Pacing and Praying

The late June sun was just descending from its zenith in the cloud-speckled blue skies above my Idaho farm as I paced along the most hidden part of my rural property. Between an island of aspens, with their little green leaves quaking in the gentle summer breeze, and the old fence that separated my backyard from my pasture, was a narrow strip of dry, mostly shaded ground that was hidden from the road and from my neighbors. I walked from the edge of my empty garden, along that narrow strip of yard, to the copse of pine trees in the opposite corner; back and forth I paced, my mind teeming with frightening thoughts and dangerous questions.

This wasn’t the first time I had paced back and forth between the aspens and pasture. I had done this many times before out of necessity because, as a father of six children, it was impossible to find a quiet place to think and pray alone in the house. To get away from the chaos and noise, to find the solitude that I needed to work through a problem, I had discovered years earlier that I could almost hide, not only from my neighbors, but from my family behind the aspens with their white, chalky bark and paper-thin leaves that turned vibrant yellow in autumn.

In 2016, when I was struggling with my decision to resign from ministry and leave the church that I had championed for over 13 years, the pacing began. If I went through with it, my family would lose 100% of its income, and we’d be shunned by so many of the friends and even family that we had built our lives around. My wife would lose her parents and siblings. My children would lose their grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins. They would disown us, and we’d be more alone than we had ever been. It was that kind of church. Leaving it would mean leaving that world and starting over. And after two straight years of debilitating church politics and drama, we were battle-weary and in desperate need of reprieve. Leaving might bring us reprieve, but only after an explosion of drama and loss and stress. Was it worth it?

I prayed for wisdom. “God, should we stay in this church and continue fighting these battles in hopes that we can bring about positive change? Or is this environment so destructive and hopeless that we need to leave?” 

Ultimately, I did resign from ministry on a cold, lonely night in October of that year, and attended a more mainstream church with my kids the following morning. 

In 2017, when I was faced yet again with a question about Christianity that had plagued me off and on for years – a question that struck at the very heart of my faith and was so monumental in my mind that my faith and identity as a Christian hung in the balance – I paced the same worn out path, back and forth, praying for divine guidance, seeking answers, wondering if I was letting God down by my lack of faith, or he was letting me down with his lack of clarity and mercy. 

It didn’t help that I was exhausted from working two jobs to make up for the income I lost when I left ministry, or that my wife and I both were battling depression, or that I was losing control of my marriage, or that I had no social life or family nearby and felt alone most of the time. 

An answer didn’t come, but I decided to hold fast to my Christian faith anyway because I realized that not only did I risk losing my family if I left the faith, there were many more unanswered – and perhaps unanswerable – questions outside of faith. If unanswerable questions loomed within every worldview, and if some degree of faith was inevitable either way, then I might as well stick with a faith that was familiar to me, a faith that would keep my family together. My faith may have been broken, and limping along going forward, but it was still intact.

Then 2018 came – the year from hell! I found out that my wife didn’t love me…and had never loved me. I had neglected her needs for too long, had failed to build the deeper relationship that she wanted and needed. She had long since given up hope that I was even capable of being who she needed me to be. At first, I thought she was just being dramatic. Maybe years of trauma and heartache had led her to this breaking point. But she made it clear that this was how she felt.

I prayed when I woke up, on the drive to work, at work, on the drive home from work, before bedtime, and nearly every moment in between. I begged God to do whatever he had to do to change her, or me, or our situation so that my marriage could be saved. Countless hours were spent reflecting on our marriage and on my life to figure out where I went wrong, and what I needed to do to be a better husband. 

My wife told me I wasn’t capable of loving anyone deeply, or building meaningful relationships, and that I probably needed psychiatric help, so I went to a therapist, and then a psychiatrist. I saw someone who prescribed me anti-depressants and even Adderall to help me with focus. But the therapists and counselors said that while I might be a little depressed, I actually had a remarkably good grip on my life and mental state. It didn’t matter what they said or what I did, she continued to believe that our marriage was a hopeless cause.

