by Frank Viola
Thus a little revising is in order. Or so it seems to me …
CHAPTER 3
LET ME PRAY ABOUT IT
REVISING CHRISTIAN CODE LANGUAGE
Did you know that we Christians have a code language? We do. Our code language is pretty common. But it’s largely unnoticed.
How many times have you asked a fellow believer for a favor or solicited their help in aiding another person and their response was: “Let me pray about it”? Let me say at the outset that there’s absolutely no problem with those five little words—at least, on the surface. And there’s no problem with bringing an issue to the Lord and consulting His mind about it. In fact, it’s quite commendable.
Yet how many times have you heard these words—“Let me pray about it”—and then discovered that the person who uttered them never got back to you or they ended up turning down your request?
As I think back on the numerous times I’ve heard my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ say those words (either to me or to another), the answer invariably ended up being “No.” I can think of only a few exceptions.
In short, “Let me pray about it” is Christian code language for “No.”
Real-Life Examples
This becomes blatantly obvious when we are presented with some of the most basic issues of life, and we respond by saying, “Let me ask God about it.”
Here are some examples of how I’ve heard this phrase used:
• I used to teach high school. One time a fellow teacher in my department asked one of her peers—a professing Christian—to cover her classroom for one day because she had to tend to her sick child. The Christian responded, “Let me pray about it.” She never got back to her fellow teacher. So the teacher had to ask someone else—a non-Christian—to cover her class, and that person did.
• Because her car broke down, a Christian woman needed a ride into work the next morning. The woman asked one of her friends, a believer and a retiree, for the favor. The friend responded, “Let me pray about it, and I’ll get back to you.” She never did.
• A Christian woman wrote to another Christian woman, saying, “I’ve been starving for Christian fellowship for years. I live in Toledo, Ohio, and I’m desperately looking to find other Christians to gather with. Do you know of any groups of believers in my area that are meeting together?” The reply was: “Yes, there’s actually a group in your city that I know and can recommend. Why don’t you call them, pay them a visit, and see what you think?” The woman replied, “Let me pray about it.” She never called or visited.
• A single mother was struggling with a financial need. This was the first time she had such a need; it was not a pattern in her life. So, she reluctantly asked the leadership team of her church for help. Without such help, her electricity would be turned off. The leaders told her, “Give us time to pray about it.” They never got back to her, and her electricity was turned off.
• A Christian man hears a report regarding something that several members of a ministry team had allegedly done. Believing the report, he writes a strong email to the team, rebuking and correcting them. The members of the team write back and say that the report he heard was not accurate. The team invites the man to discuss the issue over the phone or in person. The man writes back and says, “Let me pray about it.” The members of the team never hear back from him, and the issue goes unresolved.
Observation: Virtually every time I’ve heard a Christian answer with, “Let me pray about it,” there was self-denial involved in the request.
A Glaring Irony
Fellowshipping with Christians over a meal is one of my favorite hobbies. I’ve had many occasions where I sat in restaurants with other Christians. Not once during those occasions have I ever heard any of them say, “Let me pray about it,” when the waitress or waiter came over to the table to take their order.
Yet when it comes to some of the simplest things in life that are presented to us—if some risk or self-denial is involved—many Christians are quick to shroud the ordeal in religious jargon.
Certainly, there are times when we should give a matter over to the Lord and seek His mind on it. I have done this many times in my life and will continue to do so.
But in most situations, I believe knowing the Lord’s will is a matter of spiritual instinct and/or of exercising wisdom.1
So what’s my point?
I’m certainly not suggesting that we give up the practice of bringing things to the Lord’s attention and seeking His mind on them, especially those matters that are complex and where our response will affect the lives of others. But “Let me pray about it” has become the universal answer that Christians give to undesired requests.
Forgive the personal illustration, but I think it may help some readers. When I have been faced with a crisis and I need the Lord’s precise guidance, I have set myself apart for three days to seek His face on the matter.
In every case, God has been faithful to give me clarity at some point during that three-day period. So I’m not against bringing vital matters before the Lord to discern His mind.
Such cases, however, are the exceptions. As Christians, we possess a mind (1 Cor. 2:16; Phil. 2:5 NKJV). We possess a frame of reference where we know by instinct or wisdom what our responses should be in most situations.
What I’m really getting at in this chapter is a plea for honesty. And an exhortation to not make things “religious” when they don’t need to be.
I believe revising ourselves from this sort of Christian code language will take us a long way in reflecting the integrity that’s a part of our new identity in Christ.
Notes
1I’ve addressed this issue extensively in my eBook Rethinking the Will of God, www.ptmin.org/rethinkingthewill.pdf.
CHAPTER 4
SPIRITUAL CONVERSATIONAL STYLES
REVISING OUR SEMANTICS
One of the quickest things we pick up as Christians, although quite unconsciously, is a religious vocabulary. Consequently, part of our revising is to identify how we speak and how we hear others speak when discussing spiritual and theological ideas.
