The Beauty of the Errant Bible

In the last few weeks, an old and very dear friend got in touch with me after 20-some years apart. At one point in our lives, we pondered the mysteries of God together, and through the magic of email he has picked up the discussion once again. His last email described his belief in biblical inerrancy, and in my reply, I had the opportunity to spin out a thought that I’ve long treasured but never articulated. Here it is:

It's funny, because I've had a very different experience with the whole idea of inerrancy. Somewhere along the line (couldn't really pinpoint when), I started letting go of the idea of word-for-word, everything-literal inerrancy, and for me it opened up a depth of the Bible that I never knew. All of a sudden, God could speak in metaphor, in poetry, in stories that didn't have to be factually true but still delivered a message that was truer than any fact (if such a thing is possible). I could start exploring who wrote this letter or that book, who they were writing to, and just what they were trying to say that maybe I missed the first time round. In some strange way the words became more alive to me. At this point, I couldn't say whether most of the Bible is factually true, but then it doesn't matter to me--because it's true nonetheless.

Here's a rather innocuous example: the Magnificat. Did Mary really utter those exact words? From one standpoint, it's kind of doubtful: illiterate peasant women just don't tend to go around saying stuff like that. But...whether she did or didn't, those words do reveal something wonderful about the character of Mary herself--and say absolutely amazing things about God: the God who turns things upside down, the God the prophets knew.