While the decline really started in 2017, I spent all of 2018 fighting like hell to save my marriage from the brink of ruin. I did everything I could to fix my marriage, to save my family, and to garner my wife’s favor. But the harder I tried, the worse it got. I tortured myself with relentless questions that shredded my self-esteem. What do I have to do to earn this woman’s love? Why doesn’t she love me? Am I unlovable? Am I defective?

Through it all, I put too much pressure on myself and on her to fix our marriage. I pushed too hard and was impatient at times. I was desperate. I was confused. I was panicked. So I reasoned and begged and prayed relentlessly.

In 2018, I wore out that path between the aspens and the welded-wire fence, walking back and forth from the empty garden to the conifers in the opposite corner of the back yard, listening to the cows bellow from the pasture and magpies scream from their perch in a nearby maple tree. I could hear the chatter and laughter of my six children from the house, and wept at the thought of losing my wife, of losing my children. 

I paced when that path was covered in snow, when the dark green grass of spring was blanketed with pink blossoms from the cherry tree next to the garden, when the honeybees bounced from one summer sunbeam to the next, and when the aspen leaves turned golden yellow again. I walked that path in and through every season of 2018, desperately asking God for a miracle, and for the strength to endure until that miracle came and my marriage was saved.

The miracle never came.

On that sunny, breezy afternoon in late June 2019, as I stood beneath the shade of those aspens, staring southward across the pasture and wheat fields at the distant mountain peaks, there were no sounds of laughter coming from the house behind me. I couldn’t hear my son dribbling a basketball in the driveway, or my oldest daughter practicing her violin, or my wife yelling for the kids to set the table for dinner. The house that had been so full of life for nearly four years was now silent…

…and empty. 

In the end, despite my fighting, my hoping against hope, being disappointed over and over again – and yes, committing my share of mistakes along the way – she was convinced there was no hope for us. Emotionally and psychologically depleted, I decided to give my wife what she wanted: I set her free. 

I filed for divorce in December of 2018, it was finalized in March of 2019, and then, on a Saturday morning early in May, I received a text from my ex-wife: “I got married last night.” I was devastated. Heartbroken. 

At the end of May, I had to watch her and her new husband – a man who had been a close friend of mine for years – load up a truck and trailer full of furniture and worldly possessions and drive away to their new home in Reno, nine hours away.

I had to say goodbye to my kids, tears streaming down my face, feeling the warmth of their tears on my neck and chest, seeing the angst and pain in their eyes, and all of us sensing the finality of it all; knowing that our lives would never be the same again. 

Hugging them goodbye and watching them drive away to their new life in Reno was one of the hardest moments of my life.

There’d be no more family dinners with me sitting at the head of the table. I’d no longer get to play the role of Santa Claus on Christmas morning, with my wife smiling from the couch. I’d no longer get to make breakfast sandwiches for her on Sunday mornings while she was getting herself and the kids ready for church. No more family movie nights. No more honey-do lists. My wife wouldn’t be around to sing harmony to all the church hymns I’d randomly belt out as I moved about the house. No more curling irons and hair dryers on the bathroom sink. No more cheerios and pop-tart crumbs on the dining room table and kitchen floor. And no more knowing who I was, and what my life was about…because everything that had defined me for so long was gone.

While the memory of watching them drive away replayed itself in my mind on that hot June afternoon in 2019, as well as all the other painful memories of those years of heartache and disappointment – leaving the Church of Christ, leaving ministry, watching my wife fall deeper into depression, facing multiple crises of faith, and all the efforts to save my marriage, only to watch it fail miserably – what compelled me to return to that well-worn path between the garden and pines that day was a new burning question that came about partly as a result of all those memories.

In the weeks following my family’s departure, there was this growing sense that God was not only distant, but completely absent. 

Why didn’t God answer my prayers? Why didn’t he save my marriage? Doesn’t the Bible say that God hears the prayers of the righteous, that when Christians pray in faith according to his will, he answers? And isn’t it God’s will that marriages last? Doesn’t the Bible say that God hates divorce, and that marriage is a lifelong covenant that cannot be broken? That a wife should love her husband even as Christ loves the church? What did all of my faith and trust and prayers bring me, however? A marriage that fell more and more into disrepair. A wife that loved me less and less. And divorce. I had asked repeatedly for a fish, but had received a stone.