The subject of conversational styles is not new. Linguists and sociologists use the term conversational style to describe the specific set of assumptions and goals that people employ when they communicate.1
All social groups construct such styles to communicate their thoughts. Conversational styles are part of the reason why cross-cultural communication is so difficult. They explain why a French speaker can insist that the meaning of something in French can never be completely rendered in English or German.
It is my observation that many of the misunderstandings and disagreements over spiritual matters arise not out of genuine substantive differences but from differences in communication style.
Oftentimes, a person will use a certain expression to make a theological point (no doubt picked up from his or her denominational background), while his or her discussion partner is made to feel uncomfortable or even offended. The problem of cross talking arises, and the conversation drifts from actual substance to one that gets bogged down in the gears of a diverging style of communication.
Interestingly, the people involved in such discussions are not aware of what’s happening. They are only aware of the fact (at least in their own minds) that the conversation has been hijacked because the other person is “hard-hearted,” “closed-minded,” “biblically ignorant,” or “deceived.”
If we can get a handle on the different spiritual conversational styles, we will better understand what people actually believe rather than focusing on how they communicate those beliefs (which can often drive one crazy!). In a nutshell, understanding the reality of spiritual conversational styles (SCSs from henceforth) can move us far ahead in the game of spiritual conversation.
Talking ab
out our SCSs is quite risky. Spiritual beliefs (theology in the broad sense) are very dangerous, for they strike at the heart of what we Christians hold dearest. We construct SCSs to arrange the ground rules upon which spiritual discussions can take place in a way that we find safe and comfortable.
Our SCSs help to insulate our conversations about spiritual things from those ideas that conflict with our own. In this way, SCSs enable us to tread upon the dangerous and terrifying ground of theological debate.
Granted, my discussion of SCSs is subject to abuse. At worst, some may take this chapter and convert it into ammunition by which to stereotype and pigeonhole their fellow brothers and sisters in Christ. At best, it will cause us to look at how we communicate about spiritual matters and encourage us to be better listeners.
I believe the notion of conversational styles is useful because it helps explain why people can routinely misunderstand each other when they appear to share so much in common. It also provides a helpful window into understanding some of the common complexities we face when seeking to cross the line of theological distinctions.
The world of psychotherapy has become such a successful industry in the West because most of us know very little about ourselves—particularly how we think, feel, and react, not to mention how we speak. Understanding SCSs can help us to make progress in how we hear and understand one another.
Keep in mind that identifying a particular SCS in yourself (or in another) is only half the solution to a theological disagreement. The other half is to transcend it and cross-communicate with those who hold to a different SCS than yourself. This is quite difficult, though it’s not impossible.
Let me introduce you to what I believe are three of the most common SCSs. As you read through each one, try to populate it with people you have tried to converse with in the past. Hopefully, this chapter will help spare you the agony of talking past other Christians when discussing spiritual matters.
The Charismatic SCS
Those who use the Charismatic SCS tend to be associated with the Charismatic/Pentecostal subculture of the Christian world. In conversation, the Charismatic SCS appeals to personal revelation of the Bible as the authority for interpretation and application.
Advocates of the Charismatic SCS often despise biblical scholarship, paying little attention to the principles of hermeneutics and sound exegesis, deeming them “human” and “man-made.” Statements like “the Lord showed me” or “God revealed this to me” or “the Spirit told me” are peppered throughout their conversations.
Those who do not use this particular SCS usually feel quite uncomfortable with such phrases. While they may experience spiritual illumination from the Holy Spirit, they believe it’s unbefitting to wield it as a basis of authority.
They also find such claims to divine authority difficult to analyze and inadequate to settle disputes. Not to mention that they believe these declarations often convey the clear impression of “boasting in the flesh.” In short, those who do not employ the Charismatic SCS feel that the mere appeal to personal revelation makes the playing field unlevel in the arena of theological discussion.
Here’s an example. Suppose that Bill and Chris are discussing a theological issue. Chris uses the Charismatic SCS, while Bill doesn’t. After Bill shares an interpretation of a biblical passage with Chris, Chris responds, saying, “The passage does not mean what you say. God showed me that it means thus and so.”
In Bill’s mind, any attempt at biblical discourse now becomes inadequate, for “God has shown” Chris otherwise. When Bill challenges Chris’s position using the principles of exegesis (appealing to historical context, the original meaning of Greek words, etc.), Chris accuses Bill of being “unspiritual,” unable to comprehend the language of the Holy Spirit.
Now Bill believes that Chris cannot explain or defend his position academically. He can only appeal to personal revelation. Therefore, Bill feels that Chris has fallen into the subjective soup of mysticism and is lost in the sauce.
From Bill’s vantage point, there’s no common ground for communication. The source of authority is neither equal nor mutual. While Chris verbally affirms that Scripture is the measure of all truth and may even push the envelope of biblical authority, in Bill’s mind, Chris’s appeal to personal revelation demonstrates otherwise. To Chris, Bill is not a spiritual person because he cannot understand or accept the divine inspiration that he (Chris) has received.
