking is limited to the heretofore-mentioned theological boundaries.

It is certainly understandable. These things teach us what we need to know about God. Check that box.

Unfortunately, life—let alone God— is rarely that simple.

Born Out of Debate

Even the earliest and most widely held creeds were born out of debate. There were minority positions and other views among church leaders at the time. Some of those who dissented were silenced, and their voice and witness to an alternative approach to faith was dismissed because of the power dynamics at the time, not necessarily because they weren’t just as valid or didn’t also have true insights into the nature of God, Christ, or humanity. To ignore the actual process of how we arrived at such doctrines—ugly as it is at points—is perhaps bliss, but it is also a bit naïve.

This presents a special difficulty for those who attend seminary with the goal of entering into parish ministry. The problem is something like this: you spend 3 years studying church history and biblical scholarship which makes it quite obvious that certain doctrines, interpretations and confessional documents are not the whole story. The specific political/cultural/historical matrix out of which they came explains a lot of their resulting views of God, humanity and the church. In seminary you explore recent biblical scholarship (which developed after such documents were written), and then you are asked not to use it. At least, not if it conflicts with prior doctrinal commitments. But how can someone hold this with integrity? Seminary graduates and pastors are asked to be people of integrity. But integrity gets framed as: “Stick to the doctrinal heritage and don’t rock the boat.” Actual integrity would look like openness to learning new things about the Bible and being honest about what one is learning.

And not only is this true for pastors, but it is true for college professors who teach at the denominationally-affiliated schools—liberal arts college professors who teach mathematics, science, religion and philosophy are made to sign a document which says they won’t teach or instruct anything that goes beyond the scope or causes potential disagreement with these faith statements written in the late middle ages. Recently a couple of professors at Calvin College were asked to leave or rescind their research because it conflicted with certain denominational doctrines.

Which begs the question, why? Why do we do this? Are we afraid? Is it a power issue? Is it a need for control? Must we treat each other like little children, who are not invited to grow up, discover the world, and learn new things?

And then some see the latest Pew study and ask, “Why can’t we keep the young people in the church?”

So I have to ask, isn’t it time to grow up? Isn’t it time to trust that the Holy Spirit can lead people into truth beyond John Calvin, Martin Luther or various church councils? Isn’t it time to be adults? If we want to open into the wider world, if we want to claim that all truth is God’s truth, isn’t it time to stop operating out of fear, and start moving into faith?

Faith is not about enforcing a path in only one direction that’s already been trod. Faith looks like trusting God even—or perhaps especially—when we aren’t sure where the path leads.

Bryan Berghoef is a pastor, writer, and author of the book, Pub Theology: Beer, Conversation and God.  He insists that good things happen when we sit around the table together and talk about things that matter—questions and all!—and what better setting than at the pub, over a pint? Bryan has been hosting pub conversations since 2008.