It wasn’t just that God didn’t answer my prayers. When I looked back on all the times I prayed, all the times I poured my heart out to God, all the times I confessed my ignorance and sinfulness and begged for him to do whatever he had to do to save my marriage – not even for my sake, but for my children’s sake, and for his ultimate glory – I couldn’t help but realize that there was never a hand of comfort extended, a mercy given, a “still, small voice” to quiet my spirit – nothing! Looking back, it all suddenly felt empty and desperate, even forced. God never told me “no” or “not now” or “not this way.” God never said anything. There were just these countless images of me speaking out loud – being vulnerable, complaining, pleading – with zero evidence that anyone was listening in, much less responding. Just a painful, awkward, enduring silence.

It wasn’t so much a “how could God do this to me?” kind of thing, spawned by bitterness and anger, but more of a “how could God be real if he doesn’t feel real?” kind of thing, and a “how can I believe in a God whose promises are empty?” kind of thing. The promises of scripture should mean something, right? If we can’t really trust in those promises, what can we trust in?

For the first time in my adult life, I really felt completely alone. Not only were my wife and family gone, but so was God. 

And so naturally, because I was pondering the value and veracity of my faith on that fateful day in 2019, that same old question that had nearly bankrupted my faith many times over the years came surging back to the forefront of my mind. With the benefit of hindsight now in my favor, not only did my faith in the power of prayer feel forced, but so did my answer to that question.

On historical, logical, practical, and personal grounds, the Christian faith that had defined me for 20 years, that I had espoused in thousands of sermons and Bible studies, that I had ardently defended publicly against skeptics, now felt like just another man-made religion of the world. It lost all of its power in both my head and my heart as I realized and accepted on that June afternoon that I didn’t believe it anymore.

My thoughts had been drifting in this direction, asking these questions, for weeks at that point, but now a decision needed to be made. I had to decide if I wanted to keep pretending to believe, going to church every Sunday, toeing that line, keeping up appearances, hoping that maybe one day, my faith would return…or if I wanted to confess my disbelief and agnosticism and walk away from it all.

As I paced back and forth beneath the aspens, walking atop fading cherry blossoms, hearing the chatter of magpies and cows in the distance, feeling the warm Idaho sunshine on my face and the high desert breeze blowing through my short, brown hair, I realized I could no longer pretend to be someone I wasn’t. I had a clean slate, and this was my opportunity to really be myself, and I was going to take it.

So after spending 20 years in the Christian religion, and 13 of those years in full-time church ministry, I decided while pacing along that faded path in my yard to be honest with myself, to stop pretending, and admit that I no longer believed. 

As I walked back to my quiet and empty split-level home, I walked away from Christianity.

What was the question that plagued my faith those last few years? What were the other factors that led to the erosion of my faith? What was that process like for me? And where am I now?

Now that I’ve introduced you to my story, I’d like to answer these and other questions in greater detail. Hopefully, in the next week or two, as I have time, I will write more. Until then, stay open-minded, and keep chasing the truth no matter where it leads.

Marriage Is Hard, and So is Life!

Back when I was 19 years old and on the verge of getting married, I was convinced that so long as my future wife and I continued to love and serve the Lord with all of our hearts, our marriage would succeed.

On one hand, it really is that simple. A husband and wife who grow in the grace and knowledge of the Lord, and who remain 100% committed to His will and His glory, should grow deeper in love over the years, and will hopefully never have to sign divorce papers or deal with child support or alimony or any such thing. After all, God is love, and His plan is best, and so two people who grow in the love of God will learn how to love each other more deeply. And if God’s plan is marriage for life (Matthew 19:6), and a husband and wife are committed to that plan, divorce should never be on the table.

Right? Right!

Kind of.

You see, on one hand, it really should be that simple. But on the other hand, it really isn’t that simple at all.

A husband and wife can absolutely love the Lord, and still find themselves in a marriage that is in shambles. Two people can get married and have every intention of following God’s plan for marriage, but despite all of their best intentions, fail miserably. A husband can do the best he can, and yet his wife may still feel unloved or neglected. A wife can strive every day to be the best wife she knows to be, and yet still her husband may feel unwanted or disrespected.