In addition, because Bill does not use the mystical jargon that fills Chris’s vocabulary, Chris concludes that Bill’s relationship with the Holy Spirit is subnormal. Worse still, Chris may judge Bill to not have the Holy Spirit at all, for if he did (he muses to himself), Bill would agree with him.
In effect, Chris is frustrated because he fails to convince Bill of his revelatory encounters (and he may even go so far as to accuse Bill of having a “religious spirit”). Chris doesn’t understand why Bill would question his experience, because he is convinced that God speaks to him.
Bill is equally frustrated. He feels that he can’t communicate on the same level as Chris. To Bill, Chris’s subjective appeals cloud the issue and make the source of authority ambiguous. For Bill, Chris’s revelations by no means secure the theological terrain. Chris’s discourse, which is cluttered with verbal cues of mystical experiences (“God showed me”), is both unimpressive and unconvincing to Bill.
Chris, on the other hand, is troubled with Bill’s “unspirituality” simply because he doesn’t share these explicit verbal signals.
So in the end, the person using the Charismatic SCS ends up feeling frustrated and hurt because of his failure to convince those who embrace a different SCS. Likewise, those who disagree with the Charismatic SCS find themselves up against similar frustrations.
There’s also a subset of the Charismatic SCS, employed by those who are more familiar with the Bible and the rules of logic. It’s marked by the use of a double standard. Such ones invoke both logic and mysticism in their theological communications.
When they attack someone else’s interpretation of Scripture, they appeal to the rules of Aristotelian logic. When on the offensive, they say things like, “This interpretation is inconsistent and does not follow. It doesn’t mesh well with other scriptural passages.” Yet, when they are on the defensive and their conversation partner uses logic to refute their claims, they shift the argument, saying, “I cannot explain this to you … it transcends logic … you must have a revelation … I cannot put the truth into words … only the Holy Spirit can show this to you,” etc.
And the stalemate persists.
The Quoter SCS
People who use the Quoter SCS hinge any meaningful conversation about God to a particular view of biblical authority. The Quoter SCS simply cannot tolerate a spiritual or theological discussion unless the other party shares his or her own assumptions about how the Bible is to be viewed and, more important, how it’s to be used.
Most of the folks who use this SCS, particularly in the United States, demand a specific expression of biblical authority. It’s the expression that was formulated by American Calvinists in the last century and has been championed by those in modern fundamentalist circles.
The expression is rooted in the belief that the Bible possesses a journalistic type of accuracy concerning events and details. It also affirms that Scripture provides answers to any and every question that’s brought to bear on it. To the person who uses the Quoter SCS, such a view of the Bible is a sine qua non (a necessary element).
In the eyes of the Quoter SCS, individuals who hold to more moderate views of biblical authority, such as those held by mainstream evangelicals (e.g., Carl F. H. Henry), neoevangelicals (e.g., F. F. Bruce), postconservative evangelicals (e.g., Stanley J. Grenz), and postmodern evangelicals (e.g., N. T. Wright), have departed from sound orthodoxy and are the targets of a prolonged “battle for the Bible” (to use H
arold Lindsell’s phrase).
The Quoter SCS deems all spiritual discourse to be meaningless without an explicit verbal affirmation by his or her conversation partner that precisely matches his or her own. Without such an affirmation, the Quoter style’s level of comfort in discussing spiritual things becomes violated and proves inadequate to carry on a theological discussion. At best, Quoters simply lose interest in the topic. At worst, they benightedly conclude that their discussion partner is a heretic!
For the Quoter SCS, the only way to settle a theological dispute is by quoting Scripture. The mere act of Bible-quoting is thought to set defensible boundaries for theological discussions to take place.
There’s no problem with quoting the Bible. The biblical authors themselves quoted Scripture in abundant measure. However, the Quoter SCS believes that theological disputes are settled by the simple quoting of Scripture and nothing more. Historical context is typically ignored. Instead, the art of “proof-texting” is employed to settle all disagreements.
(Another version of the Quoter is the person who appeals to the authority of a favorite theologian. Such naked assertions as “Calvin said,” “Luther said,” “Augustine said” to settle arguments are punctuated throughout their discussions.)
Let me illustrate how the Quoter SCS operates. Suppose that Steve uses the Quoter SCS, while Jack does not. Whenever Steve disagrees with Jack, he quotes a raft of Scriptures. Yet in his quoting, Steve gives no attention to context, historical setting, or the original meaning of Greek or Hebrew words. Rather, Steve appeals solely to a bundle of isolated texts that he believes buttress his position.
In the aftermath of his endless quoting, Steve retorts with something like “See, the Bible is clear about this. Here are the verses. Believe it or reject it!” (Granted, not everyone who uses this style is as curt as I’ve painted Steve, but you get the idea.)
By his quoting, Steve has implicitly and explicitly conveyed a sense of finality to the issue. But to Jack, Steve’s quoting hasn’t settled anything at all. In fact, Jack is outraged by the mere notion that it has. Steve, on the other hand, concludes that Jack doesn’t want to listen to the Bible and ends the discussion there.