We are never great at anything from the word “go.” No one steps up to the plate and knocks the first pitch out of the park. No one steps onto a basketball court and is automatically a great shooter. No child starts kindergarten with the full capacity to learn and process complex mathematical formulas. Proficiency only comes with time and work and…are you ready for it…?

Failure.

A man and woman can get married and have the best intentions in the world, and do the very best that they know to do…and still fail miserably because they are ignorant. After all, there is a difference between good intentions and good habits; between the desire to love someone and the ability to really love someone. Inevitably, we all fail over and over again, and are humbled by our failures until most of us eventually realize that we don’t know what we’re doing.

Haha. (You either have to laugh or cry here.)

Those of you who are married probably know exactly what I’m talking about, especially those of you who have been married for a few years, or even decades.

As important as it is for two people to love the Lord and be committed to His glory and His plan, the harsh reality is that there are a lot of people like this who end up divorced…and who never saw it coming. Someone cheated. Circumstances changed. Depression robbed one (or both) of the energy and strength to try, to hope, to work. Life happened – kids and work and bills and activities – and the two slowly but surely drifted apart until they became strangers, and felt alone, and unloved, and neglected, and the pain became too much to bear. These are only a few of the scenarios that have unfolded in countless thousands of Christian marriages over the millennia.

Maybe this is you.

You see, marriage really isn’t simple because people aren’t simple. We’re complicated creatures with unique personalities, shaped by our childhoods, with our own weaknesses and strengths, and all battling sin, and guilt, and shame, and weakness. I know that all too often, I have felt like Paul in Romans 7 – wanting to do what is right, but falling prey to sin; wanting to be a good husband, wanting to handle this disagreement with grace and wisdom so that my wife feels loved and heard…and yet digging myself into a deeper hole. We’ve all been there. We can have the best intentions in the world, and a common faith in Christ, and still, because of our humanity, fall flat on our faces in despair, feeling hopeless.

Even though I always tried to be a good husband, and thought I was doing a pretty good job, I realize now how horribly I failed on so many fronts. As much as I felt that I loved my wife over the years, I realize now that my love for her was immature and undeveloped. I often think to myself, “If only I could start all over knowing what I know now.” Have you ever had that thought?

This is how life goes.

When we’re young, everything can seem so simple to us because we haven’t lived long enough to have the experiences and the failures that inevitably humble us. It’s easy to be self-confident when you haven’t failed yet, just like it’s easy to think you are a mathematical genius when all you’ve had to do is basic addition.

This is true for marriage, but it is true for every other aspect of life, including our faith and beliefs. It’s easy to think we know it all when we haven’t been challenged. It’s easy to think that something is simple when we haven’t come face to face with it ourselves.

“Hey alcoholic, why don’t you just stop drinking?”

“Hey druggie, why don’t you just lay off the meth?”

“Hey homeless person, why don’t you just get a job?”

“Hey doubting Christian, why don’t you just have more faith?”

“Hey husband and wife on the brink of divorce, why don’t you just love each other and stay married?”

While I don’t want to over-complicate these issues (including marriage) or give the impression that we ought to accept bad decisions or sin, I also think that there is equal danger in over-simplifying these issues. Because what ends up happening is that people are even less prepared for what’s coming in life than they already are. They enter into marriage, or religion, or whatever it may be – with the misguided assumption that so long as they do x, y, and z, everything will work out.

Not necessarily.

What are the takeaways here?

Be humble. Don’t take anything for granted. Confess your ignorance. Spend less time judging others and more time helping them. Seek help and guidance early and often. Don’t be the Pharisee in Luke 18, but be the Tax Collector – beat your breast and confess that you are a sinner in need of constant mercy; and not just privately in your bedroom, but publicly, and with your family. Let them see your humble repentance and complete dependence on God.

My stomach may not be as flat as it used to be. I may have a receding hair line. I may have a few gray hairs in my beard. I may not be able to dunk a basketball anymore. But I’m perfectly okay with being a little older and wiser, and I’m especially okay with the growing sense of ignorance…because the more I realize I don’t know, and the quicker I am to confess this, the deeper my faith becomes, and the faster I run to Christ for help. I’ll take this humble faith that has grown from failures and shame over the ability to dunk a basketball any day.

Although I would like to be able to dunk again.

Mormonism & Questioning

In the fall of 2015, we moved to the small, rural town of Blackfoot in southeast Idaho. When the average person thinks of Idaho, they think potatoes. That’s not a bad connection to make considering a lot of potatoes are grown in this area. I pass by potato factories every day on my way to work, and there’s even a pretty impressive potato museum in Blackfoot. Yes, you read that right. A potato museum.

But honestly, what stands out to me more about southeast Idaho is not the potato fields or the potato factories, or the potato museum. It’s the Mormon Church’s influence.

Of course, I knew about Mormonism long before I moved to Idaho. As a full-time preacher for 13 years, I studied Mormonism off and on – its history, its doctrines, its culture. There were a few occasions over the years that I studied with Mormon missionaries.

But when we moved to Idaho, we moved to the heart of the “Mormon Empire”. At least, that’s how it feels. Practically speaking, it feels like every local person I meet is either a Mormon or ex-Mormon.

Most of the Mormons I know are great people and don’t look or act all that differently on the outside, but without a doubt, they have a lot of really strange beliefs relative to mainstream Christianity. They believe in a plurality of gods. They believe that God, or “Heavenly Father,” was once a man like us, and that we can attain godhead and rule over our own planets one day. They wear “holy underwear” and go to temples where they perform rituals that appear odd and even cultish to the rest of the world. They perform baptisms for the dead. They have really strange beliefs about the history of the Americas. And whereas most Christians see the Bible as the only inspired record, Mormons believe in latter-day revelations such as the Book of Mormon, and ongoing revelation.

I’ve often wondered how the Mormons around me can possibly believe what they claim to believe. How can they believe that the Bible supports their religion? How can they believe that the Book of Mormon is an inspired “latter-day revelation” when all of the evidence we have says the exact opposite? Don’t they ever stop and say to themselves, “This can’t be right!”?

To outsiders, the Mormon religion is VERY strange. But the fact is, for Mormons – especially those raised in it – it’s not strange or illogical. It’s their reality, their truth, their world. They go to Mormon Churches every Sunday where they read out of the Bible and the Book of Mormon. They have Mormon family and friends that agree with them and pat them on the back and give them validation that it’s true. They pray and feel that God validates their religion. And, of course, they feel incredible pressure to hold fast to Mormon tradition.

Here’s another question I’ve pondered:

Would the Mormons here in Idaho be Mormons if they had been born and raised anywhere else but here?

Maybe. But probably not. However, a lot of these people were raised in this area, or were raised in a Mormon household, or did marry a Mormon, or have been in the Mormon world for years, even decades. So, again, as strange as it all might be to us, it isn’t strange to them.

Now here’s what I’m getting at…

It’s so easy for ANY ONE OF US to believe what we believe simply because of our upbringing, our culture, and/or our circumstances. The chances are probably greater that a person raised in the northeast will be Catholic rather than Baptist. A person born in the deep south is probably more likely to be Baptist than Catholic. The majority of religious Americans would identify as “Christian,” but in the Middle East, Islam is the prevailing religion. And then, of course, there are all of the people who are raised in non-religious homes who see most religious people as backwards – who see belief in God as no more reasonable than belief in the tooth fairy or Santa Claus.

I may look at the Mormons here in Idaho and constantly wonder how in the world they can sincerely believe what they claim to believe, but there are people who might wonder the same thing about me and my Christian faith.

What may seem completely normal and logical and defensible to me may be weird and creepy to someone else!

Experiencing the Mormon culture really changed my perspective for the better. It forced me to take a harder look at my own beliefs and the reasoning behind my beliefs. I came to realize more and more that I cannot believe blindly in anything – no matter how much pressure there is on me to keep believing it. If I was calling on the Mormons and others to question their own beliefs despite how normal and real those beliefs were to them, it would be hypocritical of me not to hold myself to the same standard!

I’m not suggesting that a belief is wrong because it’s weird or right because it’s logical. My point simply is that our feelings, experiences, and traditions do NOT define truth. We must all find the strength, courage, and self-discipline to step away from all the pressures and presuppositions that have shaped us to objectively and honestly examine whatever it is that we believe. And not just once, but over and over again throughout our lives.

To my Mormon friends, I didn’t write any of this to pick on you. The lesson here is twofold, and it’s for all of us…

1. If you’re going to be critical of the beliefs of others, make sure that you’re holding your own beliefs to the same level of scrutiny. Don’t expect others to question their own beliefs and buck family or cultural tradition if you’re not willing to do the same.
2. Seek out an objective basis for your faith. Why do you believe what you do? What are the reasons? Are those reasons subjective or objective? Don’t assume that because your faith is convenient or popular or expected that it is automatically right.

Through this process, I have been incredibly humbled, and I only feel more and more indebted to the incredible grace of God. When I get to heaven, it won’t be because of my intellect or because I had it all figured out; it’ll be only by the grace of God. Faith is a journey, not a destination, and the older I get, the more I realize how arrogant I was for years and years.

Did Paul Mix Opinion and Inspiration?

What student of the Bible isn’t familiar with the following words from 2 Timothy 3:16-17?

“All scripture is given by inspiration of God, and is profitable for doctrine, for reproof, for correction, for instruction in righteousness, that the man of God may be complete, thoroughly equipped for every good work.”

The term scripture refers to the written word and Paul makes the point that all of the scriptures are inspired, or breathed out, by God. Of course, there can be no doubt that Paul is speaking in part of the Old Testament scriptures, for in verse 15, he makes the point that Timothy had been raised up with the “holy scriptures.” His mother was a Jew (Acts 16:1) who had converted to Christianity and she had taught young Timothy the stories of the Old Testament. These scriptures were inspired by God. But Paul doesn’t just say that the Old Testament is inspired by God; he says that “all sciripture” is inspired. This would include the New Testament scriptures which were still in the process of being recorded.

It is right and proper to identify what we have in the New Testament as inspired scripture, for Paul and the other apostles indicate that they wrote by inspiration.

“…how that by revelation He made known to me the mystery (as I have briefly written already, by which, when you read, you may understand my knowledge in the mystery of Christ),  which in other ages was not made known to the sons of men, as it has now been revealed by the Spirit to His holy apostles and prophets” (Ephesians 3:3-5).

In other words, the writers of the New Testament differ in no way from the writers of the Old Testament in that they wrote by inspiration the word and will of God. We cannot say that Moses and David and Solomon wrote by inspiration, but Paul merely wrote personal letters to local churches of the first century with partial inspiration. This is why we cannot limit 2 Timothy 3:16-17 to the Old Testament scriptures. Again, ALL scripture, including the New Testament, is breathed out by God and is able to perfectly equip us to be exactly who God wants us to be.

With that in mind, notice what is written in 2 Peter 1:20-21:

“…knowing this first, that no prophecy of scripture is of any private interpretation, for prophecy never came by the will of man, but holy men of God spoke as they were moved by the Holy Spirit.”

Yes, Peter is speaking primarily of the Old Testament prophets, but this passage gives us some insight into the process of inspiration. The point is, those who are inspired do not receive an inspired concept from God that they then interpret and record in their own words. Truly inspired individuals record exactly what has been revealed to them. This strengthens the point made in 2 Timothy 3:16-17, that all the scriptures are inspired, or breathed out, by God. It’s not verbally inspired and then fallibly interpreted and recorded. The scriptures themselves—the written word—are perfectly inspired.

Having said that, there are certain passages penned by Paul the apostle that might be confusing. These passages seem to indicate that Paul did sometimes insert his own opinions in the midst of the inspired record. Here are four such verses, all of which are from 1^st and 2^nd Corinthians.

Here are a few examples…

“Do not deprive one another except with consent for a time, that you may give yourelves to fasting and prayer; and come together again so that Satan does not tempt you because of your lack of self-control. But I say this as a concession, not a commandment. For I wish that all men were even as I myself. But each one has his own gift from God, one in this manner and another in that…Now to the unmarried I command, yet not I but the Lord: a wife is not to depart from her husband” (1 Cor. 7:5-7, 10).

“Now concerning virgins: I have no commandment from the Lord; yet I give judgment as one whom the Lord in His mercy has made trustworthy” (1 Cor. 7:25).

All four of these verses (and there may be a few others) seem to indicate that Paul would occasionally have a lapse in inspiration. Sure, most of what he wrote was inspired, but some of what he wrote was merely his opinion. It is easy to see how some sincere Bible students reach these conclusions, but these conclusions are wrong nonetheless.

First of all, it is important for all of us to admit that we cannot fully comprehend the inspiration process that took place during Bible times. Obviously, the apostle Paul’s writings are very personal; he uses the word “I” a lot and refers to specific individuals and experiences. Luke’s style of writing is different from Paul’s. John’s gospel has a slightly different theme than Matthew’s, and Mark was obviously more abbreviated in his approach. In the Old Testament book of Psalms, David recorded his emotions and thoughts while in the midst of grief and persecution. The book of Isaiah reads differently than Ezekiel and Daniel.

It is clear to me at least that God didn’t ignore these men’s backgrounds, personalities or writing styles. I do not believe that these 40+ men wrote the scriptures while in some hypnotic trance; it’s evident that they were coherant when they applied quill to parchment. Did God tell them exactly what to write? Was God simply guiding their thoughts providentially or miraculously so that they penned His will with precision? Were they in a trance? I don’t know how that worked. Neither do you. Again, what we do know is that they wrote the will of God by inspiration, and that it wasn’t by private interpretation, but with exactness.

So David’s psalms, as emotional and private as they may seem, were written by the direction of the Holy Spirit. Daniel recorded his frustrations and difficulties, not with personal bias, but by divine inspiration. And Paul, whose letters read like private letters to close companions and struggling churches, wrote what was revealed to him by Christ through the Holy Spirit. How? In what way? I don’t know. But it’s the truth. I am reminded of the words of Paul in Romans 11:33…

“Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are His judgments and His ways past finding out!”

These things must be accepted before we can truly understand the four verses cited above. In other words, while some comments may seem private or personal, that doesn’t mean that Paul was writing apart from the inspiration of God. God used Paul’s personality, his experiences, and his circumstances rather than ignoring them.

Secondly, there is a difference between command and principle (or advice), and I think that religious people understand this point. In 1 Corinthians 7, for example, Paul commands us, saying that we are not permitted to divorce our spouse (7:10). But then he advises married couples not to abstain from sexual intercourse except in specific situations where there is a greater spiritual need (vs. 5). This is sound advice, for when married couples are not sexually-active, or when one spouse refuses sex to the other, it can lead to temptation. Must we assume that the principle of verses 5-6 is uninspired while the command of verse 10 is inspired. No! Both are inspired. Again, God’s word is filled not only with specific commands but with general principles for better living. If God, through Paul, wanted to offer a suggestion or advice, that was/is His prerogative…obviously.

The same is true in 1 Corinthians 7:25 and Paul’s comment about virgins. God wasn’t commanding, nor is He commanding virgins to remain unmarried. However, due to the “present distress” (vs. 26), it was wise for young, unmarried women to remain in that state. There was no commandment from the Lord, but there was advise from the Lord, confirmed by Paul and recorded in scripture.

As we study the scriptures, let us do so with the understanding that these words are inspired. What is recorded in the Bible, from Genesis to Revelation, is there only because God wanted it to be there. We cannot question the Psalms simply because David penned his emotions, or the writings of Paul simply because his letters seem personal.

Even if there are a few places in the Bible where God permitted the inspired writers to diverge from the inspiration of the Holy Spirit to make a personal comment or to offer some sound advice, these few instances would be the exceptions to the rule, and not the rule. And if Paul was permitted to record a personal judgment, it was under the oversight of the Holy Spirit. I do not believe this to be the case, but this would be the furthest that anyone could reasonably go.

Mormonism, Jesus, and the Priesthood

According to the book of Hebrews, Jesus is our High Priest.

“Seeing then that we have a great High Priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession.” (Hebrews 4:14)

In the Old Testament, when Israel was God’s chosen nation, the high priest was basically the God-ordained head of the Jewish religious system. While there is a lot that could be said about the role of the high priest, the only point I want to make right now is that only Levites could serve as priests and high priests under the Law of Moses. In other words, if you weren’t a member of the Jewish tribe of Levi, you could not legally be a priest. Even if you were a Levite, you couldn’t specifically qualify as a high priest unless you were of the Levitical order of Aaron (the brother of Moses). This is seen throughout the Old Testament.

How does this jive with the fact that Jesus is our High Priest today?

We’re told throughout the book of Hebrews that Jesus is our High Priest, but the fact is, He isn’t a Levite, and He isn’t a descendant of Aaron. So how can He possibly serve as our High Priest if He doesn’t meet the qualifications? This is exactly the question that the author of Hebrews addresses in Hebrews 7, starting in verse 11:

“Therefore, if perfection were through the Levitical priesthood (for under it the people received the law), what further need was there that another priest should rise according to the order of Melchizedek, and not be called according to the order of Aaron? ¹² For the priesthood being changed, of necessity there is also a change of the law. ¹³ For He of whom these things are spoken belongs to another tribe, from which no man has officiated at the altar. ¹⁴ For it is evident that our Lord arose from Judah, of which tribe Moses spoke nothing concerning priesthood. ¹⁵ And it is yet far more evident if, in the likeness of Melchizedek, there arises another priest ¹⁶ who has come, not according to the law of a fleshly commandment, but according to the power of an endless life. ¹⁷ For He testifies: “You are a priest forever according to the order of Melchizedek.” (Hebrews 7:11-17)

In other words, as a construct, the Levitical Priesthood was imperfect, and because it was imperfect, there was “need” that “another priest should rise” (vs. 11). Jesus is the new High Priest, and as the Hebrews author goes on to say, He “arose from Judah, of which tribe Moses spoke nothing concerning priesthood” (vs. 14). Under the Law of Moses, Jesus could not legally serve as High Priest because He is from the tribe of Judah, not the tribe of Levi. Rather than being appointed a priest according to the order of Levi and Aaron, Jesus was appointed a High Priest “according to the order of Melchizedek.” (vs. 11, 15, 17).

Again, how could this happen? The answer is in verse 12 – “For the priesthood being changed, of necessity there is also a change in the law.” Because Jesus could not serve as High Priest under the Law of Moses – which authorized ONLY the Levitical system – the law had to be changed. The old law had to be removed and replaced with a new law that authorized and allowed Jesus to serve as High Priest “according to the order of Melchizedek.”

It is necessarily implied here that the Levitical priesthood and Aaronic high priesthood no longer exist. Why? Because these priesthoods found their authority under the old law…which Jesus nailed to the cross and replaced with a new law. In other words, these priesthoods do not and cannot coexist. The Levitical priesthood cannot exist alongside the Melchizedek priesthood that Christ alone possesses.

Now, here’s what I’ve been building up to…

The Mormon Church today contends that the Levitical, Aaronic and Melchizedek priesthoods all coexist today and can be held by faithful Mormons.

The Levitical and Aaronic priesthoods CANNOT exist today for reasons that I have already explained in this article. To argue that they do exist not only contradicts clear Scripture, but is an affront to the High Priesthood of Christ. When Mormons claim that the Levitical priesthood still exists, they are promoting a law – the Law of Moses – that does not allow Jesus Himself to serve as High Priest.

While this is another article in and of itself, it is worth noting that the Scriptures only authorize Jesus to serve as HIGH PRIEST according to the order of Melchizedek. The Melchizedek priesthood is not universally available to all believers, or even to believers deemed qualified. No. According to the New Testament, ALL believers serve as priests in that all believers can offer up spiritual sacrifices to God through Christ (1 Peter 2:5-9). All of us are priests, and Jesus alone is High Priest according to the order of Melchizedek.

This is important.

Mormons want to claim that they have restored true Christianity. They want to argue that their Book of Mormon is just a “latter day” testament – “another” testament of Jesus Christ. But this is just one example of many where their religion flat out contradicts the Christianity seen in the New Testament.